Page 1 of The Ivory King (Crowns of Melowynn #2)

MANY ASPECTS OF BEING THE FUTURE RULER of the vills of Renedith were quite pleasant.

Riding my dapple mare, Atriel, through the verdant hills of our lands, playing a game of lock knee with the old men in the village square, and spending hours in the woods with Kenton and Beirich, learning the ways of the druidic elves. Sparring with V’alor, listening to ribald jokes over a cold glass of frost wine with Tezen, our only female pixie guard, or spending a quiet eve reading in the library with V’alor discussing the old elven masters’ poetic prose.

All of these endeavors were pleasant. Incredibly so.

Hosting parties where I was pinned down by the vills’ overseer, a portly man with sea gems fastened along the outer edge of his pointed ears down to the lobe where they dangled like fishing lures, was not one of them.

Yet, these viciliennes, our monthly meetings with the upper echelon of our vills’ government, were part of my ever-increasing duties. Since I reached eighteen three seasons ago, my grandfather had begun heaping more and more diplomatic missions and frivolous celebrations on me. While I knew they were necessary, even vital, to ensure our vills were properly run, the tithes gathered regularly, and the people happy, I would much rather be playing at swords with V’alor. Doing anything with V’alor Silverfrond brought me the most joy, for he was a striking male possessed of short hair the color of chestnuts, eyes as soft brown as a doe’s pelt, and a body honed from years of military training. His humor was dry but plentiful and he was kind to those who toiled in the hot sun to keep our castle fed and protected. He was the sole thing I dreamed of at night and the first face I sought in the morn, but he was as out of reach as the twin moons that shone over Melowynn. For he was a mere royal guard and I a future ruler of a noble house.

And yet I yearned for him…

My sight darted from the bright green and blue gems in the ears of vills overseer Jassin Runewind to find my protector. He was close at hand, as always, possessed of noble bearing even if his blood was as common as the fishmonger who visited our keep weekly. Our ranks were filled with handsome males and females, but none looked as beautiful in their copper armor as V’alor, and they paled in comparison to him.

Funny how often the man crept into my thoughts. In truth, he lived in my mind always. If only I could get him to see me as more than that knock-kneed child whom he had looked after and as the man that I now was.

“Lord Aelir, I do think that we should aspire to be less willing to allow so many humans into our vills.” I tore my sight from my guardian to level a stern look at Runewind. He paled considerably, for he knew my stance on bigotry. I carried the same mind as my parents had before me. A vills only grew stronger by bringing in all races. “I know that you have spoken out against such measures at the monthly royal audiences at Castle Willowspirit and that our beloved ruler, King Raloven, feels as you do about accepting less—”

“Jassin, I will hear no more of barring any who seek to call Renedith home,” I snapped, and his thin eyebrows flew up his brow. He had no hair for them to get lost in, so they sat there, atop his bald pate, like twin centipedes quivering in a cold Witherhorn gust.

“I do beg forgiveness, my lord, but there are many refugees seeking to enter our vills and they are perhaps carrying—”

“They are perhaps carrying skills that our vills sorely need. Every season more children are born, which means more farmers and workers are needed. Each person seeking to enter Renedith is checked by healers to verify there are no signs of illness present. They swear fealty to the Stillcloud name. They are good people. I will not see humans or wood elves treated with less respect than we give our hunting dogs when they arrive from the other noble houses for breeding.”

“But, Lord Aelir, your grandfather—”

“Is not in charge of immigration. This is the last time that I shall hear this complaint from you, Jassin Runewind. Now, go enjoy the sweet honey cakes that Widow Poppy and the kitchen staff toiled over. Several of the young cooks suffered stings gathering the honey for your enjoyment.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you for hearing me out.” Jassin placed a fist on his chest, lowered his chin in respect, and stalked off with his resplendent robes of blue whipping about his thick calves.

I sighed dramatically as I rubbed at the sore spot my silver crown always caused above my right ear. Grandfather had assumed I would grow into the diadem that my father had worn as heir to the vills, but I had not. Aye, I had grown surely, but my frame was not that of my sires. I was more my mother’s child. Willowy and lithe as the court bards who penned silly songs about me liked to sing. Yet, sore spot or not, I wore the coronet of hammered silver with pride even though it weighed heavily on my spirit at times.

“Are you suffering a hemicrany?”

I smiled softly at that deep, familiar voice. He was teasing. He did that often with me, far more often than society would say was fitting. “Aye, I am suffering from a splitting case of having to explain to intolerant shitwits why we need to accept all who come to our gates.”

