Trial of Spirit Chapter 6

The Run

I ran.

It wasn’t the all-out run of being chased by a bear, not even close. It didn’t even truly start out as a run. At first it was a quick, stealthy attempt to slip past the camps of the elves from the east, west, and south. I knew they’d have rangers with them, so there was no way I could go completely undetected, but I tried to make my passing as uninteresting as possible while still passing rapidly through their area.

They all wanted to see me gone. I wanted the same, only not in quite the same permanent manner.

It worked. Soon I was past the circle of tents, and then I was jogging.

I pushed it faster.

I didn’t set out for any place in particular. I hadn’t been to all that many places, for one thing. Back home I’d explored nearly every nook and side street of my neighborhood before I really knew what I was doing, but the training to become an elf queen is just a little more arduous than that. I’d managed to explore the grounds to the south of Cysegredig three times since my arrival, each time with my father, my cousin, or both. Heck, every time I’d been anywhere on Kiirajanna it was in the company of someone else, most often several someone-elses.

This time, it was just me.

I was alone. Happily, gloriously, alone.

I ran, exulting simply in the silence of being alone.

Thoughts, some dark and others not, tried to cloud over my mind as they had all day. Each time they tried to take over, though, I’d focus on one of the perfect-coiffed bushes nearby, or one of the trees, and the thoughts went away.

What did Seph mean when she said to tell the trees if I needed her? I wondered if I could test it by telling the nearby elm. I didn’t try, though, out of respect for my newfound—or re-found—self-presence.

It was good to be with myself, and just with myself.

I ran.

Before long the sun disappeared. The shadows were already at their longest when I left the castle, so the sunset was no surprise. No surprise, but a grand revelation. The darkness on Kiirajanna is alive. I don’t mean like at home, aurally alive, with owl hoots and animal calls, though those are present in the elf realm as well. I mean physically alive, ringing and zinging about with a charged energy as ancient as the realm itself and more powerful than anything imaginable.

I stopped, allowing the energy in, letting myself become filled with a sense of anticipation and awe.

The energy was tremendous. I checked to see whether Draignerthol was somehow causing it, funneling it from wherever the pendant found its well of magical force. The ancient relic was silent, cool, dark. It was waiting on something.

A gaze upward confirmed that there was a full moon. That didn’t mean anything in the elf lore I’d studied. Still, I felt connected, somehow. It seemed like the flowing power that surrounded me was pulsing along to the shimmers of the great white orb in the sky, though I couldn’t figure out why. Strangely, for me, I didn’t want to figure it out just then. It felt right, and that was enough.

I gazed.

It was dark, but I could see well enough when I relaxed and let my eyes and subconscious work together.

There was a tree nearby. Yes, there are always trees nearby in an elf forest, but this one was special. It called to me, though of course I know how silly that sounds. Suddenly, Seph’s comment resounded in my head: “tell the trees.” I didn’t actually need her, but for a few bizarre moments it seemed completely natural that I would tell the trees—that tree, in particular—anything that needed saying. It stood strong, and tall, its bark perfectly uniform as it raised its arms to the darkened sky.

I reached out with both hands and touched it, fingers splayed out along the bark ridges.

I gasped.

Maybe, anyway; I don’t remember whether I actually made a sound or not as the wonderment spread through me. It felt like I was suddenly split open, turned inside out, becoming one with the trees just as they were part of me.

Walking no longer made any sense whatsoever. Why would anyone want to change locations when sturdy roots were available to keep you safe and fed?

Wind rippled gently through my hair, tugging at the branches growing upward and away from my core. It rippled among my brethren and me as we all stood in its path, rattling leaves and rapping limbs against one another: an intricate symphony that played the breeze’s energy out.

I understood.

Trees are one—all of them. Suddenly that was obvious, like saying the night is dark or the bedrock is hard. While some trees—the ones nearby, I thought?—whispered in the chill wind of the central region, I could sense the freezing cold as others—brothers, almost twins, but definitely siblings—gently shook off freshly fallen snow. I reached down, behind the murmur, and found the bushes there as well. They weren’t nearly as powerful, or capable of drawing their sustenance from as far down in the soil, or as happy in the wind. They were the little baby brothers.

