The Sinuous Bargain of a Cowardly Prince (book one, The Shadowed Throne Chronicles)
Chapter Twenty-Six - Ether

Hearthstrom is just as I remember: once-glorious stone buildings are in shambles, fallen from a long past raid. The ground is dark, hard, and dusty. A well stands erect at the center, but I know that there’s no water under the surface. The village would still be here if that were the case.

I grip Ramiel’s hand in mine. His is rough and soft at the same time—it isn’t a warrior’s hand, callused from battle, but a well-studied and strong prince’s hand. Each time I give his palm a squeeze, I feel him tense up. It must be his nerves, either from our exchange last night or from this open space where nothing is familiar to him—where the smell of cedar and pine mixes with ash, and no living soul treads this ground.

“We’ll find some firewood and water first,” I say as we move forward. Ramiel tows behind me, his fingers joined with mine. “No one lives here, so we need to gather our own materials.”

Ronan reappears after putting the horses away and wipes sweat from his brow. “You want us to split up?”

I look at him from my peripheral—his blackened expression is dusted with dirt, almost in the shape of a strange beard that reaches over his nose and cheeks. The muck is an improvement to his appearance, yet the sight of him still makes me want to laugh.

“Exactly,” I say, turning to face the center of the village. “There should be a stream nearby, easier to get there if I go by treetop. Firewood should be pretty simple to find.” I point a finger beyond the tallest of the remaining structures, then gesture in a circular motion to the surrounding forest.

“Okay, Ramiel is coming with me then,” Ronan snuffs. I turn my full attention to him, a grimace pulling my lips over my teeth.

The fairy maintains eye contact, his eyebrows crinkling over dark brown spheres as he steps toward me, swings his hand out, and violently pulls my hand from the prince. I hold in a snarl and simply glare at him as he steps between us and lays a hand on the broad center of Ramiel’s back.

“Let’s go find some firewood, aye?” Ronan’s voice is now rough and confident. “We can leave the tree climbing to the monkey girl.” He glances at me and a smirk dents his dirty cheek—I swear this nasty fairy is trying to make me act out in front of the prince—before he flicks his chin in the air and walks forward.

They disappear into the forest; the blackness consumes them. And then I’m alone, but I don’t immediately leave. I know where the water is; I’ve no need to search for it. Filling a barrel takes no more than a few seconds, and then I’ll be back and waiting for the other two to return.

I sigh. A part of me hopes they run away or get eaten by some beast, to create a reason for me to also run away. To disappear. But I know Ronan won’t let that happen, not with his both admirable and annoying sense of duty to his fairy people.

For a second, I entertain the thought. My eyes focus on the wide sky, on the puffy white clouds skittering over the spindly canopy overhead.

If I were to run, I wouldn’t return to Nwatalith, no—I would probably take the opportunity to travel to another kingdom, as far from the king’s control as I can go. I’d learn a trade there or settle into another elven clan. Perhaps I’d learn to read and write, as the humans do. We all know Arioch is the largest kingdom—in charge of so many smaller bordering kingdoms—but perhaps there’s a place that exists where people won’t stare at my ears, take a look at my eyes and feet and height and tell me to get lost because magic disturbs them. If such a place is real, I’m envious of those who were born there.

Could I leave all of this behind? Would I be able to abandon not only this mission, but also this prince who has put so much faith in me? So much trust?

I lean against the side of the well, then arch my back until it cracks. All that horseback riding must’ve really sored up my muscles. A sigh puffs through my lips as I cock my head forward and stare into the dark trees beyond the crippled village houses.

Though this will be a tough few weeks, I cannot leave Ramiel to his father’s wrath. I also can’t deny the tug of guilt whenever Ramiel nods his head in my direction, a gleeful smile lighting up his warped features. Though he doesn’t have the elven curse, he’s awfully transparent emotionally. He’s proven wrong many things I’ve always thought about human behavior. I almost don’t see him as anyone different than me.

