Crown of Crystal Flame (19 page)

“Well then, what’s the closest village with an open port before the Point? Take me there. I’ll pay extra if we can leave tonight.”

“Leave me.” Annoura commanded in a cold, emotionless tone.

Her Ladies-in-Waiting instantly obeyed, dropping deep curtsies as they backed out of what had been the king’s bedchamber. Since destroying her own bedchamber, Annoura had taken to sleeping in Dorian’s. The decision had been a matter of convenience at first, but she realized almost immediately that being here, among his things, soothed her as very little else could these days.

Annoura rose from the dressing table and crossed the room to Dorian’s bed. She felt closer to him here. One of his robes lay on the coverlet. She wrapped herself in it and crawled into his bed, laying her head on his pillow. His scent surrounded her, almost as if he were here, holding her in his arms. Hugging that illusion close, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

As she had every night since his death, Annoura dreamed of Dorian. Not the cold and distant Dorian he’d been their last weeks together, but the Dorian as he’d been when they first met. Dazzling. Seductive. Devoted. The most intensely passionate man she’d ever met. With hazel eyes that could glow like stars and a mouth that drove her mad when he whispered kisses across her skin.

Tonight, like the other nights since his death, she dreamed they were back in the secluded garden terrace in Capellas, where they’d shared their first kiss. The lilac trees were blooming, as they’d been that day so long ago. Dorian stood on the terrace’s stone pavers, older than he had been on the day of their first kiss, but still a dark, lustrous jewel, framed by the lilac’s soft hues. The wind ruffled his hair and blew the hem of his rich velvet surcoat about him. He held out a hand, his hazel eyes full of love, and spoke her name. “Annoura.”

“Dorian.” She reached for him and nearly wept when the warmth of his hand closed about hers and the familiar heat of his mouth possessed her lips. Unlike the day of their first kiss, the dream Dorian didn’t simply kiss her and declare his love. Instead, he bore her down upon a bed of soft lilacs, and cool, intoxicating fragrance enveloped her with dizzying sweetness.

Dorian’s hands smoothed burning paths down her body. She arched against him, calling his name, pleading with him to join his body with hers. Fearful that, like every other night, the dream Dorian would once again drive her to a frenzy of need, then evaporate, leaving her empty and aching and sobbing into her pillow.

Tonight, however, as her need reached its peak and the Dorian of her dreams started to fade and pull away from her, she clung to him, weeping and pleading for him not to go. “Please, dearling, don’t go! Stay with me. I’ll do anything, only please don’t go. Don’t go!”

“Anything, Annoura?” he asked. “Will you give yourself to me, heart and soul, willingly and without reservation? Will you surrender everything you are to me? “

Annoura hesitated. Something in Dorian’s voice didn’t sound right, and for a moment she could swear his hazel eyes had turned dark—almost black.

Her hesitation must have convinced him she was insincere, because he started to fade again. She could feel him growing insubstantial in her hands, dissolving like mist.

“Wait!” she cried. If she let him go, she would wake and find herself alone again. And the pain of that aloneness was more than she could bear. She’d do anything to keep him with her, even just as a dream. “Yes. Yes, of course. Anything, Dorian. Only don’t leave me.”

His hand caressed her face. “Then say it, dearest. You must say the words, so I can stay with you.”

She didn’t know the words he meant, but suddenly they were there, on her tongue, tumbling past her lips. “I surrender myself to you without reservation. My body and soul are yours to command.” The moment she said the words, it was like some bubble of pressure burst inside her, and she drew a sobbing breath. “Now please, Dorian, please stay with me. Please.”

Dorian smiled. “Of course, darling.” He bent to claim her mouth in a deep and passionate kiss.

As he did, a sudden, piercing coldness stabbed Annoura’s heart. She cried out in surprise, and began to struggle against him. Her eyes opened in sudden fear, and her mouth opened to scream.

In the bedchamber of the late King Dorian X, Kolis Manza blew another puff of
somulus
powder into the waking queen’s face. Instantly, the scream died silent in her throat, and her beautiful blue eyes went hazy once more. Her naked, struggling body went lax and pliable against his.

“I’m here, darling,” he whispered reassuringly. “I’ll never leave you again.” His tongue thrust deep into her mouth as his sex plunged deep into her body.

