Chapter 11 Rhianelle #2
I don't tell him that the seventy-seven gods of Aelfheim have no power here. In Avalon, different rules apply.
I step down from the carriage onto soft grass. Behind me, I hear the carriage door close and I don't look back. Looking back would only make this harder. I straighten my spine and begin walking toward the distant glow of the tree.
Music drifts through the air, the sounds of a celebration already well underway. I join the flow of masked guests moving toward the entrance, keeping my steps measured and confident. I belong here. I have every right to be here. The mask will make sure no one thinks otherwise.
An attendant appears at my elbow.
"Welcome to Calanmai," he says, his voice like wind through autumn leaves. I take his extended hand and step forward, letting him guide me toward the spiraling stairs carved into the trunk.
"First time attending?" he asks pleasantly.
"Yes," I say, keeping my voice light and unremarkable. The mask should handle the rest, making my answer forgettable even as he hears it.
"You'll find the main festivities on the third platform," he continues, gesturing upward. "Though guests are welcome to explore all levels. The Dawnroot has many secrets for those curious enough to seek them."
It sounds like an invitation and a warning.
"I'll keep that in mind," I say.
He releases my hand and steps back, already turning to greet the next arrival. I'm dismissed and forgotten, exactly as I need to be.
I place my hand on the railing and begin to climb. The living wood seems to pulse faintly beneath my palm. There's no turning back now. I walk deeper into the heart of enemy territory with each step.
Inside, the opulence is overwhelming. Chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling but they're not like any chandeliers I've ever seen. They're made from the tree's own branches, twisted into elegant spirals and hung with crystals. The effect is like standing inside a sunset that never ends.
I force myself to start moving again before someone notices me standing frozen like a fool.
Musicians occupy a platform directly above this one.
I can see them through gaps in the leaves.
One plays what looks like a harp strung with spider silk.
The music is haunting and seductive. I feel the pull of it, the invitation to dance and lose myself in the celebration.
I resist. Barely.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I move deeper into this den of beautiful monsters. These are beings who have lived for thousands of years and perfected the arts of deception. One slip and I'm dead.
After the first terrible minutes, I begin to relax a little.
Just enough to think clearly instead of through a haze of panic.
The mask's magic holds perfectly. No one looks at me twice or remembers my face two seconds after turning away.
I'm a ghost in their court, invisible and insignificant.
But I keep my guard raised at all times.
A server passes by with a tray of drinks and food. My stomach growls despite my wariness. I haven't eaten since before dawn, too nervous about this mission to keep anything down. But I don't touch the food.
Fae food is dangerous. Everyone knows the stories. One bite and you're bound to this realm for eternity. And nothing is more dangerous than fae wine. It tastes like the one thing you want most and then strips it from you, leaving you hollow and desperate for more.
I pass a group of winged fae. Their wings are magnificent, varying from delicate bat-like membranes to solid black feathers. Near one of the carved support columns, a veiled nymph holds court. I catch fragments as I pass.
"—the eastern border is practically undefended," one of the nobles is saying, his voice low but not quite low enough. "If Eirik orders the attack now—"
"He won't," the nymph interrupts. "Not until after Calanmai. It would be... inappropriate."
"Since when does Eirik Bloodhound care about appropriateness?"
Laughter, dark and knowing.
I commit every word to memory and move on before they notice I've been lingering too long.
My hand drifts toward the pouch at my waist. The summoning chalk inside is my only weapon, but using it would be suicide.
Everyone knows the Queen of Aelfheim is a summoner.
So the chalk stays in its pouch. I continue collecting fragments of conversation like a crow collecting shiny things.
Most of it is useless gossip about affairs and feuds but occasionally I catch something valuable.
Each piece adds to the picture forming in my mind. Eirik is ready for war. He's just waiting for the right moment to strike.
That moment might be soon.
I need more specifics. Numbers, timing, weak points in their strategy. Anything I can use to prepare our defenses.
