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20 THARAN

Tharan stared out at the white city of Elohim. A triumph of architecture, spindled pillars of white marble rose high into the blue sky. Beneath him, the river Wayren carried elegant ships and passengers alike—all this beauty built on the backs of the sylph. Tales of the grandeur of Elohim had spread far and wide, but nothing could quite prepare him for this splendor—each building a work of art, with intricately carved designs displaying the nature of the work done inside. If only Aelia was here to see this.

He took a drag from his cigarette, leaning against one of the granite pillars of his balcony in the palace. Weeks of travel exhausted him, but the prospect of seeing his grandfather kept him up for most of the night. With morning on the horizon, he wished he had slept more. He would have slept if Aelia had been here.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yes, come in.”

Hopper and Sumac entered, each wearing their finest attire. Hopper wore a black caftan embroidered with the seal of the Alder King in gold thread on his breast. His emerald, green hair was slicked back, and his ears were adorned with jeweled earrings. Sumac wore the armor of the Hunt—tungsten leaves woven together like chainmail. Her helmet was tucked under her arm.

“You’re not even dressed,” Hopper said, disapproval plastered across his face. “We are meant to be presented to the king this morning.” He walked to the closet where Tharan’s royal attire hung. “Where is your servant?”

“It’s fine, Hopper. I can dress myself. I sent my servant away.”

“It is not fine. I need you to look your best. We must present ourselves as a legitimate kingdom, not some Wild Court.”

Tharan sighed.

“But we are a Wild Court. In fact, we oversee all the Wild Courts.”

“Yes, well. We don’t have to remind them of that.” Hopper laid a houppelande of deep green and gold on the bed. “Now, go wash. I will call a servant to do something with your hair.”

Tharan and Sumac exchanged knowing glances. Hopper had always kept them in line, even when they were children, but that didn’t mean it didn’t annoy them.

Tharan pulled himself from the balcony and quickly bathed before returning to his suite, where a team of satyrs waited to make him presentable. Weeks in a carriage had left his beard shaggy, and his fingernails needed a good trimming. The attendant made quick work of him, shaving his beard and plucking his eyebrows until the ethereal Alder King emerged once more.

“That’s better,” Hopper said, buttoning the high collar around Tharan’s neck.

“I hate this.” Tharan fidgeted under the stiffness of the fabric.

“I know, but it won’t be for long.” He twisted Tharan’s burgundy hair back behind his ears, before placing the golden antler crown atop his head. “There. Now you look the part.”

Tharan stared at himself in the mirror. A man he didn’t recognize stared back—for the first time since donning the crown, he felt like the Alder King. Power flickered behind his verdant green eyes, and he practiced holding his head high like the elves.

“You look… magnificent,” Sumac said in awe.

“Don’t you start.” Tharan crooked his head at her, brows knitted. “I don’t want you two to treat me differently now that I’m king.”

Hopper stepped forward, fanning out the skirt of Tharan’s robe. “But that’s just it. You are our king now. Not our friend. Not the playboy bastard son. The Alder King. It is only right we hold you in reverence.”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with so we can find the Well and return to the Woodland Realm.”

“Very Well.” Hopper bowed his head to his king. “I will lead. You will follow, and Sumac and the Hunt will take up the rear.”

Light streamed through the massive windows of the throne room, casting everything in a white light. Tharan tried to keep his eyes on the back of Hopper’s head, but the elegant paintings of the Trinity besting deities long dead pulled his eyes toward the ceiling. Strings of floral garlands hung from the rafters, and the sigil of the Woodland Realm hung prominently above the dais. He wished Aelia was by his side to give him courage and ward off any talk of potential suitors.

Trumpets played as they made their way down the aisle. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of eyes, bored into them. Sylph were rarely welcomed with such pomp and circumstance, but it wasn’t every day the Alder King graced them with his presence.

Tharan wondered if this was where they dragged his mother when Arendir found her pregnant with a sylph’s child. Is this where they killed her? Or did they do that in a more public place so the elven kingdom could see? His chest tightened with anger, but he did not let it show on his face. He would not give these petty elves something to whisper about.

Hopper stopped short, and Tharan nearly ran into him. Bowing low, he announced Tharan’s arrival, “Your Highness, I present to you, Tharan Greenblade, the Alder King, Ruler of the Wild Courts, and keeper of the sacred magic of the Woodland Realm.”

Tharan kneeled before the dais. It was customary to avert your eyes before being acknowledged by the king in an elven court.

“Rise,” an ancient voice echoed through the marbled halls.

Tharan looked up to see a figure bathed in white staring down at him from atop the dais. Long white hair flowed over tanned skin with a face not unlike his own. Sharp features gave way to an elegant mouth and large green eyes—his eyes. A crown of woven silver with a ruby in the center sat atop his head. With the Original Breath still in his lungs, he looked no older than fifty despite being thousands of years old.

