Chapter 5 Rhianelle
Some of the Aldarelfs in the council room appear a little drunken after the Merafall celebration yesterday. It doesn’t stop them from raising their voices in the hall. A headache creeps into my head at the shrillness of their arguments.
“Are we waiting for loss of life to act?” Thurston, governor of the western frontier delivers his concern.
“No one wins in a war,” Lord Clayborne counters wearily. I feel horrible for what I did to his son last night. Though the Aldarelf doesn’t seem to be aware of it yet.
Each one of these meetings is slowly eating at my soul. My mind eddies to the dream I had last night.
“Come find me.”
His voice whispered near my ear. My dream guy is not an elf.
But I still feel his summon in my heart and bones, calling for me from across worlds.
If only I could remember his face. The nightmare is starting to leech into my waking hours.
I quickly banish the thought and focus on the discussions at hand.
“Are there no additional motions? We should wrap this early,” Seneschal Kearne announces. “The Archon is to be honored when the sun is at its highest today.”
I take a deep breath. “That won’t be necessary. Garrett is no longer a contender for the throne,” I announce to the court.
Surprised murmurs resound in the holy chamber.
“But—but we agreed that the trial is to commence at noon,” Clayborne says, his words faltering.
“You announced that and decided things all on your own,” I say in a controlled voice. “I don’t remember agreeing to it.”
Garrett’s father slumps in his seat, completely stunned. His face twists in agony of despair and grief. The blow must be too hard for him to control his emotions, even as a High Elf.
“My son is gone…” he mutters numbly.
“The Queen has every right to eliminate her opponent as per tradition,” Kearne surmises, a light sympathy fills his voice as he looks at the distraught Aldarelf. Members of the council offer a moment of silence for Gerailt Clayborne.
The serene air shatters into noises of shock and disbelief the moment Garrett enters the hall with a grin on his face. His newly polished silver armor gleams in the soft elvenlight as he takes his place at the dais between Darstan and Aelfric.
“What is the meaning of this?” one of the Aeonians asks from their veiled position.
My heart almost stops at the question, but I slowly raise my head to look at the balcony.
Elves like every other creature, fade to aging and death sooner or later.
Even if the physical body can stand the test of time, the mind will not.
Most elves will never choose to go past two thousand years old.
The Aeonians, by the blessing of the deities, had stayed far beyond their time to become the heaven’s voice on earth.
To challenge their authority is to denounce the gods themselves.
“Lord Clayborne delivered his son’s name into the Holy Flame before the gods. It is only right that you respond,” the Elders command. “The rule of the Archon is ironclad.”
They’re going to insist I carry out the tradition.
“I have answered Lord Clayborne’s challenge. I have taken the life of his only heir,” I answer them in a clear voice. “He is my sworn knight now.”
My eyes fall on Garrett who returns my gaze with a broad smile. This is such a gamble. The Ancient Ones can have us both punished for treason.
“It has never been done before,” the same Aeonian bellows. One of them peers through their veil to look at me. A chill creeps through my veins as our gazes lock. Venomous is the only way I can describe that stare. The wrath and disdain in that look are so potent it poisons the air.
I fight through the paralyzing dread to stand my ground. “Garrett is mine. He will serve as my royal knight. His life is forfeit.”
The watchful silence persists until Kearne asks, “Is there anyone who wishes to object to this ruling?”
I hold my breath for several seconds longer. But no one from the chamber contests the decision, least of all his father.
“Then this council is concluded,” the seneschal says, his lips curling with a hint of a smile.
Most of the High Elves in the room seem relieved with the outcome.
I think we all know these ridiculous and brutal traditions of the past must be altered with time.
Blood returns to Lord Clayborne’s face as he stares at his son, standing in front of him alive and yawning.
The double iron doors suddenly swing open. Rainer enters the room in his dark emerald blazer accompanied by a young knight. I recognize the lion house crest on his breastplate as someone from the western frontier. A familiar fear clenches my heart at their sudden appearance.
“Does your insolence know no bounds? You have been banished from this court,” a stern voice from the balcony berates his arrival.
Few could get away with talking to Rainer like that. People don’t dare to breathe wrong in my uncle’s presence.
“Remove yourself from this chamber while we still have some semblance of respect for you,” another Elder echoes their disdain.
