Chapter 4 Unwelcome #2
“Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to suggest—” Barcroff cleared his throat, flicking his eyes to the people standing on the other side of the gate, who had gone suddenly quiet.
He then broke out that slimy smile once more.
“In truth, now that they’ve seen you in the flesh, perhaps the people of Kingshelm will be too stunned to think anything against you at all. ”
Elyria arched a brow. “Oh? And why is that?”
The steward took another step toward her, leaning too close, and she folded her wings tight against her back. “Why, because you are simply—”
“Extraordinary.” An unfamiliar baritone voice shot across the courtyard, and the knotted shadows in Elyria’s chest stirred. Her head whipped toward the source of the sound.
The two humans who’d been leisurely trailing behind Barcroff had finally reached the knight-lined walkway—a middle-aged man and a young woman, walking arm-in-arm.
The man’s cane rapped on the stone, punctuating a flare of familiarity in Elyria’s chest. She recognized the long nose and proud brow of the nobleman who had been with Cedric in Luminaria before the Crucible began.
“You must give our guests some room to breathe, Tobin,” said the noble, tone coolly amused.
His black robes billowed in the breeze as the pair reached the group, a circular mana token resting against his chest. “Perhaps you might consider allowing the Victor of Nyrundelle to reclaim some of her personal space.”
The young woman giggled, strawberry-blonde curls bouncing along her shoulders. She looked from the noble to the steward to the Arcanians, a glint of amusement in her striking amber eyes. Eyes that matched those of the man on her arm.
“You were so quick to run ahead and greet our guests you seem to have left your decorum behind,” continued the noble.
“My apologies, my lord,” said Barcroff. He dipped his chin and immediately took two steps back, thin cheeks reddening.
“Oh, do give our poor steward a break, Father,” said the woman, her voice light, smooth. “He is excited. Can you blame him? This reunion between our peoples is so very long overdue.”
“My daughter, the optimist.” The lord patted her hand as he extricated her arm from his. “It is a rare thing, to be sure, having a legend walk among us. To think, we have the fair Lady Victor to thank for so many . . . unexpected outcomes.”
His amber gaze locked on Elyria for a split second. A heartbeat of hesitation, barely enough to call a glance. Still, it was strange. She’d seen him only once before. So, why did a cold ripple run through the ball of shadow in her chest, feeling almost like . . . recognition?
If the lord felt similarly, he did not show it. He bent at the waist, inclining his head at Kit. “I am Lord Paramount Leviathan Church.” A lock of gray-peppered brown hair fell across his forehead. “And it is my honor to welcome your party to our fair city.”
Barcroff winced.
Lord Church handed his silver-capped cane to the young woman at his side before smoothing his hair back with both hands. “This”—he lifted a hand, his expression full of fond exasperation—“is my daughter, Portentia.”
Portentia’s pale blue gown rustled as she gently shouldered Barcroff aside before returning her father’s cane. There was something mischievous in the crinkle at the outer corner of each eye when she said, “But you can call me Tenny.”
Elyria liked her instantly.
The dainty token hanging from Tenny’s neck dangled as she gave a graceful curtsy, and Elyria was momentarily enraptured.
Not just by the token itself, though it was quite pretty, but by the craftsmanship.
She knew Cedric’s mana token to be a rough cut of silver-streaked stone, and Lord Church’s resembled something like a large, dark coin.
But Tenny’s looked like little more than jewelry—a single gem wrapped in gold, sitting on a delicate chain.
It was only due to the faintest glow emanating from it, the quiet hum of mana sitting within, that Elyria could tell it was more.
Tenny glanced at her father, who nodded, before beckoning the entire party forward. “Let’s get you inside before someone faints with the effort of pretending they’re not absolutely fascinated by you,” she said to Elyria.
Kit snorted as she brushed past. “Imagine that—someone else making a scene for a change. What a novel concept.”
Elyria simply shook her head as she followed. If only.
Elyria did her best to keep her expression neutral as Barcroff led them through the palace.
As it turned out, her best was not nearly good enough.
The tour through the palace had left Elyria queasy. So much so that Tenny had asked Elyria if she was feeling well multiple times before she and her father peeled off from the group with assurances that they’d all see each other again soon.
