Chapter 34 | Ravinica

Chapter 34

Ravinica

PAST THE FAIRYTALE valley, through high cliffsides of Norrin’s Pass, we came upon Alokana, capital of the Nation of Heira.

It was a sprawling cityscape cut into the side of a forested mountain much like the one we’d just passed through. Glimmering spires awaited us, canopied by lush evergreens and a hue of greens rarely seen in my world.

Alokana was multi-tiered, spreading across different ledges of the mountainside—a kaleidoscope of colors. Parts of it hung over the edges, leading to precipitous drops hundreds of feet below. Other parts were nestled deeper into the rock face. Ropes and giant hollowed trees created networks and bridges from one section of the mountain to the other. Much of the city had been built precariously past the ledges of the mountain, held up by stoic stonework and sheer determination.

At first blush, it was clear Alfheim had not reached or accepted modernity like Midgard had. This was a medieval city, complete with horses, stone and wood structures, and knights in gold armor with shining swords.

A place of fables, found in storybooks.

A company of the gold-armored elven warriors marched toward us as we approached the mountain, the shadow of Alokana looming over us in all its splendor.

We walked cobblestone roads. Traders and carriages were coming in at a gentle pace from the east and west, while we headed up from the south through Norrin’s Pass.

I had to crane my neck just to see the highest points of the mountain city, and I was sure there was more of it I couldn’t see, near the clouds. Around us, stone ruins marred the land, huge sculptures half-submerged in the grass and ground, as if it was an older part of the city moved at some point to the mountain itself.

Our entourage of Skogalfar became noticeably more alert as the gold-plated Ljosalfar approached. Spears came out, rough mutterings swept through the tribe, and they took to the front of our group.

“This looks like it could get ugly fast,” I said to Corym.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he answered, pushing his way toward the front.

Jhaeros and his kin seemed like they wanted to mob the front, shielding their round-ear charges like chaperones. Just as the two groups started to speak to each other, both drawing lines in the sand and stopping, Corym emerged from the throng.

“Vesryn,” Corym called out to the frontmost Ljosalfar, who was dressed down in gold armor like the kind I’d first seen Corym wearing. “Brother.”

They spoke in Elvish after that. I could only pick up a few things here and there. Definitely need to learn the language better if I’m going to be in the middle of bringing us together.

These two clearly knew each other. As they spoke, my other mates wandered up next to me to get close in case things went south.

“Company-Prince has returned,” I translated from Vesryn, based on Corym’s past announcements about his true status. Corym flipped the vibe again when he said he had arrived with “emissaries from Midgard,” which confused the head elf on the other side.

They spoke swiftly. Corym had the presence of mind to translate in real time. “I know Midgardians have not been in Alfheim for centuries. They’re here now though. The wards have fallen, brother, which means we must communicate with them.”

Vesryn started arguing in his tongue. I wondered if he was truly a blood brother of Corym’s, or if it was an honorific.

Lady Elayina, standing next to me, sighed her exasperation and shuffled forward. “Never leave men to do a woman’s work. Can’t believe I used to commingle in this nitpicking court.” A wide berth of Skogalfar got out of her way, and I followed her, seizing the moment.

“The visitor speaks truly,” she called out before putting herself in front of the action. I recalled her naming Corym “the visitor” back in her cave, which seemed much more personal than “a visitor.”

A hush fell over the Ljosalfar. Vesryn’s face went slack, not because I stepped up next to Elayina and showed my silver hair and half-rounded ears, but because of the seer herself.

Slowly, the Ljosalfar bowed their heads and saluted in a solemn kneel.

“ Anvari ,” Vesryn murmured reverently. “ Sc’alre nu ranlin.”

“Aye, soldier, I have returned. I am hungry and tired, and these humans are my guests. They will be treated as such in the gilded city of Alokana.”

Vesryn said something into the ears of one of the soldiers and that woman went clanking off toward the city gates. Then the captain stood, nodded firmly, and parted the way while sweeping a hand forward. “Of course, Ancient One,” he said in a stilted accent.

As I passed, with my mates behind me, a flash of doubt and contempt passed over Vesryn’s handsome face when he looked at me.

