Chapter 15 #4
“He’s done nothing,” Ronan replies, his voice amplified in my right ear—my left one is now becoming one with the moist earth.
The pressure gradually releases from my head, but two knees still pin my shoulders to the ground. To my left, a long rope of braided golden hair brushes along the dirt.
“Release the prince, elf .” Ronan’s words ring with disgust and hostility. Different from his authority he used with the mages.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Prince?” The question is clipped, pronounced as though the word itself is doused in poison.
Ronan has gone and said it again.
My shoulders heave once into the dirt, and then the weight is all gone. I flip around to assess my attacker.
“What have you done to him?” the blond elf growls. His deep purple eyes shoot like arrows at Ronan. His surprise at my status seems to be currently overridden by Ronan’s cleansing of the Sanvira.
His outfit is plain and rugged, much like Ether’s. A camouflaged dagger sits against his right hip. His bare feet are smaller than the Sanvira’s but still much larger than Ether’s.
Six spines, black like onyx, poke through the lobes and cartilage of his tipped ears.
“His tainted energy was toxifying your precious forest,” Ronan spits.
“That’s enough, Ronan,” I clip in quickly, jaw going rigid. My aide rolls his lips together, his eyebrows creasing.
The elf turns to me, his eyes lightening slightly as his blond eyelashes half close over them in a squint.
“ Prince ,” he spits, remembering who I am. Somehow, his tone is filled with a personal hostility, as if I’ve wronged him. “I don’t suppose you’ve met a black-haired female elf recently?”
My eyes widen, and the elf’s face darkens in recognition.
Somehow, I know he’s talking about Ether.
It might be the way he bares his teeth, two sharp fangs curving over his bottom lip.
Or perhaps it’s his eyes flashing pink, similar to Ether’s.
The anger there, in the bony body coiling to spring toward me, is the anger of someone who thinks their beloved has been murdered. I know, because I’ve been there before.
That doesn’t mean I want to get caught in the crossfire.
I don’t waste my time scrambling to my feet and shrinking away, my hands shakily rising in defense. I glance desperately at Ronan, but his focus is elsewhere.
Maybe he doesn’t think this elf is a threat.
My heart does not slow.
The elf crosses his leather-wrapped arms over his chest, surveying me from head to toe. His nose scrunches, his focus settling on the cloth covering the lower half of my face. “You must not be as handsome as they say.”
A smirk lifts my mouth, and I roll my lips harshly together to force the thought of Ether finding me attractive from my head. If that rumor had even circulated from her.
Even then, it would have been about Xavelor, not me.
The elf’s resentment plays with the air a moment before he turns to study the body now turning black in front of him. He releases an ugly sob, his eyes darkening. He falls to the ground, pounding a fist into the soft soil as grief sends shivers down his arms.
“What have you done?” His voice weakens, brittle, as though this death has somehow broken him. That it has destroyed his entire world.
Could an elf be so attached to one of my father’s informants? I know little of the history between elves and the Sanvira, though the rumors about their strong magical ties must be true, despite their torn loyalties.
Ronan sighs, then presses on his knee for support as he rises. “What had to be done. He was killed. There’s no question. I simply put his soul to rest.”
“Please.” The elf snarls. “You’ve overstepped a very important boundary, that is what you’ve done.”
Before our eyes, the corpse disappears into nothingness, just like the mage’s had before it left us.
Leaving behind no ashes, no mark of his life.
There are, however, a few black spine-like rocks sinking deeper into the mud where his waist had rested.
I bend down and scoop them up before they disappear.
Their glassy surfaces are blurred with a layer of dried blood and mud.
They look uncannily like the ones in this elf’s ears, but another image comes to mind: of Ether, her ears gory and torn. Could these be hers?
I stow the spikes in my satchel, then stand.
The elf turns away, tears glossy on his cheeks. He doesn’t seem to realize I’ve taken the sharp objects.
He pounds his fist once more into the ground, and his eyes flash to mine, a familiar shade of pink returning to them. But it’s duller this time, muted almost.
I assume this to mean I’ve earned his complete and utter distrust.
My hands shoot up in surrender. “We don’t know who killed him. But we are here to help you find out who did.” I bite my tongue at the impulsive lie. But maybe he can help us find a tallup in return.
The elf shakes his head. “No. This is our business. I’m not sure why you think you should get involved, because, I assure you, no human could fall a Sanvira so easily. I will report this to our village, and we will take care of it. You need not get involved any further.”
“But our treaty?—”
The elf snickers, his face twitching with anger. “Trust me. Nothing has been put at risk. Anything you’ve heard is simply a rumor to stir something up. It wouldn’t be the first time humans wanted to war with us.”
I pause, remembering elves can’t lie, so his bluntness must be meant for our benefit. Then I nod. “Fine. Do as you must. But before you go, can you tell me where we can find a tallup?”
Ronan makes a sound from behind me that I’m unsure how to interpret.
A smile turns the elf’s lips upward. He jabs a thumb in Ronan’s direction. “ He can tell you. He’s leeched enough of the forest’s energy by now to locate a whole school, I’d be willing to bet.”
My attention darts to my aide, who sits on his heels, rocking back and forth and digging shapes into the dirt with an extended finger.
He shrugs his shoulders and maintains a bored expression.
He’s unaffected by the elf’s clear aggression, or pretending to be.
I wonder if this is a tactic he’s used when encountering elves with Xavelor.
My eyebrows pull together. I don’t want to question Ronan so much.
He has my best interest in mind, or should .
With all of the unfamiliarity of the magical forest, he is the one I am to rely on.
Doubting his intentions will only drive a wedge deeper between us, and I can’t afford to be here without an ally.
I sigh, pushing the unease from my chest before I face the elf. “We need an escort from the forest for this to work the right way. If you wouldn’t mind…”
The elf cocks his head to the side, scrunches his sun-stained eyebrows together, and purses his lips. He glances once more at Ronan, then huffs a breath. “Fine, I’ll show you a route. It’s on the way to Nwatalith anyway.”
Nwatalith . Ether’s village. Had he meant to reveal this?
“Thank you,” I breathe. “What is your name?”
The elf turns away, kneeling where the Sanvira’s body had been. He brushes his fingers along the impression in the dirt, then reaches into his ragged clothing for something. He produces a familiar purple flower, its rows of buds fresh and lush with life.
But their usually repugnant scent is masked with the reek of rotting flesh, and for a moment, I wish I could smell the flowers instead.
I curse the thought as it tramples upon my morale.
“Pluto,” the elf whispers. He peers at me over his shoulder as he stands, then angles his head, beckoning me to follow. “You can call me Pluto.”