Page 20 of A Legacy of the Light

“Hmmm . . . I’m still not one hundred percent certain, but you’ve done nothing but show me kindness and answer my six thousand questions about your people and shared what feels like royal secrets that could get me killed, but I’m choosing to believe otherwise.”

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, Tavish goes back to his silence.

After another half an hour of taking in the art, we sit on a wooden bench in the middle of the room as we wait for the king to finish his meeting. The sun shifts to early afternoon in the sky.

“If Murdoch was killed one hundred and fifty years ago and your dad has ruled ever since, how old does that make you?”

Tavish smiles, leans back on his hands and scans my face before answering. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask that. I was ten years of age when the attack happened.”

I snap my head back in his direction, my gaze having drifted round the room. “That would make you one hundred and sixty!”

“Yes it would. Quick math from you there,” he winks at me.

“But you don’t look much older than me!” I balk.

“Seelie age like mortals until we reach twenty-five and then our aging slows. One year of Seelie life is equal to thirty of your human ones. Our slow-aging is tied to the magic of Elfayne. Only someone who can wield would be able to live in the mortal world with long life. If a Seelie without wielding power were to enter the mortal realm, they would age and die very quickly depending on how old they were.”

“So that’s why you were able to cross the barrier last week? Because you can wield?”

“Indeed.” He checks the time on a clock hung on the far wall and stands from the bench, offering me his hand. “It’s time to go and meet my father. Are you ready?”

I slip my hand in his and rise to my feet, ignoring the tingling sensation shooting up my arm. I don’t want to admit this, but Tavish isn’t a terrible person. I’m fairly certain that I’ve not been kidnapped by him. He seems just as clueless as me as to how I got here. I’m trying to keep my wits about me and see behind any facade I might be presented with, but something feels right about this place, about the information I’ve heard, and about Tavish.

Chapter 7

Tavish leads me out of the gallery and back down the hall into the rounded room. He explains this is the palace’s central point and all paths lead here, except the dungeons. He takes a hallway opposite the one we’ve just exited. This one is much wider than the others we’ve been down so far. Each side has open archways. The only privacy is offered by thick red curtains held open either side of the chambers with golden rope attached to the wall. Beyond them lie rooms of various sizes scattered with cushions, sofas and chaises in deep jewel tones and low-lying tables.

This is obviously a space for entertaining. We exit through another set of heavy curtains and into a massive hall with golden doors ahead of us. The floor changes from stone to gold-flecked marble. There are four large pillars made of the same material at each corner leading up to a domed ceiling made of glass, spanning one end to the other. The space is the size of a football field and the sun shines in through the ceiling directly onto the doors ahead of us, bathing the entire massive space in warm light.

There are more people here, too, milling around dressed in finely cut clothing that look like they belong in a period drama. A few of them glance in our direction. The ladies among them look to Tavish first with eager expressions before their gazes find me and distaste curls their delicate features.

Ignoring them, I turn in a circle, taking in the grand room.

Noticing my interest, Tavish comments, “this is the ballroom. Those doors at the end lead out into the courtyard. My father holds court in here most days, as you can see, and in the throne room beyond those golden doors. We’ll be summoned into there when he’s ready.”

As if Tavish speaking alerted the king of our arrival, the golden doors swing open and six armed guards in silver armor step through, indicating we are to enter. Tavish goes first and I follow a few steps behind, curious eyes following us as we enter.

The throne room is adorned with the same gold-flecked marble and pillars on each side of the room. Small alcoves line the left side, and huge windows sit between each pillar on the right.

A glass ceiling provides most of the light. Ahead of us, raised on a marble dais, King Raghnall sits on a golden throne that looks to be breaking apart. Deep cracks and grooves have formed all across the intricate design. Above his head, carved into the gold, is the Celtic tree I assume is the royal symbol, bearing resemblance to the tree in my pendant. A huge white banner, with the same emblem embroidered in gold, covers most of the wall behind the king. A wooden door sits each side of the dais.

Behind the king to his left, stands a Seelie dressed in brown pants and a matching jacket, with dark auburn hair and dark beady eyes that watch us as we cross the room. He lifts his chin as we approach and looks down at me over the length of his crooked nose. Nothing about this man is inviting and his stare makes me pause for a step.

Tavish stops a meter away from the marble steps leading up to the throne and bows at the waist.

“Father, may I present Elsie Aitken.”

He rises and gestures towards me. “Elsie, this is His Royal Majesty, King Raghnall of Elfayne. And his advisor, Hume.”

I copy Tavish and bow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty. I can’t thank you and your son enough for your hospitality towards me.”

As I bow, the pendant swings forwards and a sudden gasp from the king makes me glance up at him. He has dark hair, shorter than Tavish’s but a similar shade of brown, and his eyes are a deeper shade of hazel with the same black outer ring. Raghnall could pass as Tavish’s older brother. But where Tavish has a softness to him, King Raghnall’s face is hard and unforgiving. A brutal scar runs down his right cheek and his eyebrows are set in a scowl.

He’s dressed in deep blue pants and a longline jacket in the same color with a loose white shirt underneath. Like his son, the king is armed. A black belt around his waist holds a sword and a dagger. He stares at the pendant with gleaming eyes as he rises from his seat. He’s at least as tall as his son. Did they put something in the food here to make the men so tall?

I stand up straight, tucking the pendant back into the front of my shirt. As King Raghnall takes a step toward me, he looks at my face and smiles politely, but it doesn’t quite touch his cold eyes.