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

Ether’s hand rests over mine like a blanket of hot coals. I know she isn’t purposefully releasing heat, though—her close proximity is just making me go absolutely mad.

The crackling fire and the humid air add to this unbearable heat, but I do my best to focus on the matter at hand.

The ancient elf approached us once we got the fire rolling, and Ronan was apprehensive at first. But I could sense no magical energy, neither dark nor natural, which helped to calm him a bit. Whoever Qor is or was, he’s not a threat.

Qor Beuton introduced himself with a thick, deep accent that I can only relate to the scent of the pines in the forest. If the trees could speak, I think they’d sound like Qor. And with the heightened language he uses, he certainly belongs with the majestic, aged trees of the magical wood.

Ether brushes her fingers over my hand, either in anticipation or absent-mindedness. Something about this movement is unsettling—she must still be thinking about preparing to attack the cloaked creature (I don’t know if the warrior wears a cloak for sure, obviously, but I do know that neither of my friends would’ve acted so hostile if Qor hadn’t resembled a mage at least a little bit). Or maybe she’s trying to calm her own nerves. Either way, my heart has difficulty maintaining its steady pulse.

“How are you still alive?” Ether asks, laying her fingers to rest over my knuckles.

Qor bellows with rich laughter. He doesn’t seem to laugh at something funny, though—his chuckle is as deep as a chasm, and a river of sorrow wriggles around at its depths.

“You are aware of the events that occurred during the War of Undying,” he says slowly, as if giving equal weight to each word. His statement is spoken without much vocal inflection, as though assuming our knowledge of the thousand-year-old war.

“Of course,” Ether says quietly. “After we lost to the humans, the elf queen was abandoned by her closest ally, the fairy king. Then, she was kidnapped, leaving the elven kingdom with no ruler and a barrage of curses. Everyone knows that.”

Ronan snarls on my left, sliding his booted foot across the hard dirt. The crunchy sound it makes warps a cringe over my face. “Wrong. After we lost the war, your people’s queen abandoned our king, got kidnapped, and left him to fend for himself on the battlefield. Then, when both rulers died, humanity prevailed and left us with a wake of death and hatred.”

Qor makes a grunting noise at their clear opposition, but also their obvious congruence, then waits. Is he expecting me to answer as well? When it’s clear both have reservations about humanity’s hand in the war?

I choose to remain silent. After all, my story is similar to theirs: an elf queen and a fairy king betrayed one another at the most important moment in battle, and King Arioch won the war. The laws and curses came into effect quickly after, and have remained in order since they were cast.

As I mull over the information once more, something bizarre clicks in my head. Ronan used the words “our king” in reference to the fairy king of old, while Ether used “our people’s queen.” Could it be...

I turn my head in Ronan’s direction, eyebrows overcast as my brain works through the knots of knowledge I’ve been trying to piece together. I can still sense his magical core, but it’s much less noticeable than Ether’s, whose glows brightly next to me. He must be using some kind of power to mask it. Maybe he misspoke about the fairy king being his? Surely, I would’ve found out by now if he’s a fairy, since we spend so much time together.

With a breath, I face the warrior again, though my thoughts continue to wrestle for a clear answer.

Ronan can’t possibly be as pitiful a creature as a fairy; he’s too strong-willed for that. Besides, he would’ve told me if he wasn’t human, especially with the blood-stained history between the elven and fairy people. If he were truly a fairy, he wouldn’t be this comfortable around Ether... would he?

“Both of you are incorrect,” Qor grumbles. “Allow me to tell you my story, which is not for the faint of heart. Hopefully with my account, you’re able to gain some valuable truth about the war and how it relates to the current state of affairs. You see, before the war, there was a terrible drought. Along with it came disease and famine, stripping the human’s land of its normally bountiful harvests. The forest used to cover all of Arioch, except for a few human villages surrounding the current palace. Magic surged through the roots of great oaks and pines, offering life to all who could receive it. Elves, fairies, ogres, and trolls all gathered together to offer what they could to the humans, to save them from starvation and also to foster relationships with them.”

I’m not sure if Ether and Ronan are aware of this history, but I’ve studied it my entire life. I’m well-versed in the War of Undying and all that came before it—the legacy of King Arioch and his reputation as a warmongering conqueror of kingdoms has always been revered as the golden standard for future kings. Still, something about the way Qor explains this commonly known history intrigues me and pulls me in, almost as though I’ve never heard it before. I lean forward to show my intent to listen fully. I’m not distracted by Ether’s titillating fingers as they dance along my knuckles.

