“Everything is fine,” Zir replied, forcing the anger down. “Now, let us be off. The execution will begin shortly, and I’m sure it will be something you don’t want to miss.”
For the first time that day, a very ugly and disturbing smile stretched across Sylvester’s face.
“Oh, I’m sure it will be just horrid.”
***
Palmine, former Professor at the Goldenleaf School of Magic, watched from the center of the gathered crowds as Blyss and Alvine, the former King and Queen of the elves, were dragged onto the execution platform. She felt her heart sink as she witnessed their poor state, wishing she could go up there and help them. There hadn’t been so much as a glimpse of the royal couple in weeks, but the construction of the execution podium, complete with two hangman’s nooses, was more than enough of a hint as to what would be happening.
She watched, brokenhearted, along with most of the others in the crowd, as their necks were both fitted with a noose, the human soldier tightening the rope with obvious glee, before stepping away. Blyss seemed beyond gone by this point, but Alvine stood strong, straight-backed and facing the crowd, teeming with his former subjects.
Zir stepped onto the stage then, dressed in a flowing black cloak with the crown that had once been Alvine’s perched upon his brow. The crowd went immediately silent, the fear this elf commanded almost palpable in the air. Sylvester stepped onto the stage next, eyeing his adoptive parents with the indifference of someone observing a bug.
Had Palmine seen hatred, she might have understood – not that she would have known why he was so angry with them. But seeing his expressionless face chilled her down to her very bones. Sylvester looked more like an emotionless golem than a living elf, though when the girl Nina, the one who’d magically flourished over the last few weeks, waved to him, his expression changed – just for an instant – to pure infatuation.
Then, it was gone, and he was walking over to face his adoptive parents. He didn’t say a thing, simply staring at the two of them as Zir faced the crowd.
“People of Srila,” he said, his voice echoing out in the silence. “And of course, honored nobles.”
Several elves, all dressed in finery, all nodded in his direction at his acknowledgment.
And why wouldn’t they, Palmine thought bitterly.
It was obvious how Zir had gotten this many soldiers to the city without detection, and how so many explosive devices were placed throughout the city in the first place. These nobles had wanted more power and had been willing to betray their king and queen to get it. Knowing Zir’s tactics, none of them would be long for this world.
‘Once a traitor, always a traitor.’
The old adage was a saying for a reason.
“We have all gathered here to witness the end of these ill-meaning monsters. They are the ones who stole my rightful throne and ruled you all without the proper authority. Watch closely, and don’t you dare look away. There is no room for traitors in our great elven nation, and not even former kings or queens are immune to the law!”
Zir turned then, giving the signal, and Sylvester pulled on the wooden lever extending from the stage.
Blyss looked up at that moment, her wild eyes locking onto her adoptive son.
“Sylvester, don’t…!”
The floor collapsed out from under the former king and queen, snapping the ropes taut and turning the queen’s plea into an ugly gurgle. The crowd watched in silent horror as the bodies of their former rulers thrashed, their legs kicking as their faces went red, then purple. Palmine felt sick to her stomach, yet like the others, dared not look away.
Alvine’s body went still first. His wide and bloodstained eyes were nearly bulging from his head, and his tongue lolled out of his half-open mouth. Blyss continued thrashing for a few moments longer, her heels kicking helplessly in the air and her wild hair flying about her face as she tried to find purchase. Then she joined her husband, going completely still. Her head was craned to the side, her dead eyes staring accusingly at Sylvester.
Silence reigned over the gathered crowd as Blyss and Alvine, their king and queen for nearly thirty years, swung silently from their ropes.
“Let this be a lesson to all who wish to defy me,” Zir said, his voice echoing in the silence once again.
He turned, his cape swirling out from behind him as he headed off the stage, followed closely by Sylvester, who still wore no expression at all.
Palmine watched their former rulers for just a moment more, then turned away, heading swiftly from the stage. She needed to get out of the city as soon as possible. The elven nation was well and truly lost, and the only ones who could save them now were the girls she had helped escape.
Karria and Kya would need to return to the Goldenleaf Forest, and Palmine would see that happen, even if it were the very last thing she did.
1
The coach rattled softly as it sped down the bumpy road, the advanced shock-absorbent enchantments woven into its structure keeping its occupants from feeling the worst of it. The warm weather outside the window was quite pleasant. The trees on the sides of the road were in full bloom and displaying their colorful array of floral bouquets before the inevitable new growth of leaves took their place in a few weeks.
All of this was lost on Arbor, whose troubled mind kept him from enjoying the grandeur of spring. The coach’s other occupants, Grak, Hord, and Frunk, all spoke quietly, so as not to disturb him. After nearly two weeks of travel, they’d learned not to bother him when he got into these odd moods, though Grak was planning on talking to him about them once they arrived at Arbor’s new estate.
The newly crowned Viscount, along with his entire army, was headed toward Ryevine, his allotted land in the region of Vergara. From what he’d been told, the area was rich with farmland, mostly good for growing grain and vegetables, though there was a single vineyard as well. The land of Ryevine was located near a volcano, one that had gone dormant many years prior. Its presence had seeped into the soil, making it rich and fertile.
It was quite far from Fivora, all the way on the other side of Vergara. Had Arbor not been assured by Frunk to the contrary, he’d have thought he was being shoved into some backwater lands to keep him out of the way. From Frunk’s explanation and reading the map, he’d discovered that he’d been given a strategic borderland between them and the Flatlands, which were located some hundred miles west of his palace.
Arbor’s thoughts weren’t on that at all, though. Instead, his mind was elsewhere, on the night when Ramona, the woman he’d been sure had betrayed him, had shown up in his room asking for help before collapsing. It had been two weeks since that had happened, and the Cofounder had still not stirred. As far as Arbor could see, nothing was wrong with her. She’d been healed by him personally, yet she refused to wake up.
He needed answers. Like, why she’d been sending assassins after him, and where the rest of the Defiants were. He was tired of constantly looking over his shoulder, expecting an attack. Guards now surrounded him wherever he went, and he was seriously starting to tire of their presence. His Perception Field, the technique he’d developed by mixing his Perception and Origin magics, was more than enough to detect anyone, visible or otherwise, that entered into its field. And by this point, he’d gotten so used to keeping it active, that it was hardly taxing at all.