“You sound much like Tezen. I knew I should have sent Pasil to be your escort to the orchards for the fall blessing ceremony.” V’alor chuckled as he came to stand just to my left. “The vills overseer only seeks to keep those in Renedith safe from illness. Surely you cannot speak against such a reasoning?”

“No, I cannot, nor do I fault people for fears of plagues. Many here recall with great clarity the sleeping sickness that ravaged our lands when the humans first arrived.”

“The humans do seem to enjoy wallowing in filth,” a less pleasing voice said. I stiffened as my grandfather arrived to my right. Umeris walked with a cane now, his elderly body slowly bending like a willow branch, but his mind was sharp as a kestrel’s talons.

“They only wallow in filth when they are subjugated to living in midden heaps,” I fired back instantly. To say that my grandfather and I had vastly different ideas on how to run Renedith would not begin to touch on our dissimilarities. “Much like any living being that is not given good housing, fair work and wages, and the chance to be educated to better oneself.”

Umeris heaved a mighty sigh, raising one slim hand to push his floor-length silver hair off his shoulder. He’d worn red robes today, simple ones, yet crafted of the finest silks imported from the Black Sand Isles. His crown was ornate, his fingers thick with golden rings heavy with gems mined by the dwarves. Even though it was a temperate day, he had a cape of speckled black and white snowcat fur gifted to him by a visiting yeti dignitary. He did not enjoy the chilly winds or light snows that would settle on our vills over the next few months. Most of his time was spent in the solariums where he ruled over Renedith with one hand while trying his best to mold me into being a younger him. I liked to remind him that a good potter used both hands to form an urn. He would then fire back that some clay was easily formed into a pot while other clay fought against being worked. I rather enjoyed being unruly clay. I felt my rebellious parents would be proud.

“Aelir, must we delve into this again?” Umeris snapped his fingers. A courtly apprentice appeared with a padded seat. I turned to aid my grandfather into his chair. He waved me off and shot V’alor a pithy look. “As for you, I suggest you find your underlings and explain to them that the food is not for the royal guard. I have never seen a pixie eat so many plum tarts so quickly. How she can even fly as bloated as she must be is a mystery even Ihdos cannot unravel.”

“My Grand Advisor,” V’alor said as he hurried off to find Tezen and remove her from the pastry table. A member of the pixie court she may be, but our purple princess was a wild spirit when it came to sweets and sex.

“You should mingle,” Umeris said after a moment of me standing at his side. “Move among the ones who will be reporting to you soon.”

“Soon? Please, Grandfather, you have stood the tests of many centuries’ worth of gales, snows, and landslides. Your roots are too deep and your bark too craggy for you to tip over anytime soon.”

“Likening me to a tree is not the compliment you think, Grandson. Trees are immovable.”

“Yes. And so are you.” I bent low to kiss his weathered cheek and left him to glower at my back as I moved among governmental officials, tax collectors, catchpoles, bailiffs, and liners. I spent the rest of the afternoon among those who kept Renedith functioning smoothly. V’alor, who had gone off to pluck his sugar-drunk guard off the pastry table and hand her off to a guard at the doors of the ballroom, had returned to my side. Each step I took, he took one as well, always three feet behind and to my left.

As twilight fell over the vills, Umeris rose, announced the vicilienne to be over, and ordered the ballroom cleared. I stood at the doors, smiling and shaking hands as the people filed out, most not in the least put out over my grandfather’s curt dismissal. He was aged, even by elven standards, and was afforded some grace when his courtly manners slipped. Of course I was not sure if it was old age that made him act out at times or if he was cunning enough to use his elderly state as a means to be able to be a shitwit. I suspected the latter.

“Thank you for coming, Liner Frostvine,” I said to the woman in charge of tracing and keeping track of property boundaries within the city proper and its outlying farms. She curtsied politely, her hair a wild bush of black curls, and set off after the others. A bell rang out behind us. Serving staff from the kitchens appeared from several doorways like ants rushing from a mound. “And thankfully, that is over.”

I rushed to remove the coronet from my head, rubbing my scalp with my fingertips and shaking out my knee-length hair as I massaged away the tension.

“Will you be retiring to your chambers now or do you wish to read?” V’alor asked as elves rushed about the room, clearing tables of dishes and crystal wine glasses. Food was carted back to the depths of the castle, leftovers that would be given to the castle staff, and passed out to the indigent among our people. Sadly, there were beggars even in a wealthy vills such as Renedith. In the past, they were arrested for vagrancy, but I changed that. It had taken me four years of political maneuvering and charming those in high places, including my grandfather, to get a decree released that the poor were to be given food and shelter in abandoned farriers on the outskirts of town. I’d been quite proud of that edict, and now hungry elven children were fed. Of course the news of our kindness to the less fortunate traveled through Melowynn like a winter storm racing down the Witherhorn.