Off in the distance, I heard a surprised, overjoyed shriek. Only, it wasn’t a sound, rather a sensation, and it felt strangely familiar. I opened myself to the voice, and then I realized what—who?—I was hearing. It was Little Treebeard, all the way back in my room in the castle. L.T. had sensed me joining into the meld, entering his world, and was overjoyed. The L.T. in the pot could only shake his little leaves and smack his branches against whatever was nearby. The L.T. in the meld danced and cavorted in joy.

In spite of the miles I’d run, I could almost see him. Her. Suddenly I realized that the gender thing was a really dumb question. L.T. was both him and her, and neither as well. As I came to that realization, all the trees around me—smiled.

I smiled.

That’s how it felt, anyway. The elf smile is one of complete radiant joy, using nearly every single muscle in the face, but the trees have neither faces nor muscles, nor did I feel my own facial muscles moving. Still, it was the same internal sensations: joy, happiness, and for that moment, perfect and total serenity.

It was a wonderful moment. Beautiful, in fact. I’d suddenly realized that I could commune with the trees pretty much across the entire continent, and that was amazing. But when I left the castle, I reminded myself, it was for a run, not for standing with the trees.

I disconnected.

I expected it to be painful to separate from the newfound bond I’d created with the trees. That somehow a part of me I hadn’t known before would be suddenly, tragically ripped away, never to be whole until I found that unity once again. At least, that’s how it seems like the sensations should feel. It’s not how they felt, though. I disconnected, and that was that. The trees were all still there. I knew—somehow—that they would always be there, if and when I needed them. And while the long-distance group thing was nice, I didn’t miss it as I gathered my human senses about me once again.

A couple of loping steps later, I stopped again. Curiosity enveloped me, and I knelt slowly and put both hands on the ground, wondering if I’d sense anything different.

Suddenly, I was touching the entire world.

With a gasp, I raised my hands to collect my thoughts, and then my breath. I checked Draignerthol for participation or for blame; no, the pendant was still chill to the touch.

I reached down and touched the ground again.

If all the trees seemed like a tremendous breadth of sensation, it was nothing compared to pretty much the entire world. The sky was dark, so my eyes saw nothing, yet my internal vision connected into a seemingly infinite pool of sensations. It was overwhelming, at least at first.

By exerting a little concentration I found it easy to localize. A bug creeped along the ground a few meters from me. What moved and acted like a snake slithered by on the other side, which startled me a little. I guess it’s hard to have the people of the west actively worshiping serpents, with a leader known as Swadda of the Serpent Veils, without acknowledging that there actually are snakes in the realm. I’d just never really thought about it.

Luckily, for me and for it, I could tell that the creature really was more afraid of me than I was of a little snake.

Off in the distance, roughly in the same direction as the now-destroyed library, I saw and acknowledged a dark patch. It wasn’t barren, but rather dark in a malevolent sort of way. It was huge, and it seemed to be growing, alive even. Dark animals roamed across it in spite of the hour, and that brought a shudder as I remembered being chased by dire wolves and dire ravens across the blight. I made a note to check that portion of the continent out more thoroughly some day, to see if there was anything the rangers of the realm could do. Granted, they had probably already done all they could do, but perhaps there was something I could accomplish as queen of the realm.

Once I got there.

If I got there.

My musings were interrupted by a shadowy flash across my consciousness. It was faint, as though something—or someone—was hiding from me, and using the earth itself to do it. It was close, though, no more than twenty or thirty feet away. It didn’t hold anything like the malevolence of the blight, but it was anxious—scared?—agitated and perturbed, at least a little? It wasn’t like the snake, though, nor any other creature. The conscience, the mind—the footprint, if I can call it that—was too big, too grand, to intelligent. It wasn’t a creature at all, I realized.

It had to be an elf.

Curious to learn who was watching me, I leaped up and darted toward the spot. I was rewarded with a gasp and a light thud as whoever it was tripped. We came face to face, and it was my turn to gasp, loudly, in shock.

