Page 38 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

“Five against six,” Warren muttered, quarterstaff clenched in his hands. “I don’t like those odds at all.”

The golden thorn grasped in Elyssandra’s hand lengthened even as Braiden watched. Within moments it had grown into a spear.

“If they want a fight,” she said, “they’re going to get it.”

The air rushed between Augustin’s outstretched fingers, swirling and tumbling in a miniature vortex. “I should have known Grandmother would pull something like this. Anything to keep the gold flowing into Weathervale’s coffers.”

“Will your message reach her in time?” Braiden asked.

Augustin shook his head. “Even if it did, I doubt she would recall her forces.”

It wasn’t unheard of, adventurers hiring themselves out as mercenaries. The questing board had a few requests in a similar vein, like merchants looking for experienced fighters as bodyguards out on the road.

This seemed a bit like overkill. Braiden wasn’t sure what the rival adventurers were capable of, but their very sharp weapons and very determined gazes meant they weren’t to be underestimated.

“We’re doomed,” Bones cried. “Well and truly doomed. Oh, to be resurrected by dark magic, only to die a brutal second death at the hands of cruel warriors. A dozen of them, too.”

Braiden frowned. A dozen? Four Gwerenese adventurers, plus the orc, plus the horned warrior. That made only six. What was Bones even — oh. Oh, no.

“He’s right.” Elyssandra pointed clear across the cavern. “Look, coming down the passage. More people. It looks like — no. It can’t be.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a squeal, her body curling against Braiden’s for comfort. What could he possibly do to protect her? Did she suddenly forget about her giant spear?

A golden glow heralded the arrival of a squad of warriors, each clad in gleaming golden armor.

Two of them led from the front, the other four bearing an ornate palanquin on their shoulders.

Braiden had never seen one, these elaborate platforms used to transport important officials.

He figured they’d be more common in bigger, fancier cities, like capitals, or anywhere that had a castle.

The seat of the platform was covered in a billowing swirl of fine veils, a pure ivory to go with the golden aesthetic.

Both palanquin and armor bore stylistic flourishes obviously inspired by nature: leaves in place of scales, sharp protrusions like thorns, curlicues that resembled tendrils.

It reminded Braiden of Elyssandra’s hidden cottage, or of the ornate pins she wore in her hair.

Elves. It was a party of elves. And who was riding in the palanquin?

“Unhand her, human knave!” shouted the tallest elf, resplendent in his armor of golden leaves. “Unhand her in the name of Emeritas Ileli Emeridan, Viridian Monarch of the Summerlands.”

This pompous elf was the captain of the royal guard, no doubt, cascades of beautiful blond hair spilling down his back, his piercing green eyes regarding Braiden and his friends with cold contempt.

“Hold on, there’s nothing to unhand!” Braiden peeled himself away from Elyssandra, even as she clung to the hem of his sweater. “We’ve treated her with nothing but kindness. If you’ve come to hurt Elyssandra, just know we won’t let you off without a fight. And did you say Ileli Emeridan?”

The captain’s lips curled into a sinister grin. Those words meant nothing to Braiden, and yet he knew that they should. Where had he heard them before? Magical phrases uttered by Augustin, perhaps? One of the myriad plants that Elyssandra named and identified inside the luminous cavern?

And then he remembered. That first night he met Elyssandra, when he’d treated her to a dinner of skewers at the night market. Elyssandra Ileli Emeridan. That was how she’d introduced herself.

“You’re a princess ?” Braiden cried, more out of disbelief than actual surprise. All the puzzle pieces clicked together so cleanly. Some part of him must have suspected it all along.

A young elven woman with access to an array of finely crafted enchanted items, someone who grew up in a grand magical garden, someone who couldn’t cook a meal to save her own life? Even her prowess in martial combat made sense now.

The king’s guard wielded weapons of a similar build and sheen, great golden spears with vicious points that resembled thorns and pine cones. All were lowered now, and all were pointed in Braiden’s direction.

“I was going to tell you,” Elyssandra pleaded. “Braid, I promise! It’s just that so many wonderful things have happened. I couldn’t ruin everything by telling you that I lied.”

Braiden furrowed his brow. “You didn’t really lie. Not exactly. I knew you were keeping a secret, but so what? You’re lovely to have around, and that’s that, princess or no.”

Elyssandra sniffled, wiping a hand against her eye. “You’re the best. Still, I wish I would have told you sooner.”

