Chapter 3 Thoroughly Human
THOROUGHLY HUMAN
ELYRIA
Kingshelm stunk.
The very air in Havensreach reeked. It smelled like wasted mana, sharp and metallic. It stank of disparity and desperation.
Despite the long hours of travel, the flight from Aerithia had been uneventful, enjoyable even.
Although, in fairness, Elyria wondered how much of that was simply due to having been able to relax in the comfort of a carriage, rather than pulling a wing by attempting to fly across both Chasms on her own.
It was the general pleasantness of the journey that made the moment they soared over the human capital’s walls, the moment the scents of the city hit Elyria’s sensitive fae nose, all the more stark.
Through the carriage window, her sharp eyes scanned the maze of tightly packed buildings below.
Children and adults appeared from behind broken-down doors and poured onto the cobblestone streets.
They tilted their faces toward the sun, looks of wonder and apprehension emblazoned upon them in equal measure.
That, she couldn’t blame them for. Surely it wasn’t every day they saw a carriage soaring over the city—nor the pair of ivory-plumed gryphons pulling it.
Yes, based on what she observed below, she imagined there was much the average citizen of Kingshelm didn’t get to see or hear or taste or experience.
Elyria was reminded of the dwarven trader who’d bent her ear one night at The Sweltering Pig. She recalled the way he’d described, well, all of Havensreach, but Kingshelm in particular. The sad state of the homes, the throngs of children running amuck in the streets, begging, stealing.
“Like tarnished silver,” he’d called it. “Once beautiful, now rotting. Rank. Still an exciting place to make a bit o’ coin, to be sure. But beyond repair.”
She’d thought him exaggerating at the time.
He wasn’t.
“This is . . . bleak,” Kit murmured from beside Elyria, silver-and-gold wings folded back as she peered out the window. Her silvery brows were furrowed, carving twin lines into the dark skin of her forehead.
“I think ‘bleak’ is being rather kind,” said Tenebris Nox, horned head cocked to one side as they observed the scene below with dulled interest. Beside them, Thraigg grunted in agreement.
Elyria refixed her gaze on a particularly run-down section of the city below. Ramshackle buildings, walls and streets covered in grime, streets packed so tightly with people they looked more like a swarm of ants than living, breathing humans.
“What’s that down there?” Elyria asked nobody in particular.
“The Walk,” came Dentarius’ cold, cutting voice.
The fae sat opposite Elyria, the sun beaming through the open window highlighting the tight set of his mouth.
His piercing ice-blue eyes narrowed on the scene below.
“The slums of the city. Where the poor and . . . undesirable reside, from my understanding.”
“Charming way of putting it,” said Elyria, pursing her lips.
“Ah, you can’t be so shocked, Elle,” said Olyndor Oleander, seated at her other side, blowing a rogue lock of turquoise hair out of his eyes. “You know this is how the humans work.”
Elyria glanced at her friend. The guard had, granted, technically also been her jailer more than once, but now rode on equal footing with Elyria and Kit as part of the delegation.
Well, perhaps not equal. She’d had to do quite a bit of cajoling to convince Dentarius and, by extension, the king, to grant Ollie this assignment.
Still, it was worth every bit of ass-kissing just for the way her friend’s warm brown eyes had widened, the way his mouth had gone entirely slack when she’d told him the news, so flabbergasted was he that Elyria had recommended him for the job.
“Indeed,” said Dentarius disapprovingly. “They build their little empires, squeeze out every bit of power and labor they can from the people, then discard the rest. Not to mention their proclivity to breed like rabbits, only to then complain about running out of space.”
Ollie sighed. “Too right. Why else would they be clamoring to expand into the Midlands for so long? So much so that they’d risk stupidly continuing to engage with King Lachlandris’ forces?”
Kit clucked her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, you two,” she said, the sound so close to Duchess Laeliana’s classic tone of disapproval that Elyria nearly did a double take. “Didn’t you hear? We’re at peace.” Kit winked at Elyria. “Time to put that kind of talk away.”
