Layala quickly slipped her arm under the table and rolled down her sleeve to cover her rune mark. The humans had no idea what her tattoo was, but she couldn’t be too careful with an unknown man. She reached up and touched her hair, her ears were covered, as always. He must have surmised she was an elf some other way.
Layala reached across the table, clasping her fingers around the edge of his smoky gray hood and tugged gently. “I don’t like when strangers come into my town and hide their faces.”
“So it’s your town, huh?” The stranger pulled the hood back.
Layala bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from frowning or giving away that she didn’t like what sat before her; the male was sinfully beautiful. His dark waving hair hung loosely past his shoulders, framing his masculine face. Her inspection traveled over his sharp jaw to his scruffy chin then perused to his high cheekbones and straight nose. She froze on his emerald green eyes but the color was lighter than that, like when the sun hit the jewel just right and it almost glowed. She’d never seen eyes that color before. “You know there’s a sign on the door that says no elves. Can you not read or do you always blatantly ignore rules?” she asked.
He was too perfect to be anything but one of her kind, even if he kept his pointed ears hidden under that full hair of his. Now she knew how he’d figured out what she was so quickly. The distinction between human and elf was plainly obvious in the subtlest of ways. She’d never seen another elf up close until this moment.
He smirked. “I read quite well, actually.” He paused. His voice was also slightly different, almost divine, and fascinating in the way the timbre seemed to roll down her spine. “Yet you’re an elf, and I thought you said this was your town. Does it displease you that the inhabitants don’t like what you are?”
Aunt Evalyn watched intently but stayed silent. Layala could almost feel the anxiety coming off her as Evalyn bounced her leg under the table. An elf in human lands was always a worry, no matter if they were looking for her or not. No one here would have offered to house him, which hopefully meant he was simply passing through.
“I’m the one who put up the sign,” Layala said, tapping a finger on the table. “Keeps out the riff raff.” Occasionally a lone elf or two would come through Briar Hollow, and she’d remain out of sight, but it was as rare as a dragon egg. She couldn’t risk an elf who might report to the king they’d encountered a lone elf female in the human lands. And since the pale ones emerged, humans had a natural aversion to elves, which was understandable since for all anyone knew the sickness could be caught simply by breathing the same air. It was fatal to humans.
“And it’s my town because I live here.” She winced a little, she was giving too much away. She half smiled to recover and lifted her gaze briefly to her knife still stuck in the wall. Too bad it wasn’t in her hand. “What brings you to Briar Hollow, stranger? Business or pleasure?” She wanted to get rid of him but didn’t want to come off as suspicious either. The reward for bringing her, Layala Lightbringer, to the king must be astounding. She’d heard there were bounty hunters, could he be one of them?
He leaned in a little closer, his eyes locked onto hers, a hunter who’d found his prey. “I was here on business but having seen you, a little of both, I think.”
Was she supposed to be the pleasure? Or was she the business? Layala rolled her eyes, even as her heart beat faster. “You think you can come in here and win my affection so easily?” she said in hopes that was what he meant; business would be dangerous. She checked her surroundings. Was the male alone or did he bring friends? Another cloaked and hooded figure stood by the door. Definitely brought an accomplice.
Forrest and Ren had followed the blacksmith to the bar top so she couldn’t send them over to investigate the second intruder.
“Certainly not, fair maiden. I’d be willing to wager it would be quite the challenge to win said affections.” He winked and leaned back in the chair. It creaked under the pressure. “I find myself… interested in you.”
Layala swallowed hard. Aunt Evalyn broke her silence. “Be interested somewhere else, troll. We have no want of your kind here.”
“A troll am I?” He looked down at his rather broad form and picked at a fleck of dirt or something as equally invisible on his cloak. Then his gaze rose. “Maker above, I thought I was an elf. How impertinent of me not to know I’d suddenly become green and misshapen and,” he lifted his shoulder and smelled himself, “and wretchedly scented.”
Layala pursed her lips to keep from smiling. “One can never be too careful with trolls.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said and smiled, revealing his pretty white teeth. “But male elves are much worse, I hear.”
“Terrible,” Layala cooed. “And hideous.”
“Oh, the ugliest things around, certainly.” His casual laid back posture shifted when he sat up leaning in again as if he wanted to tell her a secret. “But elven females, the most exquisite beings to exist. Most especially the one sitting before me.”