I noticed Jhaeros and the Skogalfar weren’t following.

When I turned around with a questioning look, Jhaeros said, “We go no further, round-ears. Our place is in Kiir’luri, not hobbled on the mountains.”

I smiled at him. “Thank you for the escort, Jhaeros. I won’t forget it.”

“Very well, luni’ren. ”

With a half-bow, the wood elves turned around and headed back for the vast forest that dotted the horizon.

I made a face at Corym. “ Luni’ren ?”

“‘Silver-streaked,’ as when I call you lunis’ai , yet without the connotation of love. A sign of respect. It seems you’ve already made an impression with the Skogalfar.”

He walked past me to join Elayina and the escort of Ljosalfar. I stayed back with Kelvar and my mates, following in their footsteps.

The smile didn’t leave my face, pride filling me.

Already made an impression . . .

We headed for the daunting, arched gates of Alokana at the foot of the mountain, hopefulness lifting my spirit for the first time in a long time.

Crank-operated elevators brought us up the mountain face, setting us onto the first tier in Alokana. Corym took the lead when we stepped off the platform onto the ridge.

Lady Elayina did not get off the platform, and I turned to her with a curious expression.

“I will go to the castle to cut down the fanfare before it can begin,” she explained to me and Corym. We moved to say something, but before we could, the elevator operator wheeled his hand and started lifting the platform. Losing sight of Elayina, she nodded down to us. “I will call for you by the evening. Be ready.”

Then the ancient crone was gone, stooped over in her ragged garb.

Corym took my hand with a smile. “Come,” he said, and then nodded behind us to the others. “Welcome to my homeland, friends. There is much to see.”

“Seeing is great, but is there anywhere to rest?” Sven grumbled, stretching his arms over his head.

The sun beat down on us mercilessly, coating the entire ridgeline of Alokana in golden heat. Sven was right—I was already starting to sweat, my eyes could barely stay open, and we desperately needed to bathe.

“To a tavern, then,” Corym said with a nod.

“Unnecessary, varus . Do not humble yourself in the drink dens.”

We turned from the elevator ropes to find a rail-thin elven woman in a blue workwoman’s dress in front of us.

Her hands clasped in front of her stomach. She bowed her head to us. “I am Zentha, handmaiden appointed to the Midgardians.”

The woman’s voice was elegant and regal, like she was a noblewoman trapped in a maid’s garb. She was a beauty, like all the Ljosalfar, with high, slanted cheekbones of impervious tone, not a speck or blemish on her. Somehow, Zentha looked more alien than even Corym, who had a few lines of a fighter across his beautiful mug.

I pouted, impressed, and raised a brow at my elven lover. “We get our own handmaiden?”

“I suppose so,” Corym replied, scratching his head. And was that a slight blush I saw staining his cheeks?

Clearly, the Fifth Company-Prince was not used to overdone attention in the capital city of Alokana. Corym struck me as the kind of man who went about his business with razor focus, and didn’t have time for hangers-on or gossip or fawning.

Zentha said, “It is my pleasure, varuses .” To me, she bowed deeper. “ Maelen .” I knew those terms as the equivalent of “sir” and “ma’am.” She turned on her heels and glided up the walkway of the ridge, which turned deeper into the mountain where the rest of the city lay.

As we walked, Zentha explained, “Captain Vesryn notified me of your arrival and commanded a retinue of help for our Midgardian guests.”

Magnus said, “But we’ve only just arrived. How—”

“Spirit-tethering, bloodrender,” Corym interjected. “Same way Elayina alerted me and Ravinica, I reckon. It’s a mode of communication Ljosalfar experience through our magic, our spirit. It . . . sounds fancier than it is.”

“Psychic communication?” Grim asked.

“Something like that, bear.”

We continued on in Zentha’s footsteps, walking where she walked. Her stroll was graceful and short in her elegant dress, which I realized showed more skin than I would have expected from a maid—usually having to hide as much as their ankles from being seen in medieval times.

Not here. Zentha’s blue dress, which had looked quaint at first, showed slits on the sides that revealed creamy thighs when she walked. Her tunic looked expensive, a light blue color to match her gown, yet it was completely bare on the back, only caging her breasts in the front.