They ascended a wide, curving stairway, and Elyria drew in a slow, chest-broadening breath through her nose.
The more she saw of the seat of Kingshelm’s power, the more she hated it.
The opulence was overwhelming. Though she certainly had plenty of opinions about Aerithia, with its white cobblestone streets and gold-roofed buildings, the gap between the fae and even the lowest-class citizens was nothing like this.
Here, it felt like the humans put the disparity on display, a grotesque painting in a gilded frame.
Towering doors opened into an atrium lined with columns of pristine, gold-veined marble.
Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows that painted the polished floors with a rainbow of color.
Servants and attendants were everywhere, bowing and curtsying as the group passed, expressions carefully schooled.
Elyria caught Ollie’s eye as they turned a corner, and though he maintained his composure far better than she did, she could see his own disapproval in the clench of his jaw.
Just as she saw it in the increasingly frequent sighs coming from Tenebris Nox, and the way Thraigg kept shaking his head, something akin to disbelief creasing the dwarf’s forehead.
Utterly ignorant of the delegation’s feelings toward all the painted peacockery, or perhaps simply because he didn’t care, Barcroff only continued prattling on about the logistics of their stay.
“The king is most eager to meet you. You arrived sooner than we anticipated, so he is, alas, previously engaged. But he looks forward to receiving you at the welcome ball the day after tomorrow.”
“I see,” said Kit, exchanging a look with Dentarius. Definitely not what they had hoped for.
“You’ll find we’ve prepared our finest rooms for you, and you will each have a private attendant to see to your every need,” Barcroff continued.
He looked over his shoulder to where Thraigg and Nox trailed a few paces behind Ollie, Shep, and Jocelyn.
“Your guards and, uh, escorts have been given beds in the barracks alongside the knights of Kingshelm and—”
“They are not our escorts,” Elyria grumbled. Dentarius shot her a look, and it was only the lingering queasiness in her stomach that kept Elyria from sticking her tongue out at him.
“She is right.” Kit slowed to a stop. “Sir Ironfist and Saer Nox are as much part of this delegation as our Lady Victor, Lord Jaen”—she gestured to Dentarius—“and myself. They are champions of the realm. I expect they will be treated as such.”
“Very regal,” Elyria whispered, so quiet that only fae ears could have picked up the words. “I’m so proud.”
Kit stiffened as though resisting the urge to smack Elyria in return.
“Hear that?” Thraigg nudged Nox in the hip with his elbow. “I’m a sir, now.”
Nox rolled their red-black eyes. “I haven’t been called ‘Saer’ since leaving Nocterrum.”
“Are ye a noble back in Shadowhaven, Noxie?”
The nocterrian ignored the dwarf, though something resembling a grin played at the edge of their mouth, revealing the barest hint of fang.
Barcroff seemed dumbstruck at Kit’s admonition. “I—Of course, my lady.”
“So, can you assure me they will be given the same gracious hospitality we are being so kindly afforded?”
The steward shifted uneasily on his feet.
“Did you fail to hear Lady Ravenswing?” Dentarius asked after a few moments.
Barcroff’s fingers twitched before he ran his hands down the front of his doublet.
Then he cleared his throat, his smile already plastered back into place.
“No, of course not. Apologies, my lady. It is only . . . well, there are only so many rooms, you understand. And since we need to reserve the rest for—”
“Reserve them?” Kit’s brows knitted together.
Annoyance flickered across Barcroff’s face before he smoothed it away. “Yes, for when the rest of your party joins us.”
Silence.
Elyria’s fingers curled against her palm. The what now?
Kit’s expression barely shifted, but Elyria knew her more than well enough to recognize the stiffening of her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened.
“The rest of our party,” Kit echoed. It wasn’t exactly a question, but . . .
“We are aware they have been delayed, but I received word they are to arrive within the fortnight and—” Barcroff startled as he took in the confused expressions on each Arcanian’s face “We received word days ago to expect two additional guests. Surely King Lachlandris informed his own delegation of this?”
Kit’s fingers twitched at her side. She didn’t know. Neither did Dentarius, judging by the way his gaze had darkened, his arms slowly folding over his chest.
