Page 10 of The Ivory King (Crowns of Melowynn #2)

WE RODE FOR TWO DAYS, PAUSING ONLY LONG ENOUGH to rest the horses. Always on guard, always tense, always checking the woods for attackers or signs of V’alor and Tezen. When the third day dawned foggy and gray and there had been no sight of our comrades, I had informed Pasil that we were heading back to find them. He had said no. I then commanded him. He still denied me. I flew into a rage fitting Umeris and many things unfitting an elf of my standing fell from my mouth. Pasil stood firm, his sight on me as I stalked about, kicking at ferns until I had vented fully. Beiro had watched from amongst the horses, his mood somber still. Without a word more spoken, I leaped onto Atriel’s back, sour and despondent, and turned her toward the outskirts of Aarmal.

We’d not ventured into the town of Tolso. The woods would be safer, our guide had mumbled. Trees did not whisper to shadowy figures with coin to spend. Beiro might not be educated, but he had great wisdom. Celinthe was within four days if we rode hard and so we did. My heart was heavy with worry, my cheek sore from an assassin’s blade. We’d not had the time during the attack at the lake to grab our packs. We were lucky that we had our weapons to hand, so any healing droughts were not available. I’d not fallen sick, so perhaps the blades had not been dipped in poison. I rode on with my two protectors, checking steadily behind us for V’alor and Tezen. With each day that passed, my worry grew exponentially. If my love lie dead in some remote fishing village, I would surely die myself…

“My lord, look,” Beiro called as he slowed his gray steed on the edge of a shifting corn field, a strong wind carrying a rich floral aroma blew down the sides of the Witherhorn Mountains. We sat at the bottom of a steppe, one of perhaps two hundred, upon which thick fields of purple flowers grew. “We have reached the Lavender Steppes.”

I inhaled deeply, the soothing scent of lavender filling my lungs, easing away some of the tension that rode with us like a ghoulish companion.

“It is lovely,” I whispered as I looked higher and higher until my eyes touched on the Temple of Celinthe where my future bride awaited.

“The sisters grow the lavender then sell it to the realm,” Pasil said as he rode up beside us, his face coated with grime and dried blood. His black hair was lank and his eyes showed his exhaustion. “The lavender is used in many poultices, perfumes, and teas.”

I nodded. I knew all of this. My tutors had ensured I knew where Renedith imported its goods to and from. My sight was locked on the tall tower that looked down on the purple steppes and the fog that lay low in the valley burned off higher to allow the spire to glow bright white as if it were a beacon. As we rode ahead, we passed through a shimmering veil of holy energy, a protective magical shield that sheltered the shrine and the sisters from any who were not pure of heart. The Eye of Ihdos, the mystical dome was called, and the magicks that powered it were as old as the god himself. It was proclaimed to stun those with dark hearts who may try to tread holy ground. Bracing myself as we rode through the nearly invisible cloak, I sighed in relief when I passed through unharmed. Perhaps my progressive views were not as blasphemous as the elder clerics in Renedith claimed.

“They have a rookery at the temple,” I murmured, eager to see if any news from my grandfather had come in while we had traveled. Perhaps another had been chosen and I would be free to return to Renedith and live with V’alor as my consort. If he even lived…

“They do, yes, and I am sure your betrothed will be happy to show it to you,” Pasil replied with far more courtesy than I had shown him these past days.

“I have not proposed matrimony to Lady Frostleaf yet. She may well decline my offer,” I stated with little to no hope of that happening. She would be pleased to take my hand in marriage. It would free her from the temple life and return her to the genteel life of nobility she had once had. And if she were my bride, it would—if all went as my grandfather wished—make her Queen of Melowynn. The small breakfast of nuts and withered buckle berries we’d foraged this morning turned in my stomach.

“She will not decline, my lord, for she is a noblewoman and knows her duty,” Pasil soothed, but his words did not ease my discomfort.

