1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of Air: Book #5, Chronicles of Marsdenfel

Year 232 of the Bynding - The Realm of Salles, around Summer Solstice - post 5

The next morning comes far more swiftly than I expect. At first the quiet stillness confuses me, with how different it’s been from my dreams.

Then I realize that my visions of Gaylen being clawed bloody by a gryphon were dreams.

Elfin dreams portray reality, thanks to certain magic worked by our ancestors.

“Creator, protect him,” I whisper, though I shudder and fear it’s too late. Gaylen has enough faerie in him to be frail for an elf–and that’s besides the fact that he’s well past thirty.

I draw a breath and hoist myself out of bed to face the dawn, though I’m unsure what I’ll do while waiting for safety—waiting or waiting for my child to be born, for that matter.

I can’t prepare anything for my daughter—then Darnell would know to seek her here, whenever she escapes. I can’t contact Tully—she’ll defy her father again, and I cannot allow her to do that for my sake again. I could contact her father—but to what purpose? If he hasn’t yet noticed that I’m no longer in position to blackmail him if he steps out of line, what will he do?

The pressure builds to a headache behind my eyes. I sigh softly and check the air in my sitting room. Once I confirm nobody’s there, I unlock my door and peek out—and then sigh again at my own paranoia.

Darnell’s never yet managed to hide from my magic, but Tully can do it, when she wants. I’m sure Darnell will figure it out someday.

I go to the entrance for my suite and repeat the checks—and discover a small body sleeping in front of my door. I frown and open it.

Lallie is sprawled across my doorstep.

She snaps awake and jumps up into a crouch before I can even step back. She checks our surroundings before she relaxes and finishes standing. She stares at the floor and picks at her skirt. “Majesty?”

“Do you not have rooms of your own?”

She glances up but doesn’t move her head. “I gotta room.”

And yet she intentionally slept across my door, last night, which likely opens her to all sorts of speculation and risk—risk she’s surely far more aware of than I am. Elfin elementals are treasured…but we also aren’t born elementals. Usually.

The thought reminds me of the two elf-born-elementals that I know: one the cousin puppeteered by her father, and the other that cousin’s daughter, whom I have to treat as a court fool so my brother will ignore her. I suppose elves don’t treat their born elementals so well, after all.

She isn’t Onlé, and it would be cruel of me to pretend that kindness to Lallie makes up for my mistreatment of my cousin’s daughter, but I can’t bring myself to ignore the opportunity to assuage my conscience. “Please show me to breakfast, and then we can fetch your things. You can stay in my outer room.”

The smile that flashes over her face is gone almost as soon as I spot it. “Yes, Majesty.”