Kinslayer: A Novel of Lasniniar E-Book

Jacquelyn Smith

• Herausgeber: WaywardScribe Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Lasniniar. A new continent the elves can call home after the fall of Ralvaniar.

They hope to finally find peace under the leadership of Iadrawyn and Valanandir—far from the dark creatures they left behind in the magical cataclysm. A simple enough wish.

But darkness comes in many forms. And not even Iadrawyn and Valanandir know the hidden enemy that lurks within the elves’ midst.

...Or how far they must go to stop him.

The elves’ epic struggle evolves to a new level, drawing enemies and allies alike in this sweeping, second novel from the World of Lasniniar fantasy series by the author of the Fatal Empire series, Jacquelyn Smith.

Leseprobe

KINSLAYER

A NOVEL OF LASNINIAR

JACQUELYN SMITH

WAYWARDSCRIBE PRESS

For all my loyal readers.

Thank you for coming along with me on this epic journey! It means more to me than I could possibly say.

And for Mark.

Thank you for always being patient and taking care of me, for always knowing and understanding when I’m too overwhelmed or absorbed in other worlds to even realize I need a hand.

Kinslayer: A Novel of Lasniniar

Copyright © 2023 Jacquelyn Smith

Published by WaywardScribe Press

First published in September, 2018

Cover and layout copyright © Jacquelyn Smith

Cover design by Jacquelyn Smith/WaywardScribe Press

Cover art copyright © Refluo/Dreamstime

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

CONTENTS

Part I

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Part II

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Part III

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Part IV

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Soul Seeker

About Jacquelyn Smith

PARTI

CHAPTER ONE

THE WEDDING

Alfialys walked alone on the worn paths of Melaquenya. The sun would be rising soon. The ancient forest was silent, except for the chirping of rousing birds in the foliage above. The trunks of the trees glimmered with flecks of gold and silver in the predawn shadows. His leather boots shone with dew from the lush grass, but his footsteps made no sound. A cool breeze carrying the green scent of the forest brushed his cheeks and stirred his long, white braids against his shoulders.

The Light Elf allowed his mind to roam as he walked. He had found himself making these early morning journeys increasingly often over the past several days. He had tried to deny the reason behind his growing restlessness, but he knew he couldn’t hide from it much longer.

Today is the day everything changes.

He hoped he was wrong, but something deep inside him told him otherwise. He wished he could say it was the prodding of the Quenya, but his connection to the source of the elves’ magic had never been a strong one. He knew he was meant to do something important with his life, but unlike most Light Elves, he had very little idea what that thing was. He had flashes of insight from time to time, but they were rarely about anything of consequence.

Alfialys knew his lack of connection disconcerted Iadrawyn. The Ruling Lady of the Light Elves had held both he and his sister after they had been born, guiding their souls to the Quenya, yet his sister’s connection had always been the stronger of the two. This in itself was not unusual. Some elves simply had a stronger bond with the Quenya than others. But Alfialys was different. He had silver eyes—a color that had not changed since his birth nearly a thousand years ago. No other Light Elf had ever been marked in such a way. No one knew what it meant, but his eyes were not the only thing that set him apart...

His pointed ears twitched, his thoughts scattering. He heard no sign of approach, but he knew someone was coming. He felt another presence approaching, as familiar to him as his own. He stopped walking and waited.

“Alfialys!” Eransinta’s melodic voice drifted toward him as she approached. She sounded slightly out of breath. “I’ve been trying to catch up with you for almost half an hour.”

Alfialys gave his sister a smile of apology as he took in her disheveled appearance. Her golden skin, long, white hair, and angular features were a mirror of his own, but unlike his neat braids, hers were coming undone. She still wore her filmy, blue nightgown, and her feet were bare.

“Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

He felt a twinge of guilt. If he hadn’t been so busy brooding, he would have noticed her presence sooner.

“You’ve been making that a habit lately,” she said, pinning him with her deep, blue gaze. “It’s the wedding, isn’t it?”

Alfialys shrugged. “I just have a lot on my mind. What are you doing wandering the forest? Today is the big day, and you’re a complete mess! Your feet are all wet.”

Eransinta waved off his concern. “There will be plenty of time for me to clean up before the ceremony. I wanted to talk to you before everyone else is awake.”

“About what?” Alfialys kept his tone light. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

Not that he would blame her... Wedding ceremonies were uncommon among the elves. When two elves (or sometimes more, if former Wild Elves were involved) decided to become mates, they simply moved in together. But marrying into the ruling family was another story.

“Of course not!” His sister swatted at him. “I know I am meant to be with Curuadil. I have always known it. The Quenya wants us together.”

“Are you worried about fitting in with his family?” Alfialys said with a sly smile. “His parents are the Lord and Lady of Melaquenya.”

