With a sigh, Lyren tucked a springy curl behind one ear. It settled neatly behind the white sea flower also sitting there. “Queen Noelani believes Faerie itself is rebelling against the fae. She believes the land is punishing us for keeping Prince Brannick from his rightful place as High King. My queen believes everything will heal once Prince Brannick wins the testing.”
It wasn’t the words as much as the way they were spoken, but Elora knew better than to just accept that explanation. She raised an eyebrow. “And what do you believe?”
With that question, the silver in Lyren’s eyes burst into sparkles. “I believe there is more to it than that.” Her jaw clenched. “But I know the decay is worse because of Queen Alessandra. Much worse.” A shudder jerked through Lyren’s shoulders so hard that the sea flower behind her ear fluttered to the ground. Her voice darkened. “She is far worse than you know.”
A chill entered the room, almost as if Faerie were emulating the cold of the Fairfrost queen. Thoughts of Brannick’s bargain filled Elora’s mind once again. How long would he be safe? How long until Alessandra gave him an order he physically couldn’t refuse?
After plucking her flower off the ground and tucking it behind her ear once again, Lyren stepped toward her door. “I must go back to Swiftsea and help fight the Fairfrost guards.” She gripped her javelin tight. “I promised I would take you to your room, and now I have. You will be safe as long as you stay within Bitter Thorn Castle. I owe you a debt for your help. Go back to your room quickly.”
She gave a curt nod before stepping through her twirling, foamy blue door. It vanished as soon as she disappeared through it.
The hallway was empty now, but Elora felt empty too. Or alone? Something inside her longed for a friend. Perhaps being surrounded by fae she couldn’t trust had done more to her than she realized. Or maybe she just wanted the attention of a particular fae and not getting it had hurt her more than she wanted to admit.
Shoving that thought to the darkest recesses of her mind, she turned on her heel and stomped toward her room. Prince Brannick needed her to train him in sword skill. He couldn’t avoid her forever.
But though he had fallen for her, she would not give her heart to him.
She knew better than to be that foolish.
FIVE
▲▼▲
THE REMAINS OF A delicious berry scone were still on Elora’s lips when a knock sounded on her door the next morning. Even before answering, she knew the knock belonged to Soren. His knuckles always hit the wood with unique aggression.
She checked the red ribbon around her ankle before joining the gnome in the castle hallway. His bug-like eyes glanced back into her room. “Get your sword.”
Her heart skipped as she ran back to retrieve her sword from its hiding spot under her mattress.
When they began walking down the hallway, the gnome stroked his pointed white beard. “Can you hide it with your skirts? I don’t want any fae to see it accidentally.”
It only took a moment to wrap the blade between the folds of her purple skirt. She held it in place with her hand, careful to make it seem like she was only lifting her skirt to walk.
Soren nodded, his soft leather boots padding against the stone floor. His cheeks puffed with his every exhale. It made the pointed hat on top of his head jiggle.
The sight of it caused a grin, which Elora simply could not help. And he hadn’t made a single complaint, which was remarkable on its own. Smirking, she raised an eyebrow at the gnome. “You look well today.”
His gruff exterior fell away as his eyebrows flew up to his forehead. She could see him forming the word me as his hand touched his chest. But before the word could escape his mouth, he let out a grunt. “I would probably look better if my forces had polished the arrowheads like they were supposed to. And there are still enchantments that need to be placed on our weapons. We will need to hunt for more feathers to adorn our spears.”
Elora’s step faltered. “Do your forces always spend this much time with weapons?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or are you preparing for a battle of some sort?”
Whatever hint of friendliness he had on his face quickly fell away. His beard bunched up as he glared at the hallway ahead. “These are Faerie matters. You need not worry.”
She heard the unspoken message in his words. No more questions.
They continued in silence until he ushered her into a room she knew well. Brannick and his wolf stood at the back of the room. The mossy wall at their backs blended into the green vines hanging from the ceiling.
Blaz’s ears immediately perked at the sight of her. He pawed the stone floor while his eyes softened with delight. The prince ignored her completely.
After a quick wave to the wolf, she turned her nose up at Brannick. But the prince had already turned away from her. He reached for the vine that opened the door to the armory. When he stepped through, he did not look her way. Only Blaz turned back to glance at her.
She let out a huff as she stomped in after the pair of them. Brannick continued to ignore her. Maybe this was why Soren was so grumpy all the time. If so, she couldn’t blame him.
On the other side of the room, Brannick waved his hand to open the compartment where her sword had once hidden. From it, the prince pulled out his own sword as well as a sheath Elora had never seen before.
The sheath had a golden tip with designs of trees and vines swirling over it. It was attached to a leather belt which had the same vine and tree design embossed on it.
Brannick set his sword on top of a nearby clay pot that held bundles of arrows. With it secured, he handed the remarkable sheath to Elora. His eyes remained rooted to one corner of the room as he spoke. “See if your sword will fit inside.”
Her fingers tingled as she took the sheath. For a moment, she could do nothing but trace a finger over the designs in the belt. After letting out a gasp of awe, she finally slid her sword inside the glinting metal.
“It fits perfectly. It’s like this sheath was made for my sword.” Wrapping the leather belt around her waist, she found that it too fit perfectly. Her eyes narrowed. “Where did you get this?”
Brannick removed a piece of lint from his soft leather coat before answering. “Quintus crafted it for me.”
Her thumb ran over the metal that formed the main section of the sheath. It was smooth, but it didn’t have the same strength as the sheaths her father always made. “This metal is strange.” The words came out before she could stop them.
He shrugged, as if unsurprised by her comment. “It is a Faerie alloy.”
“Fae have special alloys?” All at once, she dropped the sheath, causing it to tug on the belt that held it around her waist. Her mouth had dropped. “You told Quintus about my sword skill?”
“No.” Brannick raised one eyebrow, which did not help Elora focus at all. “I told Quintus I acquired a sword that had once belonged to the great mortal, Theobald. I said it could make an impressive gift for Ansel, one that should convince him to stop asking if he can have you.”
Her hand shot toward her new sword hilt, gripping it hard. “Ansel knows about my father too?” Just like that, her mind spun until pieces of conversations clicked into place. “Is Ansel the fae my father made a bargain with?”