Chapter 4 Rhianelle
The morning light filters through my chamber windows, but it does nothing to warm the empty space where Svenn should be. The bed feels too large without him. I run my fingers across the sheets where he once lay, searching for any lingering trace of him. His scent fades more each day.
I pull my shawl tighter, trying not to count the days since he left. It's been three weeks since he departed to fight the rebel orcs. Reports come through Lord Wesley that Ravenrock has been retaken and Ironhold is secured.
There's been no word from Svenn himself.
The silence is worse than any terrible news could be.
It leaves room for my imagination to conjure every horrible possibility.
Is he wounded? Is he safe? The questions circle endlessly in my mind and I have no answers.
I can't stop imagining all the ways I could lose him.
My gaze drifts to the leather-bound book on my nightstand. I've been avoiding it all week. Its pages hold such beautiful possibility. I trace the ancient symbols on its cover, my chest tight with a grief I can't yet name.
The Rhunhraefn grows stronger each day. I feel it in the air when I draw breath, in the faint tremor beneath my skin.
The curse is not a thing meant to be endured.
It was forged for ending, not keeping. Soon I will lose control.
I have already felt it slip once. Shadow rose at my command and I let it.
Chains coiled around Svenn before I could pull the darkness back. I have not forgiven myself for that.
The answer is in this book but the cost...
I close my eyes and set it aside.
I don't want to let him go.
A pitiful whimper draws my attention to the corner. Coral has curled herself into the tightest ball a horse-sized wyvern can manage. She's shivering, her pale scales lacking their usual luster.
"Cold again?" I ask softly, though I know the answer. For a creature from the wilderness of the fae lands, she's remarkably unsuited to any sort of discomfort.
She lifts her head just enough to give me a nod. Her large, mournful eyes could rival any puppy's. Another shiver runs through her body.
"A fearsome wyvern, afraid of a little chill," I murmur fondly, fetching the thickest blanket from my coffer.
I drape the heavy wool over her, tucking it around her bulk. She immediately burrows deeper. Only her snout is visible beneath the mound of fabric now. A contented rumble emerges from the blanket pile.
The door creaks open slightly. I catch Lenna peeking in, with Tallula right behind her.
"Your Highness," Lenna whispers, though her eyes are fixed on Coral's blanket fortress. "We were wondering if we could play with her."
"Come in," I say, unable to suppress a small smile. "But quietly. She's drowsy."
They slip inside carefully, closing the door behind them. Tallula brings forward something she's been hiding. A wreath woven from red orchids.
"We made this for her," Tallula says shyly. "Since she's... well, she's part of your household now, isn't she?"
The gesture touches something deep in my chest. Even Coral has someone thinking of her during Isolwen's Eve.
"Would you like to put it on her?"
They shake their heads quickly. "Oh no. She won't let us near when you're not holding her."
It's true. I discovered this peculiarity yesterday when Lenna tried to bring her food. Coral had retreated so far into the corner she'd nearly pushed herself through the wall.
The coward.
I take the wreath and approach the blanket mound. "Coral, the ladies brought you something."
A suspicious eye appears from beneath the wool. When she sees the wreath, she emerges just enough for me to place it gently on her head. The red orchids look almost comical against her pale scales, but she preens as if she's been crowned queen herself.
"She's beautiful," Lenna breathes, and Coral's preening intensifies.
I fetch the bowl of roasted chicken strips I'd prepared earlier. As expected, Coral won't even look at it until I pick up a piece myself and offer it from my hand. Only then does she delicately take it, as if she's doing me a great favor by eating.
"Spoiled beast," I mutter, but I continue hand-feeding her while my handmaidens watch with delight.
By the time the bowl is empty, Coral's eyes are drooping. The combination of food, warmth, and attention has worked its usual magic. She settles back into her blanket nest with the orchid wreath sliding slightly askew on her head. Within moments, she's snoring softly.
"We should let her rest," I whisper to Lenna and Tallula.
They nod, casting one last fond look at the sleeping wyvern before departing. I adjust Coral's blanket one final time, ensuring she's completely covered.
"Watch over my chambers, brave protector," I say dryly to the snoring pile of blankets and flowers.
