Chapter 1 #2
They walked down rough tunnels only recently hollowed out by their thaumaturges.
Enzella missed their old home in the cold northern taiga forests, where they had had a veritable honeycomb of tunnels and mounds to live in, and walked in the night under the dark firs grown together to keep out the light.
But the barbarians had realized what was stealing their people, and had forced them out with burning oil and flame.
The forest might be completely gone, Enzella thought sadly.
Burned to the ground. But Father had said this would be a good place to start over, with a new food source and a mountain range between them and their former neighbors.
But no one was allowed outside the mountain yet, except for the war bands.
The old familiar shiver of curiosity ran through her. She wanted to explore every inch of this new place, underground and above. Enzella fisted her hands in her gown to curb the wanderlust that got her palms lashed when she disappeared for too long.
They entered the great hall, the largest cavern the thaumaturges had hollowed out so far, at the height of the Unseelie Court’s festivities.
Witch lights glowed in every corner, and the imps and sprites gibbered at the lower tables, eyeing the first and second daughters of the Erlking, their graying faces sharp and envious.
Because she was Second Daughter, Enzella was required to attend the feasts when none of the other younglings could.
She wished she didn’t have to go. Tonight was one of the more riotous feasts, a result of pent up tensions from the long journey and unfinished living quarters.
Enzella followed her sister to an out-of-the-way table near the wall, close enough to the high table to avoid comment, far enough away to breathe easier.
She felt her father’s dark gaze on them.
She chanced a quick glance up. The Erlking was not watching her—he had his pitch-black eyes trained on Morwe.
He stared in silence before turning to speak to the man with two different colored eyes who stood beside him.
Enzella ducked her head before she was noticed.
As she and Morwe found seats, most of the Unseelie courtiers around them scooted away at Morwe’s icy glare, leaving a space around the two daughters of the Erlking. All except Hadrian.
“Good feasting, Morwe, Enzella,” he said, coming up to them with a smile on his face.
Enzella smiled back at him as she slipped into her seat. She liked Hadrian. His hair was not dark or pale, but some shade in between, and Hadrian didn’t smack her like Ingridon. Most of the time he spoke to her, too.
Morwe glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she placed some of the hot, oily meat from the table’s platters on Enzella’s plate. It had been cycles since they had had meat like this—the journey from the taiga to the mountains had been a lean time for the Unseelie. “Good hunting, Hadrian.”
Enzella tugged on her sleeve in plea, and Morwe placed another helping onto her platter.
“The hunting was due mostly to Ingridon.”
“Well Ingridon isn’t here, is he?” Morwe said tartly. “If you must sit, don’t speak of him.” She sat down on Enzella’s right and reached for a cup of wine and an empty goblet.
“I’ll sit by Zel,” he said, sitting on Enzellas’s other side. “She doesn’t snap at me like a hungry wolf.”
Enzella giggled as she chewed the meat, but saw Morwe roll her eyes. “She’s mad because I told her about the prisoner,” Enzella admitted.
“Whenever you open your mouth, knowledge bubbles forth,” Hadrian laughed, taking a tankard for himself.
Morwe bent towards Enzella’s ear. “You should keep it shut more often. Until you know what’s to be said and what’s not.”
“I do,” Enzella whispered. “I just tell what I think you should know. Like a moment ago, Father was watching you.”
Morwe stilled, but said in a low voice, “He watches everyone and everything, Zel. He is the Erlking. Knowledge is power. Don’t give it away lightly.”
They ate in silence for a time, letting the conversation swell and ebb around them until the meat course was taken away. Then Morwe stiffened beside her, and Enzella knew that at the high table, Father had stood. Enzella kept her eyes on her plate as the hall's voices hushed in a great susurrus.
“This night is momentous for the Unseelie,” her father said, his powerful voice rolling forth and filling the entirety of the great hall.
“We have come to a good, prosperous land, full of magic for us to use and grow strong. I made a vow to return the Unseelie to their former glory. Tonight marks the beginning of our rise. Bring out the kneph, and let us drink…deep.”
Then the doors at the far end of the hall creaked open, and the part that Enzella hated about the feast began.
As the thaumaturges brought out the ice-cold cauldrons of blue kneph, the great hall went wild.
Much of the kneph was reserved for the powerful thaumaturges, to rejuvenate their magic stores and enable them to keep hollowing out the mountain.
But the rest of the kneph stores were distributed to the imps and sprites, all who could only do a little magic, if any, to keep the kneph-sickness at bay.
