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Farrendel cleared his throat again. “There’s another legend about elf warriors. One that has to do with the founding of Escarland. Thousands of years ago, a great army of elves fought, and their magic was so great and so destructive that it razed the forests in what is now Escarland and parts of Afristan and Mongalia. The ground itself was so destroyed that it was hundreds of years before humans moved onto the land and began to eek out a living from the ruined soil.”

“We humans are a tenacious lot.” Essie patted Farrendel’s chest, tipping her head up to give him a smile.

“The warriors who survived the battle became the elven nobility, and my ancestor was crowned the new king of the elves thanks to the strength of his magic.” Farrendel gave her a small nudge in return, not that she would be able to feel the light tap of his elbow against her side through the fighting leathers she was still wearing. “So not all of the great elf warriors have tragic endings.”

“Just most of them, apparently.” The wrinkle still would not leave Essie’s forehead, even as she seemed to be forcing a smile.

Had his story about the elf warrior dying young rattled her that much? He had not meant to give her another worry when it came to him or his magic.

“I’ve heard that story. It is told to explain how Escarland has so few true forests and is mostly open farmland still today.” Averett glanced at Julien. “Do you remember that summer after I learned the story from my tutor? We spent hours digging in the palace garden, trying to dig up old weapons or artifacts from the battle. Little did we know that such things would have been long gone after thousands of years or far too deep for us to find with our little shovels.”

“That was a great summer. When we weren’t digging, we were whacking at each other with our shovels, bucket-helmets on our heads, pretending to be great elven warriors until Father had to pull us apart because our play fight turned real.” Julien’s mouth tilted, as if the memory held both happiness and pain.

Farrendel could understand that. His own memories of his father were a lot like that.

“Why don’t I remember this summer?” Essie lifted her head from Farrendel’s shoulder.

“This was before the war. You were just a baby. Edmund was only three, so he probably doesn’t remember it either, though Mother and Father told us to let him tag along.” Averett shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Julien and I were five and seven. We thought it was such a trial to have to let our three-year-old brother toddle after us, under the watchful gaze of the nanny or Mother or Father, of course.”

“It’s so tough being the youngest. I missed out on all the fun when you were growing up.” Essie nudged Farrendel with an elbow, her gaze searching as if she was not sure if he would find the memory of his childhood painful or something humorous. “Though, I guess it was probably even worse for you. All three of your siblings were adults by the time you were born, and Weylind had even been married for a number of years.”

Farrendel had dwelled too long on the painful memories of his childhood, and he had told Essie far too much of the loneliness and hard times. It was time he told her a few of the good memories and learned to laugh at his childhood the way she did about hers. He leaned closer, as if about to confide a dark secret. “Yes, but that meant that I was doted upon by my father and my siblings to the point I was absolutely spoiled.”

Essie snorted out a laugh that turned into a cough, as if his humor had taken her so off guard that she had forgotten how to properly breathe. “You? Spoiled? Somehow, I can’t picture it.”

“Weylind never could tell me no.” Farrendel leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. “After all, he could not bring himself to refuse me when I agreed to marry you.”

With both Julien and Averett shaking their heads in the background, Essie laughed and wrapped both arms around Farrendel. “You’re right. Who else but a very spoiled youngest sibling would be able to talk their stubborn king of a brother into agreeing to something as crazy as this marriage alliance idea?”

MELANTHA WOKE cocoonedin Rharreth’s arms, buried beneath layers of furs and blankets. She groaned and tugged the blankets tighter around her. “I do not want to get up. I have a feeling this will be the last time I am warm for a long time.”

Rharreth’s chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his breath heated the back of her neck. “Probably. But fleeing to Tarenhiel was your idea.”

“Do not remind me.” It had sounded so simple when she had proposed the plan that morning, but now the realities were sinking in. There would be no train to carry them across the frosty miles between Osmana and the Tarenhieli border. No fires. No comfortable shelter. Just whatever they could carry on their backs and their own strength.

She did not doubt Rharreth’s strength. But what about her own strength? What if Vriska was right? Was Melantha strong enough for this?