TWENTY-EIGHT
IN THE CITY OF ARBORLON, THINGS WERE COMING apart in an equally unexpected way.
Three days had passed since Mistral Belloruus revealed that she had possession of the missing Elfstones and intended to give them to her granddaughter, and Phryne Amarantyne was still struggling with what to do about it. Her initial reaction had been one of shock and anger, and she had told her grandmother that it was her father who should have the Elven talismans, not her. He was King, and they belonged to him. What would she do with them, anyway? She was barely grown and in no way experienced in the uses of magic. It was ridiculous for her grandmother even to consider passing the Elfstones to her.
Her grandmother had let her vent, sitting quietly, saying nothing. But when she was finished, she very calmly and deliberately told her to grow up and be the woman her mother had been. What constituted loyalty to the throne and to the Elven people was a matter of opinion. The Elfstones were never intended exclusively for those who sat upon the Elven throne. Possession of magic that powerful was not a given right, but an earned one. The Elfstones had been passed to Kirisin Belloruus because he had made a commitment to do what was needed to save his people from a demon army and to make certain that the legacy of magic that had once been inherent in the Elven way of life was revived. He had fulfilled that commitment, but those who had gained possession of the Elfstones after him had lost their way. They had accepted blindly that the valley would keep them forever safe and that magic of the sort contained in the Elfstones was unnecessarily dangerous. They had embraced instead the old belief that magic belonged to the age of Faerie and had no place in their world, and so the magic had languished anew.
Her mother had thought differently, but her father had not supported her and so nothing had been done during his reign as King to experiment with the magic. Yes, the Elves still used small amounts to sustain and heal the land, but that was nothing new. It was not the intent of those who had passed the Elfstones to Kirisin Belloruus that usage of the magic should stop there. Had Phryne’s mother lived, they would not be having this conversation; the Elfstones would have passed to her. Now they would pass to Phryne—not because she was her mother’s daughter, but because she had the strength of character her father did not and that was what was needed if the Elves were to survive.
The session had ended in a shouting match, and Phryne had stormed out, furious with her grandmother and determined to have no part in her misguided scheming.
Yet here she was, just three days later, responding to a summons to return to her grandmother’s cottage, another written message delivered by another oldster. In spite of herself, she was going back. She did so for several reasons. For one thing, she loved her grandmother, and no argument between them would ever change that. For another, the recovery of the Elfstones was too important to allow personal feelings to govern her actions. No matter her dismay with her grandmother, she knew she must continue trying to persuade her that the Elfstones should be given to her father. Reason must prevail, and clearly it would have to come from her.
Her grandmother had other plans, of course. She had not tried to give Phryne the Elfstones on the day they first spoke of them—had not even shown them to her, in fact. But this time she produced them shortly after her granddaughter walked through the door. There was no time for arguing, Mistral Belloruus declared as Phryne attempted to pick up where she had left off. What was needed was an object lesson. If Phryne was to persist in her insistence that the Elfstones belonged in her father’s hands, she needed to know exactly what that meant.
She marched Phryne outside and through the gardens, going deep into the woods to where they could no longer even see her cottage. They went alone, the old woman making her way with slow, painful steps, the girl holding her arm in case she should trip. It was a measure of her grandmother’s determination to win her over that she let Phryne help her, and the girl did not miss what this meant.
When they had reached a place where her grandmother felt comfortable with doing so, she reached into the pocket of her dress and produced a cloth pouch, loosened the drawstrings, and dumped the contents into her hand. Three brilliant blue stones, perfectly faceted and unblemished, their color so extraordinary that Phryne gasped in spite of herself, lay cradled in her palm, the sunlight dancing off their smooth surfaces.
“These are the blue Elfstones, Phryne, the seeking-Stones,” her grandmother advised, her eyes fixed not on the Stones, but on the girl. “One each for the heart, mind, and body. They work in unison, drawing on the strengths found within the user. The greater those strengths, the greater the power of the Stones. In effect, the user determines the power of the magic. I see great strength in you, girl. Why don’t we find out if I am right?”
Phryne, seeing what was intended, shook her head at once. “I won’t do that. The magic does not belong to me, and I don’t want any part of it. If you feel so strongly about this, you use them. You are at least as strong as I will ever be. You give the demonstration.”
Her grandmother gave her a look. “It doesn’t work like that. You don’t learn anything by watching me. You learn by doing it yourself. Wielding the magic, experiencing the power, is how you discover what it means to have command of it. Take the Elfstones. Just hold them for a moment.”
Reluctantly, still promising herself that she would not use them, Phryne took the Stones. “Why didn’t you give them to my mother, if you thought she was the one who should have them? Why did you hold on to them while she was alive?”