And on the satiny, alabaster skin of Annoura’s left breast, the shadow of Kolis Manza’s first Mark lay like a bruise over her heart.

Elvia ~ Navahele

In the heart of Elvia’s ancient Deep Woods, the Sentinel tree called Grandfather, a colossal arboreal giant planted in the Time Before Memory, spread his branches wide across the mossy glens and misty silver pools of the great Elvish city of Navahele. Far, far beneath the surface of Grandfather’s island, burrowed into the heartwood of his mile-deep taproot, the Elf king Galad Hawksheart floated in the phosphorescent blue glow of his Mirror pool. Long strands of golden hair floated about his face and shoulders. The cream-colored fabric of his full leggings floated, too, transparent and weightless in the water of the pool. His eyes were closed, their piercing green vision turned inward, as his mind and his soul traveled through the complex webs of the Dance, seeking answers, revelation. Understanding.

For the first time in his ten thousand years, Galad Hawks-heart was blind. The Song—Ellysetta Erimea’s Song, to which he had dedicated his entire life and sacrificed countless others—was singing, but he could not See its Verses clearly.

And so he submerged himself in the magical waters of his Mirror, and every chime of the day and night, he searched the Dance for the answers that eluded him.

A familiar sentience brushed his consciousness. Cool and ageless. He recognized her instantly, of course.

His sister, his twin, Illona Brighthand, the Lady of Silvermist. Queen and coruler of Elvia, though she had long ago left Navahele—and, with it, him. She had secluded herself in her palace in the cloud-forests of the Silvermist mountains, leaving the rule of all Elvia east of those mountains to him—along with all interaction in the world on behalf of the Dance. She had never spoken to him again after leaving.

And so they had lived the last two thousand years.

Until now.

Galad.
She spoke his name, and her voice was like a crystal chime upon the wind. So pure, so beautiful. Gentle, yet so fiercely unyielding.

Sister.
He included no warmth, no surprise, in the voice he sent soaring across time and space, but she would not be fooled. Of all creatures in the world, she knew him better than anyone, even Grandfather.

Erimea’s Song confounds you.

Of course she knew. She had her own Mirror in Silvermist. She left the interpretation of the Dance to him, but that did not mean she did not watch, as he did. She also knew how to follow the faint ethereal traces of his presence, to know which Verses of the Song he had Seen, which he had returned to time and time again.

Most of all, she knew which Verses should have been certain, fixed, unchangeable—and which, now, were not.

She is leinah thaniel.
Illona’s cool voice whispered across his mind.

You don’t know that,
he retorted.
The Dark One may simply have chosen to play a different Verse.
That was the one limitation of Elvish Sight. They could never See Shadow clearly except where there was Light. He could watch his cousin Elfeya’s torture in Eld because she was of the Light, but Eld activities that involved only other Shadowfolk appeared only sporadically, and then only as murky, constantly-shifting possibilities instead of certainties. Past events were easier to see, but to Shadow-Sung futures, he remained dangerously blind.

You know I am right.

Bayas.

All the denial in the world won’t change the truth, Galad. She is what she is. Bayas,
he denied.

Anio. She is leinah thaniel. The Elves must go to war. No matter the cost, we cannot let Shadow win.

Eld ~ Boura Fell

“Master Maur!” Primage Vargus stood at attention as the High Mage strode into the war room in a swirl of purple silk and visible purpose. “Your orders, Most High?”

“It is time. Tell the generals to prepare their men. They attack on my signal.”

“Yes, Most High. I’ll contact them immediately.”

Vadim leaned against the map table, with its glowing vertical display of the armies and battlefields stretched across Celieria’s northern border. “And tell Horan to release his pets.”

Celieria ~ Orest

“Lord Teleos!” The armored soldier raced from the battlements of Upper Orest into what had once been a lush conservatory overlooking the magnificent falls of Kierya’s Veil and Maiden’s Gate. The building now served as Lord Teleos’s command center, and the soaring glass walls and ceilings provided a perfect panoramic view of Upper Orest and the vast stretch of Eld and Celieria to the east, separated by the wide dark ribbon of the Heras River.