It was a surprise, to say the least. Especially considering I had just come from a place at the height of winter, with everyone bundled up in their warmest most unflattering clothing.

Hel, everyone here had more skin on display than I was used to, and it made my face warm looking at the elves wandering the streets. Tunics were open, unbuttoned much of the time. A few traders were even shirtless, showing off wiry muscles and the length of their tapered ears. Women wore headdresses of twirled silk, brightly colored, or had their hair in fashionable cuts—long and velvety, braided, or cut short to the ears.

Everyone moved with an elegance that was lost on me, as if the simple act of walking had meaning and purpose here.

The one thing everyone shared in common was the brightness of their hair—stark blonde, nearly white, as radiant as the Midgardian sun. The Ljosalfar had hair that was, by contrast, brighter than their own sun, with its greenish-orange tint. Not a single elf we passed had mismatched hair like Dagny or flair or anything that would take away from the sheer majesty of their station and importance in life.

Within a few minutes of walking down a cobbled road, I got the sense these people were very perceptive about said station and importance. There was an air of superiority on the faces of every Ljosalfar we passed, who frowned and narrowed their yellow eyes at us as we passed with Zentha leading us along like dogs on a leash.

“I feel like we belong in a kennel around these people,” I muttered out the corner of my mouth.

Arne said, “Speak for yourself. I feel like I fit right in.”

Sven said, “You would, dandy. Maybe we should start calling you a half-elf instead of Ravinica.”

Grim chuckled.

A smile grew on my face. My mates were at ease. Those were the first words Arne had spoken directly to us since Frida’s death. Maybe he’s going to be okay after all. Or he’s still in shock, doing anything in his power to keep his mind occupied.

At least he was trying—not allowing himself to wallow, when he knew what a monumental, surreal moment this was for our kind. To be humans smack dab in the middle of an elven kingdom!

I couldn’t believe it. There was a dreamlike quality in Alokana, despite the buildings and people being very real and lavish.

Most of the buildings were built with white stone, sheer and bright. Their tops were set with emerald roofing, gables the same, with signs hanging down to denote what they were in the Elvish script.

It was a medieval village like I’d see in a storybook, yet with flesh-and-blood, long-eared elves doing the moseying, and the entire cityscape lifted high above the valley floor.

Corym said, “This is only one level of Alokana, as I’m sure you noticed. Here, the workers and traders mingle.”

I blinked, shocked. “These beautiful people are the workers ?”

He smirked. “You should see the nobility, love.”

Cringing, I shook my head. “I’m not sure I want to. I’ve got enough royalty surrounding me right now, Prince. ”

My other mates laughed.

Corym glanced at our guide. I saw he was looking at a red tattoo high up on her bicep, near her shoulder. Her arms were bare from the sleeveless, backless tunic she wore.

Risqué, by human standards.

“Are you a child of the E’lain clan, Zentha?” my mate asked.

She shot him a surprised look. “I am, varus . How do you—”

“I knew your father, Theomer,” Corym said, putting a palm to his chest. “Fought with him in Svartalfheim. A good soldier. I am of the E’tar.”

Zentha smiled demurely at Corym, which for some reason made me jealous. Probably because she had such otherworldly beauty.

“I am aware you are E’tar, varus . You are the Fifth Company-Prince. Your exploits are well-known here.”

Not to me they’re not. What exploits does she speak of, hmm? I gave him a small look that said as much, almost accusatory, and he put a hand around my back to pull me close.

I rapidly felt better.

Pull it together, Vini. This is no place to be jealous and small.

I needed to pump my chest out, walk with purpose, and remember who the fuck I was: Ravinica Lindeen, badass runeshaper and possible Lightbearer legend. Unique bog-blood half-elf who carried the essence of both races inside me.

Of course, Zentha was just making small talk. I didn’t actually feel like Corym was hitting on her or found her alluring. She was undoubtedly attractive, but so was every other shirtless or scantily clad elf we passed.

It was my own insecurity bubbling to the surface for the first time in a while, which surprised me by how loud it was.

