Page 51 of This Midsummer Heart
“Don’t get too used to it.”
“Wouldn’t dare.”
The path through the nightflowers bids us onward, toward the chance of rest. Somehow, I feel a little less tired after our conversation. Titaine speaking to me for any length of time is a victory I cannot take for granted.
By the time we are halfway across the field, a pair of elven wardens stride out to meet us, their curved daggers at the ready and short-range bows at their backs. I expect a gruff demand of who we are and what our business is in Embersdeep. Instead, one after the other, their eyes flick toward the hilt resting at my side.
Dragons blast it, the Blade of Hedril’s hilt and scabbard are wreathed in shadow again. I don’t know how to make it stop, and am about to result to fanning the smoke-like plumes with my hands to scatter it, when one of the wardens says breathily, “King Auberon.”
King?
In practiced unison, they both bow low, literally bending the knee to me. It’s all I can do not to heave out a sigh of frustration. Now that I am leaving all of the northern wolding, they choose to acknowledge me? Because of a little dark magic?
Except it isn’t a little. Grimly, I incline my head and bid them to stand.
“We wish to intrude upon the hospitality of the lady and lord of this forest,” I say, stretching the last word as I search my memory for their names—there was a different lady in charge of this forest, and no lord at all, when last I visited. “Please send word to Lady Indigo and Lord Veld that I wish to pay my respects.”
The wardens lift their hands, one curved over the other, and offer me another bow before turning and leaving, their posture stiff instead of fluid as they make their way out of the dip in the path and toward the higher ground of Embersdeep.
Titaine’s words come as a whisper, so close to my ear it gives me chills despite the heat. I can feel her breath on the shell of it, a pleasant sensation I’d nearly forgotten. “Are they afraid of you?”
I shake my head, trying to put a little space between us. “Surprised, I think. Not something I can fault them for, since I’ve only had this magic for a couple of hours.”
“It’s been longer than that,” Titaine answers without really answering anything, and in her usual fae way, she begins to walk ahead, putting a large white mare between us.
“You might’ve said something,” I call after her, “given that the entire reason I’m on this journey is because magic is fading.”
No reply. Of course not.
“I guess you just couldn’t do without me,” I say, not bothering to raise my voice.
The hitch in her step says she heard me.
But she does not refute it.
Arriving in Emberdeep is a strange, almost out of body experience. Everywhere I look, elves are hurrying to flank us, dropping into bows or simply standing to watch us pass, as if we are a parade attraction.
The lady and lord of Embersdeep are not much better, gaping at me the way Titaine stared at the nightflowers. At last, they collect themselves, drawing nearer as their people part for them.
I am studying this lord and lady, too, for both of them are strangers to me. They are lesser in height and age than I am, without warriors’ builds and rather young to lead. Lady Indigo resembles the previous lady of this fireswamp, her skin the deeper blue of a full-blooded dark elf; Lord Veld’s is blue-gray, with sandy hair that shines silver rather than gold—the fairest coloring for a dark elf. The cheeks of both darken in a flush as they glance at the blade at my side.
Though her husband is dressed plainly but for a heavily embroidered vest, Indigo wears a gown far too elaborate to have just thrown it on to greet us. Likewise, her black hair is partially bound atop her head in an elaborate working of braids, suggesting we’ve interrupted preparations for a formal event.
As the one who carries the title through her line, it is Lady Indigo’s duty to greet me first. I wonder how she will do it.
“King Auberon of the Dark Elves is welcome here. His land is our land.”
I’m not completely sure whether she’s just misspoken. The usual greeting isour land is his land.
Glancing at her, Lord Veld echoes his lady wife’s words exactly as she’s said them.
They both just acknowledged me not as a guest butas their king. Firmly in the throes of shock, I cannot recall how I’m meant to respond.
Titaine clears her throat. Oh, right.
“This is Titaine, Houselord of the Fetes and the fae lady of the sun,” I introduce her to this young lady and lord, hesitating only a moment before adding, “my queen.”
This sends Indigo and Veld scrambling, bowing again. Veld hastily calls for an attendant to “take the king and queen’s horses and see to their care.”