“No. Lady Iadrawyn and Lord Valanandir have been very kind to me, and his sister even helped me with my dress. They have all made me feel welcome.”

“Not too welcome, I hope,” Alfialys said. “I don’t want you expecting me to fawn all over you every time you come visit once you are part of the ruling family, my lady.” He made an exaggerated bow.

Eransinta rolled her eyes. “You know they aren’t like that. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show me a bit of respect.” She raised her chin for a moment before abandoning the pose with a sigh. “Oh, Alfialys...”

“What is it?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, her tension flowing through him to mingle with his own.

“It’s just—” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing will be the same after today, will it?”

Alfialys drew her closer, knowing exactly what she meant. They were the only twins to be born among the elves. No one else could understand the bond they shared, or how deep it went. They had always been a pair—Alfialys wandering the wood with Eransinta trailing behind him. Even though he usually took the lead, he took comfort in her constant presence, and her confidence in her own purpose. No one knew why they had been born together, but Alfialys did not regret it. Even when his sister’s clinginess annoyed him, he remembered that without Eransinta, he would be lost and alone.

“We will still be just as close,” he said, forcing himself to put on a brave face. “Curuadil and I are good friends. He understands better than most what our connection means. He isn’t the jealous type to try to come between us.”

Eransinta looked up at him, her deep-blue eyes shining with tears. “Maybe I should ask him if you can come live with us⁠—”

Alfialys shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

As tempting as the suggestion was, the last thing he wanted was to be a hanger-on, who created tension between the newly married couple.

“It’s not as if you are going to live somewhere far away,” he said. “We can still see each other every day. Besides, I think Curuadil might want to spend time with you engaging in activities that are, ah, less than brotherly.”

Eransinta chuckled, her cheeks flushing. “You might be right. Perhaps it would be a little awkward to have you living with us. The Quenya knows, I’ve stumbled across your trysts a time or two.” She shuddered. “I’m still trying to forget.”

Alfialys gave her an affronted look. “That’s different.”

Eransinta raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“You’re my sister. You’re not supposed to be interested in those kinds of activities, as far as I’m concerned.”

Eransinta gave him an arch look. “From what I saw, your partners seemed to be enjoying themselves. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Of course they were enjoying it.” Alfialys rolled his eyes. “They were with me.”

“We’re twins, remember? If you really do have a special knack for the four-legged frolic, chances are I do, too.”

“Stop,” Alfialys pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought. “Just... stop.”

“You started it.” Eransinta was smiling now. “Perhaps I should have Curuadil give you his opinions on my theory.” She smirked. “He has firsthand experience.”

“I give up!” Now it was Alfialys’s turn to shudder. “Curuadil can keep his opinions to himself. I don’t want to know.”

Eransinta stuck her tongue out at him. “Prude.”

Alfialys uttered a startled chuckle. “Feeling better?”

His twin sighed. “Yes. Thank you. Just promise me you’ll always be here when I need you.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

A prickle traveled down Alfialys’s spine. He did his best to ignore it.

“I promise. Now go get ready for your wedding.” He gave her a gentle push. “You’re an absolute mess. I love you, but I’m not going to make myself look a fright just so you can look good by comparison. I do have a certain image to maintain.”

Eransinta punched him on the arm before running off between the trees, her white braids drifting behind her like a writhing cloud. Alfialys watched her go. His sense of foreboding had not left him. The Quenya gave him no insight, only a vague feeling of tension building somewhere in the distance, like a coming storm.

Change was coming—he was sure of it.

* * *

Alfialys looked on with pride as his sister walked toward Curuadil at a measured pace, gliding forward in time to the drifting notes of a harp. Her long, white tresses hung loose down her back, topped by a coronet of blue flowers that matched her eyes.

Alfialys couldn’t bring himself to look away from her, but his twin’s gaze was glued to Curuadil, who waited for her. His sister Andirlynia, and the Lord and Lady of Melaquenya stood beside him. Curuadil smiled as his bride approached, his golden eyes gleaming with joy. He wore a formal, embroidered tunic, and his own white locks had been bound in a single braid. A slender coronet of starsilver marked him as a member of the ruling family.

The entire Meeting Glade had been decorated for the occasion. Various colored lanterns dangled from the branches overhead, creating an illusion of stars, and hardly a blade of grass could be seen through the carpet of flowers. The air was filled with the sweet scent of crushed petals.

All the elves of Melaquenya had turned out to attend the illustrious event in their best finery, many of them forced to crowd amongst the trees that surrounded the glade. Alfialys and his parents were accorded a place of honor in the front row. His mother was crying already, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief as his father tended to her. Alfialys barely noticed them. At the moment, his entire world had narrowed to the scene before him. His mouth was dry. He eyed the table filled with bottles of elven wine meant for after the ceremony and forced himself to swallow.