“Feel the weight of them?” her grandmother asked, ignoring her. “Much heavier than you would expect. Close your fingers over them and let’s see what happens.”
“Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“Don’t be afraid. Just do as I ask.”
Reluctantly, Phryne did. They were indeed heavier than she expected, and as she held them she could feel unexpected warmth seeping into her skin. Her eyes found her grandmother’s. “They feel alive,” she whispered.
“They are alive. The magic is a living thing. It lies inanimate until a user summons it, until it finds a kindred spirit. It doesn’t work for anyone who isn’t Elven, and it doesn’t respond to anyone to whom it is not given freely—as I have given it to you.”
Phryne frowned. “But I didn’t accept it.”
“You aren’t the one who matters. See how quickly it warms for you? That means it knows you are right for it.”
“But I don’t want this!” Phryne was incensed. She shoved the Elfstones toward her grandmother. “Take them back!”
“Wait, wait.” Her grandmother’s voice was persuasive, her tone soft and placating. “Let’s finish what we started. It won’t bind you in any way, I promise. It will only demonstrate what I have been telling you. Now, listen to me. Here is what you must do. For the Elfstones to work, you must picture in your mind what it is you seek. You must see it clearly and you must ask the Stones to find it for you. You must will it to happen. Can you do that? Will you try?”
Phryne did not want to try. She wanted to go back three days in time and start over. But she understood, as well, that if she refused now she would have given up any chance of pursuing her argument that the Elfstones belonged in the possession of her father.
So she said, even more reluctant now than before, “I’ll try.”
“Remember what I said, child. Your combined strengths of heart, mind, and body will determine the extent of your control over the magic. It will determine how suited you are to its use. This is your chance to discover the truth of things. Use it well.”
“I understand,” she said, wondering if she did.
“Stretch your hand out in front of you, away from your body. Think of what it is that you wish to find. A person, a place, a creature, anything. Start with something easy. Something you know well enough to see clearly in your mind. You can do much more with these Elfstones than find something with which you are already familiar; you can even find things that you have never seen. But don’t start with something that difficult.”
She reached for Phryne’s hand, folding her own over it. “What will you choose to seek? Tell me.”
Phryne didn’t know. She wanted it to be something that would test what the old woman said, something that was not too close to where they stood, something that could not be found in Arborlon, for instance.
“What about the young man from Glensk Wood that you seem so fond of?” her grandmother suggested suddenly.
Phryne hesitated. “I don’t know. That feels like spying.”
“It might help alleviate your concerns for him. Of course, you could seek out the girl instead.”
“No!” Phryne said quickly. She did not care to know about Prue Liss just yet. “I’ll look for Panterra.”
She stretched out her hand, fingers closing about the Elfstones, arm directed southward, in the direction Pan had gone. She closed her eyes to help with focusing her thoughts, picturing the boy in her mind, seeing his face clearly. She willed the Elfstones to show him to her, to reveal his location. She did not press herself, deciding that if the magic was meant to work, it should come easily. She still did not trust what the magic would do. She still was uncertain about its effects. Her grandmother had said nothing that suggested she was in any danger, but Mistral Belloruus had a habit of keeping things to herself.
“Relax, Phryne,” her grandmother whispered to her.
She did so, loosening her muscles and going inward to where Panterra’s face wafted in the darkness of her thoughts. She floated close to the image, searching for the real thing.
Abruptly, she felt the Elfstones warm within her hand, causing her to open her eyes in surprise and look down. Brilliant blue light seeped from between her fingers, flashing outward in slender streamers that were as blinding as new sunlight. She kept her thoughts on Panterra, watching the light coalesce and then lance outward through the trees and into the distance. She saw it pierce time and space and substance in a tunnel of light that reached for miles beyond where she stood to find the boy from Glensk Wood.
All of a sudden there he was. Panterra Qu. He stood within the high rock walls of a pass in the midst of other workers, all of them engaged in the building of defensive bulwarks meant to span the opening and provide protection against invaders. He was at Declan Reach, she realized, high up in the pass, gone to help with the fortifications.
He was there just long enough for her to be certain of where he was and what he was doing, and then the light from the Elfstones vanished, the image disappeared, and she was back beside her grandmother, standing in the trees beyond her gardens.
She opened her fingers and peered down into her palm where the Elfstones lay twinkling. There was no damage to her skin. There was no pain. She checked herself carefully, wanting to be certain. She had not been harmed.
But something had been done. A rush of exhilaration was flooding through her body, sweeping from head to foot and back again, a sense of warmth and excitement mingling with something she could not define. A satisfaction, perhaps. A glory. It roiled within her like an adrenaline infusion, yet it was unlike anything she had experienced before. She closed her fingers over the Elfstones once more and looked down at her hands as she tucked them close against her body, not wanting her grandmother to see what was happening. But it was useless, she knew. Mistral Belloruus would have tested the Elfstones herself. She would already have tasted what her granddaughter was experiencing.