In his right hand, he held a staff of carved White Ash. Behind him, a dozen similar looking elves sat, their eyes lowered on Tharan. Were these the king’s children? No. Everyone knew the elves had trouble conceiving. To have two children was considered a blessing from Eris. Arendir looked to have at least twenty sitting behind him. Where was their mother? Mothers?

“My grandson has finally come to visit me,” he said to the chuckle of the crowd.

Tharan gritted his teeth and tried not to roll his eyes. “Greetings, mighty King Arendir. It is an honor to be in your presence.”

“The honor is all mine. It’s not every day your grandson becomes the Alder King.”

You’ve known it was possible my whole life, yet you have refused to acknowledge me.

Tharan cleared his throat.

“It is time our great houses joined forces. I’ve brought you gifts from the Woodland Realm.” He stepped to the side, and the Hunt placed chests of treasures in front of the dais for the entire court to see.

The king’s eyes raked over the gold and jewels.

“An acceptable offering, if meager.”

“There is one more thing.” Tharan snapped his fingers, and the clacking of hooves echoed through the halls of the throne room. Two satyrs trotted astride two white unicorns.

An audible gasp rippled through the crowd.

Arendir’s eyes widened, and he stepped toward the magnificent creatures, moving with the ethereal grace that only comes from millennia of life. “Now, this is a gift worthy of the original Elven King.”

The horses stopped when they reached Tharan, pawing at the ancient tile and champing at their bits. He took their reins and gently ran his hands over their soft cheeks, settling the creatures. “A mating pair so that you may grow your herd.”

The king approached the horses, stroking their muscular necks softly so as not to spook the flighty creatures. “Shh… It’s alright,” he cooed. The unicorns pawed at the marble floor.

“I hope you find this more acceptable,” Tharan said, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“How did you…” The king shook his head before clapping his hands together gleefully. “Come. We have much to discuss.” Turning to his court, he dismissed them. Elves filed out of the Great Hall, whispering under their breath as they went.

The satyrs followed the crowd with the horses. In contrast, Tharan and his company followed Arendir and his advisors into an elegant marble meeting room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay.

Plush velvet chairs surrounded a white granite meeting table, and a fire crackled in the mammoth fireplace at the edge of the room. Tharan noticed the distinct smell of bergamot and lavender in the air. He took his seat next to his grandfather. Hopper and Sumac took their respective seats next to him, and the Hunt took up residence at the door.

“Wine. Please.” Arendir signaled to a servant who appeared to be human.

“Since when do the elves use human labor?” Tharan asked.

“They are cheaper and more obedient than the sylph,” Arendir said, holding up a silver chalice for the servant. “Pity they only live a few dozen decades.”

“Yes, that is the flaw of a mortal life,” Tharan said, sniffing his wine.

“A toast,” Arendir raised his chalice, and the rest of the table followed, “to my grandson, Tharan Greenblade, Lord of the Wild Courts and king of the Alders.”

“Hear, hear!” the table proclaimed. Tharan gazed at the elves’ long, elegant faces, all of them strangers. All of them possible enemies. Did they know his mother? Did they advise him on how best to punish her for the crime of loving someone she shouldn’t?

“Thank you, King Arendir. You are a gracious host.”

The ancient king nodded.

“It has been too long. I should have sought you out sooner. Perhaps old age is making me soft.”

Or perhaps you want the power of the Alder King in your arsenal.

“Yes, well, I’ve come here to discuss a matter of great importance.”

“Oh?” Arendir arched a brow. Servants laid silver platters of exotic fruits and cheeses on the table. The king reached for something green with black seeds. “Nothing in the continent happens that I don’t know about. So, I can’t imagine what it is.”

“It’s about the Trinity Wells.”

The king’s face paled, and his expression darkened.

“What could you possibly want with the Trinity Wells?”

“So, you’re saying they exist?”

Arendir raked his eyes over his grandson. “Everyone out. I have much to discuss with my grandson.”

His advisors grumbled but did as they were told. Sumac and Hopper gave Tharan questioning glances, but at his nod, they reluctantly exited with the rest of the advisors.

When they had all gone, Arendir turned to Tharan and said, “Come with me to a more private space so that we may speak freely. Even here, the walls have ears.”

Tharan followed his grandfather up a winding staircase to the top of a spindled tower. The elven Kingdom of Eden stretched out before them. A gleaming white city led to snow-covered fields where grapes and barley would soon bloom. Past that, Tharan could make out the edge of the mighty Atruskan River—a blue sliver in the distance.

“This is quite a view.”

