Page 14 of The Ivory King (Crowns of Melowynn #2)

WE RODE LIKE DEMONS TRYING TO ESCAPE THE PITS OF THE UNDERWORLD.

The miles melted away. The horses and mules flagging were our only reasons to stop for a few hours. Sleep was fractured. We all were uneasy, distrustful of any common elf we met, for they, too, could be working for the Mossbells. It was a horrid few days.

Tempers were frayed, nerves short, and souls saddened. A dark blanket of slowly brewing anger began to overtake my initial feelings of dismay over the duplicity of the Mossbell family. Riding along for endless hours, my mind had time to churn up hundreds of childhood memories. Spending weeks with the twins riding, climbing trees, and shooting arrows into stuffed figures that we pretended were pirates or noble-hating rebels. Incredibly, it turned out that the noble haters were not hay filled dummies but the very friends I had shared secrets and honey cakes with. My hurt began to grow and change. Now I rode with a fire in my breast that, when given air, would engulf me.

Four grueling days after leaving the sisters of the steppes, our arrival at the outer edges of Celear was not one of fanfare. We crept into the city under the cover of night like criminals.

“The city still wears the wrapping of mourning,” Pasil mentioned as we passed small stands in the inner marketplace, the stalls emptied of goods for the night. The homes we passed glowed from within, the pubs we skirted stood with doors open and music flowing out, and the brothels saw slim men and women in open windows calling to us as we slithered down alleys filled with hungry cats.

I took note of the ebony buntings on the stalls and doors and hanging from the announcement boards. That was a good thing for us. That meant we had managed to arrive while King Raloven still lay in state, and it would not be much longer before the touch of death on his body would be apparent.

Merrilyn and Raewyn were silent, their gazes darting about the narrow streets. Neither had seen such a large city before. They were not prepared for the crush of elves packed tightly into small residences like salted skippers in one of Widow Poppy’s casseroles. I had always despised the skipper fish laid so carefully into a baking pan. They were vile little freshwater fish that felt furry when they touched my tongue. No amount of butter, lemon, or salt could hide the taste, but Umeris loved them.

And I, in my own way, loved my grandfather, just as he, in his fashion, loved me. If any harm had befallen him…

We moved stealthily through the city, leaving the barrows behind as we entered the wealthier part of Celear. Here the homes were more spacious, the streets wider, and the smells more pleasant. No refuse or waste sat in the gutters here. There were no gaping holes in the roads, no calls of whores, and no cries of despair in the cool night air. None of the young ones in this section of the capital were begging for coins or pawing through garbage piles like hungry mongrels.

“Such disparity,” Raewyn whispered as we skirted the city watch making its patrols. “This must end.”

“We shall see it does if we sit on the throne,” I vowed, taking her hand for a moment. She smiled feebly at me before I released her fingers. Onward we moved, like shadows, following V’alor up and up, Castle Avolire sitting high above a now calm sea. The keep appeared to be as we’d left it. No outward signs of distress. The banners remained the ones of Melowynn. I did not know what to expect but given the Mossbell’s hunger for the throne, seeing the blue Mossbell moose would not have surprised me.

We stopped at the western gate, a smaller entry into the castle, and waited hunkered behind a cart of sleeping chickens as Pasil engaged one of the castle guards in conversation. Peering nervously around the hood covering my head at V’alor, I sent up a silent plea to Ihdos to watch over him. Pasil and the guard laughed and then stepped outside the gate to light a pipe to share. The guard took note of us, me in particular, but said nothing as we slipped into the western bailey. Pasil caught up, his sight darting to Beiro.

“The laundry is an easy entry,” Pasil whispered.

“And the guard?” I asked as we moved from shadow to shadow

“Is my cousin. He enjoys a good dwarven tobacco, and your grandmother was kind enough to give me some of hers,” Pasil replied as he glanced at Beiro, who nodded but said nothing in reply.

