Chapter 5
Well, she hadn’t thought it would be that shocking of a question.
But Xaviel had been silent for so long, Ryn was beginning to worry that she’d managed to offend him—again—and that he was now trying to decide how to punish her for her presumption.
“I didn’t think it would be forbidden to talk about,” she offered hesitantly. “I believed it to be a myth shared by firelight, or taught to children.”
“How do you know of this story?”
His voice had changed. From rough and flippant by turns, to something dark and far less friendly.
“It was written in my father’s journal.” She held it out for him to see. “He was a geologist who also loved myths and legends. He travelled all over the continent and visited Dunmaren before I was born. There are many stories recorded within these pages, but that one…”
How could she even begin to explain? It had called to some deep and hidden part of her soul from the moment she read the words.
And yet, the more she studied it, and the more she learned of the mysterious land of the night elves, the more she’d realized that her father was right—something was strange about the tragedy of the King of Mists.
And then there were the dreams…
The night elf before her seemed to be staring off into the distance, his dark eyes glimmering with emotions she could not read.
“And this is why you came all this way? Why you risked everything, spent your fortune hiring those mercenaries, and left your life behind? To learn this truth?”
She nodded. “I know it seems silly when you put it like that. Everyone in my family and all my fellow scholars agree with you. But it’s important to me, even if I can’t fully explain why.” No one ever believed her when she tried.
“Very well, human,” he said coolly. “I will tell you the story. But in the meantime, would you walk with me? We are too far from shelter, and there are indeed monsters in these woods.”
Ryn hesitated for a moment. But what did she have to lose? She had no protection anymore, outside the whims of this strange creature before her. And he’d promised her answers, which meant…
Ahah. He couldn’t kill her before the terms of the bargain were concluded. Which likewise meant that as long as she asked him no more questions? She would be safe in his company.
“Of course,” she agreed easily, and grinned to herself at his evident surprise.
It was the work of only a few minutes to gather her bedroll, collapse her tent, and tie them both into a bundle that was easy to carry. She’d at least had a water skin in her tent, so she would not go thirsty, but as for food…
She would worry about that later.
“I’m ready.” She looked up at her strange companion—at the wildness in his eyes, the twist of his lips, and the emotions that flitted oddly across his beautiful face—and smiled.
“I suppose I should ask you where we’re going, but it hardly matters.
I am lost and therefore must follow wherever you choose to lead me. ”
The night elf glared, reached out, and tugged her bundle from her grip, followed by her knapsack full of books. “Somewhere you cannot go carrying all this nonsense.” He sounded almost angry.
“But I assure you I can,” she protested. “I have carried my own gear since we left Iria.”
“Be quiet and follow me,” he growled, slinging her bags over his own shoulders before turning his back and striding away.
She shouldn’t have tricked him into revealing his name. Shouldn’t have risked angering him. But he’d still agreed to help her, so that was something. And if he would truly tell her the story…
Ryn scrambled after him, thankful for the millionth time for her sturdy, sensible boots.
Her fellow students might have mocked them, but her father had always emphasized how important it was to have the right footwear when traveling.
The difference between life and death, he’d always said, and now she thought she understood.
She spent perhaps the next hour following her strange companion in silence, and as they walked, she began to notice the land changing around them.
Their feet followed no well-established trail—instead, Xaviel’s path led ever higher, never hesitating despite the fact that it meandered oddly through rocky ground, over small ridges, and between strangely twisted trees.
Gray clouds contributed to the ominous air, as on all sides, steep cliffs and craggy mountainsides loomed, drawing them ever deeper into the wilderness between the towering peaks.
It was deep in the shadows between two of these cliffs that her companion finally spoke.
“What story do you know?” he asked abruptly, not pausing to converse but continuing uphill with long, swift strides.
“Only what my father wrote,” she answered, panting a little with the effort of speaking while keeping up the pace.
She’d done well at the speed the mercenaries set, but this night elf was apparently much more nimble and well-conditioned—a hypothesis supported by his impressively athletic physique.