She looked up again quickly and saw the knowledge reflected in her grandmother’s eyes. “Now you know,” the old lady whispered.
Phryne handed the Elfstones back, quickly pressing them into her grandmother’s hands. “I know. But it doesn’t change my mind. The magic belongs to my father. He is capable of handling it much better than I am.”
“You are wrong about that, child,” the old woman answered.
“You can’t know that if you haven’t given him a chance to discover it for himself. You owe him that. You did this for me; now you have to do it for him. Then you can make a decision.”
“Would you accept such a decision, once made?” Her grandmother waited for her to answer, and when she didn’t, said, “I thought not. So what is the point of doing what you ask?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you think you mean.” Her grandmother smiled and shook her head. “But we needn’t talk on it further just now. I only wanted you to understand what having use of the Elfstones meant. There is much more to it than the little you’ve experienced. You will discover that if you test yourself again, as I think you must. These particular Elfstones are seeking-Stones, but they can also protect the user against other magic and dangers that threaten. They are a powerful weapon as well as a versatile tool. Bearing them carries responsibility; possessing them demands accountability. Few are able to handle demands of that sort.”
“I suspect I am not one of those few,” Phryne said.
Mistral Belloruus tucked the Elfstones into the pouch and the pouch into her pocket. Then she reached over and took hold of her granddaughter’s arm.
“We’ll talk about it later, you and I,” she said. “We’ve done enough for now. You need time to reflect on what’s happened.” She squeezed Phryne’s arm gently. “Would you walk me back to my cottage, please? And stay, perhaps, for a cup of tea? I think that would be a very nice end to your visit.”
Arm in arm, they made their way back through the trees to the gardens and the old lady’s home.
PHRYNE RETURNED TO THE PALACE AFTER THAT and spent several hours brooding. She was not happy about what had happened, but regrets were useless. She should never have agreed to use the Elfstones as her grandmother had insisted, even if it meant an end to their conversation about who should possess the magic. Using them had only confused the issue further. Worse, it had raised questions in her mind that had not been there before. For the first time, she was wondering if perhaps her grandmother was right about giving the Elfstones to her instead of her father. She hated it that she was considering such a thing, aware that by doing so she was betraying him. But was she? Or was she simply doing what was expected of her?
The problem lay with the inescapable truth about her father. In the time of his reign as King, he had done nothing to foster the study or use of Elven magic. He had simply ignored that particular mandate, satisfied that healing and nurturing of the Elven territories was a sufficient use. But the Elves had not survived all these years through healing and nurturing alone. They had not survived the Great Wars and escaped into this valley by taking a passive stance toward the evil that confronted them. Yet here they were, five hundred years later, a new evil at their doorstep threatening to take away their homes and perhaps their freedom, and what fresh magic had they mastered?
None.
The Elfstones were all they had, and if her grandmother was to be believed—which Phryne thought she was—the Elves had ignored that magic completely.
She was also still troubled by her father’s decision to marry someone like Isoeld. It wasn’t that his remarriage was a betrayal of his vows to her mother; she didn’t think that way. It was the clear stupidity of his choice. A treacherous, duplicitous girl too young by half, a girl with no intention of respecting her marriage vows, a schemer with ambitions that far exceeded her concerns for her husband, Isoeld was a poor choice at best and a foolish, dangerous one at worst. That her father seemed so unaware of this, so blind to it, suggested that he had somehow lost his way. If that were so, how effective could he be at wielding the magic of the Elfstones, a power that worked best where the heart, mind, and body must all be strong?
She didn’t know. Clearly, her grandmother had made up her mind on the matter. But Mistral Belloruus had never liked her father, even when he was married to her mother. She had tolerated him, but she had never approved of him. It was why, after Phryne’s mother was gone, she had cut herself off from him completely.
It was also why she felt her granddaughter was the right choice to bear the Elfstones.
But even if Phryne accepted that her grandmother was right and her father lacked the strength of character needed to use the Elfstone magic, why would she be a better choice? Even if she accepted the gift of the Elfstones, what was she expected to do with them? She hadn’t been trained in battle arts. She knew next to nothing about fighting, and she wasn’t even particularly strong. Yet if she took the Elfstones, wouldn’t she have to stand at the forefront of the Elven army against the Troll invaders? Ultimately, wasn’t that what would be expected of anyone who wielded the Stones?
The Orullian brothers would roll over laughing at the very idea. The brothers, her cousins, would never let her live it down if they heard that she was even considering such a thing.