Which is why I will do my best to teach him how to harness magic, even if he’s not a natural user. If anyone can show him, it’s me.

Their shoes skid along the dirt to my left, and they’re soon back at the center of the village. Ramiel carries several medium-sized logs over his left shoulder, and Ronan has several stacked on his right. The fairy’s arm is behind Ramiel’s back, leading him forward.

“That was quick,” I shout when they’re near.

Ronan snarls at me like a beast. “I see you’ve been napping while we’ve been out. Were you making a jest about the water? Do you wish us to die of thirst?”

I push away from my seat, move to Ramiel, and help him with his firewood. He passes each one to me smoothly, then I stack them against the wall of the well.

“I was waiting for you to return before I left. So you still knew where the village was,” I say, emphasizing that the “you” in my second phrase meant Ronan. He responds with a grimace and a glare.

“What are you standing around for then, you lazy—”

“Ronan, why must you provoke her? She’s done nothing wrong,” Ramiel’s voice cuts into the fairy’s insult. Finally, he’s realized how patronizing his aide can be. It took him long enough!

Then, he turns to me, eyes wavering as they fail to find mine. “You said the water is near. How soon will you be back?”

I tilt my head to the blue sky. The sun has passed its peak, but we will still have at least an hour more daylight before the forest goes to sleep. “Soon,” I say. When Ronan and Ramiel both raise their brows at me, I almost laugh—and if I did, I know neither would care. “You can start the fire. I’ll be back with water before you’ve stoked the flame.”

Ramiel concedes with a sigh, then reaches for Ronan, who stabilizes him as they bend to place the firewood into a pyramid shape. The prince’s hands are careful, touching all surfaces of each branch. Ronan focuses on Ramiel’s movements, watching for any dangerous slip of his hand. The fairy is poised and ready to assist if the prince asks. Then his eyes briefly flick to mine.

“I saw a barrel near the taller building.” He nods at the buildings behind me. “Aren’t you leaving?”

I turn away from him, wordless. I know I’ll be back before they can blink, but something worries me about leaving them alone there. I didn’t feel this way when I sent them to get firewood, but now the air seems off, as though something is looming around, waiting for me to leave.

I walk to the tallest construction and find a gray-tinted barrel with no lid. I pinch the rim of the top and hoist it over my shoulder. It’s lighter than I expected, though it will be much heavier when I bring it back. I peer over my shoulder at the men squatting around their branches, laughing together about something. I wish I knew what.

Then, I turn away and bound up the nearest tree.

In less than five seconds I’m on top of the world.

The stream is dry. The area around Hearthstrom has been abandoned, so the water no longer has a need to connect to the village. Some other outer village must’ve dammed up or redirected the source. I’ll need to find another one.

I bound up from the parched, scraggly indent in the ground and skim along the treetops.

It isn’t difficult to find a new stream; they are often traceable by the splashing sounds of elven children who dip their buckets into the clear water, which they will bring back for washing clothes, dishes, and other things. Only the more developed villages—like Nwatalith—have their own plumbing systems. But I’ve thought for a while now that such a luxury will be taken from us eventually.

I follow the sounds of playful laughter accompanied by the rush of cold water sliding over smooth rock. When I reach the stream, I stay atop the green canopy and watch the dancing children below. Their pale skin glows in the afternoon light and their dark, frizzy hair twists and winds in the air as they hop along rocks, water splashing from their buckets onto the ground.

Memories flood over me, reminding me of the times I spent with my parents, who were also children at heart. We used to playfully splash each other, then chase each other around until either my mother or father swooped me into their arms and smothered me with laughter—before it was outlawed.

A young elven girl with scarlet hair catches my attention. She takes a tumble, crashing down into the rocks, and the two boys drop their buckets to help her. A cry whips through her lips and echoes off the trees—the boys wave their hands frantically to try to get her to stop. I see a thin red mark swipe over her leg, then drip down into the stream. The boys continue to holler out for help, arms hopelessly flailing in the air. They must not know how to use healing magic yet.

