Bride of the Shadow King

We ride swiftly across the open plain beneath an agonizingly vast sky alight with a million stars. I sense the quiet terror in the hearts of my people riding beside and behind me. Terror I shared up until a few moments ago. Now, it seems like a faraway memory. I’m full of both calm and confidence as the distance to the human castle slowly shrinks.

I surreptitiously study the young woman seated in front of me. Something about her makes me feel unexpectedly centered. I’m uncertain how to express it, even in the privacy of my own thoughts. Closing my eyes, I inhale gently. Her soft hair, though tangled and snarled, gives off a sweet, delicate scent. It’s a strange perfume to my nose, but not unpleasant. Perhaps if I were full-blooded trolde, I would find her repellent. As it is, it’s definitely not repulsion I feel.

I’ve always known I would have to marry for the sake of the kingdom. My own father did—twice. And his first wife, my mother, was human. A fact that has only made my life more difficult. While I look trolde and live my life according to troldefolk ways, there are those who will not forget my half-blood nature. There was even talk, upon my father’s death, about passing the crown to my full-blooded trolde brother rather than to me.

If I go through with this alliance—if I take a human wife—my children will bear more human blood than trolde. I wonder if my people will ever accept such offspring as legitimate heirs to my kingdom.

Then again, there will be no kingdom if I don’t make this alliance. No kingdom. No crown. No Under Realm.

This bleak thought draws my attention away from the young woman and on to our destination. That great grim castle standing atop a high promontory above a sprawling town. Six tall towers rise like teeth to tear at the sky, and the walls are high and forbidding. It’s a gruesome sight, so many dead stones hauled from their natural settings and piled one on top of the other in such a fashion. This is not the way troldefolk create our dwellings. We would never treat the stone so cruelly.

I squint, focusing my gaze, and count the guards standing watch along those walls. No fewer than twenty, probably more that I cannot see. What’s more, I detect a glimmer of magic surrounding them.

Sul rides his morleth close to my side. “Do you see what I see?” he asks in troldish.

I nod. “Miphates spells.”

My brother flashes a diamond-hard smile. “Are we going to ride straight into their clutches, O wise and worthy king? Is this one of those glory-and-honor moments I’ve heard sung about?”

“What?”

“You know—one of those ballads wherein the hero forgets all reason for the sake of a pretty face and rides recklessly to certain doom, dragging everyone else down with him in the process. All very romantic, I’m sure.”

I growl low in my throat. “Watch your tongue, brother.”

“Certainly.” His smile only grows. “I’ll watch my tongue so long as you watch your step.” He eyes Faraine, letting his gaze run up and down her figure in a way I don’t like. As though he can see right through the folds of cloak shrouding her.

I turn my shoulder slightly, wishing I could hide the girl from his view. “Shall I remind you that the human king has promised us a warm welcome?”

“King Larongar has promised, eh? Yes, I’m sure we’ll be warmly welcomed once those Miphates spells start flying and we’re all burnt to cinders.”

At the sound of her father’s name, Faraine stiffens. She faces firmly forward, her shoulders shrugging up to her ears. How much does she understand? She doesn’t know our tongue, but she’s sensitive to tone. I feel the ease between us vanishing, and she sits like dead stone before me.

I spur Knar a little faster, putting some distance between us and Sul. “You must pardon my brother’s suspicious nature,” I say, switching to her language and speaking low in her ear. “We did not expect to see overt signs of Miphates magic so soon upon arrival. Your father boasts impressive defenses.”

A little shiver rolls down her neck. “Of course. We have been fighting the fae these last many years.”

It’s a fair point. Faced with the likes of the Licornyn Riders, Larongar is wise to make use of his Miphates mages to defend his own household. Those cold, dead stone walls wouldn’t offer much protection against a determined fae host, after all.

Still, human magic is mysterious. And dangerous. I’ve heard many tales of the Miphates magicians and their miraculous powers. Tales I hope will prove true, for I have grave need of a miracle. But I don’t like to put myself at the mercy of such a force.