She was so uncomfortable with the idea that she made up her mind on the spot that she was going to reject her grandmother’s offer of the Elfstones. Even if Mistral Belloruus was right and her father was the wrong choice to bear the magic, that did not make Phryne the right one. Someone else would better serve the Elven people. Someone with experience and a lifetime of dedication working for the good of the people. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t think of anyone like that offhand. Given time, she would be able to come up with a name. Or two.
She could.
She was mulling over how to tell her grandmother all this when her father walked into her room and sat down across from her. She looked up expectantly, not sure why he was there.
“I’ve been summoned to a meeting with Isoeld,” he said after a minute, looking unsure of how to proceed with what he had to say. “She says it has something to do with our relationship and my service as Elven King. She wants you there, too. Do you have any idea what this is about?”
This was Phryne’s chance to say something about Isoeld’s affairs with other men, about her cheating on her husband. After all, it was possible that she had become ashamed enough of her behavior that she was going to do the right thing and step aside as Queen. That was what Phryne would have liked to believe, but she couldn’t quite make herself do so. Nothing about Isoeld suggested that the word shame was even familiar to her.
So she just shook her head. “I don’t.”
Her father nodded, looking distracted. “Perhaps I’ve done something to anger her and I need to apologize …”
“Perhaps you’ve done nothing wrong at all!” Phryne snapped, unable to listen to such nonsense. “Perhaps she’s the one who’s done something wrong and needs to apologize to you!”
Her father looked startled. “What do you mean? What do you think she might have done?”
Phryne shook her head. “Nothing. I just don’t think you should assume you’ve done anything.”
“That isn’t how you made it sound.” Her father shook his head. “I thought you two were getting along better.”
“We are,” she lied. She made a vague gesture toward the doorway. “Is she coming here for this meeting? Or are we supposed to go to her? When is it, anyway?”
“Right now, in the family library. Are you ready?”
She would never be ready for anything having to do with Isoeld unless it involved watching her father give the little scut a kick in the backside out the door, but she supposed there was no putting it off. Between the meetings with her grandmother and now this one, she would be grateful if she weren’t summoned to anything more than dinner for a month.
They left the room and made their way down the palace hallways toward the library, Oparion Amarantyne leading, his daughter trudging reluctantly behind. Phryne listened to the sound of their footfalls in the silence, thinking it unusually quiet even for late afternoon, when visitors were no longer admitted and the day was winding down toward dinnertime. She mulled over anew her inevitable confrontation with her grandmother, trying to think how to speak the required words. She found it impossible.
The library door was ajar when they reached the chamber, and her father pushed through first, Phryne following. Isoeld stood at the center of the room, right in front of her husband’s desk, hands clasped before her, smiling warmly.
Teonette stood beside her, grim-faced.
“Thank you both for coming,” she greeted. “This won’t take long.”
“Why is he here?” Phryne snapped, stepping forward to confront them both. She spoke out of turn, but she was too angry to care. She was incensed at the boldness of this woman, bringing her lover to a meeting with her husband.
“What is this about?” Oparion Amarantyne demanded.
Isoeld took a step forward. “It is about you. It is about taking the measure of a life. Your own, to be precise. Good-bye, Oparion.”
In the next instant, a masked figure slipped from the shadows behind the open door and drove a dagger deep into the King’s chest. The King cried out and lurched forward, but the assassin locked his free arm about his victim’s neck and, holding him tight, drove the dagger in a second and third time. Phryne screamed in shock and rage, but Isoeld was on top of her by now and struck her hard across the face—once, twice, three times—dropping her to her knees, stunned.
The assassin yanked the dagger free from the dying King and allowed him to fall. Without a word, he turned, placed the dagger next to Phryne, and disappeared through the open door.
Isoeld bent close. “Your father is dead, Phryne, and you killed him. A terrible quarrel of some sort, it appears. We may never know the truth of it. But you attacked him with your knife—it is your dagger, you know—and although Teonette and I came running at the sounds of a struggle, we arrived too late to stop you.”
Phryne tried to scramble up, but Teonette was behind her, holding her fast. She started to scream, and Isoeld said, “Good, scream all you want! But your anguish at what you’ve done comes too late for your father. Such a terrible thing, patricide. I imagine we won’t be seeing much of you again for many years. That’s if they don’t decide to put you to death. I’ll do what I can to see that they don’t. I like the idea of you alive and well and locked away for the rest of your life.”
Phryne gasped for breath. “They’ll never believe—”
Isoeld struck her across the face several times more. The girl’s vision blurred as tears filled her eyes, and she felt everything begin to spin.
“Your father fought back, which is why you have all these marks on your face. He fought hard for his life, even as he was dying. But it wasn’t enough. His wounds were too grievous. Drop her.”
Teonette let go, and Phryne collapsed to the floor. Isoeld kicked her down all the way and put her foot on her neck. “The King is dead, Phryne,” she hissed. “Long live the Queen!”