CHAPTER 8 #2
Her men murmured among themselves, uneasy.
Faelith urged her horse forward. “We need to reach the council house.”
They nodded and fell into formation behind her.
They reached the central square just as the last of the procession passed.
The council house loomed ahead, its tall spires silhouetted against the brightening sky.
The building was grand, its white stone fa?ade carved with intricate patterns of vines and stars.
But even here, black banners hung from the balconies, their edges fluttering in the wind.
Faelith dismounted, her legs stiff from the long ride.
A man in formal attire approached, his expression polite but strained. “Lady Faelith of Mist Haven?”
“Yes.”
“I am Attendant Marcellin, attaché to the High Council. I have been instructed to escort you and your men to your lodgings for the evening. The Council will meet with you tomorrow morning.” His gaze flicked to the rest of her weary group. “What has happened to the rest of your party?”
Faelith replied solemnly. “Your men fell at the hands of Changelings on our way here. They were buried with respect. If I may, the message sounded urgent. I wish to speak with the council today.”
Marcellin’s smile was thin. “As unfortunate as that is, the Council is occupied with the funeral of one of their own. Tomorrow will be sufficient. It will give you and your men time to rest.”
There was no point in arguing and creating a scene.
He led them through the quiet courtyard to a modest but well-kept building near the council house. Their horses were taken to the stables to be brushed down and watered. The rooms were simple but comfortable, with clean linens, warm hearths, and fresh water for washing.
Hours later, Faelith stood in the middle of her room, staring at the flickering fire as night settled over the city. She had bathed, eaten supper, written to her mother, and prepared for tomorrow’s talks, but it all felt like she was just filling time.
Tomorrow, she would stand before the council as the voice of her people.
But tonight, she was simply a woman far from home, standing in a foreign city draped in mourning, with thoughts of a man she didn’t understand and couldn’t seem to let go of.
Sleep would not come easily.
And so, she left her room.
The corridors outside her chamber were quiet, lit only by lanterns that burned with a soft amber glow. The hush of the city seeped into the stone, settling over everything like a second skin. Faelith wrapped a light cloak around her shoulders and stepped into the night.
The gardens lay just beyond the guesthouse.
She had caught a glimpse of them earlier when she first arrived, a patchwork of manicured hedges and carefully arranged flowerbeds.
Now, under the moonlight, they appeared different.
Softer. Less defined. Shadows blurred the sharp lines of human design, giving the place a gentler, almost dreamlike quality.
She followed a gravel path that wound between rows of rosebushes and flowering shrubs. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and damp earth. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain murmured, its voice steady and soothing.
It was a pleasant spring night, too pleasant considering the circumstances.
Faelith walked slowly, letting her fingers brush the leaves as she passed. Humans had shaped this place with intention. Every hedge trimmed, every blossom placed, every stone set in its proper place. It was beautiful in a way that felt curated and controlled.
Nothing like the Woodlands.
At home, the forests grew wild and unrestrained.
Trees twisted toward the sky in shapes older than memory.
Moss blanketed fallen logs in soft green velvet.
Flowers bloomed where they wished, not where they were told.
The air there was alive with the hum of insects, the rustle of leaves, the distant call of animals.
Here, the silence felt deliberate and manufactured.
She paused beside a rosebush heavy with pale blossoms. The petals glowed faintly in the moonlight, their edges tinged with silver. She reached out and brushed one with the tip of her finger.
A thorn caught her.
She hissed softly as a bead of blood welled up, bright against her skin. It dripped onto the gravel path, darkening the pale stones.
For a moment, she simply watched it.
A single drop of blood on a garden path. Insignificant. Meaningless.
And yet…
If she failed these talks, if the council refused to listen, if the humans chose fear over reason, if the elves chose pride over peace, there would be far more blood spilled.
Not drops. Rivers. Her people would lose everything they had worked to protect, their homes and their forests.
She would be held responsible for leading them to ruin, haunted by every face she could not save.
And on the far side of ruin, peace would slip from reach forever.
On both sides.
She pressed her thumb to the wound, staunching the flow. The sting grounded her, sharpening her thoughts.
She had not come here to mourn. She had not come here to be intimidated by grief or politics or the weight of human ceremony. She had come to speak for her people, to negotiate, to prevent an unnecessary war.
But standing alone in the quiet garden, she felt the enormity of it settle over her like a cloak too heavy for her shoulders.
She closed her eyes.
Mother, give me strength.
A breeze stirred the leaves, brushing cool fingers against her cheek. For a heartbeat, she imagined she could hear the whisper of the Woodlands in it, the rustle of ancient branches and the distant song of night birds. Home.
She opened her eyes again.
The garden was still. The roses swayed gently. The fountain murmured. The moon hung low and bright above the city.
And she was alone.
Or so she thought.
A soft crunch of gravel behind her made her turn.
One of her guards, Ashendir, stood a few paces away, his expression apologetic. “My lady. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” she lied gently. “Is something wrong?”
“No, my lady. I only noticed you had left your room. I thought it best to keep watch.”
She nodded. Ashendir was young but loyal. He had lost two friends on the road here. The grief sat in his eyes like a shadow.
“You should rest,” she said. “Tomorrow will be long.”
“So will tonight,” he replied quietly. “For all of us.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
“Walk with me, then,” she said.