The music shifts again, becoming more insistent. The rhythm seems to reach inside my chest and squeeze. Around me, fae nobles sway and laugh to the hypnotic symphony.
I miss Svenn.
I wish I could dance with him to this beautiful melody. His hand would be at my waist and his eyes on mine. He would give me that rare smile that softens his face.
But he's not here.
He's chained in some mountain cave, fighting his own battle. The ache of missing him catches me off guard.
I need to clear my head and get out of here. Just for a moment.
I slip away from the main platform. The corridor I find is quieter and the music fades to a dull throb behind me. Doors line both sides of the hallway. I pause, uncertain which one to try. They all look the same.
The third one on the left, the Un whispers. I thank my dark patrons silently.
My hand finds the brass handle and turns it. The door opens without sound, revealing a small chamber lit by a single lamp. It appears empty. Just a few chaises and an oval table.
I step inside and close the door behind me. My hands tremble as I reach up and lift the mask from my face. The relief is immediate. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The cool air feels like mercy.
Cruel laughter echoes through the chamber.
What?
I look around frantically for somewhere to hide.
Oh no. Oh no.
Curtains are the worst cover. The table is solid with no space underneath. There's nothing, no place to hide.
A large serving trolley sits in the corner.
It's laden with half-empty platters and draped with cloth that hangs nearly to the floor. Someone brought food here earlier and never cleared it away. I dive for it, dropping into a crouch and pressing myself into the small space. The cloth provides imperfect coverage. It will have to do.
I force myself to be still.
Through a gap in the fabric, I can see the far end of the room. This is a war room and the fae commanders are having a meeting. They move into the antechamber where I'm hiding, completely unaware of my presence. I slow my breathing, making each inhale and exhale as quiet as possible.
The curtain is pulled aside and figures emerge.
First comes Mavren, the orc king. He's seven feet tall and his shoulders are broad enough that he has to turn slightly to fit through the doorway. He wears Myrkheim formal court clothing of leather and fur. Two tribal leaders walk with him, their faces painted with war markings.
Behind him come two dwarf lords. They're shorter than Mavren but no less dangerous. Their axes hang at their belts.
And then I see them.
My breath catches in my throat. Kheirall and Ragnar.
Kheirall looks more weary than the last time I saw him in the human world. He was so carefree back when he officiated my wedding ceremony in the forest. Exhaustion haunts the elegant lines of his face and his membranous wings fold tight against his back.
Ragnar moves gracefully beside him, dressed more simply than the others in practical black leather. But his presence fills the room nonetheless.
They serve Eirik Bloodhound. But they're also… complicated. Friends isn't the right word. But not entirely enemies either.
"We should strike immediately," the Orkan warrior sitting next to Mavren suggests. "Every day we wait, the elves fortify further."
My fingers dig into my palms.
"Patience," Mavren says smoothly. "We should consider our approach carefully."
A dark-haired fae noble enters the room and takes his seat. "We have seadragons, wyverns, and mammoths. What is there to consider?"
"Raw power means nothing without proper strategy," Kheirall replies.
"Prince Finnbheara's plan is ingenious. We're hitting Volundr first," the dwarf lord says. "Their ports will be destroyed, cutting their supplies."
This is it. This is the intelligence I came for.
My heart is hammering so loud I'm certain they can hear it. But they don't even glance toward my hiding place. I press myself smaller against the wall.
The conversation continues, the fae noble adding details of troop numbers, supply routes, contingency plans.
Every word is precious and I keep listening.
That's when Kheirall's eyes find mine through the trolley's covering. The world narrows to that single moment. Those black, endless eyes meet mine through the gap in the fabric. Recognition flares in them.
I go absolutely still.
Oh no.
Kheirall sees me. He knows I'm here.
One word from him and the Orkan warrior would tear this trolley apart. They all would find me cowering behind it. The dwarf lords would drag me before Eirik Bloodhound. I'd be tortured for information, killed slowly and turned into a message to send back to Aelfheim.
This is where I die. In the heart of enemy territory.
