Silevethiel (16 page)

“You do not need to apologize, Laegon. Your reaction was only natural. Indeed, I would have been concerned if you had responded any differently. No one ever wants to leave someone they care deeply for, especially when they are weak or in danger. Nevertheless, what must be, must be. You and Irewen will make it through these arduous times. And you will both be stronger for it.”

Laegon nodded. “I will speak to Irewen first thing in the morning and tell her the situation.”

“Would you like me to accompany you?”

“Thank you, but no. This is something I must do on my own.”

“I understand.”

“I hope Irewen does,” Laegon replied dismally. He simply couldn’t shake away his dread that she would think he was rescinding his oath.

“If you know her half as well as I think you do, you already know the answer to that remark,” Brandir replied.

Laegon looked deeply into his father’s eyes, desperately trying to convince himself the elf lord’s words were true. “Yes,” he said after a time. “Yes. She will understand.”

Rising from his chair, Brandir held out his hand for his son. “Come,” he said after helping Laegon stand. “It looks as though sleep might finally be catching up to you. Try and enjoy a couple of hours’ rest before dawn. We will continue our discussion after you have spoken to Irewen. I know I do not say this often enough, Laegon, but I am extremely proud of you. Your mother and I could not have asked for a better son.”

The tears finally fell as Laegon threw his arms around his father’s neck, realizing he couldn’t remember the last time they had shared in an embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered in Brandir’s ear.

The older elf returned the gesture, surprised his words had such a profound effect on his son.

“Father?” Laegon asked hesitantly, pulling away from Brandir.

“Yes, Laegon?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, my son.”

The two elves smiled warmly at one another. Then, with one arm wrapped around each other’s back, they slowly made their way out of the sitting room and into a future that neither knew if they were prepared to face.

TEARS STREAMING DOWN HER CHEEKS, IREWEN BURST into her room and threw herself on the lavish bed, burrowing her face in the soft down pillows. Laegon’s words had shattered her heart. It was all she could do to keep her emotions in check until he’d excused himself to meet with his father, leaving her alone in the sitting room. Dazed, she’d sat there for a few moments in utter silence before frantically charging into the hallway and running wildly through the pristine corridors, her pale green skirts billowing frenziedly about her.

How could he do this to me?
The thought was almost as painful as Laegon’s assertion that he wouldn’t be accompanying her on the journey to Lilendvelle. She felt confused, angry, betrayed. He had broken his oath.

Rolling onto her back, she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She didn’t know whether to scream in irritation or continue to cry from the heartache. “He promised he would always be here for me!” The words were out of her mouth before she even realized she’d spoken; her voice was quiet and thick with fury. “He swore he would follow whichever road I chose!”

“Aye, my child, that he did.”

The sound of a silky female voice invading her space startled Irewen. She hastily twisted into a sitting position on the bed. Holding her hand to her heart to calm her nerves, she stared in admiration at the regal elf standing in the doorway.

Irewen had never seen a woman as beautiful as the elf. Hers was a simplistic and almost innocent beauty enhanced by delicately flawless skin the color of honeyed cream. Her soft facial features were perfectly balanced. Luminous dark brown hair fell gracefully to her slender waist, and her eyes, the most exquisite rich golden amber, peered from beneath stunningly long eyelashes. Her simple pure white gown, embellished with only a silver braid around the neck and waistline, made her look angelic. Irewen had difficulty believing this woman wasn’t simply a figment of her imagination.

Heavens,
Irewen mused,
she could make even the most glamorous woman feel dowdy and appallingly unattractive.
She shook her head, realizing she’d been rudely gaping at the elf. “Forgive me,” she said quietly, averting her gaze. “I did not mean to stare.”

Smiling sweetly, the elf raised her hand dismissively. “That is quite all right, Irewen. I should have spoken sooner. I forget that others’ ears are not trained to hear my people’s coming.”

Irewen had no idea what she was talking about and simply nodded.

“I am Avelindiel,” the elf continued, apparently unconcerned by Irewen’s confusion. “I am Laegon’s mother.”

Irewen’s heart leapt to her throat as she jumped to her feet.
What will her reaction be to the disgruntled words I spoke against her son?
Feeling horrifically awkward, she curtsied before the elf. “It is an honor to meet you, my lady.”

Avelindiel laughed softly and glided towards the princess. She helped Irewen stand. “You do not need to bow before my husband or my son, and you do not need to bow before me.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And it is simply Avelindiel,” she replied, taking Irewen’s hand. “Or Ave, for short. We elves have a tendency to bestow unnecessarily long names upon our children. It is an awkward burden I refused to place on my own son, much to my husband’s chagrin. For some reason, Brandir feels that long flowery names add character. Irewen is a beautiful name. It rolls off the tongue with the ease and grace of a butterfly gliding from flower to flower.”