Without kneph, the Unseelie developed white flaking patches of skin and a terrible hunger.
This would be their first real taste since they left the taiga.
The scene went from spirited to downright riotous and frantic as the cauldrons were distributed to the tables.
The crowd dived for the wide-mouthed cauldrons, dipping in their cups and goblets to bring them out brimming with the freezing liquid.
They slaked their thirst, gulping the liquid as it ran in rivulets around their cups and down their faces.
Visible flaking patches on faces or hands of the lower Unseelie imps shimmered and smoothed back into normal pale or gray skin as the kneph rejuvenated them from the inside out.
Enzella shrank into Morwe’s side. High-pitched screams and laughter filled the air as the imps and sprites moved with abandon, some dancing, others kissing, while a few fistfights broke out here and there if someone didn’t get their kneph quick enough.
Hadrian scooped a cup for himself and then set a full goblet in front of Morwe. Morwe wrapped her fingers around the goblet’s stem and lifted it to her lips but did not gulp as Hadrian did.
Enzella looked away. She was not allowed to drink—you couldn’t partake in the kneph until you came of age. And from what she saw at each feast, she hoped she never did.
“Sister,” Ingridon called, “look what I got you!”
Ingridon approached their table with his arm slung around his wight woman. Her cheeks were shiny and wet, and his arm was probably the only thing keeping her upright. The male captive trailed behind them, tripping every time Ingridon yanked on the rope tied to his hands.
Ingridon pulled on the rope again. The captive stumbled forward, keeping his gaze on the rushes of the floor—if he could see them. Maybe he could. There were more witch lights in the great hall than almost anywhere.
Morwe stared across the table at Ingridon. “What is that?”
“Food,” Ingridon said. “Like so.” He kissed the woman briefly, their fused lips glowing blue. Her knees went out from under her, and she nearly collapsed.
“You’re disgusting. Learn some restraint,” Morwe sneered. “That wight’s half gone already.”
Ingridon gave a satisfied sigh. “But I feel better than I have in weeks, sister dear. Straight from the source is always best. Try a sip.”
“Why, so you can congratulate yourself for curing my attitude?” she drawled, taking a sip from her cup of normal wine.
“I don’t remember mentioning your disposition, Morwe.” Ingridon glanced at Enzella and Hadrian.
Enzella shrank down in her seat. She knew what Morwe meant about her mouth.
“Not in the last hour, maybe, but it’s a constant conversation topic with you, brother.” Morwe sneered. “Have you realized that my attitude might be due to you?” She picked up her wine cup and stood. “Let me know when you finally grow half a brain, Ingridon.” She turned and started to walk away.
Growling, Ingridon dropped his prize and vaulted over the table one-handed to grab her by the hip. He slammed her into the wall and pinned her there.
“Get off me!” she hissed, locking her hand around his throat. “I’m warning you—”
“Your Arts don’t work on your own blood, Morwe; did you forget that?”
She snarled. “More’s the pity, you weasel.”
“That’s no way to speak to me, sister of mine—”
“I’m sorry I misspoke, you brat.”
Ingridon’s face twisted with hate. “Morwe….”
The loud prattle of conversations cut off like someone had slit every throat in the great hall. All could hear Yemelyan Onyxeyes, Erlking of the Unseelie, say, “Children.”
Enzella slipped off her bench and dropped under the table. She wrapped her hands over her head as a shudder twisted its way through her body.
Father’s low voice slithered powerfully through the Hall. “First Daughter. Ingridon. What is the meaning of this… disruption?”
Enzella inhaled sharply. She was only a foot away from the captives. The young man was clumsily trying to help Ingridon’s woman, who had fallen to the ground.
He looked up, his eyes searching for the sound.
Enzella swallowed hard, staring into his eyes as he squinted at her. Could he make her out in the shadows?
After a long, pregnant silence, Ingridon said, “Father, Morwe refused to accept my gift to her.”
“Why is that, First Daughter?”
Morwe’s voice was subdued. “Father, I did not refuse. But I don’t need to replenish my magic stores. This one can go to someone else.”
“Morwe, your brother was thoughtful enough to give you this gift. You will accept it. Do not squabble over trifles, children. Apologize to each other. Tonight is for feasting, not fighting.”
Enzella did not hear her siblings’ half-hearted apologies. She watched the young man’s eyes until someone jerked him to his feet and he disappeared from her sight.