The tree-high golden gate parted as we approached, though no elvenborn stood in sight.
Finn had prepared me for what elves were like, or rather, what they were capable of. Like the mageborn, they were gifted with magic, though it answered to them differently. Elvenborn had heightened senses, an attunement to the elements, and, apparently, some measure of control over them. Their healing abilities were said to be legendary, as were the immortal lifespans.
The senses were something I’d already felt through the velmoria flowers, the source of the famous elven dust.
Beyond the gates, the palace’s doorway loomed, a round clock set above its arch, its marble base inlaid with gold numbers. There were no hands.
“What is the point of the clock if you cannot tell the time?” I asked.
“An immortal joke,” Reagan replied in his deadpan voice. “They are not gifted with a good sense of humour here.”
I huffed a laugh. “Or humility,” I murmured, catching the faint twitch in the corner of his mouth.
“You shouldn’t point that out inside,” Finn chimed in, the beautiful planes of his face remaining hard.
“Right,” I murmured, scanning the courtyard for anyone who might have overheard us. There was no one in sight, though that didn’t mean much.
I reminded myself that I was meant to step into the role of emissary again and carry myself like a staff member, an experienced mageborn. Like donning a cloak.
Footsteps approached from the front entrance. The lacquered doors swung inward.
If I had ever confused the mageborn with humans, I would never make the same mistake with elves. The woman who stepped out was strikingly tall, her limbs long and lean, her skin a deep raisin-purple shade. Her white hair reached her shoulders, pointed ears peeking from the loose strands, and her scarlet silk dress appeared to be made of two separate pieces, with openings along her hips and stomach.
I glanced down at my maroon plaid skirt and the white blouse beneath my cloak. Beside her, I couldn’t have looked more misplaced.
“Welcome to Banfgaard, Mage Lord,” the woman said in a sultry voice, studying us. “Is this the entirety of your party?”
“Yes,” Reagan answered, with Finn and me flanking him. “This is all of us.”
“Good to see you too, Maith,” Finn greeted, his face rearranged in casual mischief now.
“Couldn’t say the same, Atkus,” she replied.
Finn only smirked.
She turned to me as we reached the marble steps.
“Jane. Emissary,” I said. “Thank you for the invitation.”
Her grey eyes narrowed in cool assessment. “Don’t thank me.”
She pivoted on her heel and led us into a bright foyer. I glanced sidelong at Finn as we followed, trying to gauge her authority.
“What is with the cold treatment, Maith?” Finn drawled. “Didn’t want to see us?”
She cast him a cool look over her shoulder. “Lord Eldar was the only one who wished to see you. The rest of the court preferred only the Mage Lord.”
“I was hoping you wanted to see me too,” he coaxed, still flirting.
“Oh, I’m sure they all do,” Reagan supplied coolly, his tone edged with a hint of warning.
Maith turned to him, her disdain vanishing behind a dutiful dip of her chin. Finn, on the other hand, levelled Reagan with a pointed look.
The foyer opened into rows of ivory marble pillars, their bases adorned with gilded beasts and winged figures. Beyond them, the space lay open to the sky. Sunlight poured through the openings, catching on cascades of greenery that trailed in languid drapes. Water ran in narrow channels along both sides of the corridor at our feet, turquoise and glimmering.
As I took in the place, Finn and Reagan exchanged muted glances.
“It’s Maith, right?” I said, drawing her attention to me. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is your position here? And how do you know Finn?”