Avelindiel paused, gazing into the young woman’s eyes. “It suits you,” she continued after a time. “Your mother chose well.”

“How did you know it was my mother who chose my name?” Irewen asked with surprise. She remembered pestering her father as a child, wanting to know the origins of her name. For years, he refused to speak of it, until one day he admitted it was her mother who’d chosen her name. Long before they ever knew she was with child, she’d insisted their first daughter be named Irewen. When she’d died during childbirth, and the baby was indeed a girl, he had kept her wish.

“It is an Elvish name of old,” Avelindiel explained, leading her from the room. “It has not been used for many generations. It means daughter of hope.”

“Daughter of hope,” Irewen repeated in a whisper. “It is unlike any native name of Dargon. I have always wondered about its meaning and origin. Daughter of hope.” She smiled. “That is lovely.”

“As are you, my child.”

Irewen blushed. She’d never before experienced such a feminine and motherly form of affection. She didn’t know how to respond. “I did not intend to speak ill of your son earlier,” she finally managed to say. She hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt. “I was...surprised by something he said. I apologize if I offended you or your people in any way.”

“There is no need to apologize. Your reaction was quite natural. I have been told of Laegon’s promise to you, as well as the assignment he has been given while you are in Lilendvelle. I knew you would be angry and hurt by his decision to follow my husband’s orders. It is for that reason I have come. If it were anyone else, I would agree with your initial belief that his oath to you has been broken. But I can assure you it is not. If anything, it has become stronger.”

“I do not understand.”

“Come with me into the gardens, and I will explain.”

Irewen silently did as she was told. Avelindiel led her through the elegant home. It was even more impressive in daylight, and Irewen once again found herself captivated by the magnificent artistry of the furnishings. Lost in its beauty, she was genuinely surprised to suddenly find herself standing amidst the lushest gardens she’d ever seen.

“How is this possible?” she whispered. She touched the fuzzy blue-green leaf of an oversized fern. “It is the dead of winter. Surely, these plants should not be able to survive these frigid temperatures.”

Avelindiel’s laughter rang throughout the garden like the delicate music of a bird. “This, my dear Irewen, is the magic of the elves. Silverden’s gardens are not crippled by the seasons. If there were more of us, we could keep all of Mistwood fruitful year round. But as it stands, we are only able to keep our beloved city immune to the extreme cold of winter and scorching heat of summer.”

“Was there ever a time when that was possible? To protect all of Mistwood?”

“Oh, aye,” Ave responded wistfully. “It is said that many centuries ago, long before the Divide, these lands flourished all year long. Not a single plant stopped flowering or producing berries. Aside from the belfir trees, the vegetation was always lush and green.”

“What happened?”

“The four races began to quarrel with one another, focusing on their differences instead of protecting the land against the elements and preserving its beauty. Mistwood’s forests slowly succumbed to the changing of the seasons, and the art was lost. After the Divide, only a handful of Wood Elves remained who had knowledge of the precious magic. They kept Silverden flourishing, but could do nothing to aid the rest of the land. Even now, there are fewer than a dozen Wood Elves who can call upon the magic, I among them.”

“Why not simply teach others how to use the magic?”

“Unfortunately, it is not something that can be taught. It is a gift. A select few are born with it. Those who are not will never be able to acquire the ability. Very few elflings are blessed with the magic. The last was born nearly fifty years ago. Our magic is slowly dying. The forests of Mistwood are lost to us, and eventually, Silverden will be as well.”

“I am sorry.”

Avelindiel’s eyes sparkled warmly. “Do not fret, dear child. What must be must be. We are a resilient people. Though there will come a day when our beloved city is not as beautiful as it is now, we will adapt. We always have, and we always will.”

“Maybe the next elfling will have the gift,” Irewen replied optimistically, not knowing what else to say.

Avelindiel smiled. “That is what I have been telling the others for the past five decades. Still, perhaps you are right. Perhaps our next baby will be blessed with the magic.” The elf shook her head, as if forcing herself to come out of a trance. “Ah, but what am I gabbling on for like a foolish old woman? Talk of a dying magic will do nothing to quench your anger towards my son.”

“Laegon is only following Lord Brandir’s orders,” Irewen said. “The decision for him to remain in Silverden was made out of necessity, and although I do not want to admit it, it does make more sense than having him follow me to Lilendvelle. With Silevethiel and the elves sent as my escort, I will be quite safe. I know I should not be annoyed at him, but I cannot help it. Whether by his doing or not, I still see it as breaking his promise. But it is more than that...”

“You are afraid.”

