Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire) (11 page)

The memories swirled into black fog and disappeared for a moment in chaos, and then he saw the king lying on a bed, motionless and clearly dying and the young woman was lying next to him, crying. Then they were burying the king in a silvery stone tomb, and she stood looking at the ground, her chin quivering, as a young prince draped his arm protectively around her shoulder.

Blackness, chaos, sickness, death. The woman going door to door at the houses in a village, wiping the brow of the sick, helping prepare the dead for burial. She was dirty and tired, eyes full of tears, and she wiped her face with her sleeve. So many bodies, so many dead. A stone courtyard, and a young king falling onto the ground as the woman watched, and then she was cradling a newborn baby.

The young woman, dressed in white silk, had a small tiara placed on her head by a man in robes, and he heard the word ‘
regent’
and with a start he knew... knew without doubt who this beautiful stranger was.

Still he watched, fascinated. She struggled, repaired, and planted in an attempt to keep things running smoothly. He could feel in his heart the same responsibility that she felt to the people entrusted to her. She climbed trees, spent long nights poring over numbers, long days helping to pick crops.

The memory faded to the woman standing alone on a gray stone walkway, her gown billowing out behind her. A bloody man hoisted her over his shoulder and ran with her into a house, locking the door behind him. He ran up a flight of stairs with her still over his shoulder, entered another room, and collapsed in a heap on the floor. And then the bloody man called her by name...
Aislin.

Astonished, he looked at the woman slumped at his feet and thought:
What gift have the gods delivered to me?

Aislin slowly regained her senses and looked up at the man standing in front of her, hidden behind the hood. She knew he’d done
something
to her, and she was furious.

“What did you just do to me?”

“I read your memories.”

Aislin didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t like it at all. Eyes narrowed, she hissed at him: “
Stay away from me! Don’t you ever touch me again!”

“I know who you are, Princess. What are you doing in Blackthorne Forest?”

Aislin couldn’t breathe for a moment. She could think of nothing to say in return. He’d rendered her unconscious by touching her jaw, and now he’d discovered who she was simply by holding her head. Whoever he was, this man was dangerous.

She was tempted to deny everything, but she got the feeling he knew more about her than he was letting on. She would meet his queries with the truth.

“Please. Let us go. We must get to Wyndham, to my uncle.” Aislin hoped she didn’t look as pitiful as she sounded.

“Jariath has invaded Arianrhod. You have somehow managed to escape him.”

“Yes.” She frowned, completely baffled.
How does he know that?

“Your companion? His name?”

“Roderic. He’s a courier who brought news of my nephew from Wyndham. He was unlucky enough to be with us when Jariath invaded.”

The man stood up and turned his back to her, as though he were in deep thought.

“Who are you? What is this place?” she whispered. “Please tell me.”

After several minutes of silence, the man finally bowed his head. Time stood still as he reached up, pulled off the hood, and dropped it onto his back.

His hair from behind was a glossy blue black, long and straight as an arrow, spilling like silk into the neck of his tunic.

Aislin’s heart thumped in her chest like a little bird as he turned around slowly and knelt in front of her. Several staccato breaths later, she was looking into his eyes.

He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, and yet...
not
like any man she’d ever seen.

His eyes were bright green, the color of emeralds and sunshine, shot through with flecks of black and gold. He had the long, dark lashes of a woman, and at first glance, his skin was a smooth dark brown. As she looked closer, she realized his skin was actually
green
brown, the color of grass that has been cut and dried for several days. His cheekbones were high, sharp blades in his narrow face, and his lips were full and sensual.

It was his
ears
that made her look twice.

His ears were larger than normal, or at least normal for any man she’d ever seen. They rounded up and came to a perfect point at the top, but... she blinked and looked again
... he seemed to be able to turn them independent of each other—like a cat!

“Who are you?” Aislin asked breathlessly, pulling back from him.

“I am Tristan of Oakenbourne, chieftain of the Sylvan.”

Aislin looked from one side of his head to the other, and back into his eyes.

“You have never looked upon the face of a Sylvan.”

“Sylvan?” She knew she was looking up at him wide-eyed and slack jawed, but she just couldn’t make sense of those
ears
. “
What
are you?”

“I am of the Sylvan people, the People of the Forest, and the last of the elven races to live in these lands.” His eyes had grown cold; his words dripped with impatience and irritation.

“Elven? Elves? Are you telling me...you’re an elf?” A chill ran down her spine, putting an end to the stunned laughter that threatened to burst from her lips. “There are
elves
living in Blackthorne Forest?”

“You’ve never heard of elves?” He raised ebony eyebrows over fascinating green eyes.

“Yes, in children’s stories and bedtime tales. No one believes they actually exist...” She let her voice trail off as she gaped at him.

His lips thinned in an icy smile.

“...and yet here you are.” She studied his face. There was no explanation. He clearly didn’t look like anyone she’d ever seen.

She shivered as the strangest feeling came over her.

This elf is about to turn my life upside down!

Her eyes caught Tristan and held him. Large, beautiful, the color of the sun as it slips away on a summer’s eve. He wanted to put his hands on both sides of her face and get lost in them.

He caught his breath as he fought the unseen snare that had been thrown around him. This beguiling woman was pulling it tight, reeling him in with her eyes. He felt powerless, and it caused him a moment of panic. Breaking his gaze, he stood up abruptly.

“I’ll be back to question you tomorrow, and you will tell me
everything
I want to know. It will be very painful for you if you don’t.”

