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“I was born many centuries after the War,” he confessed after a moment of silence. “I am just short of 464 years.” His gaze lingered on the book, a faraway look in his eyes. “It was a dark time, one many of us would rather not think about.”
It was another moment before Anthea gathered herself enough to ask her next question. “And Eldrion? How old is he?”
Beldor frowned slightly, “Eldrion . . . he is older than I am. He was born just after the first rebellion.” His tone carried an undertone of hesitance, as if he was unsure if he should be telling her this.
“The first rebellion?” Aegonar had briefly mentioned it without giving any further information.
“After the War of the Races and the elven conflicts that followed,” Beldor began, “the Obsidian court saw an opportunity. With their established dominance, they sought absolute control over the other elven courts. High King Ceidon was particularly ambitious. To him, alliances made in battle weren’t enough; he aimed to bind the courts through blood. He proposed a union between his eldest son Prince Taranath and Princess Elythia of the Nephrite court. It was a strategic move, of course. Marriage between the courts would’ve ensured a deeper allegiance,” Beldor explained, his gaze distant. “But King Valassar, in a bold move, refused.”
“Why did he refuse? Was it a matter of pride?”
Beldor shook his head. “It was love, Anthea. Elythia had already given her heart to another, and her father, respecting her wishes, dared to defy the powerful Obsidian court—the decision was costly.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Ceidon declared it an insult, seeing it as an opportunity to make an example out of the Nephrite court. What followed were brutal armed conflicts between the two. But as the dust settled, an unexpected revelation came to light.”
Anthea leaned in closer.
Beldor’s eyes shimmered with a hint of sadness. “By the end of the conflict, Princess Elythia was already pregnant with the child of the male she loved. So, even in their victory, Prince Taranath could not have her. In a show of power, High King Ceidon executed King Valassar for his defiance,” Beldor said with a sigh. “That was when Galodir ascended to the throne.”
“What happened to the princess after that? To Elythia?”
“Elythia survived. Broken-hearted but resolute, she came to the Halls of the Jewels with her newborn.”
There was a heavy pause before Anthea spoke. “And the father of her child?”
“He was a brave warrior, fighting for the Nephrite court. Sadly, he met his end in the final battles between the Nephrite and Obsidian armies.”
“So, with Princess Synthia?—”
“They have not forgotten. And Taranath . . . he is the kind who never lets go of a grudge. It is said he still holds it against the Nephrite court for denying him what he believed was promised to him all those years ago.” Beldor sighed, running his fingers over a particularly gruesome passage in the book. “Elves have long lives, Anthea. For many, especially those in power, past grievances can linger and fester. Some wounds never truly heal, especially if one refuses to let them. And Taranath, he’s never been one to forgive or forget.”
The next morning, Beldor arrived to take Anthea to her training session with Eldrion, having had a couple of days to rest. Anthea’s side was much better and Thalion had cleared her for training. She was wearing her new, fitted training leathers.
“Coming of age for us is not marked merely by age,” Beldor explained, as they strolled down the castle’s corridors, the braid in his hair swaying lightly as he moved. “It also involves a deep understanding of our responsibilities to the society and the court we belong to. For many, this understanding and acceptance comes around the age of hundred to hundred and fifty.”
Her brown eyes flickered with curiosity as she glanced at Beldor. “So, in elven standards, I’m still considered . . . a child?” she asked.
Beldor chuckled lightly, an amused smile gracing his lips. “I wouldn’t say child,” he replied, his voice carrying a teasing lilt. “More like a rebellious youth, perhaps.”
Anthea let out a huff, rolling her eyes at his remark. “And yet you wondered why I was unwed at the ripe old age of thirty,” she said, remembering his reaction to her age the day before. After the discussion about the first rebellion they had delved back onto more mundane topics.
Beldor let out a soft chuckle, his eyes sparkling with a teasing glint. “Well, it is because I am aware humans have a shorter lifespan than elves,” he explained, a playful smirk adorning his lips. “A human woman of thirty is comparable to an elven female in her four hundred fifties, if not older.”
Anthea’s face contorted into an exaggerated expression of horror. “Four hundred fifties? I don’t look a day over two hundred, Beldor.” She placed a hand over her heart dramatically, feigning shock and dismay, eliciting another round of hearty laughter from him.
Their laughter still echoed around the silent cavern as they neared the training grounds. But as her gaze landed on Eldrion, the smile died on her lips.
The tall elf stood there waiting, his posture alert and authoritative. His piercing eyes studied them, a flicker of curiosity dancing in their gray depths.
“We were just discussing human and elven customs, El.” Beldor tossed Anthea a sidelong glance, his smirk broadening into a full-blown smile. “Anthea here is horrified at the thought of being equivalent to an elven lady in her four hundred fifties.”
Eldrion’s eyebrows rose at that, a shadow of a smile gracing his lips. “Is that so?” he murmured, his eyes meeting Anthea’s, sparking an unexpected warmth on her cheeks. The way he looked at her, it felt like he was seeing beyond her surface, reaching into her soul.
“I was merely clarifying I don’t look a day over two hundred,” she said, a touch of defiance in her voice. The brief silence that followed was disrupted by a soft chuckle from Eldrion, the first Anthea had ever heard from him. It was a low, husky sound that rendered her momentarily speechless.
“Very well,” he said, his lips curved into a small smile. “In any case, shall we begin today’s training?”
37
Eldrion took up a wooden sword and handed her another, a slightly smaller one. The heft of the weapon in her hand was unfamiliar, its weight a foreign sensation. He had told her the day before they would start training with weapons soon. Anthea hadn’t realized it would be that soon?—