With that reassurance, we climbed into a window by the laundry. The room was dark now, the smell of lye soap strong in the air. Wooden tubs sat damp and dark, ready for the day’s wash to arrive in the arms of maids come morning. All seemed normal in Avolire and our plan to find Umeris and then confront the Mossbells was running smoothly. Something that Tezen pointed out as we crept along, avoiding guards making slow patrols or lingering in dark hallways to converse. There were moments, nervous ones, where the two members of our troupe wearing full plate made a sound that drew a sleepy look from a guard or two. My heart sped up a dozen times as we hid behind corners or tapestries. I made a mental reminder to myself that the next time we were trying to be stealthy, removing heavy armor would be wise.

“It seems as if those who plotted against us are sleeping well,” she whispered before darting up a winding staircase that led to the sleeping quarters on the second level. We waited for a member of the king’s guard to move past us and disappear into a bedchamber. Whose we had no clue, but we used that gap to hurry to my grandfather’s suite. I opened the door and slid inside the massive room, the window open just enough to rustle the fine sheer draperies. My grandfather sat at a desk, a thick white candle illuminating his haggard face. V’alor’s armor creaked. Umeris looked up from his letter writing, his eyes going wide.

“Aelir,” he gasped, rising shakily to his feet, his silver hair falling over his shoulders to skim his slippered feet as he tossed his quill aside. “Seeing you brings me much joy,” he said, opening his arms for me. I moved to him as the door closed with a soft click. Hugging him was akin to embracing a newly planted willow sapling. He was slim and fragile. He held me close. It was the first time that I could recall us ever embracing. When he pulled back, he glanced over my shoulder. “And you have Lady Raewyn with you.”

“I am so happy to finally lay eyes upon you in person, Grand Advisor,” Raewyn replied with a low curtsy that looked regal despite her filthy armor and the dead bits of leaf in her hair. We all looked quite rough, nothing like the nobility that we were.

He smiled a genuine smile that quickly faded when reality resettled on his slim shoulders. “You were to return with only one betrothed, not several, Aelir. Why is it you cannot follow the simplest of societal norms?”

And there was the Umeris I knew. Ah well, the moment of affection and acceptance had been nice while it lasted.

“I am sure the grand cloisterer filled your ear with her thoughts, but she did bless us all, so what is done is done,” I answered, guiding him back to his chair. He looked ready to say more, but I overrode him. “Tell me of the Mossbells.”

His busy white eyebrows beetled as he eased himself back into his seat. V’alor and Pasil moved to either side of the door, Beiro to the window, and the ladies to a small chaise by the foot of the enormous bed. Tezen settled on a bolster pillow at the foot of the bed with a weary sigh.

“They are fools of the highest caliber. Those twins do not possess the common sense to lead a duck to water, but Lady Mossbell fights tooth and nail for them to lead Melowynn. Pah, such nonsense. But now that you have returned, we shall call the exalted cloisterer to us and see you and Lady Frostleaf wed.”

“Grandfather, the weddings will have to wait.” I kneeled beside him, careful of his problematic feet. “We have been beset with assassins on our journey to bring Raewyn back to her rightful place among the nobility.” His sight flew to Raewyn, real concern on his face, and then he looked at the others in his room. “We are fine. We fought them off, killing them all.”

“I am glad you dispatched them. Evil souls are those that kill for coin,” Umeris snapped angrily. If he were mad over random blades-for-hire, he was going to detonate like the fabled volcanos of centuries past that formed the Witherhorn range.

“They were hired by the Mossbells to kill me,” I said, the words sticky in my throat. His mouth fell open. A sight not seen often. Then he closed it with a firm clack.

“Do you have proof?” Umeris asked on a reedy exhalation.

“Only the words of a dying valet,” I confessed and retold the story of our trip, excluding nothing. When I reached the end, I stared at my shaken grandfather. “We sent an owl with a message warning you of the moose.” I glanced back at Beiro, hiding in the corner. The ginger nodded. I looked back to Umeris, who seemed to regather himself.

“No missive was delivered to me from you. I have gotten no replies of any kind.”

“Someone has been intercepting your mail, Grand Advisor,” Raewyn stated.

Umeris muttered something foul under his breath. “Forgive me, Lady Frostleaf, for such profanity.”

“No need for apologies. I say worse when I hit my toe on a dresser.”

Umeris gawked at my demure bride-to-be. He was in for quite an awakening about the pious Lady Frostleaf.

“Grand Advisor,” V’alor chimed in, leaving Pasil at the door as he neared, his head lowered, his fist resting on his chest.

