Her stomach content, she strode to the edge of the clearing. Her prison? She shook and rattled the interwoven limbs of birch trees, but they would not part.
Wish I had an ax.
She tried to crawl beneath tree limbs, but the tangle of brush stopped her, and so it was with the entire circumference of the clearing. She doubted an ax would be of much use, after all.
She placed her hands on her hips, wanting to know what the Eletians intended, but she supposed there was nothing she could do about it but wait and see how it would all play out, at their whim. There was no telling why they deemed it necessary to confine her.
As if I’m a threat!
If they wanted to talk to her, they needn’t have imprisoned her in this clearing, a pretty prison though it was.
Too much had happened already. The traveling rushed back to her and she pressed her hand across her midsection, but felt no remnant of an arrow wound, only the memory of it, which remained powerful.
She paced around the clearing, going over the events of Watch Hill in her mind. By some strange fate, she had witnessed Lil Ambrioth’s rescue of Hadriax el Fex. She had ridden with the First Rider.
Karigan had a strong sense of a story left incomplete and wondered if she would ever know the true outcome. Had Lil survived her arrow wound? Did she get to see her king again? Had Hadriax el Fex’s information played a part in the actual demise of Mornhavon the Black?
Tree limbs parted before her and the Eletian woman emerged from the woods. Gone were her weapons and armor. She now wore a long dress that wrapped her with the hues of the ocean, all foamy greens and blues. Her hair, freed of the confining braids, flowed down her back in fluid waves.
Karigan stiffened under her appraising gaze.
“You are well?” the Eletian asked.
“When will I—?”
The Eletian raised her hand to silence her. “I know there is much you must wonder at. You will find answers soon enough.”
“Where’s my horse?” Karigan demanded, not willing to give in so easily.
“He is content.” The reply was delivered with an ironic cant of an eyebrow.
“That’s hardly an answer.”
“Will it not satisfy you to know he is well?”
“Very little satisfies me at the moment.”
The two stared at one another in a silent challenge, neither flinching.
Finally, without conceding, the Eletian said, “Come,” and turned to leave the clearing, expecting Karigan to follow without question.
Karigan folded her arms and did not budge.
The Eletian paused, and truly mystified, asked, “Why do you not come?”
“Where are you taking me?”
The Eletian’s features remained placid, but Karigan thought she detected a slight narrowing of eyebrows. Good.
“I am taking you to the king’s son.”
Karigan didn’t bother to conceal her surprise.
“Yes, you shall see one whom no mortals have ever looked upon, Galadheon, for the prince, my brother, was born after the Cataclysm your kind calls the Long War, and the upheaval that followed.”
“Why am I to see him?”
“Because there are things that must be spoken of.”
Karigan frowned at the vague answer.
“You must follow.” The Eletian turned back toward the woods, but still Karigan refused to obey.
This time, when the Eletian paused to see what was the matter, Karigan said, “I am not accustomed to accepting orders from anyone but my captain or my king.”
The woman’s eyes blazed with anger. “You are a guest among us.” Then realizing how much it sounded like an accusation, she added, “Forgive my presumption, but it is not wise to keep the prince waiting.”
If confinement was their idea of how to treat a guest, Karigan thought she’d hate to see how they treated a prisoner. “First,” she said, “tell me your name.”
The request startled the Eletian. “There is a reason you ask this?”
“It is a courtesy one extends to a guest. It seems you know who I am. It would only be courteous for you to tell me who you are.”
Again, the eyes appraised her. “Very well. You may call me Grae.”
Karigan nodded, satisfied by this one small victory.
The imprisoning trees lifted limbs to allow them passage. Karigan attempted no conversation with Grae, figuring there was no point. Eletians were more mystery than anything else, and Grae appeared more intent on obstructing her than helping her understand what this was all about.
Throughout the depths of the woods, moonstones glittered, turning white birches silver, their interwoven branches like stark spiderwebs. The effect was beautiful, and precisely the sort of thing she’d imagined when thinking of Eletians. Above, stars pierced the canopy of night with a painful clarity and closeness she had never known before. The constellations were familiar, yet at the same time foreign, as if slightly askew. She could not say if she was still within the bounds of Sacoridia, or if the Eletians had spirited her away to some netherworld of dream.
They emerged into another clearing, lit by the ever-present moonstones. Fair folk moved amid the clearing drinking and feasting, or so it seemed one moment, then the next they vanished away leaving no hint of their mer rymaking, but for a goblet the prince held, as he sat upon a chair of woven tree boughs. His head was bowed as he listened to a woman singing at his feet.
Her voice was clear and pure, and the melody rent Karigan’s heart with great sorrow, though she could not understand the words. When the song trailed off and the last notes hung in the night, the prince cupped the singer’s chin in his hand. She rose and left him then, walking away with the light steps of a dancer.