Page 10 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
I try to swallow down the sourness of that realization. Her wariness, the walls she's constructing between us, the way she's mentioned Rhea's father in vague, dismissive terms—it all points to a story I've heard too many times in Kyrdonis. A dark elf of artistic temperament, probably of my own caste, who swept through this small town like a beautiful storm and left devastation in his wake.
I set down the book I'm holding and turn to study her more carefully. She's bent over her ledger with fierce concentration, her pen moving in sharp, controlled strokes that suggest barely contained emotion. The morning light streaming through the windows catches the warm brown tones of her skin and thedetermined line of her jaw, and I'm struck by how beautiful she is in her guarded competence.
More than that, though, I'm struck by how real she seems. After years surrounded by the artificial sophistication of Kyrdonis society—the calculated words, the strategic relationships, the performances that pass for genuine emotion—being near someone who responds with such authentic, if complicated, feeling is like breathing clean air after too long in a smoke-filled room.
"Brynn," I say softly, and she looks up with something almost like panic in her hazel-green eyes.
"The cataloguing system is straightforward," she says quickly, as if I'd asked about the books rather than simply spoken her name. "Poetry and literature on the left shelves, practical guides on the right. Children's books in the lower sections where they can reach them."
I nod and return to the books, but my attention remains divided between the task and the woman across the room who's working so hard to maintain distance between us. Whatever happened to her, whoever left her wary of dark elves bearing artistic pretensions and pretty words, it's left scars that run deeper than I initially realized.
The irony isn't lost on me. Here I am, drawn to her authenticity and strength, while she's probably seeing me as just another version of whoever came before. Another dark elf who'll charm his way into her life and leave chaos in his wake.
Above us, the sound of the girls' laughter drifts down through the ceiling, bright and uncomplicated. At least that relationship is simple—two children finding joy in each other's company, unmarked by the complicated histories that make adult connections so fraught with potential for pain.
I continue cataloguing books while stealing glances at Brynn, trying to understand the puzzle she presents. She's kind to mydaughter, welcoming to me despite her obvious reservations, yet she maintains this careful distance that suggests hard-won wisdom about the dangers of letting people get too close too quickly.
It makes me want to know her story, to understand what put that guarded look in her eyes. But more than that, it makes me want to prove that not all dark elves are cut from the same cloth, that some of us understand the value of staying, of building something lasting instead of chasing the next beautiful moment.
The question is whether she'll give me the chance to try.
6
CIARAN
Market day transforms Eryndral into something altogether different from the quiet trade town I've come to know over the past few days. The square bustles with activity as merchants from Kantor and Kyrdonis spread their wares across temporary stalls, their voices calling out prices and promises in the crisp morning air. Bolts of deep blue and crimson cloth flutter like banners in the breeze, while sacks of grain create makeshift walls between vendors hawking everything from copper trinkets to preserved meats.
"Dad, look!" Nya tugs at my sleeve, pointing toward a stall where glass ornaments catch the winter sunlight like captured stars. "They're so pretty."
The merchant—a weathered woman with the practical bearing of someone who's spent years traveling between cities—notices Nya's fascination and offers her a small crystal pendant shaped like a snowflake. "For the little miss," she says with a gap-toothed smile. "Ikuyenda brings luck to children who carry winter's blessing."
Ikuyenda. The great festival that spans the sister cities, though here in Eryndral it would be something altogetherdifferent from the elaborate celebrations I've grown weary of in Kyrdonis. The very mention of it sends a ripple of anticipation through the crowd, and I notice how conversations turn toward preparations—who's bringing what dish, which families are hosting gatherings, whether the weather will hold for the outdoor festivities.
I pay for the pendant and watch Nya's face light up as she loops the delicate chain around her neck. The crystal rests against her dark wool dress like a captured piece of winter sky, and something in her careful way of touching it tells me this simple gift means more to her than any of the elaborate presents she received at the forced celebrations in Kyrdonis.
"Is Eryndral's Ikuyenda very different from the city festivals?" I ask the merchant as she wraps the pendant's twin in soft cloth for another customer.
"Wouldn't know about city ways," she admits with a shrug. "But here it's all about the families coming together, sharing what they have. Three days of good food and better company, no grand displays to bankrupt honest folk." She glances at Nya, who's showing her pendant to a small group of children gathered around the next stall. "The little ones love it most—games and stories, and everyone brings out their best dishes."
Three days instead of three weeks. Community instead of competition. The very idea of it appeals to me in ways I hadn't expected, and I find myself imagining Nya's face during a celebration designed for joy rather than status. She's already more animated here than she's been in months, and the thought of her experiencing Ikuyenda in a place where she can simply be a child rather than a noble's daughter stirs something protective and hopeful in my chest.
We continue through the market, Nya's hand secure in mine as we navigate between clusters of haggling customers and vendors calling out their wares. A spice merchant from Kyrdonishas drawn a crowd with his display of nabella and other precious seasonings, while a cloth trader from Kantor spreads out bolts of the warm wool their northern city is famous for.
"Sir?" A voice interrupts my observation of the crowd, and I turn to find a stocky trader with calloused hands and shrewd eyes examining the equu I have tethered near the fountain. "That's a fine beast you've got there. Kyrdonis bred, if I'm not mistaken."
I nod, studying the man's weathered face and the way he's already running calculating fingers along the equu's flanks. "Bred and trained there, yes."
"Been looking for something with that particular bloodline for a merchant friend of mine in Kantor. Strong legs, good temperament for long hauls." He names a price that makes my eyebrows rise—generous enough to keep Nya and me comfortable through the winter and well into spring. "Course, I'd need the tack and saddle too, but I'm prepared to be fair about it."
I glance down at Nya, who's watching a puppet show at a nearby stall with rapt attention, her laughter mixing with that of the other children gathered around the small stage. The equu has served us faithfully on the journey from Kyrdonis, carrying us both and our few possessions without complaint. Selling him feels like severing our last connection to the life we've left behind.
But as I watch my daughter's face, bright with genuine happiness for the first time in months, the choice crystallizes with surprising clarity. We came here as travelers passing through, but that's not what we are anymore. The equu represents mobility, the ability to move on when circumstances change. Keeping him suggests we're still planning to leave.
"You have a deal," I hear myself saying, and the weight of permanence settles over me like a well-fitted cloak.
The transaction takes only minutes—coin changing hands, ownership papers signed, the equu's familiar weight transferred from my responsibility to another's. As I watch the trader lead our mount away toward his own wagon, I feel something shift inside me, like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
"Dad?" Nya appears at my elbow, her violet eyes wide with curiosity. "Where's our equu going?"