“Faraine,” I say, “may I ask an impertinent question?”

She shoots me a quick glance from those strange eyes of hers. “Only if you can bear an impertinent answer.”

My lips quirk to one side. “I can bear any amount of impertinence so long as your answer is honest.”

“In that case, ask away.”

“I’m only wondering how great the chance is that I am even now leading my people into an ambush.”

She does not answer at once. Have I insulted her? I don’t think so. She seems to possess a fair and straightforward sort of mind that would appreciate candor. Then again, I’ve not known her long enough to form a clear picture of her character. For all I know, I’ve just overstepped myself rather badly.

“Whatever chance there was,” she says at last, “has been drastically decreased by the simple fact that you have my father’s firstborn and heir in your keeping.”

I chuckle dryly. “A happy turn of events for me. But I hope there is no need for our little rescue to turn into something so unsavory as a hostage situation.”

“From your lips to the gods’ ears.”

Her spine is as straight as a spear shaft. I wish I could say something to relieve her tension. I would like for her to trust me, to believe I have no desire to put her at risk. But my foremost concern must be for my people.

We are now near enough to Beldroth that I can hear the shouts going out as watchmen alert the castle to our approach. Hael rides her morleth up beside me, with Theodre clinging to the pommel of her saddle and looking positively ill beneath the pale starlight. “My king,” Hael says, speaking loud enough to be heard over the human prince’s grumbles. “Let me go ahead with the prince. It would be wise to let the humans see him first.”

I nod, and Hael takes the lead. She is an intimidating figure, even among troldekind. A valiant, unselfish soul whom I would trust with my life. I know how hard it is for her to continue on this mission while her brother’s fate remains uncertain. But she would never falter in the face of her duty.

She approaches the gate. “Halt!” a human voice calls out, not quite able to disguise a nervous quaver. “Who goes there?”

“King Vor of Mythanar,” Hael replies, “come at the invitation of Larongar Cyhorn, King of Gavaria. We met with your own crown prince on the road and offered him escort.”

“The prince?” the human voice says, rather doubtfully. I forget sometimes that humans cannot see well in the dark. “Prince Theodre is with you?”

“Yes, I’m with the trolls, gods damn it!” Theodre bellows, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Open the gates, man. It’s spitting cold out here!”

A moment of silence punctuated by low murmurs. Then, with a heavy creak of levers and chains, the portcullis rises. Sul catches my gaze. He raises an eyebrow. This is the moment of truth. Once we’re through those gates, we’ll be at the human king’s mercy. I’ve been so certain of my path all this time, but now we’ve come to it, I wonder if I’m truly willing to risk the lives of these brave men and women who’ve followed me into this strange, cold world.

As though sensing my unease, Faraine turns suddenly and looks up at me. She’s so near, I can see the little flecks of green present in both her gold and her blue eye. They’re unexpectedly lovely, and I find myself wanting to look more deeply still, to search after the soul revealed behind those colored orbs.

“Don’t worry, Vor,” she says softly. I like the way my name sounds coming from her lips. She speaks it with a human accent, lilting and gentle. “My father desires this alliance. He’s willing even to give up his favorite daughter to secure it.”

His favorite daughter. She’s not referring to herself. She means Ilsevel; the incredible Ilsevel she’s mentioned several times now. Larongar mentioned none of his three daughters by name in any of our correspondence. While we danced around the topic of a marriage, neither of us speaking of it save in hints and implications, I’d assumed when the time came, I would have my pick of the human princesses. Is this not to be the case?

I shake my head. Now is not the time to worry over such details. Faraine’s words are all the assurance I need. Larongar wants this alliance. I needn’t fear an ambush. Not tonight at any rate.

Hael turns in her saddle. “My king?” she says. I nod, and she spurs her morleth forward, leading the way through the open gate. I follow just behind her, and the other ten members of my party fall in line at my back. It’s a comfort to be once more surrounded by stone—even dead stone like these rough-hewn blocks shoved together by unloving hands.