I outstretch my arm, aim my fingers at the stream, and close my eyes, willing the water to rise and condense so I can fill it with the energy of my magical core: the warm kind that is meant to heal scrapes and bruises and other non-magical ailments.

When I open my eyes, I seem to have summoned not water, but a blond-braided male elf, who is now kneeling down and tending to the young one’s wounds.

My heart throbs in my chest, and tears brim in my eyes. I lean forward on a branch for a better look, though his back is facing me. Warmth flutters down my arms as I leap to the squishy ground.

“Pluto!” I can’t hide my excitement. There is no questioning it—my elven brother is here, far away from Nwatalith. He’s alive and well, doing Arioch knows what, but it doesn’t matter because he’s okay.

He snaps his head toward me after tending to the young one’s wound and lifts a porcelain finger to his lips. Then he turns to the children, shooing them away with slender hands.

When they’ve disappeared, I drop the barrel and run to him. Emotions rush over my cheeks as I open my arms and wrap him tightly with my longing. Somehow, I don’t feel that hugging him is unnatural, as I had experienced with Bernadette. His thin body is comforting to me; it reminds me of home, of everything before my summons to the castle.

I run my hand over his long, sunflower braid and he lifts his scrawny arms around me, too.

I lean away from him and dry my cheeks. His eyes look at me, quaking between black and pink, so more like that purple-ish color that I’ve often seen him wear. He’s battling to hide how he’s truly feeling, though I know it’s either intense pain or fear.

“Ether, I’ve missed you so,” he says in his soft, whistly voice. It still sounds the same, but its timbre is cold and dark.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I say with a smile. “You’ve grown thin, though. Haven’t you been eating?”

His jaw clenches and his eyes finally give in to a muted pink shade—an expression of sadness, blooming from pain. “Ever since the elder elf was killed, the forest creatures have been in decline. Most of us are living off the energy of the forest alone, rather than from the beasts within it.” He lifts a bony hand to my face, and it’s so icy that I flinch at his touch. “You can feel it, too, right? The forest’s energy is swelling.”

Something does feel off, though I wouldn’t have thought it to be an issue with the inflation of the forest’s energy. No, what I feel is more like a presence similar to the sinister feeling of dark magic in the palace, but not the same. Its aura is different from dark magic as far as I can tell.

“Of course, something’s different,” I agree. Then, shaking my head, I stand. “I’m truly sorry about leaving. You’ve no idea how much I missed you.”

He stands as well and reaches forward to gently pat my head. The feeling brings me to a place of nostalgia and acceptance.

“Don’t apologize. We all leave, eventually. And it isn’t like you had a choice.” His smile is kind, just as I remember. “Don’t beat yourself up over leaving. It was necessary, so I understand.”

His words send a shockwave through my body, almost enough to move me to tears once more, though this time, a feeling deep within me stirs. I think about leaving, about moving on. I think about how it’s something I’d done to him when I didn’t have a choice. But now I do have a choice—I can choose to stay by Ramiel’s side or leave him. I nod my thanks to Pluto, then clear my throat.

“Ramiel told me he met you. Was he telling the truth?” As soon as I ask the question, I feel that it’s silly. Ramiel has promised to be honest with me, and I’ve told myself to trust him.

My blond brother smiles. “Of course. He’s a funny man, that prince. You know what’s interesting? Somehow, he knew the lullaby of the forest.”

My mouth opens, then closes again. The lullaby of the forest is only known by our kind, so why can Ramiel, of all people, understand the ancient song? I raise an eyebrow in place of questioning.

“I know, it’s crazy,” he says with a small sigh. “Anyway, after he heard the lullaby, he was able to use magic. The only thing I can conclude is that that spell, as you know, is—”

“—meant to remove energy barriers,” we say in sync.

My hand goes to my mouth. There’s no way Ramiel can be a simple human, nor can he just be a prince. If the lullaby has truly opened some magic barrier set upon him, there’s no way he can be entirely human. Is he concealing his identity—like Ronan—without realizing it?