Qor continues: “Accompanying this terrible drought was Arioch Faundor, the unruly conqueror of lands—many magical beings thought his appearance was directly tied to the catastrophic famine, for Arioch convinced the human villagers that they deserved more, that they didn’t need magic nor help from any magic being. He promised to give them the rest of the land, to rebuild a kingdom ruled by those who couldn’t use magic. He invaded their minds and stoked fires in their souls. Once he had most of them on his side, he brought his militia to push out elves and fairies and other beasts from the villages. This was his initial plan—it only escalated from there. When he’d heard of relationships blooming between human villagers and non-human beasts, he grew furious, calling such friendships and families blasphemous and sinful. He declared war under the precedent of setting humanity back on its rightful moral track.

“The elves and fairies had the largest numbers, so they forged a deeper bond with one another. An alliance so strong that no one could break it, not even a ferocious, bloodthirsty human king.

“But once we entered the battlefield, dressed in our hardwood armor and brandished with spears and bows and daggers, we didn’t stand a chance. The humans brandished claymores and shields of iron. Helmets and chainmail coated their bodies with ample protection—they were used to fighting battles and winning. Our people were skilled, but most were ordinary and untrained in the ways of war and betrayal. We lost men and women soldiers quickly—many died by sword, others by brute force...

“After too many of us fell, we finally forced ourselves into a rhythm. Kelsi, my strategic officer, discovered a blind spot in the humans’ armor, allowing us to prepare for a counterattack. After a few attempts, things started to turn around. But as soon as we began our strike, the ogres and trolls and nymphs suddenly turned on us. It was right about the same time the dragons appeared... And we lost our chance at winning.”

Qor pauses to take in a shaky breath. I’m sure explaining the war in detail is a lot for him; he must be reliving it as though it happened recently. I remember moments, though brief, when Xavelor would return home. He spoke not a word to the busying maids and servants that tended to his wounds and doted on him with luxurious food. Instead, his brown eyes had glossed over with numbing pain, not wanting to speak or engage with any of the pestering questions he received from babbling noblemen.

Before Qor can continue, Ronan inserts himself.

“What of the fairy king? What of King Elias?”

“You’re well-studied, young one,” Qor grumbles, clearly a little upset at being interrupted. “Not many remember the fairy king’s name, for it is shameful to put a name to his many blunders on the battlefield—”

“That’s a load of crap,” Ronan growls. “King Elias was a reverent king. His memory has always been passed down with great respect. Do not disgrace his legacy."

Ether has stopped stroking my fingers. I clear my throat. “Ronan, why must you respond so negatively to the warrior’s testimony?” I ask nervously. The question of my aide’s true identity crops up in the back of my mind, and I find myself trying to reason around it. “Have you had many interactions with fairies when fighting battles alongside Xav—”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” he spits. I know he doesn’t mean for his tone to come out so harsh, but I still wince at its intensity. “Since I’ve already damned myself by getting so worked up, I’ll just tell you. I’m one of those creatures you humans despise. A gross, deformed, hideous fairy. The worst of the worst. Are you happy now?”

I’m speechless. His words tumble in my mind like pebbles in a violent current. He’s a fairy. Ether’s an elf. Their rocky relationship makes complete sense.

“Why did you hide this from me?” I keep my voice as calm as possible. After all, I’m neither scared nor offended, simply curious, and perhaps a little shocked. I’ve treated him like a friend, and he’s done the same for me. This secret must’ve been important to him. It hurts me to think he would fear my rejection of his transparency.

“I—” Ronan starts, but I can hear the frustration manifesting into gurgled sobs, and he can’t finish. Along with his ruined composure, I can sense his energy growing larger and larger—he’s losing control on concealing it. Then, something at his core’s center feels wrong, almost tainted. And as its size increases, it becomes more and more prevalent.

It must be dark magic. I doubt I’m doing well to hide my surprise. My thoughts continue to circle around, until one question rises above the rest: why does he have dark energy in his magical core?

Before any of us can say any more, I hear the whistling of wings and feel a slight gust of wind brush along my cheek.

In mere moments, his magical core soars into the sky and disappears.

My heart leaps to my throat, not because Ether’s fingernails are now digging into the back of my hand, but because an overwhelming sense of loss fills me. A chill runs through my center, like the strong foundation of trust we’ve built has snapped like a frail twig.

I gulp back the panic, stand quickly, then aim my head at the sky, where Ronan’s energy disappeared. I shake Ether’s hand away, then raise mine to cup around my mouth.