He was happy for his sister—of course he was. But the strange sense of foreboding that had struck him earlier had returned, heightened by the nearby presence of the Quenya, housed in its own glade only a short distance away. For a moment, Eransinta seemed to sense his distress. Her head turned as if pulled by an invisible string as she reached Curuadil’s side. The full weight of her deep-blue gaze fell upon her twin. Alfialys steeled himself against it.

I won’t ruin this for her.

He shoved down his unease and forced what he hoped was a convincing smile. After a long moment, his sister smiled back and looked away. Alfialys expelled the breath he had been holding and tried his best to relax.

Lady Iadrawyn and Lord Valanandir officiated the ceremony. The family resemblance between them, Andirlynia and Curuadil was unmistakable. Even though both Iadrawyn and Valanandir were thousands of years old, and a few thousand years separated Andirlynia from her younger brother, the three of them hardly looked older than Curuadil, thanks to the Quenya. Alfialys imagined the three of them had changed little since they had brought their people to the shores of Lasniniar from the destruction of the elves’ original home on the island Ralvaniar.

As always, Iadrawyn was radiant. Her golden skin and long, golden hair were somehow more lustrous than any other elf’s due to her close connection with the Quenya. Even though her expression was gentle and kind, her green eyes held shadows of deep wisdom and hidden strength. Valanandir had passed his white hair and golden eyes onto their son, but he had a similar unearthly air about him as Iadrawyn, although to a lesser extent. His frame was made of lean muscle, and his shrewd gaze seemed to take in everything.

Alfialys suppressed a shudder. Even though the lord and lady were wondrous, kind, and fair, he couldn’t imagine marrying into such an imposing family. It was strange sometimes when he remembered his friend Curuadil was one of them.

If Alfialys was going to lose his sister to anyone, he was glad is was Curuadil. He was loyal, easygoing, and much more approachable than his parents. Most importantly, he adored Eransinta.

Alfialys’s gaze slid to Andirlynia, who was watching her brother and Eransinta exchange vows with an enormous smile on her face. He briefly wondered if he had made a mistake. Both Curuadil and Eransinta had expressed hope that this day would be a double wedding, with Alfialys and Andirlynia exchanging vows beside them. Alfialys understood their desire. Wedding Andirlynia would only serve to tie the three of them even closer. Alfialys had been willing to entertain the notion, but after spending time alone with Andirlynia, the two of them had concluded they were not meant to be anything more than good friends.

It wasn’t that Andirlynia wasn’t an alluring potential mate. She had her mother’s beauty and connection to the Quenya, but she was more grounded and present—quick to laugh or make a sly joke. Even now, she was achingly beautiful, with her white braids bound in an intricate crown dotted with wildflowers. It would have been easy enough to fool himself into loving her.

But he didn’t.

Not in that way, at least. If anything, she was more like a sister or perhaps a cousin. It was difficult for Alfialys to say what a relationship with a normal sister would be like when Eransinta was his only sibling. The point of the matter was, they weren’t attracted to each other, and such a charade would be an offense to both their friendship and the Quenya.

Still, it would have given him a way to stay closer to Eransinta...

Andirlynia’s green eyes met his from across the glade, seeming to read his thoughts. She gave him a sad smile of understanding before turning her gaze back to her brother and Eransinta.

Hard as it was, Alfialys knew he had made the right choice. Whatever was to come, he would learn to find his own way and let Eransinta find hers. All he could do was hope their paths led in the same direction.

He just wished the thought of losing her didn’t hurt so much.

The ceremony concluded and the celebrations began. Wine and music flowed through the glade as the elves danced. Alfialys allowed himself to be claimed by one partner after another, engaging in the revel while feeling apart from it. Aside from Andirlynia, none of his partners noticed. As the night wore on, he finally ended up with Eransinta on his arm. He led her smoothly across the flowered grass, their feet moving together without thought or effort. She remained silent for several moments before speaking.

“Will you be all right?” she asked, concern in her eyes.

Alfialys gave her a tight smile. He knew there was no use lying or mouthing empty platitudes.

“Eventually. I just need some time.”

“It’s not just this, is it?” Eransinta pressed.

“No...” Alfialys shook his head. “I don’t know. You’re the one who is more connected to the Quenya. I just have this feeling. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t seem to shake it.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you these past few weeks. I’ve been so caught up with the wedding...”

He gave her a dire look. “Don’t apologize. This is your night. I should be the one apologizing.”

Eransinta sighed. “My point is, I’ve been so absorbed with fulfilling my destiny with Curuadil, I haven’t been able to notice much else, other than through my link with you. Maybe I should go see if I can learn anything from the Quenya⁠—”

“No.” The word came out more firmly than Alfialys intended. He softened his voice. “This is your wedding night. Enjoy it. Whatever this is can’t be that urgent, or others would sense it too. Maybe I’m just imagining things. I haven’t exactly been sleeping well lately...”

