The wardrobe provided for me quite obviously builds from items provided by Mataine, which have been hastily adjusted for our respective figures while leaving the excess fabric in place so they can be restored to their original owner, if I dislike them or if they survive my use of them. The fine weave of the fabric is fit for royalty, their cut is designed to account for an unborn child—and a few fit the styles from a decade past, shortly before my mother died, which fits when Mataine would’ve been wearing them for her firstborn.
The rap at the door uses the brisk strength that I’ve started associating with Lallie, though it’s a pricise, neutral lack of pattern. I confirm who’s on the other side by checking the magic, and then I open the door and let her in.
She scurries in, hunched as if expecting to be tossed out at any moment. “Barun say he’ll help, but he got to fix up one of his places, first.”
A chill skitters through me, but Darnell won’t scry for me so soon. Scries are complicated to cast, and they use a lot of magic. The risk of insanity isn’t enough to dissuade him, but the prospect of being worn out to the point of temporary inability to use his other involved spells surely is.
Grehafen is only about twice the size of Marsdenfel, but Darnell has dreamed larger since he found control of the Shadow. He’s assassinated his own relatives with that magic-targeting parasite, and he’s adjusted the inheritance for three realms that I know of. Probably more.
I fear what he’ll control before my daughter’s old enough to stop him…but perhaps his imperialistic tendencies will be what enable her to do so.
My silence hasn’t helped poor Lallie, who’s nearly trembling.
“I’m sorry; I was distracted,” I admit. “Thank you for checking. What can you tell me about him?”
The girl draws a breath, as if bracing herself, and gives a skittish smile. “Barun be an ondine. He own property down dockside. Just gota new place gateside, an’ he said he was gonna do renovations, anyways, so he’ll block it off like that and ward the upstairs.”
That seems…an excessive amount of help, from someone I don’t even know. “Is he aware of the risk?”
Lallie gives me a look that asks if I seriously think she’d be rude enough to let a someone volunteer to help me without full information. “He be ondine. And own property.”
I am evidently missing something.
Lallie sighs. “Ondine don’t own property. Their women do. But because he can, he be a clan, hisself—and that be something a lotta undine don’t like. That mean he oft get targeted by folk of his own kind. If Darnell be dumb enough to tackle an elemental, he be dumb enough to get the water yanked from his body.”
Put like that, I suppose his willingness to help hide me does make some kind of sense.
“An’ Ferrel say that doing any more than that would just turn out way worse than waiting for the right time, so…” She shrugs.
“Ferrel?”
“Silva’s brother. They be twins.”
I stare at her, startled by how many prophets this realm has at its disposal. “How does he define ‘worse’?”
Lallie squints. “I don’t remember all he said, but it was something like five realms would collapse if we wait for your baby, and fifty if we tried to force things now. Something like going for him now would, like, destroy all the elves or something.”
Cold grips me, and I struggle to moderate my temperature for the sake of my mostly-human daughter. The girl’s words bring to mind my earlier oath to destroy even my own race, if necessary, to stop Darnell from becoming a necromancer.
I press my hand to my stomach and feel my unborn daughter shift position. “She’ll take him by surprise,” I murmur. That’s the only answer that makes sense, for how—and why—she’ll be able to depose him when nobody else can.
Prophecies always come true, though they aren’t always interpreted properly. And they rarely explain how things will happen.
Lallie shrugs, and she does a good job of hiding her puzzlement for someone her age. “Barun thinks he can have it all ready tomorrow, maybe the day after. Ferrel says Darnell won’t even try scrying for you till at least the day after that.”
She has certainly thought things through. “Ferrel sounds more comfortable with his gift than his sister is.”
“Seer,” she says, answering what I hadn’t asked—which type of prophecy did he experience?
And he’s Seeing things involving me? Poor boy.
We both grimace.
She gives me a slight smile. “So… Hungry or thirsty or…be there anything I can ’elp you with?”
“I’m fine for now, thank you.”
Lallie nods self-consciously.
After a long moment, she starts. “Oh! You be tired and wanna sleep. I be going. Beg pardon.”
I manage a slight smile, and the girl scurries out.
Part of me feels bad for locking the girl out, but I’m well aware that I won’t be able to sleep, otherwise. So many humans.
I shiver, then force a steady breath and rest my forehead against the door. Not their fault they’re human, and not all humans are like Darnell. Even Darnell’s wife isn’t comparable to her husband, which doesn’t bode well for her longetivity. I suspect she’s only still alive because Darnell wants another legitimate heir or two.
My breath is visible in the air. I sigh and retire to the bedroom, also locking that door. It helps.
Not enough for me to feel entirely comfortable with either my child or my current locale, but it helps.
YOU ARE READING
1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of Air: Book #5, Chronicles of Marsdenfel
FantasySometimes, the next generation is all you have to look forward to...even if you won't live long enough to see it... · · · · · Endellion Yunan is high queen of the elves, but her human half-brother has enslaved her realm to gain access to magic only...
