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23 THARAN

Tharan awoke the next morning, unsure if the meeting with his mother had been real or imagined. Had the wine gone to his head? Or had she really told him she’d been reproducing with her father for nearly a century? Either way, he hoped she wasn’t lying about getting him the letter with the seal.

Stealing himself from his bed, he found an elegantly addressed letter slipped beneath his door. He ran a nail under the silver wax seal of the elven king, which depicted Eris giving the breath to Arendir and the other original eleven kings, all of whom had perished since.

He read the invitation: Dearest Grandson, you are cordially invited to join me for dinner at four o’clock in the afternoon for a night of dancing and entertainment.

The elves were odd, to say the least. Tharan would never let a guest dine in their chambers on the first night and invite them to a party the next. Then again, eternity did funny things to the mind.

He sighed, setting the elegant dark blue invitation down on the desk in the entryway. Sleep still clawed at his eyes. He rang for a servant. A gaunt-looking man in his sixties appeared dressed in the same golden-collared garment as the others.

“How may I help you, Your Majesty?” He bowed low.

“That’s not necessary. Just some coffee and sausages, please.” Tharan slid into a plush chair. “And could you please call for my companions?”

The man nodded and disappeared through the servant’s doors. Moments later, a young woman appeared with a silver platter. Placing it in front of Tharan, she revealed a plate of pork sausages and a silver coffee pot with a long, curved stem.

“Thank you,” Tharan said. The woman nodded, pouring him a steaming cup of coffee.

He sat listening to the sounds of the river below. Gulls called to one another, and fishermen hailed orders. Despite the cold, Tharan liked having the windows open. It kept him connected to nature. The mammoth fireplace in each of his suite’s rooms kept the quarters warm.

Elowen’s words replayed over and over again in his mind. The mere thought of her lying with her father turned his stomach. He wanted to tell Aelia.

“Fuck it.” He twisted the stone in his ear.

“Tharan?” a sleepy voice answered.

“Hi,” he said timidly.

“Hi,” she said, letting out a gasp of relief. “I’ve missed you. I’m sorry I was so cross last night.”

He smiled softly. “It’s alright. I think I’ve found a way out of our little predicament.”

“How?” A guarded excitement filled her voice.

“Just let me worry about it. You worry about getting to the Isle of Fate.”

“Tharan, do not get my hopes up.”

“Nothing is ever guaranteed here, my love.”

He could hear her lighting a cigarette, taking a long drag. Tharan pictured her standing on the balcony all those months ago, the wind whipping at her cheeks. Her lush lips begging to be kissed. His cock twitched with lust. He stilled himself. Now was not the time for pleasure.

“I don’t know how long this trip to see the Fates will last or if we’ll even make it back.” Aelia’s voice quivered with apprehension.

His chest tightened.

“Don’t speak like that, my love. We will be together soon.”

“I hope so.”

A knock at the door interrupted them.

“I’ve got to go. I love you, Aelia.”

He twisted the whisper stone and cut the connection. “Enter,” he said, and Sumac and Hopper took seats at his table.

“What is so important you had to wake us this early?” Hopper said, rubbing his eyes.

Tharan rang the bell and motioned for the servant to bring more coffee. “I thought you’d like to take a walk.”

“This early in the morning? You know I’m a night owl.”

Sumac kicked Hopper under the table.

“Ow. What was that for?”

Sumac gave him a look that said, “It’s not about the walk.”

The servant girl returned with two more silver coffee carafes, pouring Sumac and Hopper a cup.

Taking a sip, Hopper straightened.

“Yes, I would.”

They finished their coffees and headed into the wintery streets of the elven capitol. The granite sparkled in the gray light of morning. The elves ran hot water beneath their streets to clear them of any snow, leaving a clear path for them to walk. Elegant marble and granite homes rose along the water’s edge. Tharan wondered how many of these were built by sylph hands with money made off the backs of sylph slaves.

They strolled through the town center where elven merchants sold their goods, not unlike the markets of the Woodland Realm. A harpist strummed a magical tune very similar to one the sylph often played at their fairs. Throughout their centuries of enslavement, the sylph and the elves had picked up some of the other’s culture. Even some of their baked goods were similar. But where sylph obsessed over sugar, the elves loved savory treats, adding vegetables and herbs to their baked goods.

“How utterly boring,” Sumac said, gazing at the assortment of nut breads displayed at one of the vendor’s shops.

“It’s not that bad,” Hopper said, smiling at the attractive elven man behind the stand.

Sumac rolled her eyes. “Now is not the time for you to be shopping for a date.”

Hopper chuckled. “I don’t date. I have brief affairs of the heart, and all parties leave satisfied.”

“Just make sure you don’t scorn any of them while we’re here.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Hopper stole one last glance of the shopkeeper, who smiled, brushing a dark curl behind his sloped ear.

They slipped through alleyways and down long promenades of gilded mansions until they reached the edge of the city, where the terrain became flat farmland.

They huddled under a bare oak tree. The wind whipped at their already red cheeks.

“What was so important you had to drag us all the way out here instead of just throwing up a silencing charm?” Hopper asked, tightening his cape around his neck.

Tharan threw up a sound shield. “All the elves we saw on stage yesterday behind the king were his children.”

“Well, that makes sense. He abides by the rules of old where kings would reproduce with as many women as possible.” Hopper picked at his nails lazily.

“They’re all by the same woman…”

Sumac and Hopper blinked unbelievingly at Tharan.

“Bullshit. Elves and sylphs have trouble conceiving one child, let alone twenty with one woman.” Sumac arched a brow at her friend.

“It’s true.”

“How?” Hopper asked incredulously.

Taking a deep breath, Tharan pondered how to explain it best. “They are my mother’s children.”

“Uh, what?” Hopper and Sumac exchanged baffled looks.

“My mother and grandfather have shared a bed for over a hundred years and are seemingly in love.” Just saying the words brought bile to the back of his throat. “And he plans to use me as his next breeding stud.”

“Gross,” Hopper said. “Well, we’re certainly not going to let that happen.”

“There’s more.”

“There always is,” Hopper sighed.

“My mother thinks the mages of the Great White North know something about the Trinity Wells.”

Sumac chuckled. “That sounds like a wild goose chase if I ever heard one. Have you travel to the Great White North while Arendir invades the Woodlands? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t think she was lying.” Tharan fiddled with the rings on his fingers nervously.

“And what gave you that impression? She’s literally fucking her own father. All of those children are your siblings and your aunts and uncles.” Sumac’s nostrils flared as she waved her hands around.

“What other choice do we have? I’m not marrying one of the brides he puts before me. My mother said she would get a letter with the king’s seal on it so that we may enter the mage’s compound.”

Hopper rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, deep in thought. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We will attend the king’s dinner tonight. Tharan, you will let him parade the possible brides in front of you, but you will caveat that it is only fair that other kingdoms have the chance to do the same. He will be upset, but it is a reasonable request. That way, we don’t look suspicious. We will leave promptly afterward. Letter or not.”

Tharan sighed. “Fine. I trust you two. If you say this is the plan. This is the plan.”

The three nodded and headed back to the palace.