AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The words had barely left his tongue before the world faded into abysmal black.
Chapter15
The Storyteller
“Stefan?”
My brother as I remembered him stood over me, smoke billowing from the paper herb roll between his teeth.
“Time to tell the tale, little one. Send them on their path.”
I cracked my eyes and woke to the dim light of a rounded throne room. Vines of silver moonvane lined the walls, and an oblong table had been arranged in the center. At one end sat a woman with satin dark hair, pointed ears, and night-black eyes. The Night Folk queen.
This was my Cursed King’s grandmother. How did I know it? It would’ve been right after the shift of the true kingdom. A time when worlds began anew with altered histories, and tensions, and enemies.
When mortals and Night Folk determined they were damned to hatred of each other.
Where were my Golden King’s folk? When the worlds shifted, did they fall backward, did they find youth again? Did they live in the turns where their fate could most likely align with the new tale that broke the kingdoms?
I shook away my curiosity and focused on the scene in front of me.
At the other end of the table was a man with icy pale hair, a russet beard, and sharp, cold eyes. His scalp was shaved on the sides, and gold chains and rings glittered around his neck and fingers. A small boy, no older than seven, stood stalwart at his side, dressed in a fur-lined tunic and boots that curled at the toes.
Near the Night Folk queen was another boy. Skin like brown soil, eyes dark like midnight, and sharp ears pierced in black bone studs.
“King Jon,” the Night Folk queen said, lacing her fingers over her belly. “We have offered our walls for turns. We want for nothing but peace between our people.”
“Peace with Night Folk?” The pale king chuckled. “How could we have peace when your fury coats these walls and have taken from our people all to keep the finer resources for yourselves? You do all this for the simple fact that we do not have the magic in our blood. Do not play games; you will bring us to your courts, only to rule over us.”
“Untrue.” The queen’s full lips pinched. She snapped her fingers and a bone-thin fae attendant scurried to her, bowing at the waist, as he held out a satin pillow. “In fact, we offer a gift of equality.”
My eyes widened. Twin battle axes were atop the pillow. The queen selected one, inspecting the sharp curve of the blade. “Twin weapons of equal strength. Forged from the fury in this soil. We wish our Timoran cousins to take one, a symbol of our friendship.”
King Jon slumped in his chair, sneering. “A single blade will not feed hundreds of hunters, it will not fill the bellies of children huddled in the snow.”
“No.” The queen placed the axe on the table. “But our crops are hearty, our furs are heavy, and our lands are open. I urge you to reconsider joining us, for there are omens of the Norns should you refuse.”
Her dark gaze landed on me. I swallowed the thickness in my throat when dozens of curious courtier eyes did the same.
“Tell them, little one,” Stefan said. He winked as though he knew some grand secret.
“Anneli, that was what you called yourself, yes?”
I nodded before I could think better of it. Truth be told, it was though I knew this conversation by heart. I’d given her my mother’s name, and I did not know why I’d not used my own.
The Night Folk queen smiled and beckoned me forward. “Speak of the power forged in these blades.”
My consciousness seemed to be locked in another body, another time. I had no power to refuse, no strength to keep my feet from stepping into the center of the room. In truth, I did not feel horribly like myself. My body was not as thin and knobby. My shoulders were straight, and the constant prickle of apprehension on the back of my neck was absent.
In the reflection of a grand window, the only parts of me that seemed the same were the braids of my golden hair.
I said nothing and slipped my hand into a satchel strung over my shoulder. From inside, I removed a goose-feather quill and a glass inkwell brimming in mahogany ink. Somewhere in the distance a voice hummed. The sound of it soothed my heart.
I am searching for something. Each step brings me closer.I let out a breath, repeating the words in my mind as I began to write a tale of hatred, of battle and blood. Of a people who would one day unite after suffering.
Pinched between my fingers, I held the parchment over an open flame. Too far to burn, but near enough it would take a simple flick to turn the tale to ash, then faced the suspicious glare of the ancient Timoran king.
“Find friendship today and you may walk a kinder path. Refuse, and you will be lost in a way you cannot understand.”
