Chapter 39 | Ravinica

Chapter 39

Ravinica

THE DRESS I WORE WAS immaculate. Though flashy garb had never been my style, I couldn’t deny how good it felt to look the way my mates saw me, for once. Out of my travel-worn leathers, my fur coat, and into something that hugged my curves—a bit too tightly, admittedly, because of my difference in stature to elven women.

It came with leg slits that bared the sides of my thighs when I walked. Rather than the blue hue of a handmaid’s garb, it was emerald and luminescent in the night. Glittering. Complete with padded flats that flexed my calves and made them look amazing. My build was on full display for my men, who stared at me in awe, like a trophy they’d won.

They called me a vision, a beacon, a goddess—all the things I had come to expect yet never took for granted. I blushed at their compliments, and then flushed harder as I recalled the intense orgy we’d just partaken in.

There was something about this place, Alfheim, that awoke lusty need inside me. Perhaps it was learning about their culture, their incessant breeding and birthing norms, their practical beliefs on mating and procreation.

Or maybe I just missed my men dearly, and felt we’d been through enough turmoil to warrant such a visceral display of lovemaking.

None of us were ashamed for losing ourselves to the starberry desire. If anything, my men couldn’t stop grinning when we walked out of the spring-hold.

Of course, they would not let me leave alone. Despite the graciousness of our hosts so far, Grim, Arne, and Sven didn’t know the elves enough to trust them with me. Corym knew them, and even he said it made sense for all of us to go, while Magnus spoke with Kelvar and got things off his chest.

I hoped it went well for my tormented bloodrender mate.

Zentha led us through the first-level emerald tier of the city, and instead of the scowls and wary eyes of passing townsfolk I’d gotten when we first arrived, now they treated me with bows and nods of respect.

Almost as if they knew more about me than I knew about myself. I figured it was the dress I wore, more than anything, that changed their tune.

We came to a crank-powered elevator that lifted us past the second Sapphire tier of the city and onto the third, final level, the Ruby District.

Here, gardens spread wide across the flat expanse. We were higher on the mountain, colder at night. I knew this space would be lovely during the day. A small waterfall fed into a babbling creek that ran across the grounds like a vein, before draping off down to the Sapphire District.

The buildings were bigger, with red roofs and a more polished sheen. Spires and twisting towers made up most of the homes here. Elves walking the grounds were dressed even nicer than below, with more flourishes to their appearance—piercings in and around their face, gold jewelry, silver garments for their tabards.

Walking past a row of colonnades on either side of us, Zentha shuffled toward a striking palace in the distance. It was ornate, vast, and guarded by gold-plated elves that saluted Corym as he walked abreast with me.

Glancing over my shoulder at the way we had come, I could only imagine how beautiful the view from up high would be, overlooking the valley, the Twins, the Kiir’luri Forest.

“Quite a home your people have made for yourselves, Zentha,” I said casually, trying not to show my nerves.

“It may not look it, maelen , but this is an ancient city, thousands of years old. Many of the structures you see are original, with only the smallest renovations made over the years.”

“Wow.”

She quieted as we drew closer to the palace. About thirty yards away, in a courtyard of wildflowers and blooming, bushy trees, our procession stopped.

Walking from the frontmost tower of the palace was Lady Elayina, and she looked resplendent. Gone were the wreaths of vines and fungi making her look sickly; replaced with an ornate red gown and cloak, clasped with a golden broach I assumed denoted her status.

She had mostly lost her hunched gait, making her seem taller than her slight stature. She used a cane to walk, slowly, purposefully, toward us. The cane itself, built from twisted blackwood and topped with a ruby pommel, looked more expensive than anything I’d ever owned.

Still, as the ancient half-elf came closer, I noted something odd about her withered face. Though she now had a proud glint in her eye, she somehow looked even older than before—as if returning to Alfheim had both healed her misery and brought on new layers to her years.

“Well met, child,” Elayina said, bowing her head slightly. “I am glad you received my invitation. I hear you were almost . . . interrupted. I am sorry for that.”

I shot Zentha a scowl, and she smirked at me. What pervy things did you tell the old crone, woman? To Elayina, I said, “Seems you couldn’t escape the fanfare after all, Lady.”

She chuckled, hoarse and self-deprecating. Reaching her arms out wide, looking at the fur-trimmed cloak settled on her bony arms, she said, “Ridiculous, isn’t it? You, too, could not escape the lavishness of my people.”

I stared down at myself, at the way the emerald dress left nothing to the imagination when it came to my bust, my muscles, or my size. “I could not.”

“Will you walk with me? I have things I’d like to show you. A history lesson I’d like to give you.”

I gave her a small bow of my head, from the waist. “I would be pleased to get some answers, Ancient One.”

“Good. Your loyal men may follow, yet I request some distance.”

“Of course.” I tossed a look over my shoulder, my eyes telling them to stay close but not too close.

Zentha glided away back the way we had come, and then Elayina took over. She had a measured pace, but we were in no rush. I had waited my whole life to learn more about my history. Now that I was so close and anxious about it, I could wait a few more steps.

The seer brought us past the guards, into the main tower, and to the right. The palace was at least five stories tall, but we stayed on the first level. I didn’t get to see much of its splendor. What I did see was impressive enough: tapestries of red radiance and gold accents, rugs that looked priceless, and ornate paintings and bas-reliefs of ancient elven history.

We walked into a long corridor with my mates shuffling slowly behind us, fifteen feet back. Royal Golds waited at every closed door, like the Queen’s Guard—stoic, spears set into the ground, eyes out past their shiny helms.