Aunt Evalyn snorted and jiggled the dried crimson berries tied around her neck with thin russet twine. “Don’t make me use these, boy.”
“Ah, slumber berries,” the stranger mused. “Wouldn’t I have to ingest those for your threat to be legitimate?”
“I could shove them up your a—”
“Enough, Aunt,” Layala said. “There will be no need for that. My dagger at his balls should be sufficient.” Under the table, Layala tapped the tip of the blade she’d swiped off Aunt Evalyn’s hip against his inner thigh. His next move would help her determine whether or not he was there looking for Layala.
To his credit he didn’t flinch, but a small smile lifted his beautiful face.
Layala tilted her head toward the door. “You know where the exit is. Take your friend with you.”
“Since I’ve taken a liking to my balls, I’ll see myself out.” He said the word “balls” with particular emphasis as if he’d never heard the term before. Perhaps it was a human thing. Ren, Forrest and the men she trained with said it frequently enough. After he stood, he paused. “I’m curious, where is your mate?”
He saw her mate rune? And although there were many runes, he knew what the mark was? Her chest tightened a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His eyes dropped to her covered wrist. “I think you do.”
Maker, he knew, or at least he suspected. “You are dreadfully mistaken. I have no man in my life nor do I want one in it. And if I were you, I’d let it go. No telling what might happen to you if you don’t.” Her eyes flicked to the group of men standing behind him. They’d been watching closely. All it would take is a signal from her and they’d toss him out.
When he left with whoever stood beside the door, she waited thirty seconds then jumped up. She tore her knife from the wall, and with a blade in each hand, shoved her shoulder into the swinging pub door. Her gut said his interest in her rune mark wasn’t coincidental and neither was his presence here. What if he’d come searching for her to report to the High King? She couldn’t let him. She stepped onto the road looking both ways. Rain streaked down her face. She looked at the shadows of the alleys, searched for horses in the distance but he was gone, and the rain washed away any trace of footprints.
She tossed and turned all night in her woolen blankets, worried about the elf, or more likely, elves she saw. There was a pair. She woke up minutes before sunrise to bathe in the nearby river, in hopes it would clear her mind. It was cold but fresh. Aunt Evalyn would heat rainwater in a huge metal tub for her baths but to Layala it was a waste of time. She dipped a toe into the slow river to test the temperature; a chill ran up her body. The shock of it would make her nice and alert. Red-breasted robins chirped in the willow tree that hung above the water as the sun rose over the mountains. The sprays of lavender along the water smelled lovely. This was her favorite part of the day. The serene sounds of nature and no one awake to bother her.
Maybe she was wrong about the elf. She might have interpreted everything he said to fit her own paranoia. He hadn’t waited outside for her. No one came to the house. But the unease in her stomach wouldn’t go away.
With a quick check of her surroundings, she stripped her clothes and waded into the water. Sinking completely under, she popped back up, shivering from the frigid cold. She quickly washed her hair with goat’s milk soap, scented with mint and lavender, then added some oils to the ends to keep it smooth and shiny. A horse whinnied somewhere nearby. Her spine tingled. There were no homesteads close. No riders came this way.
Layala whipped around to see if anyone approached. The tall grass on the bank swayed in the slight breeze but no one person or horse appeared. Still, she listened to the rushing water, the light coos of songbirds, the quack of a duck, and crickets chirping at the shore. Everything serene until the caw of a crow or raven drew her attention up to the branch it perched on. Its small head cocked from side to side then it fluttered its wings before it lifted off and away.
The blackbirds were always a bad omen. She couldn’t help but feel someone watched her. Dripping wet, she crouched low in the grass, and quickly dried herself with a cotton cloth then slipped on her clothes, ever searching her surroundings. If it was a pale one, she couldn’t be caught off guard. If it was a peeping tom, she’d cut out his eyes.
The mate rune on her wrist started to itch, like the sensation of a healing wound. It had been doing that a lot lately, and she didn’t know what it meant. She looked down at the ebony mark, lines in the shape of cascading triangles with two diagonal strikes through both. Cursing the thing, she headed for the cottage.