She gave him a measuring look. He did his best to hold up against her scrutiny.

She blew out another sigh. “Fine. If you’re sure you’ll be all right, I will leave well enough alone. For now.” She held his gaze.

Alfialys forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. Now go enjoy the rest of your evening. I’m sure Curuadil is eager to try out the ah—‘four-legged frolic’ now that the two of you are official. I believe you were bragging about certain skills earlier today.” He didn’t quite manage to keep the distaste from his voice.

Eransinta flushed, looking over her shoulder at her new mate, who was watching her from across the glade with an unspoken invitation in his eyes. She grinned.

“I do believe you’re right.”

Alfialys released her, giving her a friendly shove. “Go.”

She squeezed his hand and flashed him a grateful smile before letting go. She drifted across the glade to Curuadil, weaving between couples until she reached him. Curuadil wrapped his arm around her shoulder with a smile, steering her away from a celebration that would likely continue until dawn without them.

As he turned away, Curuadil looked across the crowd to give Alfialys a solemn nod. Alfialys returned it, watching them disappear among the shadows of the trees. A void of loneliness gaped within him, even though he was surrounded by family and friends. The music continued without faltering. The elves around him danced and laughed as if they could not see the shadow that had fallen over them.

It was too much to bear. Alfialys backed away from the clearing as gracefully as he could manage. As soon as he reached the shelter of the trees, he began to run. No one noticed him leaving.

He pelted mindlessly through the trees in the opposite direction his sister had taken, his only thought to outpace the darkness only he could see.

CHAPTER TWO

VESSEL

Saviadro walked the underground streets of Dwarvenhome, his feet leading him toward the forge district. After so many visits over the years, the journey required little thought. The hour was late, but the few dwarves he encountered nodded their bearded heads with respect as he passed. Despite being a Light Elf, he had become a familiar sight within their mountain halls. He moved with a lithe grace, a golden figure striding soundlessly with his long braids trailing through the air behind him, the keen beauty of his features forming a polite mask as he nodded in return.

He had become used to the constant, heavy presence of countless tons of solid rock looming over him. He found he didn’t mind the echoing stone chambers, lit only by hissing torches that filled the air with the scent of burning pitch.

Iadrawyn and Valanandir had made contact with the stunted creatures who dwelled beneath the earth long ago, eventually forging an alliance with them. What had begun with a basic trade agreement of elven jewels in exchange for starsilver had slowly become a bond of mutual trust and respect, much to Saviadro’s disgust.

I should have interfered when I had the chance.

Even though Saviadro now reaped the rewards of the alliance Iadrawyn and Valanandir had built, he longed to secure allies of his own that he could turn against the Lord and Lady of the Light Elves. But the dwarves were infernally stubborn and loyal once they had committed to something, and Saviadro was unwilling to overplay his hand.

No one living knew he had been the one to betray his people to the dark creatures of Ralvaniar, killing thousands of elves and forcing the survivors to flee to the shores of Lasniniar.

He intended to keep it that way.

No, he had decided on a different approach, leveraging Iadrawyn and Valanandir’s alliance and using it for his own ends with no one the wiser. Even though it meant charming the dwarves instead of ordering them about as he wished, it would ultimately serve the same purpose.

Iadrawyn and Valanandir.

Saviadro suppressed a scowl, his hands balling into fists. The precious Lord and Lady of the Light Elves were probably still celebrating their whelp’s wedding, along with all of their spineless followers. At least the ceremony served as a suitable distraction for him to slip out of Melaquenya unnoticed. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to be aware of his plans.

He reached the door he sought, marked by a tartan flag of green and yellow. He grasped the brass ring embedded in the stone and knocked. Moments later, it slid open, revealing a squat figure with a seamed face and silver beard darkened with soot.

“Saviadro?” The dwarf squinted up at him. “Come in, come in!” He stepped aside and gestured for the elf to enter.

“Greetings, Zoltralan,” Saviadro said, his face tightening in a forced smile. “I have come to check on your progress.”

Zoltralan shut the door behind them. “I believe this time I have managed to perfect the alloy. Starsilver is a fickle metal, and the absolute purity you require for your project is difficult to produce.”

Saviadro stepped over to the roaring fire, ignoring the sweltering heat to inspect the contents of a large crucible. Thick, molten starsilver bubbled within, seeming to pulse with a life of its own. The close air was filled with the tang of hot metal. The flames reflected off its undulating surface, sending flashes of light dancing on the walls and ceiling. Saviadro leaned over it, using his connection with the Quenya to probe it gently for any taint of lesser metal. After several moments, a true smile of satisfaction stretched his lips. His golden eyes narrowed with pleasure.

“It’s perfect.”

