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The next day, Anthea’s side was worse, the salve Thalion had given her helped a little, and he had assured that no bones were broken, but it even hurt to breath. So when she heard a knock on her door, she sighed and gave a grumpy “Come in.”
Beldor opened her door, a faint smile on his face. The morning light caught the jagged scar on his face, highlighting its pink hue against his tanned skin. He was dressed in his usual attire, a moss-toned tunic and brown leather breeches, his brown hair swept back from his forehead in a single braid.
“Good morning,” he greeted her. “No training for you today. You took quite a tumble yesterday.
Anthea rolled her eyes at him. “Why are you here at this ungodly hour?” she retorted, her tone light. “I haven’t even had time to find my will to live yet.”
His smile grew slightly at her jest, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. We are simply paying a visit to the castle’s tailor. Your oversized clothing has become a safety concern in the training grounds. Cannot have you falling more than you already do.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, but couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at her lips. “For your information, I’ve only ever fallen when it was strategically beneficial.”
Beldor’s laughter echoed in the stone corridor, a rich, melodious sound that filled the space around them.
Beldor led Anthea back to her chambers. As they stepped into the spacious room, the early afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long, lacy shadows on the polished wooden floor. The silken gray drapes billowed gently from the draft coming from the open window. The castle’s tailor had told her the clothes would be ready in a couple of days. Anthea was grateful for the thoughtfulness of the tailor. She had asked about Anthea’s preferences in her clothes.
She had almost forgotten how good it felt to have a choice in what she would be wearing, how good it felt having this tiny bit of control. Another thing she had taken for granted?—
They had also taken a detour to Thalion—he had checked her side, wanting to make sure it was healing properly. The healer had told her to rest for a couple of days before resuming any rigorous activity. Anthea wasn’t sad about it; it gave her time. Time to process Eldrion’s words, and how his tender touch on her bruise had made her feel.
“I will bring your clothes as soon as they’re ready,” Beldor told her as he stepped to the door. With a final nod, he turned and disappeared down the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.
Anthea sat down at her table.
While they had been away someone had brought food—a stew, steaming and inviting, with soft bread, was waiting for her alongside a stack of ancient, leather-bound books. Anthea wasted no time digging in, her stomach grumbling in anticipation.
Once she had eaten her fill, she turned her attention to the pile of books. Dusty and worn—these were the historical accounts of the War of the Races.
She opened the first book, its spine making a soft cracking noise. The pages were thick and yellowed from age. She settled into the cushioned dark green armchair by the window.
The introduction offered a brief overview of the times leading up to the War—she was surprised to learn that before the first war, the elves kept mostly to their own courts. Trade agreements, intermittent conflicts, and occasional political marriages formed the bulk of their interactions. It had been king Aegonar I of the Crimson court who had recognized the coming threat and foresaw the need for a unified front. Aegonar I had called for a meeting of leaders from all major elven courts.
Anthea had to read the next section at least three times, she just couldn’t believe her eyes: The Obsidian court, more specifically king Moranel of the Obsidian court had been the first to arrive—a demonstration of the longstanding bond between the two courts. Apparently the two kings had been great friends since their early youth. It was hard for Anthea to imagine a time when these two courts were close allies or close friends. She continued reading, making a mental note to ask about it from Beldor.
Hours seemed to melt away as Anthea read on, delving deeper into the times during the last war. Only the dimming light and the gentle rumble of her stomach reminded her of the world outside the books.
As she burrowed into the chronicles of the war for the following two days, the might and magic of the elven alliance painted a terrifying picture. Their unified forces, their unparalleled magic, their disciplined warriors, and their combined centuries of tactics and strategies, all seemingly tipped the scales heavily in their favor.
The alliance between humans and the last remaining dragons had come as a surprise to Anthea. The mighty creatures had brought not only immense physical strength and aerial advantage but also an intangible morale boost to the human troops. Anthea’s eyes widened with every passage she read about the dragons, majestic and fearsome creatures who dominated the skies and struck terror into the hearts of even the bravest warriors. Their scales, as tough as the strongest metals, deflected arrows, while their fiery breaths could lay waste to entire battalions. It became apparent: dragons, although not numerous, had been game-changers in the war.
The elves had not been without dragons entirely; while considerably fewer in numbers, they had their own unique abilities. Being in close proximity to elven magic for centuries, these dragons had learned to harness the arcane energies around them. The Iron court’s two dragons, for instance, could cloak themselves in shadows, becoming invisible to the naked eye. The dragon allied with the Nephrite court was said to have the ability to manipulate the very air it was soaring through, bringing a storm with it to ensnare and attack enemies. The dragons of the Azure court, living near vast bodies of water, could summon massive tidal waves and control water in its many forms.
But even with these abilities, the elven forces had faced a significant challenge. The sheer numbers and combined might of human-aligned dragons made every battle a test of strategy, valor, and endurance. Anthea read about sieges that lasted months, with both sides suffering massive losses.
One particular account, a battle at Dawn's Ridge where the forces of humans and elves clashed, was especially deadly for both sides. Despite the elven alliance’s best efforts, the humans, with their dragons, seemed poised to win. But at the battle’s climax, a combined forces of the elven mages managed to bind the energies of the dragons, creating a colossal surge of power that trapped the dragons in their humanoid forms, turning the tide of the war.
Both sides had suffered immense casualties, and it had taken some time before the war had officially ended—but after the loss of the dragon forces, the human kingdoms were dealt with brutality by the remaining elven forces. Two human kings had been executed, publicly and brutally, torn apart piece by piece. However, Queen Illiyara of one of the smaller kingdoms had disappeared.
Anthea felt a chill run down her spine—the tone of the material had turned grisly. The victorious elves had issued edicts dealing with the remaining humans. These decrees were ruthless, prescribing horrendous violence, seemingly calculated to break the collective spirit of an entire race. The descriptions of brutality, both magical and physical, left landscapes scarred with violated bodies. As she read on, the creeping sense of horror was hard to shake off.
Deep into the gruesome accounts, Anthea barely registered the soft creak of the door. It wasn’t until Beldor’s familiar voice echoed in the room that she snapped back to reality. She looked up to see him standing by the entrance, a bundle of neatly folded clothes cradled in his arms. His eyes narrowed slightly as they landed on her, noting her distressed expression.
“What now?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Anthea shook her head slightly. But then, acting on an impulse, she asked, “How old are you, Beldor?”
Beldor crossed the room in a few strides, setting the pile of clothes gently onto on of the chairs. “Why do you ask?” he replied cautiously, his green eyes probing hers.
With a gesture at the book lying open in her lap, she silently invited him to read. The elven warrior followed her direction, his eyes falling on the open pages. As he scanned the lines, his face turned somber.