It was a child. A girl, somewhere between five and eight years old, near as I could tell. But that wasn’t the shocking thing.

She was clad in hand-fashioned, primitive clothes. Her tunic looked, in the glow of the moon, like supple leather, and it was bound together across the tops of the shoulders and down the sides with crude lashings. On her feet were bound simple leather flaps folded up and around. Her hair was a mess, all frizzy and jutting out. But that wasn’t the shocking thing either.

What brought a shocked gasp to my lips was that she was black.

I’d seen black people before, growing up in the South. All the comments about Southern racism aside, though, we kids never really thought much about it. I had black friends, and my white friends had black friends, and my black friends had white friends, and we all just sort of ignored both the color of each others’ skin. At the same time we also ignored—or perhaps we just didn’t know—how the rest of the world seemed to think we ought to think about it.

But I’d left all that behind. I’d been in Kiirajanna for well over half a year, and I’d never seen a black elf. I hadn’t noticed that I’d never seen one, unfortunately, because to be honest I wasn’t looking for any sort of racial makeup. But now that a definitely dark-skinned elf sat sprawled in front of me, I couldn’t help but notice. Even Swadda, coming from the desert as she and her people did, carried her skin as pale as notebook paper. I’d been around Cysegredig many times with my father, to the point that I figured we’d visited every village there was to visit, yet not once had we seen a black elf.

I was going to marvel at my discovery a little while longer, but the little girl decided she’d had enough. She sprang to her feet and turned to run.

“Hi! Don’t—go…” I called after her as she took one step and then disappeared with a pop.

Teleportation! My mind screamed at me that this was important, but at the moment I was more interested in catching up to the girl and worrying about the implications later. I snapped my hand about Draignerthol and pulled upon the pendant’s power. With a matching pop, I teleported to right behind her, and then pressed my long legs into sprinting after.

Pop!

She teleported away again.

Pop!

I teleported right after.

She darted around a tree and angled slightly away. She was quick, but I had much longer legs and was pretty sure I could outdistance her in a straightaway. Not that she did much straight-line running; every time she came close to a tree she darted at some angle behind it. It was hard to keep up, but not impossible, and I started to gain on her. She could teleport, but so could I, and with Draignerthol around my neck I was pretty certain I could keep it up much longer than she could.

Before, back on Earth, she would’ve been nearly impossible to follow in the darkness of the night, camouflaged as she was by the darkness of her skin and clothes and the softness of her footpads. Here, though, I didn’t have any trouble locating her even after a teleport, thanks to Draignerthol’s power.

Pop!

She teleported just as my fingers neared her shoulder.

Pop!

I teleported right after without losing stride. Three more long paces, and…

Slam!

I hit something solid, something unseen that stretched impossibly rigid between the trees. It hurt like heck, my momentum rebounding backward and downward onto the forest floor.

As I lay there gasping for breath, not sure if I would ever again be either capable of or interested in rising to my feet, a heavy weight was dropped over my limbs. I tried wiggling a finger, but couldn’t. I twitched my head, trying to move it from side to side, but it was stuck in a vise as well. I panicked, trying to get my hand up to touch Draignerthol, to awaken the pendant and gather in the ancient power that might help me press out of the bonds that held me down, but the more I twitched the tighter I was held.

Finally, not having any other option, I relaxed. As soon as I did, a face—a black elf’s face, mature this time—popped into view. The eyes in the face examined me closely, obviously taking in every detail in the dim moonlight. Eventually the eyes closed and the head nodded. She—I could tell it was a she from her rich, melodic voice—spoke to someone else I couldn’t see in a heavily accented version of the elf language.

“Yes, congratulations be upon us all. We have undoubtedly captured the crown princess.”