“What have you done with Roderic?”

“He is chained in a cell down the hall. He is none of your concern.”

“Yes, he
is
my concern! You
must
let me see him!”

Tristan pulled the hood back up over his head, and slammed the barred door behind him.

Chapter Thirteen

T
RISTAN KNEW HE SHOULD GO back to the Sylvan Council. They were waiting to hear from him. He just needed a moment to clear his head and
think
about what he’d seen, though it was what he’d
felt
during his brief encounter with Arianrhod’s princess that troubled him the most
.

He climbed the white marble stairs and quickly opened the banded oak door to his apartments. He slammed the door behind him with the same force he’d slammed the door on her and began to pace.

What’s wrong with me?
There was no reasonable explanation for the pull she seemed to exert on him.
She’s a human! You’re a Sylvan!

But she didn’t know about the Sylvan, didn’t believe you existed, so she certainly can’t know about...no way she could know about you. But that doesn’t matter. She is what she is. Humans all seem to want to live forever, and if she finds out, it will be the same as it was all those years ago. I can’t go through
that
again.

Now that she’s seen your face, seen Oakenbourne, it makes her doubly dangerous. You never should have told her your name, revealed yourself to her. Now she knows!

But you scanned her memories. You saw that she had honor and principle—that she cared. No human you have ever scanned has shown you memories like that.

He shook his head, angry with himself.

They weren’t even looking for you at all. They would have passed right through Blackthorne without ever seeing you if you hadn’t captured them first. She said they needed to get to Wyndham. They are obviously trying to get help in the fight against Jariath. They shouldn’t even be here.

The vision of a vibrant and happy young woman flying through the meadow on a bareback horse flickered into his thoughts, and he was filled with regret.

You will have to choose your words carefully when you go to the council. They’ll want to put her to death immediately. Maybe I can buy some time once they find out who she is. I don’t want her to die.
He closed his eyes in anguish. She had a spark, a
something
he couldn’t put his finger on.

Sighing, Tristan stood up and walked back down to the council room.

The council elders were talking quietly when Tristan slipped back into the room. They didn’t notice him at first, and then Colven, the oldest Sylvan in the village, announced his arrival.

“Tristan has returned.” Colven clapped his hands to get the attention of the others. “Everyone! Take your seats!”

The council room was round, fashioned from the same white marble as the rest of the village. Six large, fluted pillars carved from smooth gray granite were spaced equal distance around the room, and stretched from the floor to the domed ceiling. An open semi-circular dark oak table that stood in the center softened the extreme brightness of the room. Seventeen high-backed oak chairs stood along the table’s outside curve.

The seats looked down upon a speaking platform in the center of the circle, accessed by three wide steps through a swinging gate at the front of the table.

Instead of taking his council seat as he usually did, Tristan walked down the steps and into the center of the platform. The elders took their seats and quieted themselves. All eyes were now on Tristan.

His heart racing, Tristan looked up at them, a pair of amber eyes on his mind. He needed to be very careful of his words, and the tone with which they were spoken. Right now, with his thoughts scattered to the four winds, he didn’t trust himself to speak at all.

When he said nothing for several minutes, Colven prompted him: “You have news for us, Tristan?”

He swallowed hard. “I do.”

A few seconds passed. Looking somewhat amused, Colven peered out over the top of his glasses and asked, “Are you going to share it with us?”

“The human man’s name is Roderic. He’s a courier from Wyndham.” Tristan thought his voice sounded shaky and hollow in the wide expanse of room.

“And the woman is...?” All eyes were on Tristan. The room was completely silent.

He hesitated a second before looking up at Colven, willing him to see that he was giving more than just her name. “Princess Aislin of Arianrhod.”

A collective gasp rose up and filled the room, the low murmur quickly turning into a flood of harsh sound.

“
Silence! Silence
!” Colven slammed the gavel down sharply several times. The noise abated immediately.

“How is this possible? What is she doing here?”

“I don’t know. I scanned her memories to discover her identity, but I didn’t get a chance to question her. She refused to speak, and I left her.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but... “My spies tell me Jariath of Morrigan invaded Arianrhod a few days ago, and the woman and her courier somehow escaped him.”

“They must be killed immediately. No human must be allowed to live after they have seen Oakenbourne!” said Duff.

Tristan had expected this, but to hear it said out loud sent his nerves tumbling off a cliff. “I must be allowed to question the woman further. She may have information that will help us if Jariath turns his attention to us.” Tristan took a deep breath. “I believe we should not be so quick to put the princess to death. She may be valuable to us. We have never had an occasion where another kingdom’s monarch has landed on our doorstep. We need to think this through thoroughly before we act on it.”

The council erupted with more shouting, and Colven slammed the gavel down again. “Humans have brought us nothing but destruction. We’ve always eliminated them whenever they came too close to us,” Colven reminded him.

“I know, Elder Colven. But this woman’s memories indicate she has more honor than other humans.” There were angry shouts and mocking laughter at this, so Tristan stopped and let the noise die down. He stared at the floor, thinking carefully of what to say next. He didn’t want them to think he was pleading for her life.

Turning his face up to them again, he said in a commanding voice, “Once she is put to death, it cannot be undone. It is my responsibility as chieftain to keep our people safe. I don’t know how Arianrhod or Wyndham would react if they found out that we executed their princess, but I doubt they would be pleased. I believe this would put us at risk. It’s a risk we don’t have to take right now. There is no harm in keeping them in the prison for the time being.” Council began to murmur again, weighing his words.