Page 45 of Death Will Follow

“Elves.”

Again, Nova twisted her face toward Callan for confirmation, her mouth falling open in delighted surprise.

“So the legends say.” Callan smiled faintly, shaking his head at the glee written plain on her face.

“I’ve never seen an elf.” Nova sat up straight and crisscrossed her legs, ever hungry for a faerie story.

“Nor have I,” Bryn said.

“Nor has anyone,” Callan added. “The race of elves died out long ago.”

“So the legends say.” Bryn smirked.

Callan shook his head again and stirred the fire with a stick, sending sparks flying into the sky.

“Would one of you kindly put me out of my misery and share these legends with me?” Nova glanced back and forth between her companions, growing impatient that the two of them possessed a knowledge she did not, like a shared secret.

Callan held out a hand and bowed his head to Bryn, deferring to her.

“First came the gods, of course,” Bryn began. “Together, they created the world and the elements. For a time, that endeavor entertained them. But it wasn’t long before they tired of one another’s company and sought to create new life.”

“Elves,” Nova ventured.

“Elves,” Bryn said, nodding. “The legends say the elves weren’t so different from the gods. Their lives spanned many thousands of years, and they, too, could create life. The elves were wyldwielders with the ability to conjure plants and make them grow. But they were also earthshapers. Splitting the ground. Moving mountains. They settled in what is now called Maedwen.”

Suddenly, Bryn’s eyes went wide, and Nova tilted her head. The breeze had stilled. The faint chirping of frogs had gone quiet. She heard nothing apart from the crackling of the fire. It was as if the forest itself was listening to the tale.

“Though the gods created them,” Bryn continued after a moment, “the elves came to worship not the heavens, but the earth. They buried their dead beneath the ground, the sacred sites marked with burial mounds.”

A chill ran through Nova at the memory of the massive mound of earth and the whispering voice in her vision. Drawing her cloak closed over her chest, she settled against Callan’s side once again, grateful for his warmth as he draped his own cloak around her.

“Why bury them?” Nova asked.

“They believed it returned them to Cyraelian.” Bryn rolled her shoulders, stretched out on the ground, and tucked her hands behind her head, her tale concluded.

Callan tossed a large log onto the fire, then repositioned himself to lie on his back as well, tugging gently on Nova’s arm for her to join him. She laid her head in the crook of his shoulder, gazing up at the clear sky and the glinting sea of stars, visible for the first time since they’d entered the Spring Court.

“What is Cyraelian?” she whispered, tilting her face toward his. The word sounded vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t imagine where she might have heard it uttered.

Callan’s heart beat slow and steady beneath her ear. He yawned and tightened his arm around her.

“It’s their word for the After Realm,” he mumbled, words slow and syrupy.

Nova fought the pull. Tried to look at the stars. To listen for the sounds of mischievous sprites. But, before long, sleep won out, and she drifted off as well.

The rains resumed shortly after they rode out of camp the following morning, thankfully more of a drizzle than anything. Nova was grateful to only look like a half-drowned rat by the time they finally reached the city surrounding the Maedwen Estate that evening.

A massive fortification of gray granite rose out of the ground before them, metal spikes fixed at intervals lining the top. A wide moat surrounded the wall, the water not stagnant but rushing softly like a creek. They approached the edge of the moat with Bryn leading the way. Nova and Callan brought their horses to a halt side by side slightly behind hers. They kept their hoods pulled low as Bryn whistled and waved a hand, signaling the guards who kept watch behind a small opening near the top of the wall. One guard poked her head out and looked down on them.

“What’s your business in Maedwen?” the guard shouted.

Bryn tapped her forehead in the customary greeting. Callan followed suit, and Nova clumsily attempted the gesture as well.

“We seek an audience with the Noble Lord,” Bryn explained, pitching her voice to be heard over the distance and the patter of the rain.

“Are you expected?”

A second guard emerged at the top of the wall, setting light to several mounted torches, the firelight banishing the dark and illuminating Bryn.