The Coming Storm (100 page)

Tall, willowy, her long, straight dark hair blew like a banner behind her in the breeze. As pretty as Colath was but handsome, she was striking in the way that was so uniquely Elven, her face as smooth and unmarked by emotion as the marble columns of the Chamber.

Severe. Forbidding.

“The Council recognizes Lilianne of Talaena Enclave.”

Inclining her head slightly, Lilianne didn’t look out on the crowd but addressed those on the dais only.

“The blood of Elves, Dwarves and Men wasn’t meant to be joined,” she said, her voice sweet and lilting, clearly unaccustomed to the speech of Men. “How many times have we seen that. The madness is only part proof of it. The magic is only part proof. The races must be kept pure, to preserve them, to keep each to its own traditions and custom. To dilute our blood is to lose ourselves, our very nature. We’ve seen the madness, yes. It’s the magic we must abjure. Wild magic. Not the magic of Elves, nor that of Dwarves, nor even that of wizards. It is by its very name and nature uncontrolled and uncontrollable. What is its source? No one knows.”

“This one has survived long beyond her peers. She hasn’t yet given way to the madness that has beset the others. There are some who would argue this in her favor. I don’t. Instead, I fear that she grows more dangerous. What would those others have been capable of if they had lived to their majority? Grown in cunning and in power? I put this to you.”

Lord Faran stood up.

Ailith stared at him, stunned. She’d known him since she was a child. He’d visited Riverford many times, had supped with her parents in the days before her father had changed. She had no thought that he rose in her defense.

Blood, the blood of family, was everything to him. Lineage and heritage, those were his touchstones. Her mother’s mother had defiled that. She’d lied.

Delae. Who had loved her and died as well.

Faran wouldn’t look at her. That alone was telling.

“She betrayed her father,” he said, shortly. “Among our folk that in itself is unforgivable. There are those who say he was ensorcelled and there is some evidence that was true. It’s said he murdered her mother. Slew her. Though only half Elven, she was a Halfling of that race. I know that Elves have a care for their children and I can’t imagine their sorrow at that loss.”

Lady Lilianne rose slightly. “Yes, we know this to be true, else this one wouldn’t be. We know who her father’s mother was, that’s no secret. I would know who her mother’s father was, that he should know his part in this folly.”

It was an effort for Ailith to remain still.

She could feel both Lilianne’s and Avila’s sharp eyes on her, looking for a betraying glance or some small sign of weakness.

The Master of Wizards knew some truths of wild magic and one of them was that she couldn’t lie. Dissemble somewhat, yes, but not lie. In truth, though, she didn’t know for certain who her mother’s father was. Her mother had so resembled her own mother the two had often been mistaken for sisters, not mother and daughter. Her grandfather hadn’t come forward of his own will. If he was wise, he wouldn’t do so now. This had to be a bad moment for him, though, wondering if she had guessed, if she would be forced to expose him now for all to see and hear. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. It was bad enough that she stood where she was, worse still if she dragged another after her. The truth was, she didn’t know. It had never been said to be so, not in her hearing.

All eyes were on her. It was an effort to keep her voice even, to let not even a breath or hint of emphasis betray her.

“I don’t know who he is.”

She said it before they could ask, before they could ask specifically or they thought to ask if she had guessed.

It was said so flat and tonelessly she should have made the Elves proud but she knew she wouldn’t.

Lilianne was as angry as it was possible for an Elf to be, although there was no outward sign of it, only a thousand little things. A tightness around the eyes, a stiffening in her body.

From the corner of her eye Ailith saw Avila subside in a frustration that mirrored Lilianne’s. Ailith couldn’t imagine why she cared. What use would such knowledge have for Avila?

A sparking light in the depths of her heart told her that the one she suspected was her grandfather was here on the edges of the crowd. The mere thought of him had been enough for her magic to find him. She didn’t know whether she was more comforted by his presence or he by her denial of him.

His grief, his horror and outrage, though, were palpable through the bonds of blood.

Don’t
, she pleaded silently.

“In the end it doesn’t matter,” Faran said. “They say she has magic. I say this. If she does, how did she not save her own mother? Why didn’t she work to disenchant her father?”

How to tell them that her magic didn’t work that way? Even Elon’s Foresight didn’t work that clearly. No foresight did, there were too many variables. How to tell them that she’d been bound already by a promise and didn’t know it. How and have them believe her? The memory of a dream, of a short chase down a dark, damp corridor, a cry of denial rising from her even as she rose from sleep too late. The lies from her father she couldn’t disprove. No hint or glimmering had warned her. She was damned by what she couldn’t prevent.

“Instead she let them fall, to save herself.”

“No,” she cried, “I didn’t know.”

There was a look of triumph on Daran’s face and she closed her eyes.

She’d condemned herself.

They’d set a trap for her, layered accusation upon accusation until she was forced to defend herself, to tell them she knew what she was.

She looked at Avila, Master of wizards, who might have known the truth of her magic but it was futile. Looking back, her face a mask, the Master’s cold hazel eyes betrayed nothing.

There was a murmur of shock, of horror and satisfaction from the crowd.

She closed her eyes.

The sun was hot and beat down on her. What refreshment she’d taken earlier was long gone. She was thirsty and tired but it wasn’t yet done.