The veils concealing the palanquin’s riders parted with a dramatic swoosh, as if blown apart by a conjured wind. Out stepped a beautiful elven man, a crown of golden thorns and leaves upon his head.

“My radiant Starpetal,” the king called from across the chamber. “The loveliest flower in all the Golden Gardens. Elyssandra, we’ve looked all over for you! You’ve had me and your poor mother worried sick. Please. It’s time to come home.”

Elyssandra stomped her foot, cheeks rosy, the tips of her pointy ears cherry red. “Father, you’re embarrassing me! I told you I wanted to see Aidun, and now I’m seeing it on my own terms. Go home. And take your ridiculous retinue with you.”

The captain of the royal guard raised his nose in the air with a sneer. At least two of the other guards looked a bit wounded by her words. Unperturbed, the king stepped forward and threw his arms wide open.

“Pookie, please! Dada and Mama miss you very, very much.”

“Oh, gods,” Elyssandra said, shrinking away at the sound of the childish nicknames. “I told you to stop calling me that! I’m too old for that now.”

Braiden should have been amused and comforted to learn that parents and their children still shared the same skirmishes whether they were humans or elves, commoners or kings. Instead he was rightfully worried about all the elven guards and all their very pointy spears.

The king threw his arms up in frustration. “But why this fascination with human heroes, Elyssandra? Why expose yourself to all the dangers of Aidun? Much as it pains me, we can bring the heroes to the elf lands instead, host them at the Golden Gardens for you to meet and greet.”

Elyssandra stomped her foot again. “It’s not the same thing and you know it, Father! You were a great warrior yourself, once. What happened to your sense of adventure?”

“Duty called, sweet daughter. And I answered.” King Emeritas’s shoulders sagged, a sorely familiar reflection of Augustin Arcosa. “As you must do so yourself some day as Crown Princess of the Summerlands.”

This time Elyssandra didn’t flinch, but Braiden could tell that this name was even less desirable than the ones the king had used before.

Emeritas held out his hand, an appeasing smile on his lips. “Won’t you come home with us, Elyssandra? Are these companions of yours heroes as well? Bring them along. You are all welcome guests at the Golden Gardens.”

The king scanned their faces, no doubt so accustomed to courtly etiquette that his face barely registered surprise when he found himself looking at a rabbit person, and then at a naked skeleton. Braiden wasn’t entirely sure the skeleton was one of them, either.

And even more unsure of how to respond to royalty, Braiden looked to Augustin. Didn’t he know a thing or two about dealing with Il-venessi princesses? The wizard did not answer, knowing he wasn’t supposed to be part of the conversation, but he did make a low, courteous bow.

Warren gracefully followed suit, his ears flattening against his head to keep from brushing them against the ground. The skeleton shrugged, rattling as he, too, took a bow. Braiden went last, somehow even more awkward than the reanimated pile of bones.

“No, no,” Elyssandra said, waving her arms at them. “You’re giving him exactly what he wants. No one’s going anywhere. We’re not going back to the elf lands with you, Father.” She folded her arms, stubborn, resolute. “ I’m not going back to the elf lands with you.”

The king of the elves deflated even more, his shoulders rounded. “I was afraid it would come to this.”

And just as suddenly his posture straightened, his spine as rigid as every deadly spear in his royal retinue, his shoulders broad and powerful. His head held high, Emeritas looked every bit a king, imperious, radiant, majestic. He swept his arm forward and pointed a single elegant finger.

“Seize the crown princess. By any means necessary.”

The horned warrior threw his hands up, as if insulted that his own party — sandwiched between Braiden’s friends and the elves — had been completely forgotten. The orc whirled in place, baring his teeth as he gauged which side of the chamber needed smashing first.

Metal screamed and clanged throughout the cavern as the elven king’s forces collided with the other party. In their eyes, those people were no different than Braiden and his companions: all were considered a threat to the crown princess.

Braiden approached the melee cautiously, letting the fighters in his group take the lead.

He strongly suspected that the king was a powerful spellcaster in his own right, if only he wasn’t so busy throwing his arms out and calling for his sweet, beloved Pookie.

To be fair, his ululations still had an effect on the battle.

Elyssandra couldn’t fight quite as fiercely when she kept flinching from the sound of her nickname.

“Why is it so damn cold in here?” the Gwerenese woman asked, indignant even as her blade flashed in a dangerous crescent. “Even more so than the rest of this blasted dungeon.”