Page 170 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

Taking a deep breath, I glance over my shoulder and see that I still seem to be the talking point of the evening, their wide eyes watching my every move. I thought they might be weary of me, even scared or angry, but not this. “Why is everyone looking at me like that?” My voice wavers a bit, showing my insecurities as I turn back to him. Vaeril steps closer, feeling my distress, and places his hand on my lower back. “I understand that you knew I was coming, but I didn’t expect this sort of reception for a half-elf,” I explain, trying to express my confusion over the whole thing without seeming ungrateful.

A look of comprehension crosses his face, and I see the speakers behind him watching us with interest. “You are so much more than that, Clarissa,” he replies, but instead of understanding, I just feel frustrated. Tor’s words echo in my head. He said something similar before we left Galandell. More than what? What’s wrong with me as I am now? I get the feeling that everything is about to change, perhaps not tonight, but soon. Something is looming over me, and I can’t decide if it’s for good or ill.

“What do you mean?” I question tentatively, feeling like I’m not going to like his response.

Smiling, he turns to face me fully, taking both my hands in his and cupping them gently. “Many of those here believe you are the reincarnation of Menishea,” he answers. Gobsmacked, I look at him with wide eyes, not sure I’m comprehending what he’s telling me.

He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying, right?Behind me, Vaeril rubs his hand in a circle in the center of my back, comforting me in my shock. He whispers something in elvish into my ear, and I feel the magic of the words fall over my body, even though I don’t understand what he’s saying.

Speaker Hawthorn must see my confusion and shock. He takes pity on me, his expression softening. “They believe you are our goddess in mortal form.”

Igape at the speaker for a few seconds as I try to digest what he’s just told me. A goddess. Me? The urge to laugh fills me, and I can’t contain my snort as I try to suppress my amusement. I desperately don’t want to offend these people who have made me feel so welcome and obviously know more about my elf nature and family history than I do, but they have to be wrong. This story is completely different than what the queen told me. Where she believed that the elves thought I was a sign of their goddess returning, the wood elves have gone one step further by believing Iamthe goddess. I’m supposed to report these people to her, to tell her what I’ve learned, to persuade them that I’m not a sign of the gods and goddesses returning. That last part at least, I can do.

Suddenly the weight of all the eyes that are on me feel heavy and suffocating. They’re expectant, like they’re anticipating for me to do something grand to prove I’m their goddess incarnate. Self-consciously, I reach out and touch my goddess mark on my left wrist, needing to feel connected, grounded. “You must bemistaken. I am no goddess,” I whisper, keeping my voice low. The last thing I want to do is upset anyone.

“She’s right. There is no way thatsheis a goddess,” Naril calls out, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. Vaeril sighs behind me, and I share his exasperation. We know the playful, teasing high elf and know he’s joking, but these elvesdon’t.

Pushing up from her throne, the female speaker with the delicate antlers takes a few angry steps towards him, her face twisted in disgust as she looks him up and down. “How dare you slight Menishea.”

Spinning, I see Naril frown and take a step back as the angry elf advances on him. His whole body becomes alert, and I’m reminded that he’s a warrior. He may not be like his twin, he’s much leaner and spends most of his time dealing with court matters, but looking at him now, I know he’s lethal.

“Naril,” I murmur softly, shaking my head as he glances at me, his eyes narrow and calculating. “My companion was just joking, he didn’t mean any offence,” I offer as I face the female, stepping between the two of them. She instantly dips her head to me in deference, her anger seemingly gone, but when she raises her head and looks at Naril, I can see it simmering in her eyes.

Vaeril shifts and nudges Naril, whispering something I can’t catch, but the lord sighs and nods. Taking a step forward, he places a hand over his heart and bows his head, holding the position. “I’m sorry if I offended you.” I have to hide my shock, I’ve never seen Naril apologise to anyone other than the queen before. After several seconds of awkward silence, he stands straight and looks at the speaker expectantly.

She makes a small, frustrated noise, narrowing her eyes as she gestures towards me. “It’s not me you should be apologising to.”

Knowing that will never happen, I look at Vaeril to step in and smooth things over, but Speaker Hawthorn thankfully beatsme to it. “It was a misunderstanding, Fawne,” he addresses the speaker quietly, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If Clarissa trusts him, we should too.”

