Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The group wound their way toward the palace, each dressed in what were probably the finest clothes they owned, except Alvara.
She had borrowed a lilac gown from Kat, the closest her friend could offer to a traditional Dalvian blue, but it bore thin loops of fabric between her shoulder and forearm that did nothing to shield Alvara from the cold.
There was no denying it was beautiful and probably made of Valonian silk, but it was much too tight in her upper back and shoulders, and all the other places she bore the unusual muscle of an elf who exercised her body with more than just magic.
At breakfast, she had done her best to convince Boden and the councilors to minimize their discussion of humans when they approached Queen Myrithal.
Though the councilors weren’t so much her concern as Boden, who had seemed more focused on his fifth cup of tea when he gave his half-hearted agreement.
They needed to focus on the threat to Vorianta and the Dalvian people—that was the only way to garner the queen’s support and secure an alliance.
A glittering palace lay before them, its numerous spindles such a pale blue that they almost looked white in the glare of the sun. The icicles clinging to every sharp edge and point would have been breathtaking had they not reminded her of the last time she had been in such a grand residence.
Alvara’s throat threatened to close as they neared the winding staircase, not so different from the one that had led her into the belly of a beast only a little over a month ago.
She forced her lungs to accept the bitter dalvi air and concentrated on the shimmering azure inlet beyond the palace. This was different, this was home.
Metal clanked as the guards crossed their spears, purely for show and intimidation. If it came down to it, they would toss their weapons aside and freeze Alvara and her companions to the spot before they could even take a breath.
“What is your business here?”
Alvara focused on their light hair and blue eyes.
She was in Dalvi. She was safe. “We are representatives from the Malvan king’s council.
A letter was sent ahead of us by King Ulivar requesting an urgent meeting with Queen Myrithal.
” She placed a duplicate scroll, sealed with a wax imprint of the Malvan crest, in the closest guard’s hands.
He took it and narrowed his eyes at the others behind her, the non-Dalvians. “If she grants you an audience, only three are allowed at a time.”
Wonderful. Even less assistance if the conversation went awry.
The council members’ voices battled one another, Orme’s reaching a high pitch that threatened to split Alvara’s eardrum.
Let them bicker. She tracked every step the guard took up the stairs, message in hand, into the heart of the palace.
He probably had no idea he held the key to his own city’s salvation.
“I will go,” the oldest and thankfully quietest member of the council said. “We need you, Alvara, as the only Dalvian. And Boden to vouch for what he’s seen within the palace.”
So they waited.
And waited.
Alvara rubbed her bare arms. She had been an idiot and left her coat behind to appear more refined.
It was worn and had clearly been passed between multiple owners, but she would have given her left foot for it right now.
She tucked her hands inside the ends of her sleeves, where they dipped and flourished below the tips of her fingers.
When the guard finally returned, he looked as if he couldn’t believe the words that were about to leave his mouth. “She’s agreed to a brief meeting, Dalviri knows why. Leave any weapons here. You can retrieve them when you leave.”
When, not if. The queen had no plans to lock them away like King Einar.
None of them had brought anything pointier than Orme’s nose; it would have only harmed their intentions to meet with the queen. What Alvara couldn’t have anticipated were the bangles inscribed with runes that the guard slipped onto her wrists.
Her connection to her powers dimmed, but that wasn’t why she ground her teeth together. She was shackled, like she had been when everything had morphed into a nightmare in Ela.
“This isn’t Ela,” Boden whispered, his voice solemn. She knew he wasn’t uttering the words just for her sake.
She focused on counting each time her boots collided with the floor, though her heart still managed dizzying rolls and flips within her chest. “At least this time you’ll have to endure imprisonment too if this doesn’t go well.”
“If this goes poorly, imprisonment is the least of my worries.”
The stark white interior of the walls and marble floors only amplified the unease gripping Alvara’s insides.
Save for the soft blue curtains that hung from every arched window, little other color adorned the palace.
Even Boden donned his usual variation of beige, and the councilor wore the darker shades of Malva.
Her purple dress stood out like a reindeer at a garden party.
The guard paused outside a set of ceiling-high alabaster doors inlaid with sweeping golden swirls. “You will address the queen as ‘Your Majesty.’ You will not speak unless spoken to. Understood?”
They all mumbled in agreement, and Alvara interlaced her twitching fingers behind her back. This would all be over soon.
Queen Myrithal sat on a pure white throne chiseled from flawless marble that made Alvara’s muscles complain from just looking at the thing.
Pointed spires matching those of the palace emerged from the top of the throne above the queen’s ice-blonde head, though they did nothing to detract from the razor-sharp spikes protruding from her crown that had been made entirely of some kind of turquoise jewel.
