22
“We don’t have to talk about it.” Elise stares through the windows of the living area. The distant forest is a crisp green wash of spreading foliage, but it’s a blur to both of us.
“I need to know how she died.”
She sighs. “Multiple spells were layered over each other. Sahara and I couldn’t counter all of them in time. I suspect they were planted while Mai was at the healing center after that day you learned about the curse.”
“The day the rain spoke to her?”
“Yes, but the spells were cleverly masked. This kind of sorcery was outlawed after the old King died. The very first Elven Command—the one that was appointed after the King’s death—was supposed to have destroyed all the books containing this kind of dark magic.”
She leans forward, eyes cast down, hands folded in her lap. “Marbella… I can’t help but think about the fact that it happened while you were subduing the Storm.”
“It wasn’t the Storm.” I’ve been repeating that statement for hours since Mai’s death, so many times that I’m exhausted by the repetition. First to the Elven Command’s spellcasters, then to the healers. I’m just waiting to say it to the Elven Command themselves and for them to look at me with the same disbelief as everyone else: as far as they’re concerned, if it looks like the Storm, then it must be the Storm.
“What I mean is that whoever killed Mai chose to do it at the time of day when everyone knows you’re busy in the Vault. At the same time, I was called to see the Elven Command so I wasn’t around either.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you’re right: someone designed this to look like an act of the Storm. Because the Storm is the perfect scapegoat.” She meets my eyes. “You’re the only one who can tell the difference and you weren’t supposed to be there.”
“But I was there, because the real Storm warned me.”
Elise crushes her hands together and for the first time, she’s angry. “Why didn’t it warn you sooner?”
“It couldn’t. It told me that a small part of it can only escape the Vault when there’s a natural storm outside. It didn’t see Mai’s death in time.” I don’t tell her the part about why it couldn’t speak—I still can’t process the idea that Baelen’s presence in the Vault somehow gives the Storm a voice.
Elise shakes the angry tension out of her hands, smoothing down her dress. “Ah. So that’s it. Elves have speculated for a very long time about how the Storm is able to choose another Princess when it’s locked inside the Vault.”
I sigh. “It certainly explains why Princesses are chosen during a naturally occurring storm. Like I was.” I don’t have the energy to think about that right now, so I change the subject. “When is her funeral?”
“The Elven Command has declared that tomorrow is a day of mourning. She’ll be buried at sunrise as requested by her House. The House of Reverie will wear black until the end of this coming winter. And the House of Gild will wear black armbands in honor of Darian.”
“And… the final battle? What did the Command say when they called for you?”
“They wanted to explain that the delay was because they were considering the consequences.”
“That’s it? That’s all they said?”
“That’s all.” She rubs her eyes. “They were all there in the room with me. If they had something to do with Mai’s death, well… I’m their alibi.”
“Tell me, Elise, were any of the Elven Commanders spellcasters in their early years?”
Elise thinks for a moment. “Not Elwyn Elder, Pedr Bounty, or Osian Valor. They were all military.” She purses her lips in thought. “Teilo Splendor is the only one I’m certain used to spellcast. But I heard a rumor once that Gideon Glory also dabbled in the magical arts.”
“Then those are the two I need to watch out for.”
She nods, but I frown, remembering something else. “Commander Rath came to the Vault today. He wanted to give me a report… Do you know what it was about?”
She shakes her head and rises from her seat as the sun sinks into the horizon beyond us. “You need food and rest, Princess. The funeral is at dawn. Come now, eat and sleep. The final battle is delayed for now. Tomorrow is for Mai.”
* * *
The Houseof Reverie stands tall, blood-red hair a striking contrast against their black clothing, but even more of a contrast are the swaths of flowers they carry, wreaths of all kinds ready to place on Mai’s coffin. A second coffin waits beside hers and black armbands flutter against the biceps of every present member of the House of Gild, a line of elves carrying ribbons containing threads of gold and silver to lie across his casket.
We’d walked in the darkness along the river and through the forest to a vast clearing where the four kings and queens who reigned since the time we left the surface of the Earth are buried under stone monuments. The first two Storm Princesses are already buried here too, and one day… this is where I will rest.
Each King and Queen, and the Storm Princesses, rests under a different gravestone specific to them. Five children from the House of Reverie carry the sapling that will be planted on Mai’s grave to grow into a sturdy ash tree.