The elf, Speaker Fawne, raises her jaw and looks down her nose at Naril, as if deciding whether or not he’s worth her time, before nodding and stepping back to her chair.

“Thank you,” I say, and I turn to address Speaker Hawthorn, my brow pulling into a frown. “But I really do think you’re mistaken.” I keep my voice low, not wanting to be overheard, but he just smiles and gestures to some benches to the side of where they’re sitting.

“Why don’t you take a seat up here with us, get comfortable, we’re about to tell the histories,” he informs me, before walking over to the center of the platform. A hush falls over us.

Doing as instructed, I step over to the wooden bench and take a seat, although calling it a bench doesn’t give it enough credit. The back is intricately carved and scoops down to the seat part, which is covered in plush, fluffy pillows of all colours. Vaeril takes a seat next to me, casually taking hold of my hand, while Naril sits on Vaeril’s other side, muttering something quietly in elvish.

“What are the histories?” I query quietly, sure I’m missing something. Why would they be telling everyone the history of the elves? Surely they know this already?

“They are stories of their history. They tell them at gatherings, passing down information of their ancestors. They never share them with outsiders, we should be honoured that they’re going to tell them with us here,” Vaeril tells me in a quiet voice, and I can hear his excitement at the prospect.

“Things might make a little more sense to you then,” Speaker Hawthorn says to me, obviously having overheard Vaeril’s explanation. “You can make up your mind once you’ve heard the histories.”

Smiling, I nod my agreement. I’m still confused and don’t believe that I’m a goddess, but I am excited to hear more about my heritage. I’m also hyperaware of Vaeril’s hand in mine, but because we’re very much on display here, I’ll need to make sure we’re on our best behaviour.

“Welcome all, thank you for joining us this evening,” Speaker Hawthorn calls, and while his voice isn’t loud, somehow, it travels around us, surrounding us. “This is a very special meet, as many of you will already know, Clarissa has returned to us.” Pride and happiness practically shine out from him as he looks over at me. Murmurings around the platform fill the night air as many sets of eyes fall on me. Just as I’m starting to get uncomfortable, he turns away and addresses the group again. “Tonight, we will tell the histories of the gods and goddesses.”

One of the other speakers stands and joins Hawthorn, speaking in elvish, and I realise he’s translating. They must only be speaking in Arhavien for my benefit. Murmurs fill the air again along with happy, excited chattering, and I get the impression that this is a favourite tale.

Clearing his throat, he smiles as he looks over the gathered crowd. “Back when the land was first created, it was ruled and governed by seven very powerful beings that had willed it into existence,” he begins, and I lean forward out of interest. I’ve never heard this story of the continent’s creation before, and certainly not that there had ever been more than one god. In Arhaven we believe only in the existence of the Great Mother, and I wonder how she fits into this. “It was a land rich with nature, and for a time, it was peaceful, but the gods grew bored, so they created life.” The speaker’s voice has taken on a lilting quality that fully draws you into the story, and I can see why they chose him to tell the histories.

“The humans came first, created to care for the land, but the gods were greedy and always wanting more. They began tomeddle in the lives of the humans, making them more aware and giving them the capacity to wantmorealso. This caused the humans to begin fighting amongst themselves, so the fae were created to bring balance,” the speaker continues, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I always thought the fae had been on the continent far longer than the humans, I had no idea it was the other way around.

Vaeril shifts his weight and leans towards me, his mouth close to the side of my face, his breath tickling the sensitive curve of my ear. “The fae were created in all shapes and sizes, living off the magic of the earth. Elves like to think we are superior to the other fae creatures, but ultimately, we are all related,” he elucidates, and I nod to show I’ve heard him.

“The elves evolved from this. They had the best aspects of the humans, but with added speed, longevity, strength, and the magic of the land,” Speaker Hawthorn carries on. “The gods were made up of four brothers, and three sisters—Holume, Macca, Jos, Nathius, Tia, Sabine, and the youngest, Menishea.”

I glance at Vaeril at the mention of their goddess. He’s smiling, like he can feel my gaze, but he continues to look at the speaker. Beyond him, I see Naril leaning forward, totally absorbed by the story.

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