“Ronan!” I call raspily, though it feels pointless. He’s long gone.

Devastation speckles along my arms and in my hair. My heart does not settle.

Ether’s hand finds mine once more, giving it a comforting squeeze, which coaxes me to sit.

“Hey, I’m sure he wanted to tell you. I bet he had his reasons,” she offers in an attempt to cheer me up. Her usual sarcastic twang when she speaks of Ronan is still just as present, even with her smooth words. “He’ll be back. I don’t like him, but he’s one of the most loyal people I know. He’s probably got some things he needs to deal with.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

With a deep breath, I nod. Of course, I know this, too. Ronan has always had that inspiring protector quality to him. Even when we were younger, he was always silly yet serious when he had to be. He would’ve died for Xavelor in a heartbeat if it was requested of him. And now that I know his character, I’m certain he’d do the same for me.

She brushes her thumb along my knuckles, and it’s just enough to calm my nerves so they aren’t as flighty.

“Sir Qor, can you please continue your story? I believe you left off with... dragons,” Ether guesses, her tone brightening when she realizes she’s correct.

“Of course, young one,” Qor continues, clearing his throat. “We don’t know how the humans managed to tame the beasts, but there were many. At Arioch’s command, they drove their claws through many soldiers’ chests. I remember watching in horror as Kelsi went down, his eyes laced with an indescribable longing. My heart still breaks when I think about his family who had to live out the rest of their existences alone in the forest, with no father figure and a broken kingdom.

“As I rushed to Kelsi’s side, his eyes glossy with regret, I felt a sharp blade rip through my chest, cutting my heart in two. I would’ve died had Queen Nadia not reached me in time.

“She came to my aid, outstretched her beautiful long fingers, and called forth a miraculous healing spell that was within her limitless magical core. I remember how beautiful she looked that day: silver eyes that sparkled with genuine tears of sorrow and loss—she cared deeply for all her people—and long, flowing black hair that was so dark and pure that it reflected light as though it were made of shining metal. I remember telling her my name when she asked, how she smiled at me, caressed my cheek, and told me I had the name fit for a king.

“The fairy king accompanied her, his eyes also filled with worry. He was telling her something, but the grunge of war warped my hearing, so I couldn’t make out what he said. By that time, it was too late. A dragon plunged its taloned claws through the fairy king’s torso and a cry ripped through his throat. Then the beast lifted him and deposited him amidst the burning trees and bodies. The queen’s face was overwrought with fear and abandonment at the sudden loss of her closest ally. And then, that’s when he came. King Arioch himself stole her away, allowed our legions to dwindle under the merciless attacks of dragons, then declared his win.

“Shortly after, he decreed that the war should be named to glorify the many non-magic soldiers who survived, so he thus called it the ‘War of Undying.’ But as I’ve just told you, too many people died that day, making the name as disrespectful as it is political.

“And to answer your question, young one, I believe I’ve only lived this long to tell the tale to as many who come through this village, in search of enlightenment. My queen had healed me and at once cursed me with an immortality spell, forcing me to live longer than everyone I knew. I’m sure it’s also punishment for fleeing the battlefield after she was abducted. After about 100 years of trying and failing to end my own life, I knew that there was a purpose I still must fulfill.”

“And that purpose is to continue telling people your story?” Ether asks.

“Precisely,” Qor says softly. “I have no magic left in me. I’ve starved myself of the forest’s magic for at least five hundred years now. What good will it do to prolong my life or live happily, when I should’ve laid dead next to Kelsi and the others?”

We are all silent for a moment, then I decide to speak.

“You’re making a difference, Qor. By telling your story, you’re bringing truth to centuries-old lies that have ruined relationships between humanity and magical beings,” I say, believing my words as they come out. “I know I may not seem like much, but I am the only living son of our current king, King Azriel, and—”

“You are most definitely a prince,” Qor says thoughtfully. I’m sure he can hear the doubt in my words.

I laugh despite myself, then continue: “Your account might just be the solution to bringing the people back together. After years of being told what to think about elves and fairies and the like, I think it’s about time for some positive change. I’m saying that as... as the potential future king.”

“Thank you, Your Highness, but after years of telling my story to numerous travelers, there has been no movement to implement change,” Qor sighs, then his tone changes. “Do tell me, though, why your kingship is not yet determined when you are the only living heir?”

“The Feast of Undying,” I say, as if that explains everything. Of course, it does and doesn’t. “My brother, who was a gifted warrior, died in battle. I’ve been tasked with proving myself worthy before the lords of the land by fighting one of the mighty beasts during the Feast. If I prevail, I’ll be recognized as the next rightful heir.”

