Page 41 of D’Vaire or Nothing (D’Vaire #44)

S eltivare was in an excellent mood. After a wonderful matebond ceremony and several kisses in the garden, he’d been brought to a beautiful suite decorated in a garden motif.

The comforter he’d pulled over the new pajamas Larissa had made for him was white but embroidered with flowers in shades of pink, purple, and blue.

To Seltivare’s consternation, Ashby was a perfect gentleman and refused even a goodnight smooch before retreating to his pull-out couch.

Seltivare had woken up with the sunlight pouring through the glass doors that led out to a balcony.

With no awkwardness, he and Ashby had taken turns showering and preparing for their day.

A lively breakfast had followed, and Seltivare was quickly growing fond of the bright happy family of D’Vaires. Which was why he was so surprised to find their sister sanctuary, Elven D’Vaire, nearly empty of people and almost solemn in its atmosphere.

“Many years ago, this place was founded by the tribes related to our family. Valzadari. Cwylld. Acwellan. Indrenakas. Sae’Varis.

Mystamre. Verdanyth. While we’ve advertised as much as possible, we rarely receive applications,” Dra’Kaedan explained quietly as they stood in a living room decorated in a soft rainbow of colors.

The mansion was on Mystamre land, but there were no other huts or homes visible.

“The lone residents are a group of resurrected elves who’ve built their own rules for their tribe.

They train with sentinels and wear clothing they find comfortable.

Their hair is long, but they opt to wear it tied away from their faces instead of beaded. ”

“I wish such a place had existed centuries ago when Zoli and I needed a home,” Vateltir said as they stood in the empty living space. “But maybe we would have feared applying.”

“We desperately want to understand what keeps people from wanting to join this sanctuary,” Dra’Kaedan commented, crossing his arms over his T-shirt. “Can you tell me a little about your tale and what led you to become Tristis?”

“Excuse me, Grand Warlock,” said an elf with dark blue skin as he rushed to them with a plate of fruits and cheeses. “We made some refreshments for you. Perhaps your family would like to have a seat and enjoy the snack?”

“Thank you, that was very nice of you,” Dra’Kaedan responded and immediately moved to sit on an ivory couch laden with beaded and embroidered pillows.

Seltivare joined their small group and sat next to Ashby with barely a few inches separating them.

It was lovely to breathe in his azalea scent and get to admire his handsomeness as they discussed the sanctuary and his parents’ tale.

On Seltivare’s other side, Mavizare dropped onto a cushion and helped himself to the snack.

“Grand Warlock, if you need anything else, please text me,” the Indrenakas elf remarked as he headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours to provide lunch to our residents. They eat later, and we cater to their schedule.”

“I will, enjoy your morning,” Dra’Kaedan said. “Thank you so much.”

The elf left the house, and Dra’Kaedan sighed.

“We used to keep families of the different tribes here and would rotate them out to give everyone a chance to help,” Dra’Kaedan expanded.

“I think that plan backfired. No one dug in roots, and we haven’t expanded.

Only the resurrected elves live here permanently, and they were sheltered at their former home.

They have never left the estate, and we refuse to push them past their comfort level.

As for their care, it falls into the hands of employees that sign year-long contracts.

Something they insisted upon until we grow.

But that’s our problem. I’m curious about your origins if you want to share them. ”

“We don’t wish to speak the name of our former tribe,” Seltivare’s mother replied.

“They aren’t a Council tribe, and we don’t know how things have changed, but we felt as if we had no choice but to leave.

It wasn’t a simple choice. We left behind people we loved, but they believed in the old ways.

Our tribe, like many, is ancient. It is or was led by a man who has ruled for thousands of years since his father died in some long-ago-forgotten war.

Around him are advisors who are older than him or near his age.

I believe strongly in tradition. It is part of my identity as an elf.

But they are things we must adapt to if we are to survive.

This was not understood by these elves.”

Seltivare’s father nodded. The woes of their former tribe weren’t news to Seltivare.

His parents had been open from the start of his life about their origins, and he was happy they were explaining everything to Ashby and the other D’Vaires present.

