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“Star-singer, it may be a trap—” a deeper voice says in a patronizing tone, but the first man cuts him off.
“Surely you can deal with one tuath woman if she proves treacherous,” he says calmly. “Bring them in and take them to Falamar.”
A star-singer?There are so few priests of the Eternal left, and I hadn’t realized any remained at Kara Davonashi. Another bit of hope flares to life within me. The elven priests like to stay outside of political games. It has been a long time since I’ve encountered a star-singer, but they’ve proven friends to me before.
One of the gates shudders and groans as its swings open on its great iron hinges. Orange torchlight cuts a path across the plateau. I slip through the narrow opening and into the courtyard.
Dozens of soldiers stand just inside, weapons at the ready. They track my slightest movement as though I’m a wild animal who might pounce at any moment. There’s no sign of the kind-voiced priest. Instead, a broad-shouldered man in a black and red captain’s tunic descends a staircase beside the gates, a broadsword flashing in one hand. He looks at me with eyes narrowed in suspicion. I brace myself to appeal to his mercy again.
But when he sees Keliveth, he blanches. Without a word, he whisks us through the courtyard and into the hall beyond. The other soldiers hastily clear a path and then fall into formation behind us. By the time we step over the threshold of the fortress’s central building, dozens of people trail behind, clamoring to catch a glimpse of us.
The hallways of the fortress turn to a blur of torchlight and tramping boots. My body aches with exhaustion and it takes all my focus to keep hold of Keliveth. Yet when two of the soldiers try to lift him from my arms I instinctively jerk away and bare my fangs. The men recoil with wide eyes and scurry back to their places in marching formation.
I haven’t seen the inside of this fortress in decades, but I still recognize the way through the maze of outer passageways and up the wide staircase that leads to the central halls. Numb relief washes over me as we turn toward the wing that holds the king’s council chambers. Keliveth is still breathing. We might have made it in time. He might have a chance.
At last, we push through a large wooden door carved with the dragon motifs of the king. Shouts of surprise surround me as I burst in ahead of the captain. I nearly cry out in relief as I recognize King Falamar’s dark green hair and immaculate white and gold robes among the small cluster of regal-looking men and women inside the council chamber.
All of them are dressed for battle, complete with shirts of finely wrought chain mail over their tunics. They wear elegantly wrought longswords and knives sheathed at their sides, and their long hair is secured back in braids, revealing the slender points of their ears. Do they believe battle will descend on them at any moment? Perhaps.
They stand around a dark wood table strewn with maps and charts covered with markings of strategy. I sweep the papers onto the floor, drawing a few yelps of protest from the elves, and lay Keliveth gently on the wooden surface.
“He’s been stabbed. Please help him,” I say, directing my words at Falamar.
The king lets loose a string of oaths as he rounds the table toward us. The others gape, maybe trying to understand what they’re seeing. Falamar turns to the captain and orders him to withdraw. The door of the council chamber slams shut.
I’m alone with the most powerful elves in Kara Davonashi. A quick glance over the company sends a fresh wave of dismay over me. All five of Falamar’s advisors are here, and they look at me as if they want to skewer me.
Falamar carefully shifts one of Keliveth’s seaweed bandages and prods the wound beneath. The color drains from the king’s face. “Damn it, Keliveth,” he mutters. “I don’t have time for this. Why couldn’t you listen to sense?”
A tall man wearing the spring green robes of the noble Thëalanin family strides over and looks down at me, his gray eyes filled with disdain. “Why did you bring him here, woman?” He speaks in slow, thundering syllables, as if he thinks I won’t understand him otherwise. “We have an infirmary for a reason.”
“Yes, full of ordinary healers,” I say, looking him hard in the eye until he flinches. “Keliveth needs magic. The knowledge of healing runes is in the keeping of your nobility alone, is it not?”
Lord Thëalanin gives a short laugh. He turns to the other lords and ladies and speaks in the archaic Selistarin dialect. “Look at that—the creature knows something.”
Ire burns through me, but I force myself not to react. Of course they would assume a tuath wouldn’t know the ancient form of their language. For now I’d rather let them believe it. I want to know what they will say when they think I can’t understand them.
A small-statured noblewoman with long lavender hair steps forward to get a look at Keliveth. She draws back with a gasp of horror. “What have you done to him?”
I turn on her with a glare, at first thinking she believes the wounds are my doing. Then I realize she’s pointing to the tattoo on Keliveth’s left forearm.
“He took those markings willingly,” I tell her. “The runes keep him alive in the sea.”
“Apparently they are not very effective.” Lord Thëalanin wedges himself between Keliveth and Falamar and gives the king a patronizing look. “Your majesty, you knew the Dalzana’s foolish scheme would never work.”
“Yes, but I thought he would come to his senses and give it up, not get himself killed!” Falamar pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“He’s not dead yet,” I say flatly.
“He’s most of the way there.” Falamar steps back from Keliveth and folds his arms. “Those wounds are deep, and he’s lost a lot of blood,” he says gruffly. “I can try to save him, but I cannot make any promises about the outcome.”
“Then try. Quickly.” I look at him in expectation.
The king just stands there, his mouth pressed into a thin line. A chill whispers over me as his gaze turns from Keliveth to the nobles. His eyebrows raise in a silent question.
“Your majesty, why are you hesitating?” I demand, but it’s as if I’ve become invisible.
Lord Thëalanin rests his hand on Falamar’s shoulder and speaks again in Selistarin. “Perhaps those savages have done us a favor.”