“It is good to see one’s kingdom now and again.” He poured two glasses of amber liquor, handed one to Tharan, then sat in front of a roaring fire. “Now, what’s this about the Trinity Wells?”

Tharan took a seat across from his grandfather.

“King Gideon of the Highland and his mage, Erissa, are looking for them. We don’t know why, but it would be devastating for this kingdom if they fell into their hands. As you are well aware, they attacked my kingdom… and killed my father.”

Arendir held up a hand.

“And in retaliation, you destroyed their kingdom, did you not?”

“Yes, well, that’s very complicated.”

“It is not. An eye for an eye, as the old saying goes.” He gazed into the fire. “I am in a hard spot here. The Highlands have been our allies for hundreds of years?—”

Tharan interrupted before he could go any further, “I know, but with the power of just one Well, they could level this continent. Even you.”

“What use would a human have with such power?” Arendir chuckled.

Tharan smiled to himself.

“What?” the king asked.

“You are foolish if you think humans do not yearn for power the way elves do. Or perhaps you have been locked in this tower for so long that you have forgotten how vicious the world can be?”

Arendir’s nostrils flared.

“You come here to ask me a favor, and yet you end up insulting my intelligence. Just like a sylph.”

Tharan gritted his teeth and tried not to become the savage beast his grandfather thought he was. “I came here because I thought you could help me save the continent. I see now that I was wrong. That you’re just as fickle and foolish as they say you are.” He stood and glanced out the window at the snow-covered city. “You elves think you can hide here in your lavish cities because you possess the Breath of Eris, but that breath will not save you when fire rains from the sky. It will not save you when Gideon and Erissa bring back the nightmares that haunt your dreams.” He turned to look at his grandfather, who stared at him with great interest. “Tell me, Arendir, are you prepared to hear the screams of the children of Elohim as their bodies are consumed by the creatures of darkness? Are you prepared to flee the continent?”

“What are you talking about? This is madness. What does this have to do with the Trinity Wells?”

“Gideon and Erissa are looking for them. I think they plan to resurrect Crom Cruach.”

“An elven mage would never do such a thing, and Crom has been dead for thousands of years. Not even I know where his body lies.”

Tharan wanted to shake the arrogant king.

“It does not matter where his body lies. If Erissa gets ahold of the magic of the Wells, she will be able to summon him back through the veil, and there’s no telling what kind of army he has amassed on the other side.”

Arendir shook his head.

“I have walked this earth since nearly its inception. Do you think I have not faced threats like this before?” He took a swig of his drink. “They rarely amount to anything. Besides, I cannot help you. I do not know where Lady Eris hid her Well. It is something only she knows.”

“Can you not communicate with her?”

“I have not spoken to the goddess since the day she blessed me with her breath. Do I still pray to her? Yes, of course, but she has not answered me in an age.”

“So, you can’t help me?” Tharan shut his eyes. He should have known better.

“I didn’t say that. Just because she didn’t tell me where the Well was doesn’t mean she didn’t leave clues.”

“Do not play with me, old man. The fate of this continent… of this world, hangs in the balance.”

“Make a bargain with me, and I will help you.”

Tharan scoffed. “I should have known. Elves never do anything out of the goodness of their heart.”

“This is serious. As you may or may not know, our magic is dwindling. It would benefit me just as much as you to find Eris’s Well and restore my people to their former glory.”

“Judging by this palace, you look like you’re doing just fine.”

The king cocked his head. “There is more to this world than meets the eye, and you and I know that.”

“True. What’s your bargain?”

“I will help you find the Trinity Well if you marry a high-born elven woman.”

Tharan’s chest tightened, and he blurted out, “No.”

A smile graced Arendir’s lips. “I know you are in love with the Mind Breaker, but she has no land, no house, and no power. Think of your people, Tharan. Think of what an alliance between our kingdoms could afford them. They could come and go as they please across our borders. And our kingdom would come to your aid should the need arise.”

Tharan bit the inside of his cheek. “You mean I could bond with an elven woman, give her part of my power, and she would pass it down to our offspring. An offspring that could control the Wild Hunt.”

“That would be ideal, yes,” Arendir said, finishing his drink before lighting a long pipe.

“No. I love Aelia.”

The king rose slowly, laying a hand on Tharan’s shoulder. “Love has always gotten you into trouble, boy. Sleep on it, and we will talk about it again in a few days. Besides, there is someone I would like you to meet.”

“I’m not in the mood to be courted,” Tharan hissed.

“It is no bride.” He banged his staff on the floor, and a doorway opened, revealing an elven woman with long auburn hair and verdant green eyes—Tharan’s eyes. She wore a beautiful white satin gown that cinched at the waist, and a diamond diadem sat atop her head.

Tharan’s heart leapt into his throat, and he nearly lost the ability to speak. “Mother?”