CHAPTER 3 #2
Faelith traced a slow half circle around the prayer tree, its massive trunk rising like a pillar of weathered stone. Red and blue ribbons hung from the branches; each tied with a whispered hope for the coming year.
Some were bright and newly placed, others faded from seasons long past, their edges worn but still clinging to the bark.
She paused beneath a cluster of ribbons. Inked words curled along the fabric in careful script. May the spring bring peace to those who wander. Another read, Let the land heal what winter has broken. The wishes stirred softly in the breeze, as if acknowledging her presence.
Her own ribbon rested higher in the branches, a thin red strip she had tied that morning. She had left it blank. No written wish felt strong enough to hold what she hoped for.
Faelith lifted her hand and pressed her palm to the bark. The tree felt cool and steady underneath her touch. She closed her eyes, as though she could infuse the entire prayer tree with her will and hope, even though she could not predict what the future would bring. For a moment she stood there,
She felt a ribbon brush her cheek from another gentle breeze. It was a light, fleeting touch. Whether it was an answer or if she was going mad, she could not say.
She lowered her hands and stepped back. Lanterns glowed at its base, casting warm halos across the moss. Voices drifted around the village, fusing with the rhythm of drums.
The music flowed through the air, lively strings and flutes weaving a melodic tune. Laughter followed, bright and unrestrained. Men and women glided in circles, their steps light and joyous. Children scurried between them, waving sparklers that left trails of golden light in the dusk.
Faelith wandered through the festivities with a goblet of wine in hand, making polite small talk with those who approached her.
She watched people smile and laugh as they pranced around the maypole, ribbons fluttering like colorful streams. Others gathered at long tables, enjoying roasted venison with herbs, along with plates of fresh fruit and cheese.
She even caught sight of a handfasting. A couple stood before the Elders, their union lit by moonlight, their hands wrapped in a ceremonial cloth as they recited vows of love and fidelity.
Faelith had rarely thought about settling down. This forest was her home, but sharing her life with someone felt distant and abstract. If she were to settle, she would want someone who could match her, someone who would push her, question her, and stand beside her without faltering.
The closest she had come to that was Tyr, but their bond had always been that of a brother and sister.
Speaking of which, he was nowhere to be seen. Odd. He should have been at the opening ceremony, standing beside the Elders.
Rena had named him her successor just last year. It made sense to Faelith, a Diwaller leading the Diwaller people.
While Faelith could do without his annoying ego, she could not deny he had good instincts. He was fair, steady, and reliable.
His absence kept tugging at her thoughts.
Taking another sip of wine, she drifted toward one of the bonfires at the edge of the clearing. The flames crackled and popped, sending sparks into the air.
She held her free hand out toward the warmth, grateful for the reprieve from the chill of the spring night.
Tonight was a full moon. Its pale light filtered through the branches, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor.
In the distance, crickets chirped their rhythmic song. An owl hooted, calling to its mate.
Faelith loved nights like this, the peaceful shift from day to night, the quieting of diurnal creatures as they slept, and the awakening of the nocturnal ones.
The air was cool yet pleasant, carrying an earthy scent. It was a perfect night for the solstice, a night for new beginnings.
A sudden commotion on the far side of the clearing snapped her out of her reverie. Laughter and music faded, replaced by confused whispers and startled noises.
Faelith set her goblet down on a nearby stump and threaded her way through the crowd toward the murmuring. She pushed gently past those gathered until she reached the front.
Tyr stood there, flanked by eight human knights bearing Talcana banners. Their armor gleamed in the firelight, their faces tense.
Behind them, a shadowed figure. Tall, broad and as strong as an oak tree, with a hood pulled low over their face was being dragged forward, hands shackled.
Faelith kept watching.
Rena stepped toward the newcomers, her posture straight and commanding. Tyr handed her a rolled parchment. She broke the seal and read the message, her brow furrowing with each line.
“The festivities are over,” Rena announced, her voice carrying across the clearing. “Go home, everyone. We will clean up on the morrow.”
The crowd murmured, confused and disappointed, but obeyed. Rena turned to a nearby servant. “Take our guests to get fed and rested.”
Then she fixed her gaze on her daughter. “Faelith.”
Without hesitation, Faelith moved to her mother’s side. She briefly met Tyr’s eyes. He looked disappointed, sad even, before he looked away. Confused, she turned to Rena, waiting for her command.
Rena handed her the message. As Faelith read it, her chest constricted. A summons from the Council. A request to convene urgently for negotiations that could benefit both peoples.
The humans and elves had maintained a tenuous peace for years, but hostility always simmered just beneath the surface.
“It could be a trap,” Tyr whispered, careful not to be overheard.