The tips of her pointed nails clicked on the carved head of a wolf on one side, while a silver scepter bulging with blue gems in every shade filled her hand on the other. An easy way to channel her magic and obliterate anyone in her path.
Her face remained as immovable as the stone she sat on, and each step toward her took a year off Alvara’s life.
The queen snapped her fingers, and they all halted.
Alvara’s knees threatened to give out right then and there, but she twisted herself into a low curtsy she had practiced at least a hundred times in her head.
“Rise.” Queen Myrithal’s glacial gaze chilled Alvara’s already bitterly cold body, and her attention lingered on Boden for at least three days. “Tell me, why have you come today?” Her voice lacked softness, just like her place of residence.
Clearly the queen hadn’t read the letter from King Ulivar.
“Your Majesty, the scroll—”
She cut off the councilor’s words with a wave of her hand. “I have read the scroll. I am asking why you are here and not King Ulivar himself.”
“It isn’t safe, Your Majesty.”
“Ah, but sending King Einar’s favorite pet into my city and my kingdom is?”
Boden stiffened beside Alvara, and she hurried to speak before he had the chance. “Your Majesty, King Einar has allied with Nyr and Valo. We believe he’s aiming to crown himself High King. Dalvi is next, and Vorianta will be under attack within weeks.”
Queen Myrithal skewered Alvara with her stare. “And you are?”
No one, she wanted to say. Gods, why had she even agreed to come here?
Her only expertise involved weapons and pastries.
“I have lived in Vorianta all my life, Your Majesty. I was captured and my friend was tortured by King Einar. The Malvan people took me in when I had nowhere else to go. I’m here to fight for my kingdom in any way I can. I am begging you to do the same.”
“A convincing story, perhaps, if you hadn’t brought with you an elf who has helped King Einar commit enough atrocities to live in our dungeons for the rest of his days.
” The queen pointed her scepter at Boden, and it erupted with frigid magic, snaking a circle around his feet.
To his credit, Boden didn’t flinch, let alone blink at the display of power.
“Without King Ulivar here to speak to this so-called threat, I have little reason to believe you or agree to ally with a kingdom we have a complicated history with. I accepted this meeting to avoid further animosity and to quell my own curiosity, but my desire for partnership goes no further.”
Boden opened his mouth, and Alvara itched to tear off her runed bracelets and throw an ice gag to capture his words before they reached the queen.
“Your Majesty, it is true that I work for King Einar, but for almost a decade I have been taking advantage of my position to do what I can to save the demi-elves and humans he persecutes relentlessly.” Alvara stomped on his foot, but he ignored her.
“He has been hunting, executing, and enslaving them for years, and we must stop him now, before he gains control of all the kingdoms and does with them what he wishes.”
Queen Myrithal’s talons dug into the wolf’s marble head, her knuckles whitening around her scepter.
This was it. She would obliterate them right then and there.
Her cackle burst through the room and raised the hairs on Alvara’s arms. “You try to convince me to go to war for humans? Who have been murdering my subjects in recent weeks? You must be as mad as the king you serve. Vorianta has never fallen, and this will be no different. I am not fearful of your so-called threat, and I have heard enough.” With that, the queen shooed them away as if they were bothersome gnats. Insignificant.
Gods damn it. Without Dalvi’s alliance or at least their own attempt to defend their city—her city, everything was doomed.
Heat flushed Alvara’s skin, so hot her flesh could have peeled away from her bones.
Boden had ruined their only opportunity to stop King Einar from leveling the city to rubble.
She drew in slow, burning breaths until they stepped outside of the suffocating palace walls.
The freedom from the shackles and the cool air awoke her magic, and it tugged on its leash with all its might, ready to devour the power her anger offered.
Alvara ignored its pleas and gazed out onto the city that had claimed a crucial piece of her heart. What were they supposed to do now? What could they even do?
“Alvara—” Boden said behind her.
She shook her head. One thing. Alvara had asked one thing of him, and he had believed his cause more important.
She kept her voice level and hushed as she spoke, not bothering to look at his damn face.
“I told you. I told you to keep your mouth shut about your godsdamned humans, and you couldn’t do it.
And now the queen won’t do a damn thing about the threat that may very well wipe this city—my city from existence. ”
“She needed to know the full extent of what is happening in Ela and what may happen here if she ignores our requests for an alliance.”
A thin coat of frost crawled its way up her bare skin as she turned to Boden.
The tightness in her own body was reflected in his hard features.
“No, she didn’t. Admit it. Her comments about you scratched the surface of your never-ending guilt about the things you’ve done.
You spoke to help yourself, Boden. And in doing so, you sentenced my people to their fading. ”
“If I may interject—” Godsdamned Orme.
“Not another word, councilor,” Alvara snapped and turned on her heel.
The inn. The cursed room they shared. She had a hundred other places she would rather be, but nowhere else to go.