Elfhame (Skeleton Key) (20 page)

Not that it would do any good in Mara’s eyes.

Mentally chastising himself for a fool, he went to fetch her from Anneth’s rooms.

Although he thought he was prepared for the sight of his wife gowned and bejeweled, she never failed to steal his breath for a heartbeat. This time she wore deep emerald satin decorated with silver embroidery of twining leaves. The necklace he’d given her shone at her throat, and Anneth had woven pearls into her hair to match.

Her gaze went to his belt, and she laughed at the sight of her knife hanging there.

“Are you truly going to wear that to the feast?” she asked.

“Of course. Unless you would like to trade tokens?”

Her hand went to her necklace, and she shook her head. “I think you’d look a bit silly wearing this. Besides, it’s too beautiful to part with.”

Her obvious pleasure in his gift gave him a flash of warmth. At least he was not completely odious in her eyes.

With Mara on one side and Anneth on the other, he escorted them to the dining hall. As soon as they stepped into the room, everyone rose and began cheering. The tables were full to overflowing, the members of Nightshade and the fighters from the front making up for the empty places where fallen warriors ought to have been.

Garon. Lieth. His throat tightened at their loss.

At one of the near tables, Hestil tipped her goblet in a toast to him. New lines etched her face, but he saw peace there as well.

The Hawthorne Lord beckoned them to the head table, and insisted that Mara be seated on his right side, with Bran next to her, and then Anneth. Tinnueth’s mouth turned down at the corners, but she spoke not a word of protest.

Still, as the feast began, he caught her watching Mara, her sharp eyes cataloguing every misstep his mortal wife made. Mara used the wrong fork, reached too far for the salt cellar, and engaged in conversation all across the table as well as to either side. They were small things, but enough to begin a litany of errors that would only grow over time.

His mother was not the only one taking note. Mireleth was seated further down the table, and she sent frequent, narrow-eyed glances to where he and Mara sat. Partway through the meat course, he saw her lean aside and make some remark to her companion. The man looked at Mara and laughed unkindly.

Bran curled his fingers into his palm, feeling the stab of his own claws. Perhaps it was a good thing, after all, that Mara was departing. She had said so many times she did not belong in Elfhame.

But she belongs with me
, his heart insisted.

Idiot piece of flesh. He hardened it to stone and continued eating, though he tasted not a bite.

At last the meal was over, the musicians played a final fanfare, and the Hawthorne Lord rose.

“Today, we celebrate victory,” he said. “We owe it to the steadfast honor of the Hawthorne Heir, whose trust in the prophecy never wavered. And to Lady Mara, the mortal woman who opened the door between our worlds and used her newfound powers for the good of our land. We are eternally in your debt.” He picked up his goblet and raised it high above the court. “Let us toast, to victory—and to Prince Brannonilon and his bride!”

Mara’s cheeks colored and she nodded acknowledgment. Bran took up his goblet, full of rich elderberry wine, and raised his cup to her.

“Thank you, Mara,” he said in a low voice. “You will be missed.”

Freezing cold wormed through his bones, and he took a deep draught to dispel it. The wine tasted sweet and bitter in equal measure as he swallowed it down.

T
he feast lasted forever, and yet was over too quickly. Despite her hunger, Mara took care not to eat too much of the rich food. She had a journey to make—not only through Elfhame to the doorway, but a second passage through the deep trees of the Darkwood. She hoped she would not become too lost on her way back to Little Hazel.

Her pulse quickened at the thought of coming home at last, of seeing lights in the cottage windows, of stepping through the familiar doorway and at last embracing her parents.

And seeing the sun, and being surrounded by normal-sized beings whose eyes were not strangely slitted and whose features were not the stuff of screaming nightmares.

Back in Anneth’s rooms, however, a strange melancholy fell over her as Bran’s sister helped her out of the satin gown. She had enjoyed playing the lady, though no doubt it would grow tiresome after a time. And the weight of the Dark Elves’ expectations would bend her down to the ground.

“I’d like to wear the tunic and leggings from earlier,” Mara said. She’d already run through the forest once wearing an impractical dress. No need to repeat the experience.

“Are you quite sure?” Anneth cocked her head. “This is your bridal night, after all. Don’t you want something more…”

She waved her hand at one of the frothier gowns, but Mara shook her head.

“Bran is taking me riding,” she said.

“Riding?” Anneth’s brows rose.

“Anneth, I must tell you. I’m not staying in Elfhame. Bran is sending me back through the doorway tonight.”

“He is?” Anneth paced away, her steps sharp. “What an utter fool. Can’t he see that sending you away is the most idiotic—”

“You misunderstand.” Mara held up her hand. “I want to go. It was a condition I set before we wed, that he would use his magic to send me home after we fulfilled the prophecy and defeated the Void.”

“You
want
to leave?” Anneth halted and gave her a wounded look. “But you saved Elfhame.”

Mara let out a short, bitter laugh. “That doesn’t mean I belong here. Truly, my mind is made up. Please don’t ask me to stay.”

Anneth stared at her a moment longer, then shook her head. “I don’t understand you at all.”

“No. And that proves my point. No one here ever will. We come from worlds that are too different. Even though I can speak your language, everything here is foreign. Your customs and thoughts, and even the way you tell time, make little sense to me.”