Especially Ashby. Seltivare wanted his mate to know everything about his family history, and to be a part of every aspect of his future.

“At first, the issues were small,” Vateltir said.

“They’d kept to themselves but made the occasional trip to meet up with other tribes annually.

For them, it was about trade. Not every elf was there for the same purpose, and it is understandable that they wanted to find their mates.

But the ancients and our chieftain were suddenly growing upset if those connections were made.

They refused to allow newcomers in, and elves tearfully left our tribe without following the rules of rank.

Normally, whether an elf stays or goes depends on their standing within the tribe.

If your mate has a better rank, you follow them.

Otherwise, they join your tribe. Not among our former people. ”

“No, and families were angered. Imagine building your rank to keep your children close, only to find them lost to you if they met even the lowliest among another tribe,” Zolilara remarked.

“For most elves, the main purpose of building favor with your chieftain is based on family. Something I can understand as a parent.”

“But you immediately assumed Selti was going to D’Vaire once you found he was Ashby’s mate, and in the next breath, asked if I could go too,” Mavizare interrupted.

“Ashby is titled, Mavi,” Zolilara explained. “It is within elven tradition that Selti would go with him, and as I explained to Ashby, I didn’t want my twins separated. Now, may I finish my tale?”

Mavizare tucked his chin in, and Seltivare nearly laughed at the way his brother tried to disappear into the sofa cushions. “Yes, Momma.”

“Children are a wondrous gift. Vateltir and I yearned for them for centuries, but no one warned me how much more difficult it would be to raise twins,” Zolilara complained.

Dra’Kaedan’s mother, Lichpriestess Saura D’Vaire, nodded as she scooped a thick chunk of blond curls off her shoulder and tossed it behind her. “Zoli, you and I need to share stories. The things my twins did. It’s a wonder they didn’t burn down our castle.”

“Not funny, Mom. The Cwylld elves did burn down the castle,” Dra’Kaedan retorted.

“My eldest is the Grand Warlock. Ruler of the Coven of Warlocks. He was also born many centuries ago. But he’s still an annoying brat. Now, Zoli, go ahead with your story,” Saura stated firmly as she eyeballed Dra’Kaedan, who nearly shrank into the couch like Mavizare.

Seltivare’s mother grinned and nodded. “Yes, so families grew sad about losing loved ones, and with that grief came rage. I wish I could say my family was on the right side of the quarrel, but my parents were ancients. So were Vateltir’s.

At eighteen, we discovered we were mates, and it united two powerful families. ”

“Our matebond ceremony took twelve hours,” Vateltir remarked dryly.

“It was obnoxious. So much sitting around and forcing an entire tribe to pander to two scared children who’d met the previous day.

I envisioned a life with Zoli already, but I couldn’t even talk to her.

We feasted on countless trays of food the tribe could ill afford to splurge on.

Watched dancers. Admired the works of artists and tradespeople.

Spoke to everyone in the tribe. It was most absurd. ”

“He also wanted kisses, and those were impossible with our parents sitting between us,” Zolilara commented with a laugh.

“Anyway, Vateltir and I could finally be a couple, and we found our minds very much alike. Fate has paired us well. But I can’t say that Fate chose an outstanding leader as our chieftain.

Now that his advisors were full of themselves, at the next gathering, an elf met her mate.

She’d traveled on behalf of her family, but they had stayed at home.

They did not allow her to return to say her farewells. ”

“After that, anyone who met a mate outside our tribe was considered an abomination. Vile things were said about them and how unlucky they were considered by Fate,” Vateltir added.

“But they couldn’t stop trading. Our land was worked to death and was no longer producing much.

Elves were starving. Our parents and the chieftain decided it was Fate’s will. The goddess decided who lived or died.”

“Can you imagine allowing little elves to perish because you are too lazy to learn new techniques or to rearrange the huts so new land can be used for crops?” Zolilara asked, fury darkening her gaze.

“I had enough, and I told that chieftain exactly what I thought of his abhorrent rules. Then Vateltir and I marched out of there with our heads held high to start a new life on our own.”