His connection to the Quenya thrummed in agreement. Saviadro pulled his thoughts away before the source of the elves’ magic probed any further. The Quenya was not a sentient being exactly, but it was a mighty, cosmic force that possessed a certain set of ethics. Saviadro suspected it would not approve of his plan. For as long as he could remember, he had walked a fine line of having a strong enough connection to use the Quenya to his advantage, while being able to withdraw from its awareness at will—a feat he doubted even Iadrawyn could achieve.

“The mold is finished as well,” Zoltralan said, interrupting his thoughts. “That was the easy part.”

At the dwarf’s urging, Saviadro inspected the two halves of the mold. Each formed a perfect semicircle, reminding him of the ones he had seen his friend Daroandir use long ago when he had crafted the original vessel to contain the Quenya for transport—the Levniquenya. It had taken him several attempts to create it, using a blend of Iadrawyn’s magic and Daroandir’s own metal craft.

Little had they known Saviadro had been watching, hidden among the trees.

Saviadro pushed down a surge of frustration. If he had been able to get his hands on the original Levniquenya, none of this would have been necessary. But as far as he could learn, it was kept hidden somewhere in Iadrawyn and Valanandir’s home—a place even he didn’t dare to go. Instead, he had been forced to move slowly, forming a relationship with the dwarves before convincing them to aid him. Even after his plan had been set in motion, it had taken even longer to figure out how to replicate what Iadrawyn and Daroandir had accomplished. And then there had been the matter of siphoning enough power from the Quenya in preparation of completing his task, without any elf being the wiser. Now he was so close...

“I have put many long hours into this project over the years,” Zoltralan said, stroking his beard. “It’s nice to finally see everything come together as planned. Do you think your lord and lady will be pleased?”

“I appreciate all your hard work. This is the finest starsilver I have ever seen. Iadrawyn and Valanandir will be very surprised.”

Saviadro bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from chuckling. He had told the foolish dwarf he was commissioning the vessel as a gift.

Zoltralan’s bushy brows drew together in a confused frown. “Begging your pardon, but I still don’t understand what this thing you’ve designed is for.”

“It is a tool for elven magic,” Saviadro said with an airy wave. The dwarves seemed to possess no magic of their own, and held the few powers demonstrated by the elves with a certain awe. “I trust you have kept our arrangement a secret?”

“Of course!” Zoltralan said, looking slightly offended. “I haven’t breathed a word to anyone.”

“Good.” Saviadro nodded in approval. “I will complete the rest of the process alone.”

Zoltralan gave him a wary look. “Are you certain⁠—”

“I know what I’m doing,” Saviadro said, cutting the dwarf’s protests short while trying to maintain his friendly facade. “The final steps will require magic. I thank you for all you have done, but your presence will only complicate matters.”

In truth, the final steps involved both smith work as well as magic, and would likely be easier with a second person who could help with the mundane task of working the metal, but Saviadro had already trusted Zoltralan as much as he had dared. He was determined to complete the vessel unaided.

The dwarf swallowed visibly at the mention of magic being performed in his forge. “Very well. I’ll leave you to it then. How long will it take, do you think?”

“Several hours,” Saviadro said. “I will be very weak afterward. I may need to rest for a few days.”

Zoltralan sighed. “I will check on you tomorrow morning. You can come stay with me if you need to. I only hope your lord and lady appreciate all you are doing.”

Saviadro seriously doubted they would. Then again, he doubted Iadrawyn and Valanandir even suspected in their wildest dreams that one of their own subjects was plotting against them, scheming to seize the Quenya for his own.

No, if he succeeded, they wouldn’t realize until too late.

* * *

Saviadro’s plan unfurled before him in an intimately familiar fantasy. Once his task was complete and he had recovered, he would use his vessel to steal the Quenya out from under the Light Elves’ noses. With its full power firmly in his grasp, he would be unstoppable. The long millennia of waiting and planning, of caring for the stunted, unhatched dark dragon eggs he had smuggled in secret from Ralvaniar, and playing the loyal elven subject would be over.

Finally, he would be the master of the Quenya, and the world would see a new order. For as long as he could remember, his people had cowered from the dangers of the outside world, depending on Iadrawyn and Valanandir to protect them, even though the golden witch and her mate had proven time and again they were too foolish or weak to do so.

Oh, they went on and on about how the Quenya was a force of life and harmony rather than a weapon, but they had used it to destroy Ralvaniar readily enough. All of the dark dragons, fire demons, and blood drinking drakhalu had been annihilated in that world-altering holocaust, triggered by Iadrawyn herself.

Just imagine if the precious lord and lady had thought to strike sooner... Mother and Father would still be alive! Instead, they’re just two more elves who fought and died for no reason in a needless battle.

