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She had tried, there in the dungeon as she and Farrendel waited for rescue. She had healed Farrendel over and over again, giving him all the strength she could. She had even broken her own feet in an attempt to rescue him.
But, somehow, even that did not seem like enough. It did not undo the pain and the consequences of what she had done.
Prince Rharreth gave a tug on their clasped hands. “We are here. Welcome to Osmana.”
Melantha glanced up and barely stifled her gasp.
The sheer stone wall of Osmana rose far above them, spanning between the massive towers built into the mountains on either side of the valley. The gates were made of large blocks of stone, and only the seam where the doors met the wall and the fact that the trail ended at their base showed that they were gates.
Prince Rharreth raised his hand and pressed his palm to the gates. They swung open with a groan of shifting rock against rock, revealing a tunnel through the fifty-foot wide wall.
Melantha strode at his side through the tunnel and resisted the urge to gape as they stepped back into the sunlight.
Stone houses sprawled up the mountainsides, built into the mountain themselves. The houses were arranged in neat rows, and trolls bustled along the main road in the center of the valley and along the side streets. As Prince Rharreth and Melantha strode by, they paused to stare or glare. A few even spat on the ground and muttered, and Melantha guessed it was probably something derogatory about her.
At the far end of the valley, a large residence rose out of the mountainside. It was not quite a castle, though mansion seemed like too tame a word for it. It was a well-fortified palace, the type that seemed to fit these warrior trolls. The front walls were grown out of the mountainside, with the rest of it melded into the mountain itself so that it was hard to tell what was a mountain peak and what was a troll-created spire.
Prince Rharreth gestured to the palace. “That is Khagniorth Stronghold, the official residence of the royal family in Osmana.”
“If this is your palace, then what was Gror Grar?” Melantha gestured back the way they had come, toward the ruins of what had once been a fortress on the far mountain. Only a small portion of a single wall remained standing. Farrendel had demolished the rest.
“That was a stronghold for the military, though over the past hundred years, my grandfather, father, and brother lived there more than here in Osmana.” Prince Rharreth’s jaw tightened, and something about his clipped tone told Melantha that there was more to it, but the troll prince was not about to tell her now.
As they passed a group of troll warriors, one of them said something under his breath and spat, the spittle splattering across the cobblestones at Melantha’s feet.
She skidded to a halt just shy of the spit. Heat burned in her chest, and she curled her free hand into a fist. How she longed to be a warrior to defend herself instead of having to stand there like a weakling and take their hatred.
Prince Rharreth tugged her behind him with their joined hands while the elven dagger had appeared in his free hand. Icy magic and snow swirled around his fingers. “Do you wish to challenge me?”
The troll warrior shifted, then backed away. “No, my prince.”
“That’s what I thought.” Prince Rharreth glared at the gathered trolls. “This elf is my wife. She will soon be my queen. Anyone who has a problem with that has a problem with me.”
None of the surrounding trolls stepped forward, and most of them looked away as if they did not dare meet Prince Rharreth’s eyes.
“If that is all, then I have my wedding feast to attend.” Prince Rharreth spun on his heels and marched toward the stronghold.
Melantha trotted to keep up, holding her head high as she passed the staring trolls.
Finally, they stepped through another set of stone doors, though these were decorated with carved designs.
The doors opened into an entry hall that was three stories tall, letting in streams of light from tall windows. Curved openings in the far wall looked like they descended into the mountain itself. Broad stairs led up to another curved opening that must act as the second floor.
Prince Rharreth led the way to the right hand opening into the mountain with his three shield brothers still trailing them.
Melantha braced herself for darkness, using more of her magic to stave off any headache that stone tended to give elves.
Instead, they stepped into an expansive hall tiled with dark granite polished to a shine. Lights twinkled, set into an obsidian ceiling and giving it the impression of a starry night sky. Long tables had been set up with long benches on either side. Many of the tables and benches were already filled, and more trolls were coming in behind Prince Rharreth and Melantha.
Zavni strode around Prince Rharreth and Melantha. He raised his hand and his voice, “Behold, our Prince Rharreth of the royal warrior family of Regdrir!”
Cheers and stomping filled the feasting hall. Some of the warriors, both male and female, pounded the hilts of knives on the tabletops.
Zavni flourished his hand again. “And his bride, Princess Melantha of Tarenhiel!”
The cheers died so quickly they might as well have been strangled. The trolls glared, but none of them spoke. While they did not wish to cheer her, they did not want to offend their king-to-be either.
Prince Rharreth made his way to the long table set on the dais and took a seat in the large, throne-like wooden chair in the center. With her hand still tied to his, Melantha had no choice but to join him, sitting in the slightly smaller chair at his side.