Trial of Spirit Chapter 5

Call for Exile

The high priestess cleared her throat to do her standard duty as herald/bailiff. Then she intoned in a loud, clear voice sharp enough that it should have slashed through Swadda’s veils, “We are present to hear the discussion and receive blessing of the king’s and queen’s combined wisdom in the situation before us involving the Crown Princess Alyssa,” Naissa paused momentarily to allow the briefest of glares toward the serpent veil from which an audible hiss of disgust had shot, “and the accusation before us that she has, on numerous occasions with wanton disregard for our traditions and most fundamental beliefs, abused the arcane powers that flow through the land.”

“Accusations,” the word slid through Hefin’s teeth. “It is well known—”

“It is well known that none but the king and queen speak without being granted leave to do so in their formal court,” Naissa cut him off curtly.

“Hefin,” my father said, his voice deep and serious. I saw his knuckles whiten under the tension he was applying to the arms of his throne, and after a few months being with him an awful lot I noticed that both his eyes and his nostrils flared. “Glynis. Swadda. Have any of you ever known me to act unjustly?” The last word shot out, accusatory in its own right.

“Toward your own daughter?” Swadda hissed.

“Toward anyone?” his low-pitched reply thundered through the room.

After a long silence, during which I didn’t dare cast a glance around, he continued, “So which of you were present, or had personal agents present, at the battle during which the Cult attempted to kill my daughter and her traveling companions at the library?”

“Cut the legal maneuvering, Cadfael,” Hefin barked. The use of the king’s traditional first name earned him a glare from Naissa, but my father merely crooked an eyebrow and gestured in a slightly condescending movement. “It is widely known that your daughter drew upon the forces of magic to set fire to the library and burn it down around the librarians, whose guilt we have still not seen evidenced.”

“I must have misunderstood you, Hefin,” my father replied. “Surely you did not just call me a liar?” His knuckles actually got whiter. I wondered whether the great golden chair arms or Dad’s hands would win the strength contest.

“A liar?” Hefin challenged.

“It is—well known—that my men, and at times I, personally, questioned the few survivors who we captured and in doing so ascertained that my daughter’s allegations were true regarding their intent. Had you not heard of that questioning?”

Hefin’s presence, the aura I could sense, shrank a little. I still didn’t dare glance around for fear of insulting the three who were on my side, but I desperately wanted to see Hefin’s expression. After a few moments, his voice, shaking ever so slightly, came back with, “I humbly retract that statement, Cadfael. But the rest still remains. It is known that she used magic to call about fire.”

“Is it? It has been my understanding that the librarians maintained ill-advised torches that were blazing at the time the library caught fire.”

Dad wasn’t actually twisting the truth very far. I didn’t call down fire in the library. I wouldn’t have called down fire even if I’d known that I could. It was wind, to be perfectly honest. This Mississippi girl recalled seeing the aftermath of a tornado or two and knew the value of a good whirlwind, and so that was what I’d reached for. Unfortunately for us all, the attackers had brought torches, which got smashed up against books, and then the wind fanned the flames.

So, no, I am not a firestarter. Firespreader, maybe. Yes, I do have my faults. And yes, I have been wanton with occasional magic usage, but not with fire.

Not that that matters a whole lot, when libraries have been burnt to the ground.

“I—” Hefin started to argue, but my father forestalled him with a hand.

“Were you there?”

“No.”

“Were any of your agents there?”

“No.”

“There is the matter of the battle in Ganolog,” Glynis purred dangerously from behind me.

“Were you or your agents present to witness the act you accuse my daughter of?”

“No, but you already knew that, Cadfael. Padrig might be here to support us, but your daughter’s antics actually led to war between you and his tribe, if I recall.”

My father flushed at that. It was true; I’d stepped right into a hornet’s nest of Cult members and the resulting battle had brought out my temper. Worse, it had put Dad in a position where he had to invade the land of the northern tribes to capture a Cult ringleader, thus leading to a war with the entire clan. That it had been a bloodless war, and was now over, wasn’t my place to bring up since I still had a gag order on me.

“We could just ask the little girl herself,” Swadda suggested innocently.

“She would probably just lie to us,” Hefin pointed out.

The anger that now freely flowed across Dad’s face told me that the insult had raised his blood pressure as much as it had mine, but seeing that helped me hold my own temper in check.

