Page 61 of A Serenade To The Elf Queen
I feel Aelfric’s hand tighten around me, as if he wishes he can spare me from this conversation.
“Queen Rhianelle is the symbol of our religion, the very essence of Aelfheim,” Tierra says calmly. “You want to surrender her to a Nightwalker?”
“Indeed. You’re getting ahead of yourself, Ctibor,” Eamon says, slowly rising to his feet. “We must convey what we saw tonight to the Elders.”
With that, the three Aldarelfs finally leave the tent. The quiet tension remains long after their absence.
“Are they for real? This is all too weird,” Kheirall’s whisper ripples in the silence.
“Folks from beyond the veil are a little different from us,” Ragnar mutters through his pain.
“Aren’t elves supposed to be the reasonable ones compared to the fae?” Kheirall asks again.
Aelfric clears his throat. “We can hear you clearly.”
Rainer collects his cloak and fine sword, making a move to exit the tent. Lady Deirdre’s eyes snap to him. “Tell me you’re not considering this.”
My uncle leaves without a word. I’m familiar enough with his reticent nature to know that’s my cue to follow him.
Aelfric suddenly grips my hand. The silver rings around his turquoise eyes flare as he looks at me. “They can’t demand this of you.”
I muster a small smile for my friend. “I’ll be fine. Look after the demons for me.”
I don’t trust Eamon enough to leave them unattended in their weakened state. My footsteps are light as I tread behind my uncle to his tent. I study his lean, muscular back silently, already dreading the conversation that will come.
Silver stag embroideries and green ivory silks bedeck the interior of Rainer’s wide tent. I hardly think he cares for these lavish decorations but the effort of the Tluryan elves leaves me in awe. I’d always wanted to be one of them after my ascension. A silly dream that will never happen.
My uncle has no visible wounds, but his strength is depleted after that technique. He stops halfway across the room over the velvet chaise to remove his blazer, wincing at the small movement.
I charge to help him. Despite the countless wars and battles, Rainer only retains a single battle scar across his chest from a near fatal wound and the burn mark on his face. It still hurts himfrom time to time, especially after exhausting himself like today. “You should have Lady Deirdre look at this.”
“She’s draining herself. I’ll be fine after an hour nap,” he dismisses, pouring himself a goblet of wine. Typical Kvatosh’s servant.
“Would you like me to make you a sleeping draught?” I ask.
He drains his cup empty. “No need.”
Silence falls between us, heavy and loud. His sharp features are set in stone, unveiling not an ounce of emotion.
Well say your piece, Uncle.
“The decrepit bastards in the capital wouldn’t be able to resist that power,” he mutters, casting a baleful look in the direction of the Aldarelfs’ tent. “They’ll have more power over you.”
“No one is trying to hurt me, Uncle.” I let my voice fall.
He shifts to look at me, his eyes bleak and cold as they stare me down. I fight the urge to fidget or run. “You’re too soft. One day, I may not be here to protect you.”
I lift my head to meet his dark, unyielding gaze. “Let’s not pretend this is for my sake,” I say, louder than I mean to.
I have never raised my voice to Rainer. Something akin to pain crosses over his features. He blinks it away, leaning back in his seat.
“I won’t deny it. The Nightwalker is our best chance to kill Eirik,” he says, his voice brimming with exhaustion. “This is how we avenge your sister.”
A small part of me crushes.
“Wake me in an hour with whatever it is you decide,” he mutters, already drifting to sleep.
There is no calming this deep-seated hate for the Fae King. Aerin was everything to him. I understand that frustration. That same anger burns deep inside me too. I wonder if my thirst forrevenge will bring me this far. Would I be willing to sacrifice someone the way Rainer does?