“Bran would understand you. I think he already does.”

Anneth’s words sent a pang through Mara. But even if it were true, she and Bran had no real hope of a future together. No matter what the prophecy might think.

“I won’t argue with you over this,” she said. “I’m sorry, Anneth.”

Bran’s sister stood there a moment, lips tight. “I am sorry, too. But if you insist on going, I will help you prepare.”

By the time Bran came to fetch her, Mara was wearing the sturdy tunic, her boots had returned to their original plain state, and her hair had been taken out of its elaborate coiffure and simply tied back from her face. She was Lady Mara no more.

“I see you are ready,” he said, his features settling into his starkest expression. “Take the dagger I gave you. And the necklace.”

“I can’t. It’s far too costly.”

“That is precisely why I gave it to you,” he said. “Will such gems not serve you well in the mortal world?”

She tamped down her unexpected surge of disappointment. She should be grateful for his generosity, not sorry that he only had a practical reason for giving her so opulent a gift.

“If you insist,” she said.

“Here.” Anneth handed her the twisted strand of silver and gems.

Instead of slipping it into her pocket, Mara fastened it about her neck.
For safekeeping
, she told herself, but knew it was more than that.

She stuck Bran’s dagger through her belt, then turned to Anneth, dismayed to see tears glinting in the Dark Elf’s eyes.

“I always wanted a sister,” Anneth said.

They’re more trouble than they’re worth
, Mara almost replied, but instead she stepped forward into Anneth’s embrace. When they parted, her throat was tight.

“Goodbye,” she said. “And thank you.”

Bran opened the door, and for the last time, Mara walked out of Anneth’s rooms. She kept going and didn’t look back. Bran paced behind her, and together they went to the end of the corridor, past the tower stairs, and under the arched doorway leading into the gardens.

The sweet smell of the flowers twined about her, and three glimglows swooped down, as if they’d been waiting for her. She took some comfort in the sight. Perhaps her journey back through the Darkwood would not be as dark and lonely as she’d feared.

A stable hand was waiting with Fuin. His eyes were full of questions, but he said nothing as Bran mounted and lifted Mara up to sit before him. This time she rode astride, which made her feel less like a helpless maiden and more like a woman taking charge of her own future.

Which she was.

They went silently, skirting the ridge that had been the scene of their final battle with the Void. The warm wind swirled about them, and birds called softly as the large moon began to rise. The glimglows danced and darted above her head.

She breathed deeply of the warm air of Elfhame. Now that she was leaving, she felt a thin stab of regret. It was a beautiful land, in its own shadowed way. And though the Dark Elves were not beautiful as a people, they were powerful and magical. She would never forget her time among them.

And she would never forget Bran. Beneath that harsh-featured exterior was a man of integrity and honor. Which was part of why she must leave. She could never be the consort he needed, though he was far too stubborn to admit it. It was better for both of them that she was going.

She did not know what to say to him, and so remained silent. As did he. His quiet was not angry or cold, but simply there, like the stars overhead or the leaves rustling on the trees.

It was not until the moon had lifted high into the sky that he spoke. “When we reach the doorway, I expect it will take our combined magics to open it.”

She glanced down at the ring clasped around her finger. No doubt he was right.

She’d already rummaged about several times in the pockets of her tunic, but there was no secret glass key tucked there. It had done its work and disappeared, and she knew she would never see it again.

Perhaps it had gone to a new world, called by a different prophecy or quirk of fate to open another doorway that had been closed for too long.

They rode into a meadow filled with shimmering grass, and a shiver of familiarity went through her. This was the place she’d been attacked by the spider creature. And where Bran had saved her.

As if sensing her thoughts, his arm tightened about her waist, the ring sparking on his hand. Fuin went forward into the shadows under the trees, and the glimglows swirled up. Two more joined them, and they flitted ahead, bobbing between the dark trunks of the huge evergreens. Flowers glowed against the emerald-green mosses, scarlet and deep purple, veined with light. Ahead, she glimpsed the clearing where two tall stones rose, their surfaces carved with mystic runes.

“This is the doorway,” she said, breathing in the wild scent of herbs.

“Yes.”

The horse halted, and Mara slid down before Bran could help her. She was nearly home, and her heart pounded with the word. Home. Home.

Bran followed her into the clearing. The bright moonlight illuminated his fierce features, his strange, slitted eyes, his clawed hands.

“Are you certain you will not stay?” he asked.

Stay.
The word echoed through her.

“I do care for you, Prince Brannonilon Luthinor,” she admitted. “But to remain here, in the darkness, among your people, would drive me mad.”

He nodded once, the braids on either side of his face swinging. Then he stepped forward and cupped her cheek in his hand. His violet eyes stared down into hers.

“And I care for you, Mara Geary, more than you will ever know. Which is why I will honor the promise I made, and send you home.”

Her vision clouded with unexpected tears. If only things were different. If only
she
were different, a Dark Elf lady, able to move confidently through the currents of their society. Able to be the wife this tall, stern warrior deserved.

But she was a mortal, and as unsuited to Elfhame as a freshwater fish to the sea. She might swim there a short while, but soon enough it would sicken her beyond bearing.