Iadrawyn and Valanandir’s inaction had made him an orphan of war—something he would never forgive. And after all they had wrought, the elves still treated them with blind reverence, as if they were somehow deserving of respect! Couldn’t they see Iadrawyn and her family were keeping all the power of the Quenya for themselves while leaving mere trickles of power for everyone else, like scraps at a banquet? Saviadro had tasted that power during his stolen moments in the Glade of the Quenya. He was no beggar. He meant to have it all for himself.

Then the elves would see how power was meant to be wielded.

* * *

“Saviadro?”

Zoltralan’s gruff voice distracted Saviadro from images of a demoralized Iadrawyn and Valanandir groveling at his feet, begging for mercy.

“Ah, yes,” Saviadro said, struggling to remember the dwarf’s last words. “I am certain my little surprise will be something my lord and lady never forget.”

Zoltralan seemed reassured by his response. As much as he hated to admit it, the dwarf had proven very useful to him. Perhaps he shouldn’t rule out taking the creatures under his wing once his power was secured. There were other potential allies as well—human mortals that dwelled to the north of Melaquenya, near the Barrier Mountains. Iadrawyn and Valanandir had gotten to them already, but Saviadro thought they might be swayed. He would have tried reaching out to them earlier, but his project and dragon eggs had kept him too busy.

Zoltralan headed toward the door, pausing only to drape a swatch of oiled silk over a row of newly forged weapons lined neatly on his worktable. An elegant, unadorned dagger caught Saviadro’s eye before disappearing from view.

“Wait.”

Saviadro walked over to the table, twitching back the fabric. The dagger was forged of an unfamiliar, dark metal that gleamed dully in the firelight. It was cold to the touch.

“Ah, that one,” Zoltralan said with a sigh. “That was an experiment. A friend of mine in the mining district found the metal and sold me the ingot. I’ve never seen its like. There was only enough of it for a dagger. We dwarves are all about axes and warhammers, so I thought I’d go for an elven design as it were, but your folk seem to favor the brighter metals. I probably shouldn’t have bothered with the thing. It holds a keen edge though.”

Saviadro caressed the weapon, running his thumb along the blade. It parted his skin effortlessly, drawing a thin line of blood. He watched as crimson beads welled to the surface in morbid fascination. Zoltralan gave him a speculative look.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I do,” Saviadro admitted. He lifted the weapon, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It was perfectly balanced. It felt as if it had been made for him. “How much will it cost me?”

Zoltralan’s expression turned shrewd. If Saviadro had learned anything about the dwarves over the years, it was that they loved to bargain. Zoltralan stroked his beard for a few moments before answering.

“Normally I would ask for several gems as payment, especially seeing how fond you are of the blade.” He blew out a sigh. “But, you’ve already paid me handsomely for my work on the vessel, and I’m a fair dwarf. Just make sure when you give your gift to the lord and lady that they know the name of the expert smith who aided you.”

“Done,” Saviadro said, hoping his vast amusement did not show.

Zoltralan had no idea what he was asking... Saviadro slid the weapon into his belt. It rested against his hip as if it had always been there.

“My thanks,” the dwarf said with a nod. “I suppose I’d better give you your privacy. I’ll check on you tomorrow. I’ll lock the door behind me so you’re not disturbed.”

Saviadro watched him go, waiting for the faint sound of the tumblers falling into place. He paced toward the crucible of starsilver, rolling up his sleeves.

He had a long night’s work ahead of him.

CHAPTER THREE

REMEMBRANCE

Iadrawyn gazed at the sea of faces turned toward her in the Meeting Glade. She wore a simple gown, and her golden hair hung loose down her back. Long tables were laden with food, but no one ate, waiting instead for her to speak. The scent of mashed tubers and grilled vegetables mingled with the earthy smells of the surrounding forest. She took a sip of honeyed wine in an effort to clear the lump in her throat. No matter how many times they held this feast, it never got any easier.

She stood at one end of the head table. Her family had been seated with her, including her son’s new wife, who had only been among them a few weeks. Iadrawyn took a deep breath to gather herself, memories of the past still fresh in her mind, even after all the years that had passed. Like some of the elves present, Eransinta had been born on Lasniniar, but there were still many who shared the memories of the dark days that had preceded their exodus to the new continent. Others, like Curuadil, had been reborn among the elves with memories of their previous life intact.

Valanandir reached up from his seat beside her to squeeze her hand. His golden eyes reflected the shadows of her own haunted memories. His steady presence—one that had seen her through so much since their paths had first crossed millennia ago—gave her the strength she needed.

“Tonight is the night we remember those we left behind on Ralvaniar,” she said, raising her soft voice to address the crowd. “Countless brave elves gave their lives willingly so that the rest of us might escape the darkness and bring the Quenya to our new home. Others were lost at sea along the way. Too many have yet to find their way back to us to be reborn. Our treasured allies, the Sea Folk, are still missing after years of fruitless searching. Our mighty friend, Malarin, is now the only one of her kind—the sole dragon to escape the maelstrom we set in motion.”

