Chapter 21
Elessan
Elessan slid through one of the smaller gates at the back of the castle, as far away from the commotion in the front courtyard as possible.
Of the two guards stationed here, only one was present.
He supposed he couldn’t begrudge them their inquisitiveness when it made his job so much easier.
No doubt the missing guard had gone to find out what the upset was and report back to his colleague.
Once everything settled down, he’d have to have a chat with Aliya about ensuring proper discipline in her ranks.
In the elven kingdom, abandoning one’s post, regardless of reason, was punishable by death.
It was perhaps a tad extreme, but desertion for mere curiosity?
That would never be acceptable, especially if it put her life at risk.
It was the work of a heartbeat to wrap his arm around the solitary guard’s neck and choke off his air supply until his body went limp. Leaving the unfortunate human in the shadow of the portcullis, Elessan slipped into the estate undetected.
The hallways were deserted. He had to give whoever was at the front credit—they knew how to create a scene that drew attention.
He couldn’t resist—he took a quick detour down the wing housing the elven visitors. Rolling his shoulders, he knocked on one of the doors. The sound echoed off the stone walls of the empty hall. Resting his ear against the wood, he listened for movement in the room.
Nothing.
Turning the latch, he took a deep breath. “Mother?”
A vacant room greeted him. Her belongings were no longer there.
The bed was unmade and a towel lay on the floor in the bathing chamber.
He’d gotten his habit for tidiness from her—Sorisana had no doubt intended to pick up the linen and straighten the blankets prior to starting her day.
Something had interrupted her, resulting in a rush of packing before an abrupt departure.
Her scent was still fresh, though—she hadn’t been gone long.
If she’d had time to pack, the issue likely wasn’t Brooks.
The neighboring room was also vacant. As was the next.
Elessan would bet one of his daggers the problem stemmed from the sun elf royals themselves. Something had happened, either with Roland or Tsara, and now his people were leaving. And throwing quite an explosive fit about it, judging from the commotion in the courtyard.
Loosening his blades for a quick draw, he spun on his heel. Time to find out exactly what was going on.
Outside was a circus. Elves lined one side and humans on the other.
Roland Enorathil stood in the center next to a roaring bonfire wearing his ridiculous golden headdress marking him as king.
In case there'd been any doubt. The acrid stench of burning fat, meat and starch assaulted Elessan’s sinuses.
A mountain of more food than he’d ever seen in one place burned.
He blinked. Aliya’s kingdom was facing a famine, and all this was being wasted. His skin flushed as his pulse throbbed past his ears.
Snatching the collar of one of Aliya’s nobles who walked by, Elessan pulled him into the shadows. “What’s going on here?”
The man was one of the ones who sat on Aliya’s council… the annoying one Aliya had granted management of the water rights to. Match-something. Macherall. That was it.
The human squinted at him with beady eyes as recognition flooded his face. The noble grimaced.
Elessan shoved him against the wall. His head bounced off the stones hard enough to make his gaze unfocus as his eyelids fluttered. Air whooshed out of his lungs.
It took a supreme amount of self-control for Elessan to wrangle in his patience, but by Abaddon, he did it. He couldn’t kill the man yet. Leaning forward so he was nose-to-nose with the wretched aristocrat, he growled. “Don’t make me ask again.”
The lord looked like he’d rather spit blood at Elessan’s feet, but his stern facade crumbled under the weight of Elessan’s stare. “The elves are leaving,” Macherall ground out in a wheeze. “And good riddance.”
Elessan’s fingers tightened in the man’s shirt until the collar pulled so tight it cut into Macherall’s neck. “Why?”
The noble chortled, chunks of spittle landing on Elessan’s arm. He held back a grimace.
“Queen Aliya.” The councilor managed to keep most of the derision from his tone, but not all of it. “She told the king to piss off, that she wasn’t going to marry him.”
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Elessan flared his nostrils.
Aliya had said no such thing. Shadow had.
And while Aliya had given Shadow permission to impersonate her, he doubted she’d intended her aunt to make decisions that would shred the alliance she’d worked so hard to build.
A fact Shadow no-doubt knew and understood.
So, what happened?
A few stitches in Lord Macherall’s tunic snapped with the force Elessan was exerting on them.
Grabbing the man’s throat with his free hand, he untangled his other from the other’s clothing.
His nails dug deep, putting pressure on the major artery on both sides of the human’s neck.
“Tell me what they said. I want it word for word.”
Macherall twisted his head side-to-side, though whether that was in denial or an attempt to break Elessan’s grip, he had no idea. Nor did he care.
He slammed the noble’s head into the stones behind him one more time. “I’m waiting.”
“I wasn’t there,” Macherall gasped, his weak-ass fingers prying uselessly at Elessan’s hand curled around his throat. “I don’t know.”
Elessan growled deep in his chest, baring his fangs. He was getting tired of wasting time with this mortal. “Then who did you hear it from?” He knocked the man into the wall again.
“The guard outside her door,” the lord stammered. “I pay him to keep me informed.”
Clenching his jaw until his tendons snapped, Elessan bit back another growl. Aliya definitely needed new sentries. “The guard’s name?”
The noble’s skin was becoming an interesting shade of purplish mauve. Elessan squeezed harder.
“Lataren. Lataren Ridley.”
Elessan filed the traitorous man’s name away for the future. It was not the most immediate problem at the moment, but one that required prompt attention.