“Those who stand before their king and queen insisting on honoring custom should, of course, recognize the custom of not requiring self-incrimination,” the high priestess pointed out, touching the king’s shoulder subtly but meaningfully. It worked; his grip loosened enough that color returned to his joints, and he lost the mask of someone who was envisioning someone else’s insides being ripped out.

“Well, there is Prince Keion. He’s not grown too fond of the girl yet, has he?”

“My son is indisposed at the moment,” the queen replied and shot Hefin an icy look.

“Of course he is. As is your niece, Cadfael?”

When moments ticked by without my father gracing the eastern elf lord with a reply, he growled and continued, “Look, it doesn’t matter. My clan will not support her as queen.”

“Nor mine,” hissed Glynis.

“Nor will mine,” added Swadda. “And if you insist on continuing with this charade, you will find yourself at war with more than just the northern elves.”

“War is what it may come to, then?” my father asked, his already-long face lengthening even further.

“Cadfael, you know that we mean you neither harm nor ill will. It is just that we must be the mouthpieces for our clans, as you yourself have expected us to be for all these years. You have but to replace your daughter with Seren, and my clan will be satisfied. Otherwise….” she left the repercussions hanging.

I wasn’t surprised to hear the queen’s eldest daughter’s name floated as a better candidate for queen than I was. I’d suggested it, myself, a few times after I’d arrived. What surprised me was the queen’s reaction.

“No!” her majesty snarled, leaping to her feet. Keeping her anger in check with visible effort, she continued, “Swadda, how dare you come to us demanding what you know to be impossible, hanging your expectation on tradition while breaking another tradition in so demanding. You know that my daughter is off-limits in this discussion, yet you bring her name anyway. I am shocked and ashamed in what this discussion has come to.”

Into the silence that followed, Sternyface tried to insert some calming words. “The prophecy has long foretold—”

It was a mistake. Apparently Swadda’s inability to directly confront the queen’s anger made her even more willing to verbally snap the high priestess’s head off. “Prophecy! Ha! You and your useless priests and priestesses have spent centuries preparing us to face the perils of this prophecy, with no thought given to merely avoiding the outcome from the start. Well, I say it is time for the people to stop listening to the whine and murmur of our spiritual leaders and take action to prevent this upheaval. Let’s nip it in the bud, and if Naissa and her pets get cut in the process, so be it.”

“Prophecy or no prophecy, doesn’t matter to me and mine. What’s important is that we remove the little whelp from her glorious future of having power over us all,” Hefin added angrily, and suddenly my father was out of his throne, his expression matching the queen’s.

His hands shook as he pointed two fingers at the chieftain who’s just insulted me. “You will not speak of my daughter in such a manner,” he growled. To be fair, the word Hefin, bless his foul heart, had chosen was lesgenau, which carries a whole lot more derogatory connotation than whelp does. It refers to a depth of weakness and listlessness that cannot operate without a parental figure over it, and to the elves that’s a very bad thing.

“Stop!” I heard my own voice ring out. Suddenly the entire room—and all of its anger and contempt—was focused directly on me. That’s okay, I thought; at least now they’ll be vicious to me rather than about me. I allowed myself to turn about, finally taking in the adversaries on all sides. They were all glaring directly at me, now—Dad looked like he wanted to rip my tongue out.

I caught the briefest of twitches on Sternyface’s lips, though, and in that one fleeting moment I got the support I was hoping for.

“Penna Hefin,” I said, using the formal address and doing my best to make my voice come out as a purr. “Last summer you eagerly accepted me, cheering my coronation and even suggesting that I might consider one of your sons as a consort. I don’t think I am misremembering that, am I? No, no, let me finish. I have held my tongue long enough, now I ask you to hear me out,” I continued, turning the purr into sharpness. “I was your favorite then, and yet now you call me—I cannot bring my own lips to utter that word around our king and queen—and why? I have done nothing but act to protect the lives of those I hold dear. In anyone else, would you not consider that strength? Why is the situation so different now?”