Ether’s hand gently squishes mine.

“Times have changed,” Qor says with a sigh. “Have you the means to use magic? Majestic beasts such as dragons cannot be felled by sword nor dagger but must instead be outwitted by using magic.”

I turn my head slightly toward Ether. She begins to furiously pat my hand as though she knows what I’m about to say, and she’s either trying to get me to remain silent or urging me to vent my anger.

“Despite having never held a real sword before our first duel, I started my training learning sword arts,” I say carefully, keeping my tone as flat as possible. “If a dragon cannot be killed with a blade or brawl, why did we begin our training with swords?”

Ether stops her patting and starts brushing her fingers gently along the back of my hand, increasing pressure here and there as she thinks.

“Magic-imbued weapons,” she squeaks. “That’s the number one way to outwit a dragon. They know daggers nor swords can harm them, so when you plunge a blade deep into its rough armor, it will be completely unguarded. It’ll take too long for the beast to realize its fatal mistake as you leak your dagger’s magic into its flesh.”

“Why not a dagger, then?” I probe. “Why did we have to start with sword fighting?”

Ether laughs gently. “D-Don’t princes look cool wielding a sword?”

Qor chuckles at this, too. At her innocence. She’d had my best interest at heart, at least. A smile flourishes across my lips. She’s right: a prince and his sword are typically inseparable. Should I start carrying one around?

“Ah,” Qor mumbles, “you’ve started training together. But it sounds like you haven’t much more time to master magic. I’d love to watch you train if that’s alright. I may not use magic anymore, but this old warrior knows a thing or two about control and aim. My third eye may be helpful to you.”

Instead of offering her approval, Ether gently squeezes my hand, prompting my response. I’m sure she looks up to him; she even knew his name and quickly hid her intent to kill him as soon as she found out who he was. She must be hiding her excitement by allowing me to speak on her behalf.

“Sure, I don’t mind if you watch us,” I grant.

Ether’s hand flexes around mine as she lifts me to my feet and swivels me around, then leads me a few paces away from the fire. She grabs my other hand so she’s standing in front of me with our hands swinging low between us.

“You have magic in you,” she tells me confidently. “So, let’s see if you can replicate some simple temperature regulation magic. Focus on my hands and tell me what you feel.”

I wait a moment, sensing no change from her usual soft warmth. I can tell she’s excited to showcase her teaching abilities to the warrior, though I’m unsure I’ll be able to produce the results she’s looking for. I mean, it does feel like we’re moving a bit fast into using magic. After his story and Ronan disappearing, this is the last thing I want to do right now.

Then, like a shock of lightning, her hands are like bricks of snow, freezing my wandering thoughts. I try to pull away, but she wraps her icicle fingers around my wrists to hold me in place.

“It’s cold!” I shout indignantly. She quickly releases me, not on purpose, but reflexively.

“G-Good! Now I want you to picture something cold and pleasant—a memory or a desire. Perhaps cool water on a hot summer day, or a breeze. When you feel the energy form, focus it into your hands. Branch it out. Think about extending it from yourself.”

I nod, then instinctually close my eyes to mimic the focus I’d given to my studies many times before.

A happy, cold memory...

The scene where Ronan, Pluto, and I caught the Tallup rushes fresh into my memory. The three of us laugh as we bob up and down in the cool pond, enjoying that slice of freedom I’ve never experienced before. I smile at the memory, at the feeling of friendship that bloomed that day.

Then, a new sensation stirs in my core, near my stomach. It swells slightly, cold and hot, and my mind returns to the matter at hand—to the magic I must control. I think to the energy: bring out the cold. This thought feels silly, but the magic seems to understand. It sluggishly works its way out to my shoulders, then down my arms, and sits in my palms, aflame with icy coldness.

My smile spreads wider, at the happy memory bundling in my hands, tingling my fingers. I reach out desperately for Ether, to show her I’ve done it: I’ve managed to lure out my own energy. I take a step forward, then feel something soft and warm in my hands. My heart thuds in my burning ears as I’m reminded of her short height.

She seems unbothered by my misguided touch, because her fingers cover mine, cupping them to her round cheeks. She doesn’t twitch or shiver away from the cold in my hands—instead, she accepts the frigidness. I feel her satin skin pull into a smile.

Somehow, over the increasingly loud beating of my heart, I am able to hear Ether’s quiet yet triumphant whisper: “It’s cold, Ramiel.”

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