Page 46 of The Sundered Blade

“It certainly took you long enough to see what has always been plain to those of us with eyes.” Lythienne’s tone was filled with a somehow parental exasperation. “And before you ask, yes, I would be pleased to work with and beside King Danric in the interests of our alliance. He has more than proven his competence and trustworthiness over these past months.”

“Queen Allera has already indicated the same,” Vaniell murmured, “and Iria has agreed to follow Allera’s lead.”

Everyone in the room was nodding in agreement, except, of course, for Danric himself, who appeared utterly gobsmacked.

“I can’t…”

“Don’t make us vote,” Vaniell said with a smirk. “You’ll lose, big brother.”

Evaraine stood on her tiptoes and kissed her husband’s cheek with a smile that was equally proud and sad. “I do not have to like that you will leave me, but I am absolutely certain that you will lead us well, my heart.”

And he would—to the very gates of hell and beyond. If Vaniell was certain of only one thing, it was that Danric would never falter. And with the bonds of friendship that had formed between this strange and unforeseen fellowship, perhaps they had a chance.

Modrevin was strong, unprincipled, and far more prepared. But he fought for himself alone, and that, in the end, was going to prove his undoing.

* * *

The following few days passed all too slowly for Vaniell, as the council of war convened and everyone seemed neck deep in strategies and paperwork. Messages were sent—to Dunmaren, Sion Dairach, Eddris, and Iria—detailing their plans to march on Garimore and formally requesting aid. He spent hours in various meetings, providing as much insight as he could into the man he’d once called Father, and utilizing his own network of messengers and informants to aid in the formation of their strategies.

But all the while, his mind seemed to keep wandering, to Garimore and to Karreya. She should be close now—close to arriving in the city he’d called home for much of his life, close to the confrontation on which all of their plans hinged. Close to a moment that might threaten her life, or at the very least change it forever.

And as he walked the hallways of the castle, surrounded by former enemies who inexplicably did not hate him, he wished she did not face this moment alone. True, she was accustomed to being alone and would deny needing anyone even if he’d offered to stand beside her. Indeed, if she’d opened the pouch, she’d received that offer and declined it. Or perhaps the enchantment had failed.

But either way, she would soon be confronting her father—not as a long-lost family member, but as a potential enemy, and that was not a moment he would wish on anyone. Let alone someone he cared about.

Someone he cared about…

What an insipid way to express how he felt about Karreya. The truth was, he missed her desperately. Could not stop thinking about her expressive golden eyes, her unflinching courage, her blunt conversations, and those moments he’d been fortunate enough to hold her hand in his. He wished she was beside him now, scowling and threatening to cut off his fingers.

The thought made him smile as he descended the stone steps towards the castle’s courtyard, turning his face to meet the early summer sun and shivering a little in the cool breeze. After so many months in the warm, gentle climate of Iria, these northern temperatures seemed unnecessarily harsh for summer, and he was looking forward to…

Something caught him by the collar and yanked him backwards just as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He ducked and twisted, but his assailant’s grip was made of iron, and all he could manage was to catch a glimpse of her identity.

Rethwyn. Kyrion’s sister. She’d been stalking him since the day of his arrival, and had at last managed to catch him when no one else was looking. Her teeth were slightly bared in a feral smile as she looked down on him from her superior height, and her eyes glowed with what might have been annoyance, anticipation… or possibly murderous rage.

“Come with me, little prince,” she growled low in her throat, and commenced dragging him after her up the steps and back inside, in the direction of the audience chamber.

He could either walk tamely beside her or fight her grip, which did not seem likely to result in success, so Vaniell found his feet and managed to give the impression he was sauntering casually along because he wanted to.

All while sliding his hands into his pockets and giving hasty consideration to which enchantment he might try if the furious night elf actually made an attempt on his life.

“So, where exactly are we going?” he asked politely, while trying to decide between a garrote that dissolved into thin air and a tricky little marble that could choke and blind its target in an instant. He’d been working on various non-lethal options of late, but had not yet found a willing subject to perform any tests.

“Do not speak, human.” Wyn bared her teeth at him yet again. “The sound of your voice annoys me.”

“How terribly disappointing,” he said blandly. “And after I’ve worked so hard to achieve a mellifluous tone. But I suppose you’re entitled to your opinion, just as I’m entitled to wonder whether your threats to consume my person are entirely genuine.”

Her teeth snapped together with a click only a few inches from his face, and her smile only grew. “Have you not heard, Princeling? We night elves are shapeshifters, and we love nothing so much as a hunt. My other form is not terribly picky about what she eats, so if I were to turn you loose in the forest and tell you to run…”

“Is that what you’re hoping for? A chase?” Vaniell let out a short bark of laughter. “Allow me to save you some time. I don’t really runanywhere—such an undignified behavior—so you might as well have a go at eating me somewhere closer. Just not inside the castle. I don’t imagine Queen Evaraine would appreciate having to clean my blood off her floor.”

Wyn paused, dragging him to a stop along with her. “Are you attempting to annoy me on purpose?”

“Of course.” He shrugged in her grip and grinned at her. “Annoyed people are far more predictable. They’re also far more distracted by trying to figure out how to make the annoyance stop, so they’re easier to surprise.”

And with that, his hand popped out of his pocket and flicked the marble in her direction.

She batted it away, but that simple contact was enough for the enchantment to flare to life.

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