Chapter 15
Ronan leads us to the stables, where the coolness of the early evening cloaks the usual scent of manure. Instead, the air smells of hay and sweet maize. Derryl is nowhere to be seen, likely at supper.
As we pass through, Claude hooves the dust and whinnies. I brush a hand over his dark mane and smile. His black eyes brim with reluctance. He has just returned from a long day’s journey, and now I have to coax him into letting me shove the metal bit into his mouth.
He chuffs in protest, even as I stroke his long face in an attempt to calm him. My fingers gently pry open his jaw, sliding the metal bar in the hollow behind his teeth. Smiling, I run my fingers through his dark mane. “See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
When he chuffs and bends his neck, I sling the pack of supplies over his head so it rests against his left shoulder.
I remove the cloth square from within and begin fixing it over my nose and mouth, tying the corners together behind my head.
Though this is official business for the sake of the kingdom, I know how important it is to remain anonymous.
Ronan coughs next to me. “You’re sure about this?”
I raise a brow. “I don’t have a choice.”
He pats a well-rested cream-colored mare. “I meant, are you sure you’ll be okay? If the peace has been broken as the king has claimed…”
My hand goes to Claude’s flank, where a flask dangles from its leather strap, and travels to the saddle, where a sheathed training sword is mounted. The hilt is bronze, the shaft a hazy gray. I don’t recall ever using it. Still, I gesture to it like it’s capable of saving us in a pinch.
Ronan laughs heartily. “I reckon that’ll do.”
A smile creeps over my face as I pull myself onto Claude, aligning my feet in the leather stirrups. I grab the reins and lead the stallion from the comfort of his stable. He will enjoy a plentiful amount of vegetables later.
Ronan follows me, but he quickly overtakes me as the mare trots gleefully along the stone path. Her liquid mane swooshes beautifully in the orange light of the setting sun.
I ease back on the reins and scan the castle.
Somewhere in the servants’ quarters, my master is recovering from a fainting spell.
While I’m sure Bernadette will take care of her, I can’t help the distrust I have for the soldier who will remain at her side while I’m gone.
The last thing she’ll remember is expending the little magic energy she had on a demonstration for my benefit.
What was she thinking?
“Is something the matter?” Ronan calls out.
I shake my head and gently push my heels into Claude’s sides. He starts walking forward. “No, but I am a little worried about Ether.”
“Well, don’t be,” he says gruffly.
I try to ignore the slight tinge of a threat lining his words. “Do elaborate.” I keep my tone playful.
“Ramiel, she’s an elf. She doesn’t need anyone to worry about her. That’s how they all are. They are born and bred to defend themselves.”
“You must know a lot about them.” I study the change in his expression and find that I’m correct. The way his eyebrow twitches gives him away. But as soon as I catch the movement, he masters himself once more. I blow out a sigh. “We’ll be traveling for a while. Would you care to enlighten me?”
Ronan keeps his eyes on the road, not speaking.
His knowledge must be sensitive, so I wait until we are out of earshot of any listening ears.
We approach the guards at Bellmane’s outer border.
They simply nod to us, likely aware the king has given us permission to leave.
Beyond them, we continue down the dirt path lined with gaunt, dark green trees, where we’d entered not a day ago.
My legs are sore, but the pain is not as unbearable as I thought it would be.
The moon battles the sun in the sky, scattering warm and cool light through the filter of leaves above. A quiet settles over us, the clopping of hooves the only sound as we continue along the path. Even the air seems to be holding its breath, waiting in anticipation for Ronan’s reply.
Finally he speaks, his voice dry, tired. “Fine. What would you like to know?”
I think for a second. There’s a lot I’d like to know, but I doubt he knows it all. It would be best to start with something easy. But instead, I start with what puzzles me most. “Ether’s eyes…”
Ronan lifts his head, recognizing my implication.
“You’re aware that elves are cursed to tell the truth, right?
” I nod eagerly. I’d be ignorant if I didn’t know this well-known fact.