“It is clear—” Swadda started to interject, but stopped when I held my palm up to her and shot her a glare. Her eyes grew wide; apparently she feared I might use Draignerthol to lash out at her. Fine; I didn’t mind her fear at that moment.

“Penna Hefin, I asked a question of you.”

“Alyssa,” he started, ignoring my title but at least using my name instead of the pejoratives he’d been casting about.  “It is the will of my clan.”

“The fear of your clan, it sounds like to me. When have the eastern clan been so fearful of one little girl?”

“One little girl who threatens to throw us back into civil war,” Swadda spat.

“I am not the one who stood here in the royal throne room, threatening war,” I reminded her, and then turned back to my father and the queen, who had both relaxed slightly. “What Swadda says holds some truth, however. I am yet a little girl according to elf custom. In fact, technically, I believe—and I would be glad for your input if I am incorrect, High Priestess Naissa, you cannot exile one who is but a child, and I am still considered such. May I suggest, for the benefit of the temper of all here today, that we put off this discussion until after I have completed the rituals of the hunhymgais, at which point you can determine what to do with me as an adult, as is proper? Would your clan consider that acceptable, Penna Hefin? Penna Glynis? If I begin preparations immediately at sunrise tomorrow?”

I left Swadda out of the deal-making on purpose, and I could tell it angered her. She seemed to be the ringleader, though, so that felt like the right thing to do. I just hoped it wouldn’t backfire later. Still, it got the result I was looking for as first Hefin and then Glynis nodded.

I turned back to the royal pair. “Father. Talaith. I seek your agreement with my recommendation, and subsequently your leave to begin preparation for the arduous ceremony I am to undertake.”

Naissa actually smiled at that. I’d used the informal address for the king and queen to point out my own relative status as a child among them. First my father, and then the queen, nodded their acquiescence. Swadda spun on her heels and stormed out, followed closely by Hefin. Glynis remained just long enough for the other two to exit, and then she whispered quietly to me, “Impressive turn, that was, but I believe that you are merely putting off the inevitable.”

I gave her my best guarded smile, the one that doesn’t include every facial muscle, and she nodded in agreement with my unspoken sentiment. She rapidly removed herself from the throne room.

“Well,” the queen said, collapsing into her throne in an un-royal manner.

“That was—effective. I fear that what Glynis said will come to pass, but at least when you return from your hunhymgais, we can be prepared for the battles to come,” Dad said. Still standing, he met the queen’s and then the high priestess’s eyes. “I would like some time alone with my daughter, please.”

The queen nodded and left. Sternyface followed, but only after a very uncharacteristic smile and nod my direction. Once the door closed behind them, Dad led me through the curtain into a hidden lounge that was solely for the use of the king. In fact, he’d told me that he was the only elf allowed in there, which made me wonder who filled the ice cube bucket, the first time he brought me in for quiet, private conversation. It was the only place, it seemed, where he could let his guard down completely.

“That was impressive indeed, Alyssa,” he said as he tossed a couple of ice cubes into glasses and covered them with a brownish liquor.

“I just got tired of being talked about instead of talked to,” I argued. I took a sip and then grimaced. “Ooh,” I exhaled. “I don’t think I’ll ever be used to your whiskey, Dad.”

“That is fine. Children should not drink, anyway,” he said with a grin.

“I wanted to calm down an escalating argument,” I argued again. “I didn’t mean to go back to being treated as a child. Are you going to put me in class with the first graders again?”

Dad chortled, and I joined in the laughter. When I arrived the priestesses put me into an intensive class to learn the elf language, and the only one of those available was full of five-year-olds. It was weird, but since I’d learned elf as a young child I caught up quickly enough and escaped.

“The hunhymgais is difficult, Alyssa. Let us not make light of that important ritual.”

“Not making light, Dad, but so far I’ve faced down a wyvern, a few different groups of Cult members looking to kill me, and even an angry Sternyface. I’m not certain how going off by myself to survive for a while could be much of a comparative challenge.”

“You are probably right, my daughter. At least, I hope it is thus with all my heart. You will, of course, begin preparations tomorrow, and that will require most of your time and energy. For tonight, though, you should relax.”