Nox made a humming sound, as if stamping the statement with their approval.
Dentarius smoothed his hair—a green so dark it looked black—against his temple. He sniffed but said nothing. Ollie flushed, making an awkward attempt at an apology, but Kit only waved her hand, dismissing it.
“Come now. I’m only teasing. Far be it from me to assume that two centuries of animus might be resolved within a few months, even if we do have our lovely Lady Victor’s example to lead by.”
Elyria could feel every set of eyes in the carriage turn toward her. She refused to meet any of them, not even when Thraigg coughed loudly, as if covering a laugh.
Elyria simply let her gaze linger on the Walk as they flew overhead, toward the castle where King Callum and his court awaited. Toward the next phase in this game.
Though the Walk and the outer boroughs had been a sad sight—tarnished silver, indeed—it was clear as they flew farther into the heart of Kingshelm what the crown jewel was.
The city was laid out in a sprawling ring, every road leading to the shining palace at its center.
King’s Keep was pristine, a beacon of pale stone that towered over the rest of the city.
Impeccably groomed gardens stretched across the grounds, creating elegant, symmetrical pathways that led out from what Elyria assumed was the main part of the keep.
Glittering mosaics were inlaid in the massive front doors, on the roofs—tiles of gold and silver, arranged in concentric patterns.
Twin ivory towers reached into the sky, gilded spires winding toward the sun as though they might catch its light between them.
The opulence was nearly offensive given the contrasting state of the city they’d just flown over.
Elyria suspected the ornate tiles that decorated the large doors of the primary building were worth enough to feed every child of the Walk for the rest of their lives.
Between the grounds and the palace itself, there was surely—Noctis take me, was that a peacock?
Elyria folded her arms over her chest. “I’m relieved to see they have their priorities in place.”
“Doesn’t appear as though the humans do subtlety particularly well, does it?” said Ollie.
“Impressive, though, ye must admit,” Thraigg added, his typically jovial voice laced with something sharper.
Elyria huffed. “The citizens of Kingshelm live in squalor, yet the crown drowns in excess.”
“The priorities of kings are rarely so noble as they might claim,” said Dentarius from across the carriage.
Elyria snorted. “Bold words coming from someone at the right hand of one of those kings.”
The royal advisor sniffed, flattening his hair. “You know very well His Majesty is not the king I refer to.”
“I won’t tell my uncle, promise.” Kit grinned and made an X over her heart with her finger. “I’m with Thraigg anyway. If we’re to spend the next few weeks in the humans’ company, I can think of worse places to do so. It is quite beautiful.”
“In a self-aggrandizing, entirely tone-deaf, thoroughly human sort of way, I suppose,” added Nox, eliciting a soft laugh from Kit.
“A beautiful stage,” grumbled Elyria, trying not to fixate on the “next few weeks” part of Kit’s statement.
Stars-willing, Elyria would remain at King’s Keep less than half that time.
She had a dark sorcerer to hunt and a crown to find, after all.
Kit and Dentarius could tackle the delicate dance of diplomacy.
Elyria would smile and wave and be the dutiful Victor of Nyrundelle for only so long.
“This is all just for show,” she finished with a sigh.
“And not even a show of strength, at that,” Dentarius agreed, smoothing his lapel. “But of wealth. Though, I suppose that, for humans, they are one and the same.”
The castle courtyard just beyond the main gatehouse was a flurry of activity.
Elyria’s heightened sight tracked the servants hurrying about, their arms laden with bundles and crates, preparations for the welcome celebration already dutifully underway.
One maid dropped the pile of linens she was carrying when she caught sight of the carriage overhead, kicking off a series of surprised yells and squeals as others caught on, their gazes turning to the sky.
Elyria fastidiously ignored the lurch she felt in her stomach at the sight of a row of knights in polished armor standing to one side.
The knights broke their attention from their commander, pointing their gauntlet-clad hands at the carriage above them, and finally, Elyria pulled her gaze back.
