Page 154 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

Rolling my eyes at the stupid face he’s pulling, I gesture for him to continue, too absorbed in the story. “No problem. Carry on.”

“I didn’t believe it. All elves are taught to make our weaponry from a young age, so I knew it was possible that they were getting it from him,” Naril continues, and I agree that I’d probably have thought the same thing. “Eldrin said it couldn’t be him, that Vaeril would rather die than make our weapons for the enemy, but they were getting the weapons from somewhere.” His fist bangs against the table, making me startle and lean back instinctively. His frustration practically radiated from him. Glancing at the master, I see he’s watching Naril with a melancholy but understanding expression, and I remember he and Vaeril are close.

“He was forced by magic, he didn’t have a choice.” I try to keep my voice even as I justify his actions, but it comes off more defensive than I intended.

“We know that now, young one.” Ardeth turns to me with a soft smile, reassuring me as he reaches out and gently pats my hand.

Taking a deep breath, I watch Naril try to calm himself, relaxing his fists and pressing his hands flat to the table. “Eventually, I was ordered by the queen to stop searching. She said it upset her too much. I did as I was told, and we assumed he was dead. We gave up on him,” he finishes mournfully, a sorrowful expression on his face which is mirrored by the master at my side. Their grief resonates with something inside me, and in a move completely out of character, I reach across the table and place my hand over Naril’s. I rarely instigate touch, and when I have, it’s only been with Vaeril and the others whom I feel pulled towards. Until now, the relationship between Naril and I has been a shallow and tentative friendship, but I’m beginning to learn more about the elf and it’s starting to change my opinion of him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Naril asks with a frown, turning his sharp eyes on me. “You didn’t give up on him. He was your enemy, yet you saw past that and helped him escape. You didn’t know you were part elf at that point, and I doubt he did either.” As he speaks, I can tell he’s confused, like he’s wondering what makes me different, allowing me to do what no one else could. “Did it feel like you were betraying them? The humans?” It’s a genuine question, and I don’t think he means it as an accusation, though it could be taken as one.

Yes,my internal thoughts answer immediately, and guilt rises inside me once again. It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever escape, although I know deep down that I don’t really haveanything to feel guilty for—it’s more complicated than that. I feel a lot of anger towards the king and his followers, which clouds my guilt and grief about leaving my friends and the innocents behind. Not that I’m going to tell Naril that.“They kept me as a slave my whole life and taught me only pain and fear,” I reply, not really answering the question, and from Naril’s raised eyebrow, he’s picked up on my evasion.

“What about the magician?” he counters. “Vaeril mentioned him,” he clarifies, seeing the confused look I give him.

Anger bubbles up inside me, and I have to look away from Naril’s smirking face before I leap across the table and punch him. Vaeril promised not to tell anyone else about my past, allowing me to choose whom I wanted to know about me.He would’ve known from when you arrived. He told the queen about you already, so Naril would have found out then anyway,my thoughts reason, and I have to concede my frustrations.

Looking up at Naril again, I realise he’s just trying to goad a reaction out of me to get more gossip. “Grayson saved me, I owe him my life.” I don’t know why I feel like I have to defend myself, or any relationship I have with Grayson, but something about his smug expression makes me defensive. “I don’t feel like I betrayed my race, but I am sorry that I never had the chance to say goodbye to the people who made a difference in the short time I was free.”

Naril’s face drops into a blank expression, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking, which is unusual for him. I’m used to his smirk, so to see him looking serious is unsettling. Have I said something wrong?If he doesn’t like my answers, he shouldn’t have antagonised me.

“I think you did what you needed to so you could survive in a terrible situation.” Master Ardeth’s voice in uncharacteristically somber, and as I turn to face him, I swear I see his eyes glitteringwith unshed tears. “You’ve suffered much. If I had known about you…” He trails off as he looks away, his voice tight, and I get the impression he’s trying to compose himself. My heart squeezes painfully at the agony in his voice and at the thought that he would have rescued me from slavery. He barely knows me, but for my grandfather, he would have helped me.