Humans surround us. The smell of them is nearly overwhelming—the stink of time-bound beings, their bodies given over to swift decay. I surreptitiously scrutinize the figures lining the walls. King Larongar is taking no chances. Not even with a prospective son-in-law.

“Get me off this monstrous thing!” Prince Theodre’s voice rings out loudly. I turn to see him scrambling to get down from his mount’s back. Hael manages to catch him by the collar of his shirt and holds him squirming several feet above the paving stones.

“Put the prince down, Hael,” I speak sharply in troldish.

Her lip curls disdainfully. But she opens her hand and lets Theodre drop in an unsightly heap. He picks himself up hastily, straightens his garments, smooths back his long, oiled hair. He staggers a few steps, his legs bowed from the long ride on morleth-back, and very nearly sits down hard right there in the middle of the courtyard. With a little shake, he regains his balance.

Then he whips his head around, shooting a glare directly at me. “Unhand my sister, troll king.”

Were I not in such desperate need of making this alliance, I would smash his nose in and see what that does to his gods-gifted beauty. My arm unconsciously tightens around the princess’s waist. Am I mistaken, or has her straight spine relaxed, allowing her to lean back against me? No, I must be imagining it.

Hastily I swing down from the saddle. “Allow me to help you, princess,” I say, forgoing the informality of her name even as I place my hands around her waist. She grips my shoulders, and I lift her down, setting her on her feet. She staggers like her brother, unused to such long hours in the saddle. For a moment, she leans into me for support. My heart makes a peculiar leap to my throat.

She draws away, pulling my cloak close around her body. I feel a cold space in the air where she had stood before, an emptiness that I do not like. She blinks, looks down at herself, then begins to remove the cloak from her shoulders. “No, please,” I say quickly, putting out a hand but not quite touching hers. “Keep it. You can return it later.”

She gazes up at me, eyelashes fluttering softly. Her lips part, and I tilt my head, eager to catch what she might say.

“Vor! My friend!” The voice booms against the stone walls, causing the morleth to toss their heads and growl. “Is that you at last? We’ve been anticipating your arrival since sundown. And who are these ragamuffins you’ve picked up on your journey?”

I turn to face the wide stone stair leading up to a massive front entrance. A man stands framed in the open doorway—a great, square warrior with enormous hands meant for hefting battleaxes, and a once-handsome face now disfigured by a great red scar and an empty eye socket. King Larongar, I presume.

Movement behind him draws my gaze. Three bearded men in elaborately embroidered robes stand just behind the king. I struggle to discern differences among human faces, but the foremost of them has a long white beard while the other two are dark. All brim with unmistakable magical potency. I know at once who they are: the King’s Miphates. They trail a few paces behind Larongar as he descends the steps to us.

Theodre, bowlegged and stiff, wobbles over to meet his father, offering a perfunctory bow. “How now, boy,” Larongar says, turning to him without much interest. “You look like something the dragon chewed up and spat back out again. What have you been up to?”

His son scowls. “It’s not my fault, Father. We were set upon by unicorn riders in the Ettrian Pass. The bastards slaughtered most of our guard. The rest scattered, leaving us to our fate.”

Larongar’s mustache curls, either with mirth or disdain, I can’t quite tell. “Well,” he says gruffly, “a bit of adventuring does a man good. And I’m sure you made a decent show of yourself with that sparkly sword of yours, didn’t you, my boy?”

Theodre runs his fingers through his shining hair and pulls himself a little straighter. “I did what I could to defend my sister,” he declares staunchly. An interesting revision of events. I’d seen the prince abandon Faraine in the carriage in his bid for escape.

Larongar grunts, unimpressed. “Your sister, eh? And where is she?”

“Here, Father,” Faraine says, stepping away from me. My gaze follows her as she approaches the king and sinks into a deep curtsy.

Larongar looks from her to me and back again, his expression all too keen. “Well now, Faraine,” he rumbles. “Good to have you home again. All in one piece, I trust?”