My uncle slowly raises his head to the veiled curtain. The voices quiet down immediately. Rainer has this way of eviscerating people with his stare. I guess not even the gods are spared.
“You are not welcome here,” Aldarelf Tierra says softly.
“I have good reason to be in this hall,” Rainer says through a tight jaw. “Tell them of your news, boy.”
The dark-haired knight steps forward to the centre of the court. “Your Grace, forgive me for the intrusion. I am Cedwyn Niemroht of the fifty-third infantry. I bring dark tidings from Windhaven regarding the Maiden of Arawynn.”
Blaire.
“We received word days ago that she is returning from Kheirall Balthazar’s castle, but her envoy never arrived on our doorstep,” the messenger informs, his face as grave as the solemn news he carried.
Kheirall Balthazar…
That name has haunted my mind for years. The person Blaire was allotted to is the Demon Lord himself, the one who took away Aerin’s life at Eirik’s behest. I take a deep steadying breath, struggling to keep it together. The murmuring of the council members becomes deafening to my ears.
“Did Balthazar reject our offer?” one of the Aeonians bellows, his harsh voice silencing the others.
Our people are missing and all the Elders care about is their bargain with the demon? My knuckles turn white from gripping the armchair.
“We have no news of that,” Cedwyn answers uncertainly.
“What of the maiden and her entourage? Is there any trace or information of their whereabouts at all?” I ask, my voice almost quivering.
“There is a possibility that the Maiden of Arawynn may have run away,” Commissioner Eamon dismisses before the knight can answer.
Tierra of Elwood raises her fingers to her chin in contemplation. “It would not be the first time.”
Blaire would never abandon her duties. No matter how distasteful or difficult the task was. Something must have happened to her. Nausea barrels up my throat at the thought.
“We must send another maiden for the Demon Lord,” the Aeonian cuts in, dismissing our talk.
A muscle flickers in Lord Clayborne’s jaw. “That ruling is no longer applicable as of yesterday.”
“Rumor has it the new Demon Lord is even more ruthless than his father before him,” Lord Thurston adds. “Perhaps it is a blessing the maiden did not become his bride.”
“This deal must go forth. An alliance with Hel will work in our favor,” the Aeonians demands. The finality in that tone silences all of us.
Sometimes it baffles me why Aelfheim bothers having a queen or a High Elven Council when it is truly the Aeonians who rule from the shadows. They don’t care what happens to Blaire and the others.
“Without power and allies, Aelfheim is doomed,” the Elder uses a different voice this time.
More feminine with a lilt. “With the dwarves in the north and the orcs is the west, we stand no chance against the Savage Fae of Avalon. There are talks that Eirik’s witch whore has assembled the Fae King’s beloved mount. ”
The hall falls silent at that last word. The beast of legend.
The Nythe.
I can almost hear the screeching of the monstrous wyvern.
“We must send an envoy to negotiate with the Demon Lord before it’s too late,” the Elder mandates.
“That would be a problem,” Cedwyn interrupts with a small voice. All heads turn in his direction.
“He will not agree to meet with any of us unless it’s—” the young knight pauses to cast his look upon me. “It’s you, Your Grace. He made it a prerequisite to only speak to the Queen of the Elves.”
Fear grips my throat at the revelation.
“Nonsense,” Rainer snaps at the boy.
Whispers of the demon’s treachery and the dangers of my travel filter through the chamber.
The Aeonian speaks again, “It is up to the queen whether she would sacrifice an ounce of her time to carry this negotiation for the sake of our kingdom.” There is a hint of ridicule and a challenge in that statement.
Rainer’s lips curl to a snarl. “The bastard lives in the In Between. Do you think I will let you lead my niece into a trap?”
As much as I detest being some kind of passkey for the Aeonian to bargain with a demon, I need to find out what happened to Blaire. People don’t vanish from the surface of the earth. I swallow once before rising to my feet. “So be it. I shall meet the Demon Lord, Kheirall Balthazar.”
The blow of trumpets announces the departure of our envoy to the human world.
My heart soars with pride as the mighty bell of the clocktower rings seventy-seven times, signifying the blessing of the gods.
The city has never looked more beautiful from outside the walls, with the sun baking the malachite stones on the rooftops of the buildings.