Ocean Jasper
TEO
“What do you mean?” Liana asks.
My gaze is discerning as I look at her from across the room and study her features. Slowly, I hold up the scroll and stalk closer. She tracks the movement, confusion clouding her clear gaze until the moment where Teo’Likh’s name is on clear display for all to see.
“Some light reading, I see,” she says with a frown.
I glimpse Vann’s deep glower as I move in front of Liana so she can see the words. The others cram closer, namely Ulla and Svanna, who read the text with silent, moving lips.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I was told that we betrayed them by not giving sufficient warning about the potential dangers of using the volcano. That we went to war to expand our borders and put an end to our land war with the giants for good.” My skull rattles with all the things I thought I knew, but I continue, “Except, this personal record shows a much different story. He speaks of darkness and mentions the wise women’s involvement.”
Liana nods thoughtfully. “If it mentions the wise women, he’d be mentioning Mother Urira.”
I take a deep breath, still not quite understanding how Liana connects into all of the pieces. Searching for tactful words is an impossible task in the face of my bone-deep tiredness. “Yes. So, what did you do?”
Liana shakes her head. “Mother Urira was my mentor, but that did not mean me or the others were her protégés. She was nearly three hundred years older than me, and she was a marvelous teacher, but she worked for the king. As I work for you. That affords a level of privacy and decorum, especially when entrenched in the old ways.”
Her words carry the metallic clarity of truth, so I take another fortifying breath to help me steady my thoughts. The others continue to look on, silent as I plunder past whatever they’d been discussing.
“But surely you knew something,” I insist. “When I mentioned the Elven Artifact, I saw the recognition in your gaze. The elves hating us for not disclosing the severity of the power always made sense to me—they died in droves during the eruption like anyone else—but that was only part of the story.”
Liana shakes her head. “And I’m telling you—Urira was the one who knew about that. It was something whispered among us while we painted and shaped the star cards.”
I grit my teeth, and the pulsing in my head intensifies. “Tell me what you know.”
She worries her lower lip. “The elves have a much different way of viewing magical artifacts. We don’t need to exhaust power. There always is enough. Our gods taught us that nothing is lost, merely shifted. And with time, it shifts back, like the cycles of the stone and the earth beneath our feet.
“While we view everything as imbued with this power, they have a… penchant for finding, harvesting, and enchanting objects. Trees are alive in a way stone is not. Elves are selfish and can only be convinced to share power through hierarchy of power. All that power came from one place—their godly artifact. That artifact was split in three, their holiest number, but the magic was not split evenly.”
“How so?” Svanna asks, listening just as intently as me.
“In the Elvish tradition, women mean little. But… between the three orbs, one is given to the king, the other to his firstborn son, and the final is bestowed upon his firstborn daughter.” Liana’s face turns downward.
Svanna’s eyes narrow, and gazes thoughtfully at the scroll. “I take it the weakest part was for the girl.”
“Precisely. Merely a few drops of power, in comparison to the whole goblet-full of power given to the heir. The king, of course, would have power that surpassed them at all.”
As I watch the wise woman's expression, it darts back and forth, as if she were trying to find something long lost. Her eyes study the stones beneath our feet, flitting between each crack and juncture.
At last, Liana speaks again. “I remember that your father needed more power to control the volcano. Your Ma’ family line has always been strong, but he found the abundant blessings poured out from his Fuegorra and the main Ardorflame Temple insufficient. Urira herself spoke less than a handful of times about something called theCumhacht na Cruinne.
“It translates roughly to… the power of the universe. It was a gift from Doros at the dawn of the elves. But I didn’t know your father ever went for it. I recall… the undertaking to remove it forcefully from the elven capital would have accrued exorbitant casualties.”
The words I’ve studied pass before my eyes quickly, in flashing motions. Liana’s attempts to deflect do little to squash the feeling deep in my gut—the one that tells me I justknow. Myfather had nine personal battalions dedicated to guarding his riches. Nine thousand soldiers. I’d bet they were all guarding that artifact.
I push past everyone and slump into the throne, allowing myself to bend slightly under the weight of exhaustion.
My father stole one of the oldest artifacts from the elves.
A sour bile rises in my throat. It is hard to pinpoint the moment when Father’s madness began. The ramblings I read sounded little more than the musings of an old fool playing the part of a savior.
The true price of leadership is the willingness to place the needs of the many above the needs of the few,his voice whispers to justify his bloody crusade.
Memories of the elves’ murderous rage from hours ago return. His choices are being paid for in the safety of my mate. My woman, who should be nestled in my arms as her heart beats in time with my own. Perhaps…
“Teo—” Ulla starts.
