no slavers dare tread, and I will make the High Court know what it means to love humankind.”
She surrenders to him, dissolving into bliss even as he does into her.
Afterwards they lie spent together. She’s covered in mingled sweat, and he traces beads of moisture with his finger over the tips of her breasts. His long mane of near-white hair falls over the both of them, wisps clinging to the sides of her wet hips.
“Your body loves me, but your heart does not,” he says. “I have found in you perfect beauty, everything an elf aspires to create or discover in his lifetime. I must have your happiness. Tell me what I must do to make your soul love me the way your body does.”
She stares at him for a moment. “Freedom.” She already knows the answer.
He kisses her bottom lip. “You don’t want that. Tell me what you find most beautiful, and I will bring it to you.”
She runs her fingers through his hair, holding the back of his head as she kisses his crown. She knows what lie she must tell. She thinks of Tal Harun and Desdemona and the school they wanted to establish in Fairholm. She knows her only hope at freedom hangs on the hope that she can provoke Kaladan into stirring a hornet’s nest. She prays that the wizards of Artalon are fierce enough to serve as her hornets.
“Go free the slaves in Fairholm. Strike down their lords, and bring me Lord Keeva’s head on a plate. Do this for me, and I will never ask you for my freedom again. Do this for me, and I will gladly be your slave.”
Kaladan’s eyes twitch ever so slightly. His lips press a shade thinner. He says nothing for a few long seconds, and then nods.
“It will be done.”
15
The next morning, Archmage Kaladan does as she asks. His followers have already fastened to humans from the free villages of Fairholm, and Meiri knows she’s not the only one that lives in a gilded cage. She sees the wizard warriors of the sidhe gather, hundreds of them, on the bridges and in the courtyard gardens beneath her window. In unison, at her master’s beckon, they raise their wands. They transform themselves into streaking bolts of fire, shooting up into the air. A swarm of comets, burning the purple of the High Court, tears south through the sky towards Fairholm.
Meiri stares after them. Now that they are gone, it is strangely quiet. She feels Tomoril’s absence in the silence and wonders if he too will fasten to a human when he becomes old enough to quicken.
She knows something the sidhe do not. Fairholm has captured the interest of the human wizards of Artalon. Once the sidhe attack the city, Artalon’s wizards will be forced to respond. Meiri smiles smugly to herself. First, Kaladan will be the instrument of her revenge. Then, Tal Harun and Desdemona will lead an assault on Sutonia. Their child hides in their new magic school. They can’t let an attack on the city go unanswered, and they will find out what is happening in Sutonia. They will free her.
The next morning, Kaladan is still gone. She has slept alone, and she finds herself missing the elf. She closes her eyes and quells the disgust she feels directed at herself. He killed his father. He is my jailer. She imagines the battle must be fierce for him to be occupied so.
By afternoon, the elves return. They have human slaves that they’ve freed. Not freed. Captured . They walk through the streets, exposed to the elves of Sutonia.
Kaladan stands in the doorway. He holds a silver platter and lifts its lid to reveal the head of Lord Keeva.
“So easy?” Meiri asks. Kaladan looks pleased with himself, interpreting her tone as impressed instead of despairing, a feeling which sinks through her. “Were there no wizards to oppose you?”
“No,” he replies. “They were too few and we were hundreds. They departed the city; what else could they have done?” He walks to the window and tosses the head out into the air. With a flick from his wand, he launches a firebolt, which consumes the head
She surrenders to him, dissolving into bliss even as he does into her.
Afterwards they lie spent together. She’s covered in mingled sweat, and he traces beads of moisture with his finger over the tips of her breasts. His long mane of near-white hair falls over the both of them, wisps clinging to the sides of her wet hips.
“Your body loves me, but your heart does not,” he says. “I have found in you perfect beauty, everything an elf aspires to create or discover in his lifetime. I must have your happiness. Tell me what I must do to make your soul love me the way your body does.”
She stares at him for a moment. “Freedom.” She already knows the answer.
He kisses her bottom lip. “You don’t want that. Tell me what you find most beautiful, and I will bring it to you.”
She runs her fingers through his hair, holding the back of his head as she kisses his crown. She knows what lie she must tell. She thinks of Tal Harun and Desdemona and the school they wanted to establish in Fairholm. She knows her only hope at freedom hangs on the hope that she can provoke Kaladan into stirring a hornet’s nest. She prays that the wizards of Artalon are fierce enough to serve as her hornets.
“Go free the slaves in Fairholm. Strike down their lords, and bring me Lord Keeva’s head on a plate. Do this for me, and I will never ask you for my freedom again. Do this for me, and I will gladly be your slave.”
Kaladan’s eyes twitch ever so slightly. His lips press a shade thinner. He says nothing for a few long seconds, and then nods.
“It will be done.”
15
The next morning, Archmage Kaladan does as she asks. His followers have already fastened to humans from the free villages of Fairholm, and Meiri knows she’s not the only one that lives in a gilded cage. She sees the wizard warriors of the sidhe gather, hundreds of them, on the bridges and in the courtyard gardens beneath her window. In unison, at her master’s beckon, they raise their wands. They transform themselves into streaking bolts of fire, shooting up into the air. A swarm of comets, burning the purple of the High Court, tears south through the sky towards Fairholm.
Meiri stares after them. Now that they are gone, it is strangely quiet. She feels Tomoril’s absence in the silence and wonders if he too will fasten to a human when he becomes old enough to quicken.
She knows something the sidhe do not. Fairholm has captured the interest of the human wizards of Artalon. Once the sidhe attack the city, Artalon’s wizards will be forced to respond. Meiri smiles smugly to herself. First, Kaladan will be the instrument of her revenge. Then, Tal Harun and Desdemona will lead an assault on Sutonia. Their child hides in their new magic school. They can’t let an attack on the city go unanswered, and they will find out what is happening in Sutonia. They will free her.
The next morning, Kaladan is still gone. She has slept alone, and she finds herself missing the elf. She closes her eyes and quells the disgust she feels directed at herself. He killed his father. He is my jailer. She imagines the battle must be fierce for him to be occupied so.
By afternoon, the elves return. They have human slaves that they’ve freed. Not freed. Captured . They walk through the streets, exposed to the elves of Sutonia.
Kaladan stands in the doorway. He holds a silver platter and lifts its lid to reveal the head of Lord Keeva.
“So easy?” Meiri asks. Kaladan looks pleased with himself, interpreting her tone as impressed instead of despairing, a feeling which sinks through her. “Were there no wizards to oppose you?”
“No,” he replies. “They were too few and we were hundreds. They departed the city; what else could they have done?” He walks to the window and tosses the head out into the air. With a flick from his wand, he launches a firebolt, which consumes the head
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