Typically, I was not an envious person. I knew my worth, my strength, and there was a reason I had five men pining after me. Five gorgeous men, no less.

I let Corym talk, feeling more confident in how I would approach things here after I’d gotten that spur of self-doubt out of the way.

Zentha and Corym carried on their conversation in low tones, and I learned more about my mate in the short ten-minute walk down the main avenue.

For one, he was quite the man here. He had a high station, a high purpose, and carried himself humbly despite his place among the gentry. Even if he wasn’t a Court-Prince living on the higher tiers of the city, Company-Prince was nothing to scoff at.

Zentha said, “Sixteen of my siblings attend Brightdawn Academy where you taught herbalism, varus . They hope to be medics and soldiers in the Royal Gold.”

Corym let out an impressed sound.

I blurted, “ Sixteen brothers and sisters?!”

Zentha gave an airy laugh, like a fairy dancing on her tongue. “Aye, maelen. Families are large in Alokana.”

“Large among all the Ljosalfar, you mean,” Corym muttered, shaking his head.

I had nearly forgotten elves liked to . . . stay busy. As I glanced around at the fancy structures, bright roads, and the elves gathered around the streets, it started to make sense.

This showing of skin . . . the way they carry themselves . . . the elegance and self-importance. It’s all to show their worth to possible mates, I’m sure.

I needed to remember what Corym had said—or at least alluded to—when he mentioned Maltor Vaalnath’s four wives and two husbands.

Ljosalfar fucked. A lot . Simple as that. They clearly weren’t as repressed or timid about showing their “wares” in public as many cultures from Midgard were. There was no shame here in the act of sex, or the enjoyment of it, evidently.

A grunt and wheeze caught my attention.

“Silvermoon,” Magnus said nervously.

I looked over my shoulder. Hersir Kelvar was wincing, struggling to keep up as he limped after us. His face was sweating.

“Shit,” I breathed.

Magnus said, “His wound reopened.”

Zentha noticed and stopped the procession. She furrowed her straight, elegant brow. “Allow my people to care for your wounded friend. Your spring-hold is just over there.” She pointed.

“Spring-hold?” Grim asked.

Corym said, “Our lodging. A secluded dwelling with a hot spring attached to it.” When my mates made a shocked face, his lip curled in a half-smile. “Perks of being a Company-Prince, friends.”

“Say less,” Sven grunted, pushing past the group to head for the spring-hold. He was already taking off his damned scrap-shirt.

I gawked at the strong muscles of his back, flexing in the sunlight. “Sven!” I scolded.

“What, little menace? When in Rome!”

I gestured toward Kelvar. “What about the Whisperer?”

“I’ll be f-fine,” Kelvar grunted, moving his arm from over Magnus’ shoulder, who had been keeping him upright. “Go enjoy your hot springs. Gods know I could use a break from you lot.”

Corym nodded to Zentha. “He accepts your offer of aid with gratitude, maelen. ” He put a hand on her shoulder, making sure she focused on him. “This man is important to our cause and group. Please see that he is all right. And also, for good measure, don’t let him out of your sight.”

Kelvar scoffed.

I stayed in the courtyard with the rest of my mates while Zentha gingerly led the Whisperer away from us, toward a different building where other blue-dressed handmaids were emerging to help bring him inside the infirmary.

I let out a long sigh. “We’re alone. At last.”

Grim said, “Thank the gods. I was thinking we’d never lose our eagle-eyed watchman.”

“Hey, careful,” Magnus said, shouldering past Grim to head for our lodge. “That’s my dad you’re talking about.”

I laughed, following Magnus while taking Grim’s huge hand in mine.

“Allegedly!” Grim pointed out, raising a finger.

“True.” Magnus shook his head, looking over his shoulder one last time. In a brooding, deep voice, he said, “I’m not done with the old man, that’s for sure. But you’re not wrong, silvermoon. I could use a fucking break .”

I draped an arm over Grim and Magnus’ shoulders, off-balancing me with their height. “Then let’s go see what this spring-hold is all about.”

My mates’ eyes smoldered as they locked on mine, smirking and making me warm inside.

Grim purred, “Can hardly wait, little sneak.”