This resulted in more people at our gates seeking entry.

“I think I shall walk the grounds before taking a light meal in my chambers,” I replied, handing the coronet to my guard as I exited the ballroom. V’alor tucked the circlet into his belt. The castle was quieting down. Fires were being lit in sleeping chambers and torches flared to life at the hands of teen boys with long-handled torches. The halls smelled of burning animal fat as that was what the rags that were used on the torches were soaked in. “How fares Tezen?”

“She will most likely have a throbbing head in the morning. That woman is the most stubborn thing I have ever met. She knows full well that an overindulgence of honey and ginger affects pixies like wine or mead, yet she insists on eating ginger cakes like a hog at a trough. I should rouse her at the first bell of prayer and make her clean the chamber pots in the barracks for acting poorly while in uniform.”

“If that is indeed her punishment, wake me early so that I may witness it,” I replied with good humor. Tezen had been with the guards since I was a small boy. She’d returned with my dear friend and companion, Kenton, a wood elf druid, and his husband, Beirich, almost eleven seasons past now. One could not ask for a more stalwart guard or friend, but her penchant for ale, sweets, and bedplay tended to lead her into trouble. Which is why, I was sure, she had not moved higher in the ranks of the royal guards despite her many years of service.

“I’ll be sure to do so,” V’alor answered.

“Come and walk beside me,” I said, stalling in our stroll through the courtyard that Kenton loved so much. He paused. “V’alor, no one will see. And if they do, they can stare. It is beyond foolish to try to hold a conversation with someone walking behind you.”

I heard him exhale. He stepped up beside me, taller and wider, a presence of comfort always. I gave him a smile. He rolled his eyes to the twin moons hovering over us in the ebony sky.

“Your grandfather would be displeased to see such familiarity between a guardsman—”

“Not just a guardsman. You mean more to me than just your strong arm and shield, V’alor.” The words that longed to spill out of me jammed up on my tongue, much like the logs that floated down the Vilhall River when the woodsmen were clearing land. They, too, tangle up and bar the flow of what pushes so strongly against them. “I think of you as a dear friend.”

He nodded. His jaw set tightly. There were many times that I suspected—or perhaps hoped was a more suitable term—he might reply with a loving look or a word of encouragement. But yet, to this day, he had not given me any indication that his feelings matched mine.

“You have a kind heart, Aelir,” he finally said. “I wish you would not be so free with your emotions for that is one part of you that my sword and shield cannot protect.”

I chuckled. “Fear not for my heart. For only one holds it.”

His nod was quick, almost pained. “Of course, Lady Raewyn Frostleaf.”

“No, not her. She is a dear friend, but she is not the one that makes my heart take flight.”

“Your grandfather is rather set on her becoming your bride.”

“My grandfather is set on many things that may not come to fruition. Raewyn is a lovely woman, clever, kind, and prone to writing enough letters that whole vales need to be felled to supply her with paper.”

His gentle laugh settled on my shoulders like a soft blanket. “She does enjoy her missives. But given that she has been sequestered with naught but a handmaid since she was six seasons, I suspect her letters to you are her only insights into the world beyond the walls of the temple of Ihdos in Celinthe.”

“Yes, she has said so in many a writing. And while I enjoy her letters and her wit, she does not stir any passion inside me.” I stole a peek at his profile as we passed one of several massive cages that used to house songbirds but now provided a safe place for vestral butterflies to change from plump yellow caterpillars to sparkling buttercup-toned butterflies. The two druids who had taught me so much about nature and acceptance gathered them from the distant forests of Knight’s Way. Which was where my friends were now, gathering caterpillars to ensure their low numbers fell no lower. I envied them greatly. I had never seen a couple married so long and still be so deeply in love.

“In fairness, Aelir, you have never set eyes on her.”

That was true. Nor she on me, but we had exchanged small oil paintings, and while she was pleasing to the eye with golden hair, long, thin pointed ears, and eyes as green as the grass under our feet, my heart did not speed up when I gazed at her likeness. Not like it did as I stared at V’alor’s handsome face.