But Kheirall's expression doesn't change. He looks away, continuing smoothly, "The seadragons are already in position near Volundr, are they not?"
"Yes," Mavren confirms. "Ksatka has them ready to strike the coastal defenses."
"Volundr falls, we control the sea and all of Aelfheim," Kheirall says.
My breath releases in a silent rush as he continues speaking. He's not going to expose me. But he saw me… I'm certain he saw me.
"How many legions for the coastal assault?" Ragnar asks, speaking for the first time.
"Three. Maybe four if we pull forces from the eastern border," the dwarf lord answers.
"Seems rushed," Ragnar says, his tone carefully casual. "Are we certain the forces are ready?"
I hold my breath. He's fishing for information, trying to make them reveal their plans.
"Three days is more than enough time," the fae commander responds sharply. "Last night of Calanmai, when our magic is at its peak."
They continue discussing logistics. Every detail is another piece of intelligence that could save lives.
I commit every word to memory, creating a mental map of their battle plan.
My legs are cramping from crouching in this position and my lungs burn from breathing so shallowly. But I don't dare move.
Volundr first.
The seadragons will attack the coastal defenses while the city is unprepared. Their main force will march on the capital while we're scrambling to respond to the coastal assault.
My hometown will be the first to face Eirik's wrath.
But at least Volundr has the best defenses of any coastal city in Aelfheim. They've been fighting sea monsters for centuries. If I can get this information back in time, we can reinforce them.
I hear a voice in my mind.
Hello there, little elf queen.
I nearly gasp aloud. Kheirall. He's speaking directly into my thoughts.
I open my mental shield and let Kheirall in.
You don't call, you don't visit, his voice echoes in my head, tinged with amusement. I was starting to think you've forgotten me.
I've been busy, I think back at him, my mental voice sharp.
Ah yes. A pause. How's the vampire?
He's still adjusting but he's doing great, I keep my voice light, careful not to reveal that Svenn is chained in a cave right now fighting the bond's worst impulses during the eclipse.
Is your husband treating you well?
Svenn is wonderful, I reply immediately.
Ah. Understanding in that single syllable. And yet here you are, walking into the lion's den without him.
He's tied up with something at the moment. I needed the intelligence, I think back. Why are you helping me?
The silence that follows is heavy.
When Kheirall finally answers, his voice is quiet. This will be an annihilation, Rhianelle. Aelfheim doesn't stand a chance against the combined might of Avalon, Myrkheim, Darvan, and Hel.
My chest tightens. Then join us. Help us fight them.
My allegiance remains with Eirik. The other three demon lords have already agreed to this war. We are bound.
Kheirall—
Run. His voice cuts through my protest. Take what you've learned and run. Save those you love, get them out, because when this war comes, your kingdom will fall.
The weight of his words crushes down on me. He's helping me knowing it won't change anything. Aelfheim is doomed.
Thank you, I think at him.
Don't thank me yet. You still need to get out of here alive. His presence withdraws slightly from my mind.
"I shall get us more refreshments," Ragnar says suddenly, his voice cutting through the discussion. The berserker's hand grips the trolley's handle.
I tense, every muscle locked. The trolley shifts as he pulls it away from the wall.
I'm moving now, being wheeled out of the chamber while the other commanders continue their discussion.
The wheels creak softly. Ragnar moves at a steady pace, careful not to draw suspicion. He finally stops when we're well away.
A deep, weary sound leaves his chest.
"I wish it didn't have to be this way," he says to no one. His voice is quiet, almost sad. "The kitchen is to the left on the second door. The ballroom is right up the stairs."
Then his footsteps fade, moving away down the corridor. I extract myself from the trolley on shaking legs. My muscles are cramped from being held in that position for so long. I have to grip the trolley's edge to keep from falling.
I can hear the distant clatter of kitchen work just as Ragnar said. The music from the ballroom drifts down from above, still in full celebration.
Kheirall and Ragnar protected me. When the battle comes, I'll be standing against them. But I don't have the luxury of grief right now. I need to find a way out of this tree and deliver this information.