No point in inspecting them further. He wouldn’t be among them.
The gryphons circled a second time before tilting their wings up, catching the wind and drifting down to the rapidly emptying courtyard. The carriage jolted as the magnificent beasts touched down, claws clicking against stone before finally coming to a stop.
The carriage door swung open. Dentarius was first to his feet, masking his dark wings with a wave of his hand and pulling his cloak up tight around the back of his neck, the collar brushing the ends of his hair.
“Oh, very good, Dentarius,” Elyria said, clucking her tongue. “You look downright human. Nobody would ever suspect you’re secretly a scary stormbending fae.”
Ollie released a choked sound. Kit rolled her mismatched eyes.
“Yes, well.” Dentarius cleared his throat. “I’m quite aware of your feelings on the subject, but His Majesty made it clear that—”
“We aren’t to rub our magic in the humans’ faces. Yes, I know.” Elyria folded her arms across her chest. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s a stupid fucking plan.”
Dentarius lifted his chin. “I suppose it’s a good thing, then, that you are not the king.”
“Settle down, you two,” Kit said tiredly.
“They know exactly who and what we are,” Elyria said. “What is the point in hiding our wings and ears and hair and magic from them?”
“Ye keep yer wings hidden anyway,” Thraigg piped in. “So, what does it matter, lass?”
Elyria glared across the carriage at the dwarf. “It’s the principle.”
Ollie’s gaze darted nervously between Dentarius and Elyria before giving her an apologetic shrug.
“Sorry, Elle. Orders are orders.” He banished his own pale blue wings with a wisp of magic and followed Dentarius out of the carriage, Jocelyn and Young Shep—the other two guards assigned to escort them—on his heels.
Nox and Thraigg went next, hoods drawn over their faces. Then, with a tight-lipped smile, Kit followed, running her fingers through her shaggy hair and pulling it over her ears as she exited.
Elyria was alone.
She took a steadying breath. It was time to slip on her mask, to don her status as victor with pride, to ready herself for this farcical dance.
She shook her head, as if doing so might wipe away the uncharitable thought.
There was far more at stake here than pride and inconvenience.
It wasn’t as though Elyria wanted to sabotage this fragile peace—and not just because she wanted the freedom to come and go as she pleased, but because she knew it was important.
Knew that this could very well be the start of a new age, a new dawn.
Elyria’s mind blanked for a moment, her fingers tightening on the edge of the bench.
“From bitterest rivals to heartbreaking ends, two bloods shall find their way. Through sacrifice, darkness, and friendship betrayed, as dawn brings a new day.”
The words of prophecy had played on a loop in Elyria’s mind since the Crucible ended, Aurelia’s multi-tonal voice still ringing in her ears. They had sacrificed; they had waded through the darkness . . . Solaris knew they’d had friendship betrayed. It was about time to get to this new day shit.
No, Elyria would not be the one to fuck this up.
Still, though, as the murmurs from outside the carriage started to crescendo, and as the reality of being in Kingshelm—in human territory—began to fully set in, it didn’t make her any more eager to step into her new role.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Elyria looked up to see a slight green hand held aloft a few inches from her. Young Shep was leaning back in through the open carriage doorway, waiting patiently, the furrow of his sylvan brow from beneath his hood the only sign of his discomfort.
“Please, Shep,” she said, “it’s just Elyria. Elle, if you like. But no more ‘my lady,’ yes? Believe me, I am nobody’s lady.”
“Yes, my—”
The daggers Elyria stared into him must have been very sharp indeed, because he cut himself off with a wince. Pulling her staff from the carriage ceiling, where she’d secured it during the journey, Elyria sucked in a deep breath. Then another.
So fucking stupid, she thought bitterly. She slung the staff over her shoulder, letting it rest against her open back. Then, with a sigh, she pulled the hood of her cowl over her head, covering her delicately pointed ears and periwinkle braid.
“All right,” she told Shep, finally taking the sylvan’s proffered hand. “I’m ready.”