As she drew closer, her stomach dropped. The round front door was ajar and hung off its hinges. Either Aunt Evalyn threw a temper tantrum, which wasn’t entirely unheard of, or someone… she broke into a sprint, her light elven feet carried her the distance with remarkable speed. She drew her dagger and stooped below the kitchen window. Slowly, she rose up and peeked over the lip of the mantel, peering inside. Many of the plants that once hung from the rafters were broken and splattered on the floor. Dirt and leaves and flowers everywhere. Years of searching and money wasted. It smelled strongest of jasmine and sweet pea, Evalyn’s favorites, their beautiful petals crushed into the floor. The furniture was overturned and Dregous’s crate was but splinters. She charged inside, ready to cut down whoever did this. No, not whoever. She knew exactly the pair. It couldn’t be a coincidence that she met an elf the night before and now this.
Inside, she found no one in the main room or kitchen. Her boots crunched over broken pottery as she moved farther in. “Evalyn?” she called, stepping over a shattered plate from a set her aunt had made. Her cheeks burned and her heart beat faster as she hurried to her aunt’s bedroom. She poked her head in to find it empty. She dashed across the hall to her room—nothing. When she turned back to the sitting area, she stilled; how she missed it before was beyond her. On the dark wood paneled wall where the intruders tore down Layala’s childhood painting of a unicorn, someone wrote in blood, You can’t hide forever.
If they hurt Evalyn, if they—no, she couldn’t think it. She couldn’t let her mind wander to that dark place. The High King already took too much from her. The pounding of hooves and horse whinnies had her running for the window. A black carriage with gold fixtures pulled by six onyx steeds roared up right outside her front door. The heavy breaths of the horses said they’d been running. Maker above, they found me. He is here to take me. She knew this day would come, but now she wished she could hide. She took a step away from the window with her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.
She held both a dagger with a ten-inch blade, and a knife half that size and waited in the center of the sitting room. Her senses hyperaware as light footsteps hit the ground and moved closer. She tensed as a large, cloaked male stepped up but stopped in the doorway. Was it him? The elf from the night before?
“Come with me,” he said sharply. “His royal majesty the High King of Palenor awaits.” Something about him triggered familiarity. She didn’t know if it was the roughness of his voice or the way he moved, yet it wasn’t the male who’d sat across from her.
A sheen of sweat dampened her skin. Her arm twitched, ready to throw her knife if need be. An old familiar sensation bit at her fingers, tingling like when the blood flow had been cut off and then rushed back into the limb. Her magic. Bad things happened when she used her magic. “Where are Evalyn and the pup?”
The dark towering figure stayed silent, his face shadowed by the deep hood. What was it with these elves and covering their faces? It wasn’t as if it made them less suspicious. The carriage outside was far from inconspicuous, so if their intent was to go unnoticed, they failed on a grand scale.
She tossed her dagger into the air, watched it flip end over end and caught it again trying to mask her fear with bravado. All she knew of the wicked High King was his ruthlessness. She’d heard stories over the years of the countless bodies left in his wake, starting with her parents. He burned down entire villages in search of her, his weapon. His desperation grew more as time went on.
Aunt Evalyn and her fought over whether or not Layala should turn herself over to stop the killing. But it was always Aunt Evalyn’s words that kept her in Briar Hollow, “Your mother and father gave their lives to keep you out of his hands, Layala. Don’t let their sacrifice be in vain. If they should come, we’ll be ready but not until that day.”
She didn’t understand what the king wanted with her. Yes, she had magic, but it wasn’t as if he could force her to use it against her will. Aunt Evalyn said there were rumors that the High King had been waiting for a magical child like her to grant him power of his own. A rune spell of some kind to steal her magic, they’d guessed.
Her mind raced through images of all the scenarios that could have happened in this cottage. What if the blood on the wall was Evalyn’s? “If you don’t tell me where they are, there will be one less elf alive in this room.”
The male shifted slightly and waved at someone outside. A moment later, another cloaked assailant stepped into view, a female by the size of her, but what she held in her grasp had Layala’s throat dry up. A knifepoint was pressed against Aunt Evalyn’s side.
“Is this answer enough?” the female questioned. Again, her voice was familiar somehow. Layala would swear on her parents’ stone statues she heard it before, but she couldn’t have. She’d never even seen another female elf before. She didn’t know these people.
