Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Alvara had never been more relieved to see the imposing silhouette of Tasírath. Spending the past few days traveling with Pyry had been about as enjoyable as trying to shape metal over a feeble flame.
The city walls oozed with gaudy flowers that had no business existing this time of year, while a ridiculous number of guards clad in gleaming armor stood watch atop the gates. Quite an excessive defense system for a city of people who loved plants.
At the base of the entrance, a few of the guards grappled with a young female in a long yellow dress smudged with dirt. One of the larger elves grabbed her by the arm, wrenching her toward the city, and she tossed herself backward with an ear-splitting screech.
Eloisa. That could’ve been her on her first day in Tasírath. Blood rushed through Alvara’s ears. She descended from her horse and shoved the reins in Pyry’s hand, who trapped hers in his own with a look of disapproval she was quite used to.
“Don’t.”
She scowled, yanked herself free of his grasp, and rubbed her fingers against her coat, as if that would rid her of the minty scent from that damn soap he loved so much. She used to inhale it like a drug, but now it only made her sick. “Feel free to sit here and do nothing. I’m helping her.”
She stomped toward the guard without even a seed of a plan, just logic-numbing ice in her veins. What could go wrong?
The female tore at the iron grip imprisoning her, and Alvara rushed toward her. “Excuse me! What’s going on here?”
The nearest guard, shorter than the others but still lithe like his companions, spoke. “That’s none of your concern.”
Technically he was right. But that wasn’t going to stop her. “It is my concern if you’re dragging this elf somewhere with no good reason.” The young elf kept her eyes trained on the ground, cowering as if Alvara were more terrifying than her fate at the hands of the city guards.
“An elf? She’s nothing but a human.” The woman’s captor tugged on her light hair and revealed round ears. “She is trespassing on our lands.”
Alvara opened her mouth to speak, but only hot breath floated from her lips. A human. Ela was much closer to the border of the elven realm, Alfahem, than Dalvi, and its terrain easier to travel, but… “Trespassing?”
“Humans are not allowed in Ela,” the shorter guard said, as if that were a common rule everyone knew. Yet none of the kingdoms held any laws against humans that Alvara knew of.
She straightened her back. “Even if that’s true, you can turn her away. There’s no need for this.”
“That is for the king, and only the king, to decide.”
Alvara’s gut writhed with frustration as they hauled the young woman away, whose face now streamed with tears.
The head guard turned on Alvara and blocked her path to the city. “What’s your name?”
“Is there a problem?” Damn it, Pyry. He appeared at Alvara’s side and stepped in front of her, obscuring her view of the guards that she had been handling perfectly fine on her own.
“We need your names in order to allow entry.”
Alvara doubted that very much, but before she could stop him, Pyry—forever a rule follower—gave their full names to the guard, who let them pass with a grumble.
Pyry placed a warm hand on her shoulder and guided her back to the horses. “Why do you always insert yourself in situations that will only cause you trouble?”
She let her silence speak for her. Ever since losing his father, Pyry always avoided conflict, doing whatever it took to maintain smooth waters. But life wasn’t and never would be a placid Dalvian lake, something they had never agreed on.
As they entered Tasírath’s gates, Alvara’s ears pricked with the musical cadence of the voices of the elves that milled about, while vivid pinks and purples, oranges and yellows jumped out from each piece of clothing, almost as startling as the shapeshifters in Nyr.
She removed her coat and glared at the vine-choked structures that made up the city.
Grand archways overshadowed most of the buildings, hanging with colorful blooms that matched those carved into each door, some of which even flaunted glistening gems at the center.
A city of such beauty had swallowed her sister whole.
Alvara sent Pyry off to the nearest stable to settle their steeds with well-deserved hay and water, while she carried Jalomir’s sword to the palace. He would be fine on his own, and she needed the space. The sooner she saw this task to the end, the better.
Tasírath’s bright colors and equally sunny residents clogged her senses as she made her way through the bustling streets toward the king’s residence, where a large group of guards lingered at the main doors.