Iadrawyn sighed, her green eyes welling with unshed tears. “We have prospered here. We have made valuable new alliances with the dwarves and humans. But we must never forget all that was sacrificed for us to get here. Our choice to abandon and destroy Ralvaniar was a terrible one. Terrible, but necessary. Our continued memories of our homeland’s downfall will help to ensure we uphold our vow to never use the Quenya in such a violent manner again. To do so would likely mean unleashing a power this world could not contain.”

The faces of the younger elves looked at her with wide eyes, no doubt trying to comprehend the enormity of what she was saying. The older ones who had seen the destruction of Ralvaniar firsthand nodded in agreement with her words.

“Take this time to remember those we have lost,” Iadrawyn continued, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Share the tales of friends and family who did not survive the journey so that their memories might live on. Remember, and give thanks. Because of them, we live free in a world with no drakhalu or other dark creatures. Because of them, the Quenya is safe. As long as we continue to honor those memories, all that has been sacrificed will not have been in vain.”

She took her seat as gracefully as she could manage before her tears threatened to overwhelm her. Her audience broke out into applause, tears shining on many of the elves’ faces. Iadrawyn gave a tremulous smile of thanks and raised her wineglass to her lips, signaling everyone to eat.

“That was well done,” Valanandir said in a low voice.

Only he, and perhaps Andirlynia truly understood why the anniversary of the exodus from Ralvaniar affected her so deeply. Not only had she and Valanandir been responsible for coming up with the plan to destroy and flee from Ralvaniar, but she had been the one to set the wheels in motion, working with a group of elves to unleash the Quenya’s power before leaving them behind to travel to Lasniniar.

She couldn’t help but feel guilty for allowing others to accept the consequences for her actions, even if they had volunteered to do so. She knew she had only done as the Quenya had intended, but she still found herself wondering sometimes whether she should have stayed behind, especially at this time of year when her memories haunted her the most.

“Daroandir and Lodariel would not want you to punish yourself so,” Valanandir said, stroking her hand. “I feel guilty too, but I try to remember that as much as it hurts, the elves we left behind were fulfilling their own destinies.”

Iadrawyn’s lips twitched. “Lodariel would give me an earful if she saw me now.” She sighed. “I knew the cataclysm might make it difficult, but I thought she and Daroandir would have returned to us by now.”

In fact, she had hoped when Eransinta’s mother had given birth to the only set of twins to ever be born among the elves that they would prove to be the souls of their long-lost friends, reborn. But Eransinta and Alfialys were young souls, bound together for reasons that had yet to be revealed.

Valanandir smiled back, no doubt remembering Lodariel’s fiery temperament and outspoken ways. “She would be furious with you. Daroandir would probably glower at you from over her shoulder. We begged them to come with us, but they insisted on staying behind. They knew what the outcome would be. We can only take comfort that they were following the will of the Quenya, which means they will return to us someday. Besides, you had that vision of them, didn’t you?”

Iadrawyn’s gaze unfocused. In her mind, she saw Lodariel and Daroandir running through a forest, fleeing an unseen enemy. When she had first had the vision thousands of years ago on Ralvaniar, she had not recognized the golden and silver flecked trees. That was before the elves had arrived in Melaquenya.

Their friends would return, but when? The vision gave no clue, other than a sense of time passing—that, and the matching raiment, sword, and shield Daroandir and Lodariel each bore, unlike the work of any elf.

Iadrawyn shook her head to banish the image. “I know I saw them, but it is impossible to say when the vision took place. It might be days or hundreds of years from now.”

“Then the only thing we can take comfort in is that they will return—that and Curuadil.” Valanandir gave their son a fond look and Iadrawyn’s expression softened.

Curuadil had been born as Numril on Ralvaniar—Valanandir’s closest and most loyal friend. After years of fighting alongside Iadrawyn and Valanandir against the creatures of darkness, Numril had been seized by Vlaz, Orag of the blood-drinking drakhalu, and turned from an elf into Vlaz’s drakhal minion. Vlaz had lusted after the Quenya, and had sent Numril to steal it for him, knowing only someone with elven heritage could bear its touch and live. Numril had fought desperately against Vlaz’s power, but in the end, Iadrawyn had been forced to slay him to protect Valanandir when Vlaz compelled Numril to turn against his best friend.

Knowing that Numril had become merely a shell of an elf and a vessel of Vlaz’s power had done little to assuage her guilt. For years, she had lived with the belief that Numril’s soul had been doomed to oblivion by her own actions. When he had been reborn as her son, it had given her and Valanandir new hope that others who had given their lives against the dark creatures were not truly lost to them.