“Aye,” she confessed. “Laegon has been by my side since that fateful day in the woods. Although it may sound foolish, I cannot help but think that he was the reason I discovered my courage and conviction. I have become stronger, physically and mentally. I am afraid to revert to the girl I was before. I never again want to be a weakling, afraid of failure.”

“Failure happens to all of us,” Avelindiel said, gently lifting the young woman’s chin. “We try to prevent it, and sometimes we are successful. But it is inevitable. We cannot hide from it, and we cannot let it prevent us from doing what is expected of us. Dremond entrusted this task to you, Irewen. And while that means you are the only one able to accomplish it, it does not mean you are alone. Every elf and Guardian in Mistwood is here for you. Though we may not always be right by your side, we will always be with you. When you have the love and support of others, you are never alone.

“The oath Laegon made to you is shared by each one of us. It still remains true, and it always will. We are all prepared to follow whichever road you choose and do everything in our power to guard you from harm means more than simply standing at your side. Silverden is now your home. Protecting you means protecting this city as well as all of Mistwood.

“Although you will be away for some time, Lündvelle is directly north of Silverden. It is a smaller country, and indeed, Mistwood’s northern borders form a cup around much of the Light Elves’ land. The only straightforward route the enemy can take into Lündvelle is through the forests of Mistwood. The Wood Elves are your only defense. Should we fail, then the Light Elves will not be able to protect you. They do not have the numbers or the strength to fight such evil.”

“Why did Laegon not tell me?” Irewen asked in exasperation. “Why did he not simply help me to understand?”

“I suspect he had a difficult enough time telling you he would not be accompanying you on your journey. But I believe the real reason is that he did not want to worry you further and distract you from your important task. Anger towards him would most likely push you to work harder. But fear would only prevent you from succeeding.

“Your courage was always inside you, Irewen,” Avelindiel continued. “It did not come from Laegon. It is not tied to him. You never knew you had it because you were never in a situation where you needed it. You are the one who must now nurture it and allow it to grow. The strength to do so is inside you. No one can give it to you, and no one can take it away.”

Through her tears, Irewen saw Avelindiel raise her arms, inviting her to take refuge in their comfort and safety. Without thinking, she fell into the elf queen’s embrace, taken aback, but extremely grateful for her compassion.

“You are young, Irewen,” Ave whispered in her ear, running her fingers through the young woman’s raven curls. “Your father left you completely unprepared to face even half the duties expected of you. The burdens that have recently bombarded you should have destroyed someone so naïve. But you have handled them with exceptional maturity. Although you may feel lost, you will find your way. Trust in yourself. Trust in those who have sworn to help you. For that is what will see all of us through these dark times.”

Ensconced in the large pile of down pillows strewn about the bed, Irewen lay on her back. Staring at the ceiling, she contemplated the events of the morning. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever experienced so many different emotions in such a short time, but she wouldn’t have changed a single thing about this day, or indeed any day since Laegon rescued her. Up until her father’s death, her life in Dargon had been exceptionally uneventful. She never had any cause to feel anything but mild contentment and had simply gone about her daily business living in a false bubble of pleasant satisfaction. She was loved and had wanted for nothing, but if she was honest with herself, she’d been totally and utterly bored.

Now, she’d finally been able to experience the emotions so many people took for granted in their daily lives. She knew what it was like to be furious and depressed. Pessimistic and heartbroken. Joyful and exuberant. She understood fear and pain. Apprehension and relief.

She smiled. After twenty long years, she was finally alive.

She continued to study the ornately painted ceiling as Avelindiel’s words played through her mind. At first, she’d been skeptical of the elf’s assurance that her courage had always been buried inside her, waiting to be coaxed out of the shadows and into the light. But after further consideration, she knew Ave’s words were true. Characteristics such as bravery and determination couldn’t be given, nor could they be taken away. It was simply up to the individual person to find it within themselves.

Laegon helped her unearth her courage, but he didn’t give it to her. It had always been within her. Hiding. Awaiting her call. Now that she’d found it, the only person who had the power to lose sight of it was she and she alone. She knew inherently that she would never let that happen. She couldn’t go back to the person she’d been before her father’s death. Before her cousin’s betrayal. For if she did, it would only be admitting defeat. Elthad would win. People in every corner of Vaelinel would suffer his tyranny.

She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander to Laegon. Something had drawn him to her from the very beginning, and it was not simply the desperate state in which he’d found her. He’d sensed there was something more to her, that she was meant to serve some purpose, and he’d vowed in that very instant to protect her with his life. By appointing her the task of discovering the woman in Irwiendel’s vision, Dremond had only validated Laegon’s assumption, and every Wood Elf in Mistwood had silently made the same oath as the young prince.