A particularly loud snore is my only response. Despite everything weighing on me, I find myself smiling as I head to the temple. The war, Svenn's absence, the crushing weight of the crown all fade for just a moment. At least I'm not completely alone.
The temple bells chime across the city, heralding Isolwen's Eve. Tonight, all of Aelfheim honors the Goddess of Mercy.
Soft red banners flutter from every window, painting the streets in rosy waves.
The capital has transformed itself in gentle hues.
Everywhere I turn, red orchids bloom in lovers' hands.
They pass between sweethearts like whispered promises or are pinned to winter cloaks.
I've lost count of how many girls I've seen today with the flower tucked behind their ears.
Its velvet petals are said to ward off dark magic and shield the heart from malevolent spirits.
The tradition stretches back centuries, ever since the founding of Aelfheim.
The temple is quiet when I arrive. Most of the faithful have already gone to the street celebrations. I find Blaire in the recovery wing, propped against several pillows. Her left arm is bound in white linen and purple bruises mottle her face.
A broken arm and three cracked ribs, the healers told me. They're mending slowly with Anastarros's blessing, but pain still shadows her expression.
I settle into the chair beside her bed. "You look terrible."
"You look worse. Happy Isolwen's Eve to you too." She manages a weak smile. "Help me sit up properly?"
I ease her forward, adjusting the pillows behind her back. She nods toward the tray on her bedside table. "The soup's terrible. I think the acolytes are trying to poison me."
But the bowl is empty. She finished it anyway, because Blaire and I both know what it's like to go hungry. Food is precious, even when it tastes like boiled leather.
Her good hand finds mine, careful of her bandaged wrists. "When did you last eat?"
"This morning," I lie.
She gives me a look. "The kitchens made honey cakes. Your favorite."
"I'm not hungry," I mutter. I glance toward the window where children's voices drift up from below, high and sweet as they sing the Isolwen's Songs. They don't know that their peaceful kingdom balances on the edge of a blade.
"I hate not knowing," I admit quietly. "The fae have gone silent. There hasn't been a single wyvern scout in weeks."
Blaire shifts against the pillows, wincing as the movement pulls at her bandaged shoulder. "They're planning something."
I nod slowly.
"We need real intelligence. Not guesswork or rumors," she continues.
I lean forward. "What do you suggest?"
"There's a small town called Greenvale on the triple border where Aelfheim meets Avalon and Myrkheim.
" She meets my eyes, a hint of her old confidence returning.
"Merchants and travelers pass through constantly.
Information flows like water there. If the fae are planning something big, someone there will know. "
My brow furrows. "You want me to send scouts?"
"I'll go there myself once I've healed enough." She holds up her good hand before I can protest. "Hear me out. You show up with an armed company, everyone clams up or runs. But one person traveling quietly, asking the right questions—"
My chest tightens. "I just got you back. It's too dangerous."
"Everything's dangerous now." She exhales slowly. "This might be our only chance."
"There's a pleasure house in the village called the Painted Moth." Blaire shifts in her seat. "Fae commanders go there. They drink, they talk. I can get in as a worker. Gather what intelligence I can about Eirik's plans."
"Maybe I could go," I offer.
"You can't read minds."
"But I can read people." I tilt my head slightly. "Let me do this, Blaire."
She studies me for a long moment. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken concerns. Finally, something in her expression shifts.
"I wasn't sold on the whole vampire thing at first." A rueful smile touches her lips. "But he's good for you. Svenn."
Just hearing his name makes my chest tighten with longing. I try to keep my face neutral, but Blaire has always seen through my masks.
She sighs softly. "You miss him terribly, don't you?"
I can only nod. The ache of his absence sits like a stone in my throat.
She squeezes my hand gently. "He's doing this because he loves you."
Something in her certainty makes me pause. "Did you read his mind?"
Her expression turns almost wistful. "No. He's different. His thoughts are a complete void."
Blaire's gift has been part of her for as long as I've known her.
Back in Astefar she could slip into minds and guide us away from danger.
We were just two desperate girls trying to survive then.
She always knew which villagers were plotting to sell us to the slavers and which ships carried chains in their holds.
Her ability to hear the unspoken became our compass through those dark years.
"It's unsettling. I think it's because vampires are already dead." She frowns slightly, considering.
I pull my knees up to my chest. "It could be…"