They would know the quickest way to the noble who awaited the weapon, but that also meant she needed to somehow approach them while holding a sword without looking like she was about to skewer them and storm the palace.
Alvara held the sheathed blade flat in her hands and stretched her arms as far away from her as they would go.
Great, now she just looked out of her mind.
A guard’s green gaze snapped to her, and she strained her mouth to its limits in what she hoped was a smile that said, I’m not going to murder you, I promise.
“Excuse me. I’m delivering this weapon for one of the nobles.
If I give you their name, would you be able to point me in the right direction? ”
“And your name is?”
These elves really needed to find something else to fill their time other than learning everyone’s names.
No one outside of Vorianta would have the slightest idea of who Alvara was, and even there, she would barely be able to fill the fingers on both of her hands with the number of people who remembered her. “Alvara Himren.”
He plucked the sword from her hold and marched over to the other guards, and the smile melted right off Alvara’s lips. However much Jalomir was being paid for this delivery, it was not enough.
But if the palace was any indication, the Elan client no doubt had more than enough coin to make up for the inconveniences of the journey.
The entire structure had been constructed around the largest tree she had ever seen, its gnarled umber branches reaching so high they blended with the clouds before she could spot where they ended.
Scarlet blossoms dripped from the ancient giant in every direction, like blood from a weeping wound.
The magic keeping it alive during dalvi could grow enough crops to feed an entire city for at least a few months.
Each ivory wing of the palace curved around the enormous trunk at varying heights, its spires layered with gold likely mined from Vorianta’s mountains.
A hand squeezed Alvara’s wrist, and her heart leapt into her throat. On instinct, she twisted her arm free and jabbed her elbow backward with a crunch. She pivoted to face the elf responsible, clenching the handle of her dagger, frozen midway out of its sheath.
He clutched his nose, where a crimson trail ran down his chin and dripped onto the Elan crest emblazoned on his chest.
The guard. Shit.
“You scared me, I—”
He growled and shoved her toward the spiraling stone staircase that led to the palace doors.
Alvara yelped as her heel caught on the first step, and her hands and back smashed into the stone.
“Get up.” The guard dug his boot into her side.
“Ow! No, there must be a mistake. I’m here to get rid of this damn sword and leave this godsforsaken—I mean, lovely—kingdom.”
Rough hands sank into her hip and ripped her blade free. No, that was one of her favorites! Jalomir wasn’t getting any sweets for at least a week when she returned home from this horrible errand.
The guard hauled Alvara to her feet, lugging her on one side and the loathsome sword on the other toward the now-open palace doors.
She stumbled in his grip down the hallway, past more guards who paid her as much mind as the fly buzzing around their heads, as if this madness was a regular occurrence for them.
“This is all just a misunderstanding—”
“One more word from you, and you’ll regret it.”
Alvara clamped her mouth shut. They passed pillar after pillar wrapped in greenery, painting after painting of royals with greenery, and finally turned down a new hallway.
Hunched elves dressed in plain brown garments shuffled and limped about in silence, also seemingly undisturbed by whatever in the nine realms was happening. But something about their gaunt faces wormed its way into her mind.
Maybe one of them would help her. She locked eyes with a bald young male, but he gasped and scurried away like a mouse, even bearing the same round ears.
Round ears.
The king’s servants were all human.
In her moment of distraction, she collided with the back of the guard and tumbled to the ground. He cursed and towed her through yet another set of massive doors, scraping her over the stone floor without pause, even as she cried out from the rough texture tearing open her skin.
He dumped her without a word, and Alvara shut her eyes, though it did nothing to block out the pain. That damned sword. This might have been the first time in her life she had ever hated a weapon.
Another hand approached her, and she braced her body for a new onslaught, but this one paused in front of her as if waiting for an answer. She gripped it, and the owner pulled her to her feet.
“Brave face.” The whisper left her as quickly as it had come. If someone didn’t start explaining what was happening, she was going to—
King Einar.
Alvara stood at the foot of his throne. The king of Ela.
It took everything she had to not heave her breakfast onto his immaculate shoes.