In all her life she had never felt so alone.

“You see?! She admits it. Mixed blood,” Faran said, with a broad gesture. “A mongrel not of any race. What else can we expect of such? Why not madness? How not, belonging not to one or another? How long before her true nature shows? Perhaps we’ve merely been lucky, in that she hasn’t gone mad before her wild magic could destroy us rather that aid us? Those who were there, saw. She called up a dragon. Perhaps it was the first sign of madness..”

There was fear in his voice.

It had been an illusion, anyone on the plain could have told them that.

There was no purpose in voicing her protest, they wouldn’t listen.

It had looked real enough. It had needed to, since it had had to last long enough to distract, to turn the enthralling eyes of basilisks. A threat they couldn’t ignore.

The wizards knew but were silent, fearful of Avila’s resentful wrath, although one or two shifted uneasily.

Continuing, Faran added, almost reluctantly, “For our good, I’ll admit. Perhaps the tide of the war turned on that, perhaps it was only the courage of our valiant warriors that made the difference. History may tell but I cannot. What I can say is her blood is tainted. Like oil and water it cannot mix.”

Ailith’s heart ached but she kept her head up, determined to somehow see this through, but it was hard. Only one friend remained to her here.

A strong deep voice rang out across the Square, a familiar voice.

“Let me through,” Elon shouted, “that’s nonsense. This is madness.”

Ailith’s heart leaped, but whether in joy,  relief or horror, she didn’t at that moment know. They’d said he was too far away.

She’d been wrong.

Elon. Oh, love
.

She dared not look at him, or Jareth beside him. She dared not turn her head at the sound of his voice, or betray them both. For a moment her head swam and her knees grew weak. She wouldn’t faint, she wouldn’t.

When she opened her eyes it was to look on Daran High King.

There was dismay and a spark of nearly furious rage in the High King’s eyes. A threatening growl rose from Goras. The serene visage of Eliade didn’t change by so much as the flicker of an eyelash but Ailith thought she caught a glimmer of reluctant admiration tempered with disapproval in her eyes.

From the crowd behind her came a rolling murmur.

Nearly beside himself, Daran choked back furious rage.

When he found out who had called them back that one would count themselves lucky they weren’t flayed by his glance alone. It had nearly been done.

 He glanced at Avila, who glared down in fury at the two who approached through the crowd.

Fascinated, they parted to allow the two passage.

Elon strode past Ailith with Jareth at his heels. Her heart lifted, hope rose.

As he passed, Elon knew he dared not look at her, not now. Or it would cost them everything.

Ailith, his Ailith
.

She’d been so brave, facing the Council alone. He’d felt her fear, her desolation, through the bond for miles but there was no sign of either in the woman who stood before him.

Instead her back was straight, her face impassive as she listened to the charges they laid against her, one by one.

If she could have, Ailith would have wept at the sound of Elon’s voice but she dared not let even the desire show or betray them both.

Those of the Elves who looked for flaws would see it as a sign of a weakness in her blood, something she dared not show here in this place.

The Dwarves only wanted her dead.

Elon turned, his gaze pausing on her long enough to take in her face, pale but calm, expressionless save for the bleak look in her steel-blue eyes.

Looking into his stern face, meeting his dark eyes, made her heart ache. Ailith dared not allow herself hope but she drank in every feature of his stern, handsome face for the brief moment when he chanced that glance at her.

The bond between them wasn’t silent, it hummed.

From Jareth there was a quick reassuring look before he turned a lacerating gaze on his Master.

For a change, Jareth looked more than presentable, the robe that Avila insisted he wear falling neatly, dark brown with a darker band of brown around the hem. It made him seem less tall and gangly.

His hair was brushed neatly, as well. She smiled a little, to see Jareth so well-groomed. And for her sake.

It was to Elon that she looked, though.

Her heart lightened at the sight of him. If for nothing else than to look at him. To see him again. One last time her gaze claimed him, preserving that moment in memory.

In the way of his people, he was so striking. He wasn’t beautiful as Colath but he was to her, definitely arresting, so stern, so forbidding. So heart-breaking for her. His high-arched brows winged above eyes so deep a brown they might have been black. His dark, straight hair had been brushed back from his high forehead neatly, caught on each side and braided Elven style before being confined by a narrow band of gold filigree to fall to his shoulders.

He was immaculate.

They’d called him away but there was no sign of it.

He was dressed in full robes, the outer coat fell flawlessly to his feet, the fine embroidery of dark thread wound with silver on the dark silk glittered in the sun.

It was his manner, though, as always, that was so impressive. No more than any other Elf, he showed no sign of emotion and yet he commanded the Chamber and the Square with his mere presence. His spirit was so sure, his confidence and certainty unquestionable, paired with his indomitable will and his poet’s soul.

She loved him so much and dared not let a whisper of it show, on her face…or through the bond between them.

Even so, for the first time since she had been taken, Ailith allowed herself a breath of hope.

There was no sign of the hard ride they must have made.

It had chafed at Jareth but Elon had insisted.

“We can’t go before them like this, filthy from the road. They’ll see us as penitents, petitioners. The moments we take now will matter. Trust me on this.”