Aunt Evalyn gave an almost imperceptible bob of her head. She wasn’t afraid. There was no fear in her eyes. If anything, there was determination and readiness. “And the dog? If you killed him, I swear—”
The male groaned. “In a crate by the chickens.”
Gritting her teeth, Layala placed her weapons back in their sheaths and held up her hands. “Let her go and I’ll come without any trouble.”
“Take me with you,” Aunt Evalyn said.
“No,” Layala snapped. She cleared her throat and softened her tone. “No. I’ll go alone.” Evalyn was safe here. If Evalyn came, they could use her to manipulate Layala.
Evalyn’s eyes glistened. “Layala,” she pleaded.
The female holding her aunt, dropped the knife to her side and shoved Evalyn in the back. She tumbled forward into Layala’s arms. After making sure her aunt had her balance, Layala smiled. “It is well. You’ve readied me for this day. Tell Ren and Forrest it’s time I face this and to let me go, and that I appreciate their friendship.”
She nodded once. “You’ll come back, and you can tell them yourself.”
“I love you,” Layala said and tore her gaze away before she started crying. She made sure her shoulder slammed into the large male elf as she marched outside. Was he the one who stood by the door the night before? Maybe this was an entirely different group.
The six horses stamped their hooves and tossed their heads. The door to the carriage was open, and she hesitated. Was she going to walk right in with no trouble after she spent her whole life hiding? What choice did she have? Now wasn’t the time to be a coward. She took a deep breath and headed for it.
“Not so fast,” the female elf said and reached for Layala’s hips.
Layala smacked her hand. “Don’t.”
“You’re not getting in that carriage with those weapons.”
The king was foolish enough to come all this way? He must know she would loathe him. Was he in that carriage mere feet from her? When they said the High King awaited, she assumed they meant at his castle in Palenor. Narrowing her eyes at the elf, Layala pursed her lips. It would be stupid to attack him so soon. She must weigh the situation, find weak points, devise a plan, but she didn’t want to give up her protection.
Large hands clamped down on Layala’s shoulders. “Hand over the blades.”
Reluctantly, she pulled the two from her waist belt and placed them in the female’s hands. She stooped down and grabbed one from each boot and surrendered them as well.
“The one in your back pocket too,” the male said.
She clenched her teeth; she thought she’d get away with that one. It was a small throwing star, sharp and pointed with five tips. She reached back and pulled it out, giving it over. “That’s all the weapons I have.” Of course, that wasn’t all. Her magic was as lethal as any weapon forged by men or elves.
A sharp sting burned her arm as a barb pricked her flesh. “Katagas serum, in case you get any ideas,” the male said. “We know you’re a mage.”
Her magic slowly waned, withering away until she couldn’t feel even a whisper of its energy. “What did you do to me?” She clenched and unclenched her hands reaching for the sensation of magic.
“It suppresses magic temporarily. If you prove you aren’t a threat, we won’t dose you a second time.”
Feeling naked without anything to protect herself with, her whole body trembled as her foot reached the step of the carriage. She grabbed the handle, steadying her uneven breath. To be so close to the elf who murdered her parents stirred a fiery rage and a healthy shot of fear, an inferno blazing in her chest.
Her mate rune itched again as she ducked her head and entered the carriage. She stared at the masked elf sitting on one side of the cushioned interior. She heard it was tradition for the King of the High Elves of Palenor to wear a mask for ceremonial purposes but why such a wretched thing? And did he consider this that type of meeting?
The door slammed behind her, and she nearly fell when the whip cracked, and the horses lurched forward. Stumbling into the seat opposite of the king, she righted herself and placed her palms on either side of her for balance as the carriage rocked side to side. Two five-inch silver horns rose out of the mask that completely covered his face save for his nose and mouth. Even the eye slits were so narrow she couldn’t see beyond. The two silently watched each other for what seemed like a long time. Layala pictured herself diving across the carriage and wrapping her hands around his neck.
“Are you King Tenebris?” Layala finally got the nerve to say.
“I am Thane Athayel.” His resonant voice felt like a fingernail gliding lightly down the skin of her back. It too was recognizable, as if it haunted her dreams. But his voice did something the others did not, brought goosebumps to her skin.
Layala licked her dry lips, as a connection between the itching rune mark and his closeness struck her. “The Prince of Palenor.” She laughed humorlessly. “My mate.”