“We should begin the climb,” Beiro interjected. “The nights come quickly on the mountains and it will take us a goodly part of the day to ride the narrow paths that lead to the Temple of Celinthe.”

Since there was no way I could postpone the inevitable, I gave Beiro a curt nod. We began climbing upward, back and forth, following firm roads cut into each steppe. The first two dozen or so steppes were alive with honey bees and small pink butterflies. Pebble gray birds that lived on the rocky crags of the Witherhorn darted amongst the flowers, trying to catch the rosy winged beauties that moved from purple flower to purple flower. The scent on the steppes was amazing. Rich and heady with a subtle touch of smoke and camphor, this lavender was highly coveted throughout Melowynn and only grew here on the steppes. The soil was blessed by Ihdos, the sisters said, and was maintained with holy water that was carried from the temple to the hundreds of thousands of plants daily. We passed many elven sisters wearing plain brown work robes with yokes upon their shoulders, each with a filled bucket. Hundreds of bark-toned forms could be seen on each steppe as the day’s chores of watering, weeding, and feeding the flowers took place. What they fertilized the lavender with was a secret that only the Sisters of the Steppes knew.

As we rode higher, the air chilled, but the sun was warm on our faces. Each steppe up brought us closer to the temple grounds, and while I was eager to check on the news of the kingdom, I was dreading meeting my friend. And that made me even more angry over the course my life had taken. I should be happy to meet the young lady who had been a good and kind friend over many years. Her letters had been joyous, filled with good humor and sunshine, and always with a small packet of dried lavender for my bath.

Now I was apprehensive about seeing Raewyn, for our friendship would be forever altered.

Come midday, we reached the last steppe. The courtyard of the Temple of Celinthe was a tidy affair, with small beds of mountainous flowers, a huge garden overflowing with late-season vegetables such as squashes, round white pumpkins, and heads of purple cauliflower the size of a warrior’s shield. Deep brown eyes flashed before me. The pain of not knowing if V’alor still drew breath winded me. I eased my horse to a stop and slid off her back, my filthy feet hitting the well-packed earth. The sisters all stopped to stare at us, unsure of whether to offer a welcome or chase us off with brooms, for we did look like street urchins.

A tall woman, stately, in chaste tan robes, exited the mighty temple, her pointed ears dotted with small red gems. She was an older elf, wrinkled deeply. Her hair, which was worn short to her shoulders, was slate gray.

“My lord Aelir,” she said as she neared, her head lowering in deference. “We have awaited your arrival. I am Grand Cloisterer Eldacar. We have food, water, and rooms for you and your men.” Her sharp blue eyes darted to my two escorts. “We were informed that there would be two more?”

“They were waylaid but will arrive shortly,” I rushed to say. I could not think of any other outcome but that.

“Ah, then we will take your horses to our stables while you refresh yourself. Then we will meet for the evening meal after the nightly prayers. Sister Raewyn is most excited to meet you face-to-face. Come, this way.” She waved at the temple. The sun was now behind the spire, but the visage was no less striking.

“I wish to stay with the horses,” Beiro piped up. I gave him my leave to do so, then Pasil and I entered the temple. The inside was much different from the main temple in Celear, or even our smaller one in Renedith. This temple was cool, almost cold, and rounded as opposed to angular. Where the temple in Renedith had tidy rows of white wooden benches, this sanctum had small seats or mats on the cold stone floor. Several young sisters kneeled on the mats, brows touching the cold floor, as we entered.

They did not look up at us as we neared a massive tree that grew where a statue of Ihdos would be found in the Celear shrine. Here the face of Ihdos was carved into the thick, dark bark of a mighty trident hornbeam tree, the leaves vibrant silver. I gaped at the sight, for dark hornbeams were rare. Most had been cut from the sides of the mountains centuries ago by the dwarves. Knowing that this one survived was truly amazing. Late day sun shone through windows of clear glass. No colorations would be found in the lowland temples, for the tree needed no artificial enhancements as its natural beauty was divine.