“Well, this is a good start,” I murmured, amazed once again at how much smoother the second sip of whiskey was than the first. “But why did the queen object so angrily to the suggestion that Seren would make a better choice? It’s true, I’d say.”

“Hmm.” Dad gave me an appraising stare. “It was probably true this past summer, but I believe that, as you have already pointed out, you have earned your tiara since. But to answer your question, I believe that there are two matters that stirred the queen to anger. First, of course, is the prophecy; both she and I have a responsibility to uphold the integrity of the priesthood, which, though we claim tradition to be our savior, is truly the primary agency that has protected us from civil war all these centuries. To brush off the validity and import of the prophecy would in turn brush off the authority of the priesthood. We both believed that to be the worst possible outcome of today’s discussion. More importantly, though, I suspect she loves her daughter too much to subject her to ruling through the times to come.”

“Oh. I see. And you don’t love me enough to protect me from the same?” I let my voice lilt up at the end to take the sting out of my words.

Dad chortled again around another sip. “Daughter…. Alyssa, I love you more than I love any other being in this entire realm. I hope that you know that. If I could spare you the turmoil that is to come, I would. Yet I also love this realm, and I am in firm agreement with both Sternyface and Talaith that you are the only one capable of leading it through the dark times to come.”

“Help me, ‘lyssa One Kenobi, you’re my only hope,” I quipped.

“A movie quotation?” Dad asked, and I nodded. “Well, in this case, it seems apropos, whatever it meant in the movie. As much as I hate to place this upon your shoulders, you are the realm’s only hope. Seren, for many reasons, some of which are likely not apparent to you yet, cannot do what you must do.” He drained his glass. “And now, might I suggest that you enjoy the remainder of your evening? The next few days will be challenging.”

“I’m going out for a run,” I announced to Seph and Aerona once I’d changed out of the court finery and taken my hair down. It sounded like a good thing to do; I hadn’t been on a run since my arrival in the elf realm. Oh, I’d run several times, but running because you have to get somewhere fast, or because a legendary grizzly bear is chasing you, is vastly different from jogging along just because you can.

“Okay, let me change to my running clothes. It will only be a—” Seph started, but I interrupted her with both my voice and my gesture.

“No. Please, I need—I’m not certain what I need, exactly, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t involve my cousin and her wolverine and my guard loping along with me. I’m sorry, Aerona, but I need to go out by myself.”

I was shocked to see her nod, and then she grinned. “I do believe your father would approve, at this point,” she said, and then she pulled a dagger from one of her many hiding places and held it out to me. “Please, though, take this along with that pendant of yours. You never know which might be more useful if either is needed.”

I hefted the knife. It felt—professional. The handle was smooth, its leather turned dark in stripes from a great deal of handling. The blade, somewhere around eight inches long, was simple, thin, and looked incredibly sharp on both edges. Even the point at its tip looked clean and precise. I raised a hand to the blade to test its sharpness.

“Don’t!” she interrupted, and then grabbed the hand that was apparently headed for a slashing. “Sorry, Princess, but you still have some to learn about weaponry. You test a blade by flicking your finger sideways across it, not long ways. A sharp blade will feel—like this,” and she demonstrated and then gestured for me to copy. I did, flipping the pad of my thumb gently across the sharpness of the blade and feeling the little ting it made on what seemed like a single ridge of molecules.

“Thank you,” I said, and then looked to slip it under my belt. Once again Aerona sprang to my rescue, showing me how to fold a scrap of leather into a pouch to protect the belt, the clothes, and my underlying skin from the incredibly sharp edges.

I pulled the knife Keion gave me for Christmas out of a drawer and showed it to her.

“That is a nice piece of work,” she complimented it. “But it is intended to go under boots, not those tennie things you are so fond of wearing. Keep mine instead for the time being.”

“If you need me, tell the trees,” Seph said as I left. Confused, I nodded anyway, assuming I’d figure out what that ranger mumbo-jumbo meant if I needed to.