“It must be harvest season. The holiday is of great importance to my people. The decor is meant to signify abundance,” I explain to Eloise.
She beams at the splendor. Her curly red hair is wild around her shoulders, the vibrant color matching perfectly with the fruit in the garland and providing a striking contrast to her royal-blue trench coat. I’m stunned at how at home she looks among it all. I pray to every god in the Darklands that she grows to feel the way I already see her, like she belongs here. My sincere and most solemn vow is to give Eloise the peaceful life she deserves. After everything she’s been through, her happiness is paramount.
“It’s magnificent,” Eloise whispers, her lips parting in wonder. She reaches out to caress one of the silky gold ribbons woven through the strands.
“It’s traditional,” I say proudly. “The castle hosts all the citizens of Stygarde each year during Harvest Festival. You’re in for a fitting welcome, little bird. There will be feasting and dancing like you’ve never experienced before. Like your Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve all rolled into one. This was always my favorite time of year. My mother has outdone herself.”
“Oh,” she says absently, still taking it all in. “Are those pomegranates?”
“Similar. We call them nochtfruit. And those that look like grapes are called vastles here. Along with the flowers and the gold ribbons, the decor is meant to be pleasing to our goddess of night, Thanesia. In our religion, she created shades and is the goddess of fertility and abundance.”
Our whispers drift along the hall, drawing the attention of a servant. I hear her hurried footsteps before I see her, the traditional gray of her robes signifying her rank. As soon as she sees me, she comes to an abrupt halt. Her eyes go wide, and all the color drains from her round face. I don’t remember this particular servant, but she must know who I am because her perusal sparks with recognition.
I lift a reassuring hand. “Don’t be alarmed,” I say in the language of my kind, Aediadic. The words come slowly. I haven’t spoken this tongue in centuries. “All will be explained in time. Can you tell me where to find the king?”
Her eyes grow even wider, and then she turns on her heel as if the room is on fire and bolts for the servants’ stairs. Odd. Did I say something to frighten her? Then again, maybe it’s enough to see I’ve risen from the dead. Certainly, after all this time, they would have presumed Cassius, Morpheus, and I hadn’t survived that day on the battlefield.
“What did you say to her?” Eloise asks, gripping her family’s spell book more tightly to her chest.
“Nothing to bring about that reaction. Perhaps she’s only excited to tell my family I’ve returned from the dead.”
She tilts her head. “You have been gone for quite some time to be so thoroughly resurrected. Should we have sent word somehow? If that’s how a servant reacts, how will your family? I’d hate for your mother to have a heart attack the moment she spots you.”
I laugh. “My family is made of tougher stuff than that.”
We stand in the grandeur of the foyer for another long minute. “I don’t think the woman is coming back,” Eloise finally says.
I cluck my tongue. “No matter. If any habits have remained among my kin, it will be their after-dinner gathering around the fire. We will find them in the drawing room. I am sure of it.” I tug her hand and lead her in that direction, anxious to talk to my father and catch up on what has happened in the kingdom in my absence. I push through the door, relieved to find everything exactly how I left it. The cozy space is lined with shelves constructed of dark wood and heavy with books. Rich-toned tapestries coordinate with lush upholstery and depict bucolic views of Stygarde.
Before the fire, five chairs are set in a half circle to facilitate conversation. This is the spot where my family once gathered, but I find the oversized chair that was once my father’s favorite empty. The three smaller chairs that once supported Karyl, Brahm, and me are also empty. Only when I notice a pair of narrow feet beneath my mother’s floral wingback do I suspect we’re not alone in the room. I freeze. I can’t see who is sitting in the queen’s space, but those shoes are not my mother’s, and something about the way her bone-thin ankle melds into her calf puts me on edge.
A slender hand appears on the arm of the chair, pale and long-fingered. I bristle. The perfectly manicured nails are far longer than a shade’s and painted a pale pink that wouldn’t have suited my mother or sister. But it’s the abnormal length of the fingers from knuckle to nail that has me positioning myself in front of Eloise. Only one species has hands like that. Only one abominable creature.
A dark elf woman.
The enemy.
Sitting in my mother’s chair.
I hold a finger to my lips, indicating that Eloise should remain silent while reminding myself of the same. A growl threatens to rip from my throat, but I stay in control as I shift into my battle form, growing taller, broader, my wings, horns, and tail unfurling. Eloise’s face pales. I creep toward the chair, my talons hungry for elf blood.
“Clara, I’ll take my tea here, please,” comes a voice that tinkles with elf magic like the dulcet tones of a silver wind chime. I take another step closer. Raise my hand, ready to strike. It’s a poor angle. I’ll take off her head and likely the back of the chair too. It can’t be helped.
The door behind me blows open, and my hand is seized by dark tendrils that coil around my wrist like a constricting snake.
“Noooo,” comes my brother’s voice. Brahm forms beside me, the shadows gripping my wrist morphing into his hand. Why has he blocked my blow? Could he be protecting the dark elf woman?
I glance from my brother to the elf who has leaped from my mother’s chair, her white-blond hair and unsettling amethyst eyes twinkling in the light of the fire.
“Do you not see the elf in our midst, brother? She has your mind!” I growl, glaring at the creature and lunging again.
“Stop, Damien!” Brahm bellows, holding me back. “Nevina is meant to be here. She’s my wife!”
2
Strange Bedfellows
DAMIEN