“Yes, thank you, Father.”

“Excellent.” He hesitates. Then, as though following some predetermined script, he reaches out and pats her head. “Your sister is in the east tower. Go ahead and, erh . . . help make her ready to meet our guests. You know what to do.”

“Yes, Father,” Faraine says with another curtsy. She starts for the stair, pauses. For a moment, I wonder if she’ll turn and look back at me. I don’t know why, but I would like very much to catch a last glimpse of her pale, earnest face. But she doesn’t turn. Her hands merely grip the cloak a little closer as she slips up the stair and vanishes into the castle.

“Well, my friend,” Larongar says, drawing my attention back to him. “We meet at last, face-to-face. Come! Embrace me!”

He closes the distance between us with a few swift strides and grips me by the shoulders, pulling me into a bear hug. I break his hold as soon as I can without seeming rude, taking care not to stare at the gaping hole where an eye ought to be. This man has made a name for himself with his campaigns against the fae. Over the last two decades he’s fought to drive them from his lands, and there are some who believe Larongar might be the man to oust the fae from the human world entirely. Gazing now into his one good eye, I behold in its depths great strength, conviction, pride . . . and malice.

“So, I owe you thanks for the safe return of my children, do I?” he says. His tone is wary. He, like his son, is reluctant to be indebted to one of the fae.

“It was my pleasure to render assistance,” I say quickly. “My people and I have faced Licornyn Riders before. They are a deadly band.”

“Aye, and they’ve caused me no end of grief this last season since pledging their service to Prince Ruvaen. Pretty bastards, one and all.” He turns then to inspect the rest of my party scattered around the courtyard. His eye widens as he takes in our mounts, particularly my big Knar, standing close at hand. “Here now, this is quite the mighty steed you’ve got, my friend. Is this what passes for a horse in your world? It looks as though it likes the taste of red meat!”

“Indeed, morleth have been known to feast upon their gentler kin,” I reply, casting a fond glance Knar’s way.

“You don’t say?” Larongar pales beneath his beard. “I fear our stables might be a bit cramped for such a herd.”

At this, I laugh. I try not to, but the idea of crowding morleth into a stable with mortal horses is painfully amusing. “Not to worry, friend Larongar,” I hasten to reassure him. “So long as the shadows are deep enough, our morleth shall fold inside them and rest comfortably.”

Larongar’s single eye blinks blankly. He turns to the white-bearded Miphato hovering at his elbow. “Is there something I’m missing here?”

The Miphato inclines his head. “It is my understanding, Majesty, that morleth are inter-dimensional beings.”

“What now?”

“They’re magic. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah!” The king shrugs and turns back to me. “Well, that settles it. I’ve always found it best to leave the magic to the Miphates. I quite depend on old Wistari here, my head mage and vizier. What he says is as good as law in these parts.”

I shoot a studying glance at the old Miphato, who meets my eye with deceptively placid calm. There’s no doubt in my mind: this is the very man I need to save my people from disaster. A knot tightens in my gut. This alliance must work. There is no other alternative for Mythanar, for all of the Under Realm. I must have the might of the human mages on my side. Or we’re all doomed.

“Well, Vor, I trust you are hungry,” Larongar says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and guiding me toward the stair. “I’ve arranged rooms for your people and meals to be brought at once. It’ll be dawn soon enough, and I understand your folk prefer to sleep through the day. I hope you’ll take your ease then join us at sundown. I’ve prepared a little reception to introduce you to my court.”

“I look forward to it. And will your daughter Ilsevel be present?” I watch him closely for a reaction.

Larongar’s cheek twitches. It’s a small enough tell, but informative. “Ah, so you’re keen to meet my Ilsie, are you? Word of her travels far and wide, I know. She’s as spritely a little thing as a man could ask for. A beauty too, like her mother before her, but with my spirit and strength of will. I defy you to find another maid her equal.”

“Indeed?” I force a smile into place. “In that case, I am eager to make her acquaintance.”