She gave Curuadil an indulgent smile. Their son was completely absorbed with his new bride, seeming to notice little else about the gathering, leaning close to listen as Eransinta spoke and reaching out to stroke her white locks. Iadrawyn was glad the young elf woman seemed to bring him such happiness. Eransinta seemed just as oblivious, her piercing blue gaze glued to her mate’s face.

Iadrawyn had wondered how Eransinta’s bond with Alfialys would affect the pairing, but all seemed well between them. Again, she found herself speculating.

What does the twin bond mean? The Quenya must have joined them for a reason...

Her thoughts drifted back to Lodariel and Daroandir in spite of herself. Even though she and Valanandir spoke of Lodariel’s sharp tongue, she found herself missing Daroandir’s steady presence as well. He had been more patient than any elf she had ever known, even giving comfort to Saviadro when the other elf was only a young orphan, and quick to speak out in anger against any plan that did not involve using the Quenya to destroy whatever creature that stood against them.

Saviadro...

Iadrawyn found herself frowning. Despite her best efforts and Daroandir’s kind example, she couldn’t bring herself to like him. She couldn’t explain it, other than a vague sense of unease she felt when she thought of him. She scanned the glade, searching for a sign of his handsome features, knowing in her heart he wouldn’t be there.

He never was.

Saviadro was a private elf, preferring his own company over anyone else’s, often leaving Melaquenya to wander on his own. It shamed her to admit that his absences made her secretly glad in some obscure way. She had tried reaching out to him a few times after they had arrived on Lasniniar. She knew he must be missing Daroandir, the closest thing to family he had known in some time, but Saviadro had politely rebuffed her advances, much to her private relief. Still, tonight she found herself hoping to see him in the Meeting Glade, although she could not say why.

“What’s wrong?” Valanandir asked, looking away from Curuadil and reading the subtle telltales no one else saw.

Iadrawyn shivered. “Nothing. Just a strange feeling is all. I feel a bit haunted tonight.”

Valanandir put his arm around her shoulders, a warm, familiar presence that had brought comfort to her almost since the day she had found him washed up on the shores of Ralvaniar, so many years ago.

“Then let me keep the ghosts at bay.”

* * *

Eransinta pulled her blue gaze from Curuadil’s angular features. She looked down the table, already knowing she would find her brother’s seat empty. His sudden absence was like a void within her.

“What’s wrong?” Curuadil asked, stroking her hair.

“Alfialys is gone,” she said, only half-listening as she focused on her bond with her twin.

She got a vague sense of him wandering the forest, restless and alone. She thought about going after him, but she suspected it would do little good. He had been withdrawn since the wedding, spending most of his time on his own. Whenever she tried to talk to him, he brushed her off, telling her not to worry about it and to enjoy her new mate.

Although she felt guilty about it, she found herself doing just that. She and Curuadil were blissfully happy together, having spent most of their first few weeks together in indolent pleasure when she wasn’t trying to spend time with Alfialys.

The Quenya blessed their union, and the sense of completeness was greater than any she had ever experienced. Between her bond with Alfialys, her strong connection with Curuadil, and Curuadil’s friendship with her brother, she felt whole. She couldn’t imagine living without either of them, or how she might have managed if they hadn’t gotten along.

“He’s been doing that a lot lately,” Curuadil said, following her gaze.

“Has he said anything to you?” Eransinta asked. She suspected she already knew the answer.

Curuadil shook his head. “No. And there are few things he would tell me without confiding in you first, so I’m guessing he hasn’t said anything to you either.”

Eransinta’s brow furrowed. “I tried talking to him, but he won’t tell me what’s bothering him. I think he doesn’t want to worry us.”

Curuadil grunted in agreement. “He probably wants to give us our space. Perhaps he needs his own space as well to figure out whatever is plaguing him. I’m sure he’ll tell us when he is ready.” He returned his golden gaze to rest upon her face, burying his hand in her hair.

She leaned into his caress, allowing herself to be comforted, despite her nagging misgivings. Alfialys was a grown elf, and more than capable of taking care of himself. Besides, she would know if anything were truly wrong.

She met Curuadil’s loving gaze with a smile. “You’re probably right.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE DIE IS CAST

Alfialys wandered beneath the shadows of the trees, drifting farther away from the banquet. The sound of murmuring voices faded from his ears as the hush of the ancient forest surrounded him. He knew he wasn’t fit company at the moment, and he couldn’t bear to surround himself with other elves.

The strange sense of foreboding that had haunted him since his sister’s wedding had only grown more insistent over the past few weeks, becoming a leaden weight in his chest. He had considered speaking to Eransinta and Curuadil about it, but they were still in the honeymoon phase. He didn’t want to be the one to dispel their happiness.

He had also thought about approaching Lady Iadrawyn with his problem, but he couldn’t even determine what was wrong. It made him uncomfortable to think about pestering the Lady of the Light Elves with nothing more than a nebulous feeling. He was certain she would be very kind about it, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself or waste her time.