“I think Ramiel must have some connection to our kind,” Pluto says excitedly, “though I’m not sure how. I sensed it when his energy was activated; my own magical core stirred, warming at the presence of another. But right after his core awakened, it shrank in size for some reason.”

“But he’s still just a human,” I say thoughtfully. “I mean, he certainly believes that. Don’t you find it a little odd?”

Pluto shrugs. I catch his gaze as he looks past me, to the barrel that’s rolling back and forth on its side. The river rushes just behind me, a reminder of the time.

I move my head to block his line of sight and his eyes refocus on mine, phasing to their neutral green.

“Come with me,” I say. “Come and meet Ramiel again. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

Pluto sighs and turns away. “I can’t. My duties to Nwatalith have grown serious, Ether. In addition to the strange swelling of the forest, we... we found out who murdered the elder elf, and now we are unsure of what to do.”

The shocking news makes me stumble back, and my foot slips and plops into the cold water. I shiver at its continuous icy swirling around my ankle. Pluto holds a hand out for me and I take it so he can pull me from the stream. I don’t ever look away from his focused expression.

“What do you mean?” I ask, shaking my wet foot out and smearing it over the warm dirt.

Pluto swipes a loose strand of straw-colored hair from his forehead, then sighs. “We are trying to work out the next steps. The elder elf was killed by mages. You know what kind of a threat that poses... right?” When I don’t answer, he whispers: “War, Ether. This could mean another war between humans and elves.”

“I’m sure that it has nothing to do with... you know, with the prince,” I stutter, barely able to steady my breath. Ramiel had been there when the elder elf disappeared and he also spoke with mages. Could he really have something to do with everything that happened? But why? I breathe out shakily and press a palm to my forehead. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I never accused the prince, Ether, but I have to remain cautious in my position as Nwatalith’s intel. It’s for the safety of our people, I’m sure you understand.”

“But sages deal with death,” I protest. “Why must you get involved?”

Pluto hushes me, then smiles softly. “This is a matter beyond death, Ether. It’s bound to become political. We are trying to figure out the motive behind killing the elder elf. It’s a serious crime, and I’m sure it was no accident.”

I chew on my lip, ignore Pluto’s concerned stare, then turn around, trudge through the stream, and retrieve the barrel. When I bring it back, Pluto’s eyes are still watching me, wide and blue.

“You don’t need to worry, Pluto. I’m just... conflicted. I trust Ramiel. He’s been through a lot in a very short period of time. It’s just... other humans I don’t trust.”

“Who?”

I want to tell him, but I know that by explaining the king’s plan to kill me and Ramiel if we fail, Pluto will worry even more. He already has enough to worry about.

I nod my head. “I’ll tell you another time. After all of this is over.”

My hands dip the barrel into the water and the stream floods in, filling up the container quickly. When it’s spilling over the top, I bend up, hoisting the heavy thing over my small shoulders.

Pluto leans down toward me and presses his forehead to mine, communicating his understanding. His eyes flutter shut and a contented smile rests over his pale, thin lips. “We will get through this,” he says quietly, in an all-knowing tone. “We must. If war breaks, I’ll go to you first. You won’t be alone.”

My eyes moisten at his promise, but I refuse to let any more tears fall. I have a lot to mull over before I can allow myself to cry again. I must be strong, not just for myself, but for Ramiel and Pluto, too.

“I’ll see you again, soon,” I say, and he nods. our moment together is brief, but we know our time is up. At once, we both turn away and bound in opposite directions, skipping over the canopy like low-hanging clouds.

When I return to Hearthstrom, that same dull, dark feeling strengthens and now I’m certain Pluto is right about the swelling energy of the forest. But why? I rake my brain for any plausible reasoning. The purity of the forest certainly couldn’t be tainted by the organic energy of an elder elf...

