Page 87 of Black Sea

I dabbed my tears with the sleeve of my frock coat and sniffled to stop myself from crying, then I turned around.

The horses halted a short distance away from us. Only Araton and Amlach dismounted. Amlach moved a few steps forward toward the king and me, displaying a cocky attitude, to say the least. My brother followed him like a shadow, his hand resting on his dagger’s hilt.

When Amlach stopped, my father folded his hands on his lap and held Amlach’s defiant stare stoically for a few moments before shifting his gaze to Araton. “Is it all done?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Very well.” The king beckoned the soldiers with a crook of his fingers. “Release him.”

The soldier who had Amlach’s horse reins tied to his saddle quickly dismounted and obeyed promptly, returning then to his companions.

Amlach rubbed his slightly bruised wrists. His gaze shifted to me. It was only for a moment, but it was so piercing that it triggered a deep anguish within me.

As if something horrible was about to happen.

Then he went back to look at my father, giving him a polite nod that, nevertheless, revealed all his hatred. “King Erech,” he greeted arrogantly.

Father nodded back solemnly, replying in the common tongue. “King Amlach.”

52

I darted my gaze from Amlach to my father. “King?” I asked, more than confused, switching to the common tongue as well. “No, he . . .” I looked at my brother, who traded a grave look with Father. “He is . . .” I watched Amlach, whose arrogance had faded, replaced by a haughty seriousness. Finally, my eyes returned to Father. “He is the commander of the King of Men’s army.”

Father laid his hand on my arm, almost as if it were a gesture of compassion. “I’m not surprised he kept his true identity from you, my daughter.” He glared at Amlach. “Besides, we know well how conniving men’s nature can be.”

Amlach responded with a scornful half-smile. “Said the King of the Elves, who not only decided not to lend aid to one of the peoples on the continent where he lives and watch humans slowly die, but also let his own daughter and heir be humiliated and enslaved.”

Araton’s fist hit instantly.

Amlach’s head jerked to the side with such force that his hair fell over his face as he wobbled.

The next moment, moving with supernatural speed to stop Amlach from reacting, my brother seized his light brown hair to reveal his face.

No, I realized. Not his face.

His ear.

A pointy ear.

My heart stopped. My wide eyes searched for Amlach’s. They found them with an incisiveness that left me breathless.

That destroyed me.

Araton pulled his hand away from his hair with a nauseated grimace and stepped back, as if Amlach carried a contagious, pustular disease.

Never taking his eyes off me, Amlach calmly straightened his posture, though his stern face hinted at deep suffering.

“You’re an elf,” I breathed.

53

“Half elf,” Araton corrected in Elvish, then spat on Amlach’s ankle boots.

Amlach dropped a challenging sneer in his direction, licking the bead of blood from the small cut at the corner of his lower lip.

My father glared at Araton, then commanded the soldiers on horseback in our language with authority. “You are bound by silence.”

For no one knew the King of Men was a half-elf, I deduced. That there had been another contamination.