“We will give thanks to Ihdos for your arrival, then we shall take you to your chambers to deal with your dispatches and to spend time with Lady Raewyn before the evening meal,” Cloisterer Eldacar whispered. I thought to argue with the grand cloisterer and insist the missives sent via raven be delivered to me immediately. Ihdos willing the elders may have picked another to wear the crown. However, my training forbade me from being disrespectful to a devoted sister, let alone a grand cloisterer, so we kneeled, Pasil behind me and Eldacar to my left. The familiar prayers fell from me even as my mind was elsewhere.

“Light of Ihdos, make me holy,

Save me from temptations,

Caste me from the night,

Carry me from the benightedness of the unenlightened,

Within your learned gates I find haven,

Never let my mind part from thee,

Shelter me in wisdom, sanctity, and literacy,

Lift me above the beasts to rule over them with gentle grace,

This I ask in the name of Ihdos, lord of all he surveys, wisest of all the gods.”

Rising with grace, the grand cloisterer smiled serenely, then bid one of the sisters on their knees to show us to our quarters. Pasil stayed close, his mood somber as we exited the high chapel to enter a smaller building, long, with many doors and small alcoves set back into the walls that held a small candle. The sister was silent, her eyes darting to us only when we reached a stout door.

“Your room, my lord,” she whispered.

“My lord would wish a bath and some clothes be found. We left our previous lodgings in a hurry. Also, a light meal, please. Fresh fruits, lean meat, and sweet wine.”

“Just some wine, please. I shall sup with the grand cloisterer,” I commented and ducked my head to Pasil, who knew me almost as well as V’alor, so he would not see the lines of distress carved into my brow. Distress that made eating unpalatable.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied and then sprinted off as if a demon from the inner depths were nipping at her heels.

“One moment, my lord,” Pasil said, opening the door and stepping in, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He swept through the room quickly but thoroughly, checking under the large bed and in the standing wardrobe of butter chestnut. “This should be suitable for you.”

There was a small window in the stone wall and a fireplace with a nicely banked fire. The sun shone on a small desk with an inkwell, quills, and a stack of fine vellum. I entered the small but well-appointed room and went straight to the desk. Four letters with my grandfather’s seal—swans set in dark red wax—awaited me. A soft rap at the door pulled my sight from the letter in my hand. Pasil opened it to allow a gaggle of sisters in brown robes wearing severely cut hair to enter. They brought with them a tub, soap, a firm bath brush, a plain hairbrush, drying rags of common linen, a simple brown robe for use outside as well as a burlap one for after my bath, and serviceable cocoa-colored slippers.

“The grand cloisterer bid you use this robe until we can find clothes fitting a lord of the vills and his guardians,” an older woman with dark blue eyes said.

“That will be fine, thank you, sister,” I replied and went to a corner to read over the first of the four notes from Umeris. The formal funeral services had commenced just today, as was customary, as the body must be prayed over by the clerics for seven passes of the sun before being placed into state for the whole of Melowynn to view. The elder council had been arguing nonstop, the second missive stated with none brought forth so far that would sit the throne better than me, a note that I crumpled into a ball and threw into the low fire in the smoky hearth.

The last two notes were short and direct. Get the lady bound to me with haste and return with all speed. And a quick explanation that ground death weave mushroom from Sandraya was found in the king’s favored biscuits. When the baker was approached, he dashed to the seawall, shouted for equality for all elves, and then threw himself to his death on the jagged rocks below.

I exhaled as I rubbed my temple. With the poison being Sandrayan, it would stir up a white hornet’s nest when the public found out. Even though the Sandrayan people were distant cousins of ours, much like the wood elves, the worshippers of Ihdos disliked and distrusted them. They worshipped false gods. They had dark brown or green skin, and they possessed magicks. The list of reasons that elf hated elf was long and beyond foolish. We all bled red when cut. If the crown came to rest on my head, this was an issue that I would have to navigate with delicate diplomacy. May Ihdos bless me with skilled and patient advisors.