“He said that your people came here from afar many centuries ago and settled this land. Even then, it was filled with wild magic and terrifying monsters, but the night elves were strong and determined, and carved out settlements for themselves. There they lived in relative peace, until the day that one of the great mountains erupted in fire and violence, threatening to destroy the land and wipe out what remained of your people.”
Xaviel did not respond, so she continued with the story.
“Your king was both powerful and courageous, so he cast an enchantment that would seal the volcano and prevent it from destroying the land. And yet, it was not quite enough. The enchantment swallowed up every bit of magic he possessed, and was still hungry, so it stole bits and pieces of his soul until he fell into a deep and deathlike sleep—committing even his body to an eternity of standing between his people and their destruction.”
It was certainly not a happy story, but rather one of unfathomable sacrifice. And it was also not quite true. At least, not entirely.
“And is that all that you’ve heard?” Xaviel asked, his tone studiously blank.
“Not exactly.” Ryn wasn’t sure how much more she ought to tell him. The first part of the story was typical enough, but the second half sounded far more ridiculous. From immortality to cursed brides…
“The story goes on to say that the king lives to this day, lying alone in a valley swallowed up by mist. And that he will remain trapped until his fated bride can be found. On that day, the volcano will finally be conquered and the enchantment from all those centuries ago will at last be resolved.”
Her companion remained silent.
“I know it all sounds unreasonably dramatic,” she admitted. “Enchantments and eternal sleep and fated brides… They sound too silly to be real. But I believe…”
She paused. Did she really want to tell this beautiful and terrifying stranger about the more absurd of her convictions? Did she want to tell him about the dreams?
“Do go on,” Xaviel said smoothly, all trace of his reaction hidden behind the bland words. “What do you believe?”
“I believe it’s real,” she said boldly. “I believe that the king truly lived, and that he still sleeps in that enchanted valley. And that he can be found if one knows where to look.”
“If you believe that,” Xaviel inquired, finally sounding curious, “then why are you here seeking confirmation? Why risk so much to ask about this story?”
He’d slowed enough that she could draw even with him as they passed through a narrow place between the rocky canyon walls.
The ground seemed to level out for a short time, but it remained rough, covered in small rocks, tangled shrubs, and bits of winter-brown grass.
Ryn was forced to choose her steps as carefully as her words.
“The answer,” she said slowly, “is in this journal of my father’s. Along with his account of this story, he recorded a description of the valley itself. As if he’d truly been there. Passed through the mists, crossed the boundary of the standing stones, and entered the king’s resting place.”
Xaviel stopped and turned to look at her. “He claims to have seen the king?”
“Yes.” She was aware that it sounded ridiculous. “But he also said something else…” This was probably going to sound rude, but if she didn’t want to mention the dreams, it was the only way to explain her obsession.
“As I said before, my father was a student of the land. Perhaps he never studied at university, but he was fascinated by rocks and old things, and loved nothing more than exploring the very roots of the ground we walk on. And he wrote in his journal that the Yllians…” She shrugged helplessly.
“They aren’t volcanic. Something about their shapes and layers and the wrong kinds of rocks.
He knew that some part of this story is true, but that some part is also false, so he always wanted to find out which parts were which. ”
There, that sounded plausible enough.
“You spin a very interesting tale,” Xaviel said silkily. “And I might well believe it, were your father the one standing here before me. That is,” he amended, “if I hadn’t eaten him before he had a chance to tell me.”
A hint of teeth glimmered from between slightly parted lips, and Ryn shivered in spite of herself. He hadn’t made that sound like a joke.
“But I am not as gullible as I once was,” Xaviel continued, “so I fear that I do not believe you at all.”
“It’s the truth,” she protested. “I will show you the journal!”
“Oh, I believe the journal is as you say. The problem here… is you.”
Apparently her explanation wasn’t nearly as plausible as she’d hoped. Was she going to have to tell him about the dreams? It seemed far too personal to share with someone she’d only just met—not to mention rather embarrassing if he misunderstood—but if there was no other way…
Wait.
“You,” she said sternly, “are trying to distract me. Keep me on the defensive so I won’t notice you never answered my question.”
His wicked-sounding chuckle was answer enough.