Devron Teleos looked up from the table where he and his generals were reviewing the defense plans for Upper Orest and the hastily rebuilt lower city. The look on the approaching soldier’s face brought Lord Teleos to his feet, his spine stiffening with a mix of dread and grim resolve. “What is it?”

“Something approaches in the skies to the north, my lord,” the soldier gasped.

Teleos headed to the glass walls of the conservatory. One of the Celierian generals was already there, spyglass raised and pointed north. “What in the Bright Lord’s name is that?”

Teleos followed the man’s gaze and saw tiny black specks on the horizon. What appeared to be a flock of dark birds was flying towards them across the forests of Eld. The Fey blood in Lord Teleos’s veins had blessed him with a variety of gifts, including the ability to see much greater distances than mortal eyes could. His eyes narrowed, bringing the distant shapes into closer focus. He saw the barbed and taloned wings, the long white fangs, the iridescent sheen of black scales, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

“Bright Lord save us,” he breathed. “Dragons. Dragons are coming.” To the gathered Celierian military leaders, he issued a spate of orders. “Captain Morrow, sound the alarm. Get the women and children to Maiden’s Gate. Order every able-bodied man and boy capable of wielding a bow to report to the armories. And light the signal fires. We’re going to need all the help we can get before this is over. General Arlon, tell the cannoneers to arm the bowcannon with ice shot.”

To the Fey general who had led his men to Dharsa to defend Orest from the Eld, Dev said, “General vel Shevahn, we’ll need every Fey you can spare on the wizard’s wall.”

The Fey bowed his head. “Already done, Lord Teleos. We’ll shield as much of the city as we can against dragon fire, but be aware that whatever we do to keep out the dragons will keep the tairen out, too. And we’ll have to lower the wall shields each time we fire, or the ice shot will be useless. “

“Understood. Do what you can.” On threads of Spirit spun intentionally too weak to travel far, he added,
«And call the Feyreisen. I count twenty dragons coming in. The tairen are outnumbered.»

Celieria ~ Kreppes

Rain and Ellysetta raced for the clearing just south of their encampment. The defenders of Orest were in trouble. Four tairen didn’t stand a chance against twenty dragons, even with the Mists to aid them.

Torasul had already sung the call to Sybharukai, and except for two of the great cats remaining behind to watch over the kits, Fey’Bahren had emptied. The entire pride was winging towards Orest to protect their kin and fight alongside the Fey and Lord Teleos’s men.

Rain wished he could say the same for the Fey, but a frantic weave to the Massan had proved that blind idiocy still reigned supreme in the Fading Lands’ governing council. They were convinced that Rain, not the Eld, were to blame for the war and that Rain’s devotion to Ellysetta had blinded him to the danger she posed.

«lf not for you, there would be no war!»
Tenn accused.
«From the moment you arrived in Celieria, you convinced yourself the Eld were a threat to the world, and you refused to hear a single voice of reason. You beat the drums of war without cease. You convinced Dorian to build up his troops. You built Fey garrisons at Orest and Teleon, built up Fey and Celierian military presence on the borders. Is it any wonder the Eld attacked?

«You, Tairen Soul, made Celieria the target. You—not the Eld—ordered thousands of fine Fey warriors to their deaths! But the Massan will not endanger more Fey lives by condoning your madness and your senseless war of aggression against Eld.»

«You are a fool, Tenn,»
Rain replied.
«I am not the enemy. Perhaps you think I don’t deserve to wear the crown your brother once did. But Johr Feyreisen would never have condoned your actions. You bring shame to your family line.»

«How dare you!»

«I give you fair warning, v’En Eilan. When this is over, and Ellysetta and I have completed our bond, I intend to claim my throne. I suggest you do not stand in the way.»

Magic exploded in a billowing cloud of gray mist as Rain Changed on the run and soared into the sky. He wheeled back and dipped low over the field. Ellysetta timed her mount perfectly, leaping up on a jet of Air and landing in the saddle as he dove past.

«Bel, Gaelen, gather the Fey and as many Celierians as can be spared and follow us,»
Rain commanded.
«The Massan have refused their support. We’re on our own, but we can’t let the Eld take the Veil.»

«We’ll be right behind you, Rain,»
Bel vowed.