“Well, that goes beyond simply speaking. Their eyes reveal their emotions, their deepest fears. If you can determine the code for their eyes, you’ll be able to tell what they’re feeling at any time. ”
This confirmation of my suspicions sends a wave of guilt down my spine, then spreads to my hands, which grip the reins.
The number of times Ether’s eyes changed color in the short span we were together…
Had it been around ten? Or more? Curiosity replaces my shame, arousing within me a desire to know what she had felt this entire time.
“Do you know what their colors mean? Say...a bright pink, for example?”
“Pink?” he asks. I nod intently. He tilts his head to the side, then shakes it.
“No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an elf with pink eyes.
I’ve seen the colors change from red to black, and then to brown.
That’s about it.” He turns to me, his eyebrows taut.
“Elves don’t exactly…want to express emotion around me. Or anyone. You can probably guess why.”
“If my people were oppressed, I’d find it hard to trust others too,” I say. Ronan’s shoulders drop and his expression sours. But I still have more questions, so I rush into the next one. “What do those colors mean, red, brown, and black?”
He stretches one arm to the sky, keeping one hand on the reins as he yawns.
When his head bobbles in my direction, a lazy smirk spreads over his mouth.
“To answer that, I’d need to know how well you knew Xavelor.
How well you really knew him.” His eyes squint, searching for something in my expression.
I wait for him to continue, perhaps to give me a hint as to what he’s alluding to, but the longer I wait, the more I realize he isn’t going to give anything away without being prompted first.
“He’s my brother,” I start, as if this stands to preface our closeness.
In truth, that’s about as deep as our relationship had been—a siblingship by title only.
Not that I ever minded. He didn’t seem to.
“But my knowledge of who he was before he died is likely limited to how much the public knows. I’d only seen glimpses of him for years, and I hadn’t spoken to him for longer.
” I sigh, shaking my head. “What about our relationship is relevant to the elves’ eye colors? ”
He holds his hand to his chin, and his eyebrows twitch as confusion flickers across his features. “Xavelor was a great warrior, but more than that, he was the best at getting what he desired. Be it food, shelter, women…”
This doesn’t surprise me, of course. I’d always hoped the servants were wrong when they whispered about his escapades, or how he appeared riddled with bruises and bite marks from nonhuman lovers.
I imagine being away from the castle for extended periods, constantly fighting wars would be tiresome for anyone.
I’m sure he drank until his heart purred, and laid with women he wouldn’t remember in the mornings after.
His concubines had also been clear about his frequent indulgences in the pleasures of the flesh. Hearing directly from my brother’s aide only confirms what I already knew.
“Xavelor attracted women of all species, including elves,” Ronan continues, his smirk widening, almost as if in pride.
I try to remain impassive, but the heat flaring in my cheeks betrays me.
“We often traveled through Aldorin with one of their peacekeepers. With Arioch being so far west, there was no other way to get to the war front of Midra and its neighboring kingdoms. On each of our journeys, I could tell he favored elven women above nymphs and fairies, but he would settle for anyone if it meant they kept his bed warm each night. Of the elves I’ve met, and each of those times brief, I noticed their eyes were on a constant rotation between red and brown, and always ended with black. ”
He lifts a hand from the reins to display a finger.
“Red always appeared first, when the elven dames were filled with the spirit of alcohol, slurring words left and right and angrily throwing anyone in their way to the side. So I think red must mean either anger or intoxication.” We trot along for a second before he continues.
The sky is darkening quickly. Ronan lifts a second finger.
“Brown appeared second, whenever Xavelor spoke to them. The dames would practically grovel at his feet, exposing more of their bodies throughout their acquaintance, as though drawn to him by lust. One look at the devilish face beneath his helmet and they were entranced.” His third finger juts up, and his smile falters slightly.
“Finally, black appeared right before Xavelor plunged his blade into their bosoms while I stood guard outside their room. He was cautious about who he let see his face. No one in our army even saw what he looked like, except for me. The women who beheld him were promptly disposed of.”
My teeth grit together. Why would he go as far as killing them? And how had I never heard about this? How many other murders and crimes go unnoticed? How many has my father simply ignored?
How could Xavelor bed a woman and kill her for no other reason than her wanting to receive his love?