“When the rest of our party arrives, we can reevaluate living arrangements,” Dentarius said, voice level. “Until then, I expect you will be able to find appropriate accommodations for us all.”
Barcroff’s cheeks reddened, but he dipped his head. “Yes, my lord. Of course.”
Elyria thought he might have said more, but a servant rounded the corner at that very moment. Barcroff quickly summoned the somewhat terrified-looking young man over, instructing him to lead Ollie, Shep, and Jocelyn to the guardhouse before ushering the rest of the group down the hall.
“Wouldn’t’ve minded the barracks, y’know.” Thraigg sighed. “Was lookin’ forward to making some new friends. Knights always know the best place to grab a pint.”
“Something tells me you’re more than willing to put in the work to sniff out the premier local haunt on your own,” said Nox.
“Aye, I am at that,” Thraigg replied. “A hard job, but someone’s got to do it.”
Elyria smiled at the exchange, though her amusement was quickly replaced with something that straddled the line between curiosity and suspicion.
Questions ran rampant in her mind as they finally arrived in the guest wing of the palace and each member of the group peeled away to get settled in their respective rooms.
Who exactly comprised this “other party” that the humans were expecting, and why did Kit and Dentarius know nothing about it?
What was the king playing at? Both kings, at that.
With Arcanians behind the walls of his palace for the first time in centuries, what could be so important as to keep King Callum wholly occupied for the next two days?
Elyria barely heard Barcroff as he relayed a string of final directions, instructions, and itinerary items—mealtimes, where they could find recreation within the palace—then summarily dismissed himself. She slunk into her quarters with something heavy weighing on her heart—and knotted in her chest.
Two weeks before this supposed other party would even arrive. Did that mean it would be, at a minimum, two weeks before she’d be given license to search for Malchior? That would not do at all.
Sighing, Elyria ran a hand over the thick velvet curtains draped on either side of the large four-poster bed situated in the center of her room.
Like everything else in this place, the bedroom was immaculately appointed.
To one side, glass doors led to a small balcony.
The other wall was home to a fireplace, flames already dancing in the hearth.
Twin brocade-covered, oversized armchairs sat in front of it, a table between them.
“Nice room.” Kit strode in through the still-open door, her hands on her hips. “A bit too nice, actually.” She whistled as her mismatched gaze took in the patterned wallpaper and thick, plush rug under their feet. “Nicer than mine.”
Elyria scooted over to one of the chairs in front of the fire and plunked herself down. Eyeing the platter of fruit and cheese that had been set on the table next to her, she grinned as she selected a few slices of cheddar before sitting back.
“Victor trumps duchess,” she said with a shrug.
Kit scowled. “I’m not the duchess.”
“While we’re here, you might as well be, Your Grace.”
With an irritated noise, Kit slumped into the other chair. Her face fell instantly, as though she was finally able to shed that diplomatic mask she’d had on from the moment she stepped out of the carriage.
“We’re about to have our hands full, aren’t we?” Elyria asked, though it wasn’t really a question. “If our reception is any indication, I think human-Arcanian relations still have a rather long way to go.”
“I expect you’re right. If only there were someone in charge of all”—she gestured widely—“this. Someone who I’d have thought would have a vested interest in meeting with us as soon as possible, given that we’re here at his own damn invitation.”
The side of Elyria’s mouth lifted. “If only.”
“At any rate, let’s try our best not to actively make said relations worse until we finally do get our audience with the king, shall we?”
Elyria rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mother.”
Kit flashed a grin, though it fell just as quickly. “So, this alleged second half of our party . . . What do you make of it?”
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing. Your uncle truly said nothing?”
“Not a word. Dentarius doesn’t know anything either. He is not pleased about that.”
“I am shocked,” Elyria deadpanned.
“I plan on drafting a missive to my mother as soon as possible, but”—Kit raked her hand through her moonlight hair—“I just don’t know what to think of it, Ellie. Who could the king possibly be sending to join us? And why?”
Elyria chewed on her bottom lip. “I have the same questions. Best case scenario, we find out in two days when we get our audience with King Callum.”
“And the worst case?”
“We find out in two weeks, and I don’t like the answer.”