I glanced up when Pasil cleared his throat. “I am sorry, my lord, for pulling you from your reading, but your bath awaits.”

My gaze touched on the tub filled with steaming water. “I was lost in the missives from my grandfather,” I hurried to explain the fugue I’d slipped into. All the sisters were gone. How long I’d stood in the corner staring at my grandfather’s slanted, bold hand I had no clue. “I’ll be glad to soak in some hot water. Please, go find your own bath, Pasil.”

He nodded, but I knew he would stand outside my door until he deemed it safe to leave my side. Whenever that would be. We’d not seen signs of anyone following us during our mad sprint from Lake Tolso. As I peeled myself out of my filthy clothes, I tried to reach out to V’alor for the poets who claim that two hearts that beat as one could, on occasion, touch the other over great distances. Try as I might, I could not find V’alor, and so with a sigh, I sat down in the tub, wincing at the hot water as it hit my balls, then slipped down into the scented water until it rested on my chin. My hair was littered with forest debris and thick with dried mud, blood, and silent tears. My feet were caked with dirt and cuts and would require scrubbing with a stiff brush.

The bath felt divine. The soap was lavender, the bar a soft purple color. Rubbing it over my arm, a cloud of scent filled the room, easing my aching muscles. Pity the bath did not soften the tense knot of worry in my mind. I needed to send a raven to my grandfather as well as to the fisherfolk at Lake Tolso. Umeris would be thrilled to know that I had arrived and would be presented to Lady Frostleaf this eve. The raven for the fisherfolk was to enquire after their well-being as well as ask about my guards. Sliding down under the water, I pulled my hair in to be washed and then surfaced and began the tedious work of washing and rinsing the mass of blond hair that V’alor so enjoyed stroking. My soul ached for him.

Yes, ravens first, then the meeting with my betrothed where I would present myself and request her hand in marriage. It all felt so rushed, so cold, so not what a lifetime union should feel like. My mood was melancholy when I finally rose from the cold bath and dressed in the robes of the sisters. Using the hairbrush, I tugged the knots out of my hair and exited my room. Pasil stood at the door, his face and hair clean, so either he had snuck off to wash, which I doubted, or he had had water brought to him. His armor had also been sponged off to remove the signs of a bloody struggle. He looked flush with vibrancy, a sure sign that he had been fed well. The past few days had been lean in terms of sustenance with our meals consisting of foraged berries and tree nuts that Beiro had scrounged. Game was plentiful, but we dared not light a fire so we subsisted as best we could.

“My lord, the grand cloisterer bids you to come to her in the solarium at your earliest convenience,” he informed me.

“Any word of V’alor and Tezen?” I foolishly asked. If my love had arrived, he would have come directly to me to ensure my well-being.

“None yet, but I am sure they shall arrive shortly,” he answered, his tone upbeat. He, too, would not give up on our brave companions.

“Yes, of course they will. I need to travel to the rookery, then we shall meet with the grand cloisterer and Lady Frostleaf in the solarium. I need to reply to Umeris with haste.”

He bobbed his head. We set off to find the aviary, which was tucked into the mountain overlooking the purple steppes. It was a small building with only several black ravens resting on roosts. The floors were immaculate and the birds were glossy with good health.

“It is at times like this that I wish Kenton were with us,” I stated as I looked over the ravens, who were eyeing us with shiny black eyes.

“I can help,” Beiro announced, coming up behind us on cat feet. Pasil spun to face our guide with a frown deep as the valley below us. The two of them glowered at each other before Beiro slipped around us, his gaze leaving Pasil to touch on the ravens. A mere moment passed before one of the birds, a large one, flew from its roost to Beiro’s shoulder. The two of them had a silent conversation as Pasil studied the slim redhead intently.

“This one is named Tisk and is willing to deliver your message,” Beiro said, then turned to face us. “He asks where he needs to fly to.”

“The capital.” I handed the small missive over to Beiro, who slid the paper into a small wooden tube attached to the raven’s leg. The raven took to wing the moment the lid on the tube was closed, gliding smoothly out one of a dozen wide windows to disappear from view.