“Thank you.” The words aren’t enough, and I hope he hears how much what he said means to me.

He’s still staring up at the large windows, the afternoon sun streaming in and leaving the library in a warm orange glow. Nodding his head, he takes a deep breath before turning back and giving me a polite smile.

“Now, how can I help you? I assume you came here for a particular reason?”

I’m sure my face shows my surprise at the sudden change in conversation, but before I can speak, Naril clears his throat, pulling the attention to him. “We came to speak to you actually.”

Humming in pleasure, Master Ardeth turns to me with an expectant expression. I’ll never get over how quickly the elves seem to change their moods, it’s like our earlier discussion never transpired.

“I was hoping you could tell me more about my grandfather. I want to learn about my elvish heritage,” I explain, hoping I’ve come to the right place. He seemed to be knowledgeable about Jaonos when I came here the first time, so it seemed like a good place to start.

“Wise move. ‘It’s vital to know where you came from if you hope to know where you’re going,’” he says sagely as Naril rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, giving the impression Master Ardeth has said this many times before. “I knew your grandfather personally, so I can probably answer some of your questions. What would you like to know?”

Excitement fills me at the prospect of finally getting some answers. “What was he like?” Leaning forward, I brace my hands against the table, trying to curb some of my enthusiasm. Naril just snorts in amusement, but Master Ardeth gives me a wide smile.

“Jaonos was a kind and gentle soul,” he replies, settling in his chair with his hands crossed on the table before him. “You know that he was a wood elf?” When I nod, the master smiles and continues. “The wood elves live in the great forest along the White Cliffs. It’s a much older forest than the one separating Galandell from the humans. The trees there are sentient, and the wood elves embrace nature.”

I marvel at his words, trying to imagine a forest larger than the one we had ventured through to get here, but I find the task impossible. A memory surfaces of Vaeril leaning at the bottom of the trees we would sleep in, thanking them for their protection and shelter. I had felt something those nights, like a slight nudging on my consciousness.

“They thrive in the forest, many of them becoming one with Menishea,” he continues, but I frown when he says something in elvish that I don’t understand. The whole concept of the wood elves becoming something else confuses me. Vaeril had once said something about wood elves changing, but I hadn’t understood then either.

“What’s Menishea?” My tongue stumbles over the unfamiliar word as I ask the master, ignoring the smirking Naril, who’s now picking his nails with a dagger. Charming.

Master Ardeth’s eyebrows rise slightly at my question before he chuckles lightly at himself. Frowning, I think he’s laughing at my ignorance, but he quickly stops and smiles gently at me again. “I apologise. I forget you don’t know much about us or our religion.”

I lean forward eagerly, remembering earlier mentions of the gods that had perplexed me. “The elves are religious?” Vaeril has mentioned gods before, but I’ve never seen him, or anyone else for that matter, worship. There are no churches or temples that I’ve seen in Galandell, and they don’t seem to outwardly praise them.

“Not particularly. They’re deities we call upon in times of need, or when we need someone to blame,” Naril interjects, earning a scowl from the master.

“What Naril is trying to say, is that our gods and goddesses have been forgotten over time,” the master elucidates, berating the younger elf. “You see, they disappeared.” My eyebrows rise at this. How can a god just disappear? You either worship them or you don’t. Surely they wouldn’t just leave? “You will still see influences of them around the city, but the wood elves have never given up on their goddess—Menishea.” Every time he says the goddess’s name, my whole body tingles, like even just speaking her name evokes her power. “It roughly translates to Mother of Nature in your language, although I believe you refer to her as the Great Mother?”

This is not wholly new information to me. I knew the elves were aware of my goddess, Vaeril had told me that much, but I didn’t realise she was worshipped here or how she fit in with their religion.

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