I sigh as I set the barrel against the building at the far end, then stretch my arms to the heavens. I decide to leave the water here until we need it. My back aches from its weight, so I twist my arms until I feel loose again.

There’s a lot to gnaw on, here. So much new news that I don’t know what to do with. I need to be careful not to let it distract me. Ramiel deserves my full attention.

I step forward, kicking dust up with my bare feet and allowing the little particles to dance between my toes.

When I look up, a blur of black blots out where the fire should be.

I rub my eyes just to make sure my vision isn’t playing tricks on me, and when I realize that it isn’t, my heart drops to the ground. I step on it and run toward the beast standing where Ramiel and Ronan still squat, their eyes staring up at the monster.

It’s a mage. A mage. One of the creatures that killed an elder elf and risked ruining everything.

I call my heart back to my chest and ignite it with fire. Anger fuels me now, festering like an agitated storm. I slide my knife from its sheath, jump into the air, lock my sights on the cloaked figure, and with one fell swoop, I—

Something rough thuds into me, pushing me back and away from the mage. I crash into the hard ground, groaning upon impact. I grit my teeth and squint at the sun.

Ronan’s hands pin me down, his knees planted on either side of me. This position reminds me of our first meeting, though now it feels different. His eyes are a dark brown, but his eyebrows are knitted with concern rather than anger.

Confusion overwhelms me. I try to wiggle out of his grasp, to roll out from beneath him, but he somehow keeps me there, staring into my eyes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.

“Guess who I just met in the forest?” I ask bitterly. “Pluto. And he told me a damned mage killed the elder elf you two went to perform rites for.” My head twitches toward the looming figure still standing around the flickering fire. ”It deserves to die for its crimes."

Ronan sighs. Then, to my surprise, he stands and even offers to help me up.

I refuse his hand, pushing myself up. At some point, my knife flew from my hand. I quickly spot its glint in the sunlight just a few paces off, and I retrieve it, steadying its small leather handle in my fingers. I can still kill this thing as long as I feint calmness.

“Careful who you point that thing at,” Ronan scoffs, putting his hands up in surrender. He tilts his head toward the mage. “He’s not what you think. He lives here, alone, like a leper in seclusion.” His eyes relax. “I can assure you he didn’t kill your elder elf.”

I squint my eyes at him, lower the knife, then turn my attention to the figure looming around the fire. The calmness of both the prince and the fairy makes me skeptical, though there appears to be no immediate danger.

Ramiel’s hands are raised slightly to feel the warmth of the small flames, though the day has only just begun to cool. I wonder if he can sense the beast’s energy, and if it truly doesn’t bother him.

“Ether, are you hurt?” Ramiel asks, his tone filled with genuine concern.

I reach for him to let him know I’m there—I’ve already gotten used to using touch to express myself rather than a simple nod or body movement. He twitches away as a smile pulls into his cheeks.

“I’m fine, but who’s this?” I ask sharply.

“Oh, him? He’s—”

“Qor Beuton,” the creature grumbles in front of us.

I snap my focus to the deep, grumbling voice. It surely doesn’t sound like the mages I’ve seen before. My hand flips the knife once, then tucks it back into its holster. But I don’t latch it, just in case.

“That’s the name of a legendary elven warrior,” I spit. “You dare to taint such a legacy with lies?”

The darkness within the cloak chuckles, then two large, bandaged hands appear from long sleeves to pull the hood over his head.

Slick, raven hair tucks around his sagittate ears and his eyes glow a golden brown. Scars riddle his face, but his features are still very much intact, unlike the mages that must bandage their bones together. His ears jut out even longer than mine or Pluto’s.

“Lords of Arioch,” I curse, catching my breath, hypnotized by his glowing irises. “You should be long dead. The War of Undying ended over a thousand years ago.”

I hold my hand to my heart, trying to contain the overwhelming pain that now lives there, aches as if his pain is mine to bear. Just seeing him is enough to confirm his identity.

Qor takes a deep breath, then nods.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says in a deep, baritone voice, “and I have a story to tell.”

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