“Speak, Silverfrond, and do not think that my mind has forgotten the fact that you and a handmaiden are also bound to my grandson, even though neither of you possess a drop of noble blood.”

“I think that this talk of blood and whose is better is best left for another time,” I interjected. Lady Raewyn and Tezen, a princess in her own right, agreed vocally. Umeris scowled. “Now, V’alor, say what you wish. You are family now.”

I feared that last comment might send Umeris into a vaporous spell, but he merely glared at his upstart grandson.

“Grand Advisor, I do not wish to overstep—”

“I’d say that it is far too late as you—and several others—are now promised to my grandson.” Umeris threw his hair over his shoulder, a show of his regal locks. I rolled my eyes.

V’alor let the snideness roll off his copper-plated back. “Our thoughts should be on the Mossbells, for they are seeking to remove Aelir as the prime candidate for the throne by any means possible. Our focus should rest on them and ensuring that they’re brought before the elder council for their attempts on Aelir’s life.”

Umeris nodded, just once. “You always did seem a most practical man, Silverfrond. Pity your pragmatism did not rub off on your charge.” I looked at the ceiling and counted to fifty to keep from leaping into a word battle with my grandfather. “Someone needs to fetch Fylson from his chambers,” Umeris stated. “He has been sequestered in his room for too long now. Raloven is dead, ready to be placed in the royal tomb come the sunrise, and his input on who shall sit on the throne is needed now more than ever.”

“But with Raloven gone, who will give credence to his secretary?” I asked as I rose to pace the room.

“All in Melowynn. He is a war hero, a learned man, and a beloved icon,” Umeris replied with a sigh. “You boy, in the corner.” Beiro startled so loudly he gasped. Pasil smiled softly as he stood by the doorway. “You will take this note to Le’ral. Do not hand it to any other page or staff.”

“But I…” Beiro stammered but fell silent at the stern look from Umeris.

“Is there no one under the age of four hundred that will not speak back when spoken to?” Umeris grumbled before returning to his inkpot and quill. He scratched out a quick note and held it out. Beiro slunk from the shadows like a terrified cat, snatched the note, and made for the door.

“I shall accompany him if you give me leave, Grand Advisor. I know where Secretary Le’ral rests,” Pasil said and got a nod of affirmation from Umeris. They left quickly, the small note tight in Beiro’s hand, and Tezen feeling the need to accompany them. Probably to allow us a familial moment alone. I’d have preferred she stay, but this confrontation was better handled now.

“So, tell me about this muddled mess you have allowed your romantic heart to knot you into,” Umeris said as he turned from his letters to stare at me. “Please explain how you have returned to this keep with three people bound to you. Surely you do not plan to bed all of them at once, for even a young elf of your lineage would be hard-pressed to satisfy three lovers in the same bed.”

V’alor stood stoically beside me. I took his hand in mine. “Whom is in whose bed on what night matters not. The only thing you need to know is Raewyn and I will do our duty to Renedith and to Melowynn if the crowns come to rest on our heads by producing an heir.”

“Well, at least you have kept one tenant of import in your head,” Umeris huffed, easing his swollen foot up to rest on a small velvet-covered footstool. “You realize this is most uncommon and, therefore, will stir up the clerics and exalted cloisterer. A marriage is between two people, not four, and while I am pleased to hear you plan to ensure the Stillcloud name lives on, I will state that putting a seed into the belly of a handmaiden—”

“Will never occur,” I assured him. He seemed dubious, but he let the comment resting on his tongue melt away. “As for what constitutes a marriage that should be decided by those entering into it. The number of people, the sexes. A family is not just what the elders or the church dictates, it is what the hearts of those becoming a congress say. And yes, if I do sit upon the throne, I shall address this as well as many other archaic ways that have hindered our people for far too long.”

Raewyn took my free hand, and V’alor squeezed my right. Merrilyn grunted in what I assumed was agreement. My grandfather stared up at me as if searching for something long lost.

“You are your mother’s child,” he finally responded.

“Thank you. Change is inevitable, Grandfather. Even to those who live for centuries.” I felt empowered as never before. Perhaps it was the knowledge that I had faced so many dangers of late and came out alive, or perhaps it was the feel of V’alor’s hand gripping mine in front of Umeris.