“You speak the truth, but even in oil, there is no spark. And it matters not, for I have no plans to wed anytime soon.” I stopped to sit on a stone bench that rested among dark orange and yellow flowers our resident druids had planted side-by-side over the past ten seasons. The groundskeeper—a sour soul named Rictus, who had once tended the caged birds—had given up trying to stop the two of them, which I was glad for since I would have had to step in to coddle the old shitwit. I snorted at the term I had just used. “You are right. I am spending far too much time with Tezen.”

V’alor stood beside me. “Her vocabulary seeps into the mind and takes up residence like a fungus on a man’s balls. I’ve had to catch myself at least a dozen times of late to not call a bumbling new guardsman a pig’s pollack.”

“What exactly is a pig’s pollack?” I asked and patted the bench. “Sit, please. My neck is strained from wearing that circlet all day.”

He stared at the stars for a long, long moment, and then, gently, as if he were placing his firm ass on a nest of wildfire ants, he sat. His spine was rigid, his right hand resting on the pommel of his sword as if he expected a beast to spring from the fountain in front of us. The only thing on these grounds were the pyre moths that were drawn to the castle’s light. They flitted about the windows, candles, and torches, both inside and out, in clouds of glowing white wings and feathery antennae. The insects were combustible when they hit the open flames, bursting into fire with a small pop. Something, according to Beirich, to do with the dust on their wings that made them explode like pinecones tossed into a campfire.

“I know not. I think she lies abed at night making up names for genitalia,” he finally said in reply.

I nodded along, my thigh encased in soft, dark blue linen, coming now to rest against his armored leg. It was nonsense, obviously, as our flesh was not touching, but that did not stop the rush of desire from coursing from my leg to my groin. I hurried to pull my jacket closer around me, the long tails that were all the rage this season in the royal court and outward in the vills as well, serving as a fine cover for my growing arousal.

We sat in amiable silence for a spell, just enjoying the sounds of the night. The call of the purple nightingales, the pop- pop-pop of the pyre moths, and the trickle of water flowing from the small fountain nearby.

“Do you still wish to visit the twins when the moons are new?” V’alor asked to break the serenity of being here with him neatly.

“Yes, I think I must as it is their elder sister’s birthing day celebration.” I sighed at the thought of it all, which was petty of me for the Mossbell boys, Lariam and Luchas, were good friends. They’d been so since I had reached my twelfth season and began attending fetes and balls as the heir representing Renedith. The three noble houses did not always share wine and laughs at parties. There had been battles for centuries over land that ended only when our current king ascended to the throne four hundred seasons ago.

“I will begin preparations for a small envoy to accompany you to the Mossbell lands.”

“Can we not just ride over ourselves?” He threw me a lone arched brow. “Yes, of course, how silly of me to even suggest that I travel without a herald, a trumpeter, and fourteen men in armor.”

“That is how it is done, Aelir. You are the sole heir and hold vast power. You cannot show up at the Mossbell castle atop an old mare with only a sole guard at your side. The rumors that our vills is either falling into bankruptcy or unable to teach the only son how to behave as the Ruler of the vills of Renedith that he is would be whispered about over fruited tuft cakes before the moons fell behind the Witherhorn.” I huffed. And he chuckled. “You do that with the same skill that you did when you were five and Widow Poppy refused to allow you to wheedle more honey cakes from the kitchen.”

I shot to my boots. V’alor, eyes wide, did as well, ready to strike. “I do wish you would cease thinking of me as a lad. I am no longer hiding toads in my pockets, refusing to bathe in anything other than a pond, and skipping dance lessons. I am a man grown!”

“I have…” The grip on his sword hilt relaxed. He turned to face me. “I fully realize just how grown you are, Aelir.”

“Then why must you always leap into the past whenever we are having a close, tender moment?”

And that brought him up short. “We are not meant to have tender moments, Aelir. I am your subject, sworn fealty to this house and to you. You are the master of this domain, our future overlord, and will someday become the head of the house of Renedith. My role is to protect you with my life. That is all that I can be.”

“What if I wish you to be more?!”

He seemed taken aback. “Then you must cleanse that wish from your heart. For you are nobility and I am the son of a backstreet whore.”

“I care not who your mother was or what she did to survive.”

“You may not, but the entirety of Melowynn does.” I stared at him as I tried to form a viable argument, but I knew, deep in my breast, that what he said was true. “Now, we should return to the castle. You have a long day tomorrow and I have an entourage to begin preparing for.”

The walk back to the interior of Castle Willowspirit was quiet, nothing but the sound of our boots striking the cold, hard stone floors of the mighty keep. V’alor obviously felt he had said all there was to say about the subject of us, but I was not so easily talked out of something that was important to me. He should know that by now, and he would get a reminder of just how stubborn a Stillcloud could be.