“He shall deliver it with haste,” Beiro informed us. He, too, looked cleaner than the last time I had seen him.

“Thank you. That is a skill that I wish the city elves had held onto,” I confessed. Speaking with beasts would be incredibly helpful.

Beiro blinked softly but said nothing. He was a hard person to read.

“The grand cloisterer and the Lady Frostleaf await us,” Pasil reminded me, shaking me from my wandering thoughts. I was so tired and so very scared. People wanted me dead. I knew not why they longed to see me slain. It was truly terrifying.

“Yes, let us go meet them,” I softly replied, wishing I had clothes more fitting of my station to meet the woman who had written so faithfully over the seasons.

We left the rookery and the caws of the ravens behind. Beiro fell in at my side, his green gaze flicking from the sisters we passed to Pasil and back to the women.

A stout woman of indeterminate age met us at the door of the shrine, leading us around the holy tree to a set of small side doors. She opened them, the hinges silent, and then bowed deeply as we passed, closing the door behind us.

The grand cloisterer sat on a simple stool amid potted plants and small trees with leaves that brushed the domed ceiling. My sight flew to a slim woman with long chestnut hair sitting demurely beside Eldacar. Lady Frostleaf was clad in a simple yellow gown with small white pearls on the bodice. She was not a voluptuous woman, but she had curves that were pleasing to the eye.

I knew her face from the tiny oils we had shared with each other, although in the miniature portrait, the brownish scars from the widow’s touch fungus on her cheek and brow were not visible. Lady Raewyn smiled at me, her brown-green eyes soft and welcoming as she rose to her tiny slippers and offered me a slim hand. Behind her lingered a tall woman, human, with blonde hair with streaks of ginger and pulled into a thick plait, light blue eyes, and dressed in a demure black frock. The lady’s maid was strongly built, with wide shoulders and thick arms that strained the plain cotton blouse under her dress. She curtsied in silence.

I walked to Raewyn, took her soft fingers, and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

“My lady, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” I straightened, still holding her hand, as I addressed her. “I feel as if I know you so well already, for our years have been filled with joyous correspondence.”

“And I feel as if we have grown up together, my lord Aelir,” Raewyn replied with a voice that was cultured and merry. “I fondly recall your first letters about badgers and stick bugs and how you hoped I liked picking up toads and stealing honey cakes.”

I smiled down at the petite woman still clasping my hand. “You wrote back that your pockets were filled with toads and I then realized we would be the best of friends.” I placed my other hand over hers, my smile genuine, for her eyes danced with mirth.

“I still do pluck toads from the gardens and steal honey cakes from the kitchen,” she confessed, to which the grand cloisterer chuckled in acknowledgment. “Please, let us sit so you may inform me of why you are here wearing the robes of the sisters of the steppes.”

I knew I should not dally speaking of why I was dressed as a holy woman. My goal was to propose to Raewyn immediately, secure her agreement, and then have the grand cloisterer bless our betrothal. Then a raven would be sent to Umeris to announce I was promised formally. The crown of Melowynn would then be mine, or so my grandfather surmised, and the future of our kingdom secured. I knew this to be the plan, yet I stalled.

“I would enjoy sitting with you after evening prayers over our dinner to fill you in on our trek here,” I blurted out, drawing looks of surprise from Pasil and the grand cloisterer.

“That would be most pleasing, my lord! I love tales of adventure. Merrilyn and I will meet you at the dining hall after prayers if that pleases you?” Raewyn asked, and I nodded, giving her fingers a squeeze.

“That would be most pleasant. Perhaps by then I will have clothing that befits a humble man dining with a lady most fair.”

Her free hand rose to her cheek as if to hide the scars. “I am far from fair, my lord.”

“You are a vision and a friend, most dear,” I said, bowed to her and the grand cloisterer and left the solarium to head to the main shrine to beg Ihdos to forgive my deceptions and to please shepherd my beloved back to me.