A soft scratch at the door filled the tense room. Umeris called to enter. The doorway filled with the rumpled form of Fylson Le’ral, a man visibly shredded by the death of his true love. Pasil, Beiro, and Tezen moved in behind the secretary, who was clad in only his sleeping attire and woolen socks. His skin was gray with grief, but his deep brown eyes were as sharp as a kestrel’s.

“Is there a reason that you send your men to rouse me from my mourning?” Fylson asked, his voice thick with unshed tears.

“Yes, we have news that will need to be brought before the elder council at dawn’s light,” Umeris stated with fire. “Sit and listen, Fylson, for some who seek to sit on the ivory throne have acted evilly to achieve an end they could not acquire without murderous intent.”

Fylson gave us all curious looks but sat on a chair that Pasil carried from the hearth to the desk. I stood with those that I would soon cleave unto me as Umeris began his tale of avarice and betrayal taking root in the royal court of Melowynn.

The first dawn colors, soft burned orange and yellow to match the slowly changing leaves to the north, touched the sky as a timid tapping on the door had all our heads turning.

We’d been gathered around Umeris’ desk as if in a war room as opposed to a lavish guest suite plotting.

“My lord Grand Advisor, the bells for morning prayers will ring soon,” the deep voice of my grandfather’s personal guard called through the door. Umeris glanced at those gathered around his desk. Fylson shook his head.

“My foot pains me too greatly to walk. I shall say my prayers in my room. Please have Widow Poppy prepare my usual breakfast. Oh, and, Jaska, I am looking for my grandson and his future bride to return soon. When you lay eyes on them, please let me know.”

“As you wish, Grand Advisor. Would you like me to send the grand cloisterer up to pray with you?” Jaska asked through the stout door.

“No, no, I am not in the mood to deal with that mousy fool,” Umeris snapped, and the sound of heavy footfalls walking down the corridor gently faded away.

“Widow Poppy is here and cooking for you?” I asked, a small surge of joy sparking in my heart. I would trade every inch of my tangled hair for one of her honey cakes.

“She has prepared everything that goes into my mouth since the discovery that Raloven’s death was from being poisoned,” Umeris explained. I nodded. That sounded wise. “I will send word to her that she will cook all the meals for the people of Renedith forthwith. Fylson, I suggest you do not eat anything from the royal kitchens unless my cook has overseen its preparation. We do not wish to lose you as well.”

“I am of no import to the Mossbells now,” Fylson said with a sad note of truth. He was a man without a role, a lover, and a future. His loss surrounded him like a fog. “I think we need to worry more about Aelir, for he is now the sole thing standing in the way of the Mossbells sitting on the throne. Our plan is a good one.”

“I am not sure it is,” V’alor interjected, his voice tinged with worry. “It places Aelir in great danger. Surely we can think of something else to lure the twins into unplanned action.”

I shook my head to clear it. Fatigue sat on all of our shoulders, weighing us down like wet bags of sand.

“No, it is a good plan,” I said, glancing at Raewyn, for she, too, had a large role to play in this charade that had been birthed during the night. She sighed heavily but bobbed her head in agreement. Merrilyn, always at her side, much like V’alor was at mine, scowled but said nothing. She had argued against this scheme just as V’alor had, but in the end, they had come to see it was the best way to out the Mossbells. Time was of the essence. A new king must be named, an heir created, and the future secured. A weighty burden to be shared by three elves and a human, but shoulder it we must. My sight flicked around the room.

“I second the plan,” Umeris softly said.

“And I third it,” Fylson chimed in.

V’alor frowned but inclined his head in agreement as did the others circling the old desk. Tezen and Pasil were stationed outside the door, and Beiro was on the balcony, his chin resting on his arms as he hugged his knees. Our ginger guide might look asleep, but I knew he was listening. They would need to be briefed on our plan as well.

“The castle is thick with rats and the best way to catch vermin is with a trap baited with cheese,” I said with more cheek than I felt. This could work well, or it could end with me lying dead on the floor in a royal salon for I, it seemed, was the finest wheel of elven gold cheddar to be found in Celear.