Elayina hid her hands in the sleeves of her dress and brought my attention to the long mural that adorned the left wall, stretching for many rooms in a single, elaborate fresco.

The picture I looked at was one of war, peace, and war again. Long-eared elves fighting against humans, dark-skinned elves fighting against the pale ones, brilliant spheres I assumed were planets or realms; gods and goddesses—or spirits, perhaps—standing among the clouds, peering down at their warring people with stern faces.

The mural leapt off the wall, like a masterpiece by Michelangelo.

Elayina said, “A truncated version of the Taldan Wars. And many other wars besides.”

“Aye, we have gorgeous, busy pieces of art like this back in Midgard.”

She smirked at me over her shoulder. “A bit pretentious, you ask me.”

I chuckled, and she carried on.

At the end of the hall, three high-ceilinged rooms over, she stopped us again and stared up at the wall.

Here, the painting was different. At the last wall-sized panel, I furrowed my brow at the sight of winged serpents and beasts, goblins, other green-skinned creatures I couldn’t identify, and animals roaming across barren wheatfields and grasslands.

“This looks different than the others,” I pointed out.

“The Calm, it is called.”

“It looks . . . anything but calm. Chaotic, if you ask me. And are those dragons in the sky there?”

“They are.” She tapped the ruby pommel of her cane and, still staring at the mural, said, “My memories and strength have returned to me in Alfheim. My powers of recollection are greater here, away from the weakened magic of your world.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I wasn’t sure where she was going with that backhanded comment about Midgard. To our left, about twenty feet away at the edge of the room, my mates stood in stoic silence, watching us rather than the elaborate painting opposite them on the wall.

Elayina looked at me with her tired yellow eyes. “Allow me to ramble, child.”

“Please,” I answered, spreading my hand forward. “It’s why I’m here.”

A small smile flashed across her wrinkled face.

“The serpent’s shadow. Do you recall what Corym E’tar and I taught you of the prophecy in my hovel in Midgard?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “It was the reason you were staying in Midgard, when Corym had urged you to leave. ‘To oversee the tragedy that will soon fall. To make sense of it all.’”

“Aye. At the time, I believed that tragedy to be the attack on Corym’s encampment by the human soldiers. Now, I see my foresight was wrong. Muddled. I believe the ‘tragedy’ I spoke of has to do with the falling of the wards protecting Midgard from portal-makers. Now, anything is possible. Your world may begin to see visitors from the nine realms you could not expect, or even fathom.”

“Like the Dokkalfar.”

She hummed with a dreary nod. “A twisted bunch, those cousins of ours. Lost their way, I think.”

“Is it my fault?” I asked, and then expanded when she glanced over at me curiously. “I’m the one who re-opened the portal that Corym’s sister, Deitryce, and the wardtracers opened and closed. I did it to save Corym’s life.”

She shook her head solemnly. “It was ordained. You may believe you had control, but it was meant to happen, child. Do not fault yourself for that.”

“I’ve put everyone in danger. My people and yours.”

“Not completely. Other races will need to craft portals of their own, because yours is binary.”

“What do you mean?”

“A portal opened can only be used by the bloodline of the one who opened it. Human portals will only carry humans. Elven portals will only take elves. Since you are both elven and human, it allowed you, your human friends, and the Dokkalfar and Ljosalfar to use it for transport between realms.”

I latched onto a phrase she’d just muttered, reminiscent of something she’d told me before. “I am . . . both and neither.”

She shot me a crooked smile. “That’s very good, child. You remember more of the prophecy.”

“Can you tell me more about it, Elayina? You think I have a connection to it?”

Elayina started walking again, into another long corridor with a high, vaulted ceiling. Here, a vast floor-to-ceiling window was partly open, letting in a balmy breeze.

I followed, hurrying to her side.

She recited the prophecy in a measured, chanting tone.

“ Fly me to on wings of leather, not feather.

Haul my sunken soul to the gates of the gods.

Drag me forth from the darkness, Lightbearer.

And leave me dying in my rightful resting place.”

When she finished, we fell quiet for a moment, and I took in her words, playing them over and over in my mind.

A few things stuck out. Fly me to where ? Okay, the gates of the gods. But I thought elves believed in ‘spirits,’ rather than deities? Maybe they’re interchangeable.

“There are many names for the one who will be our savior,” Elayina continued. “The Lightbearer, the one who walked, the one who flew, the Winged One. Our people believe they are one and the same—the enemy of our enemies.”

I gritted my teeth, flexing my jaw and trying to keep my questions from flying out so she could continue. I had so many.

She turned to me with another solemn look. “And I believe, Ravinica Lindeen, that you are that person.”

It wasn’t the groundbreaking bombshell I’d expected. Deep inside, I knew Lady Elayina had believed that, from the get-go. To hear her say it though, and with more certainty and grit in her voice than before . . . was certainly something.

I chewed the inside of my cheek, not trusting my words.

Is she so certain now because she has her powers back in Alfheim? Can her foresight “reach” further? “What has changed?” I asked. “Between here and your tree in Midgard?”

“Nothing, other than perspective, child.”

Great. We’re onto the riddle portion of this history lesson.

Then she went a different direction with it. “You know me as Elayina, but my truth is much more relevant to your own history. I am one of the three children born to Queen Amisara and King Dannon.”

I gasped, eyes bulging. That was a bombshell. My History & Tomes class came roaring back to me, reminding me of the tragic tale of Lord Talasin, the Deceiver in Gold, and King Dannon, the King Who Saw.

In that tale, Dannon, the human ally of the elven Talasin, had stolen Talasin’s sister—who had been in love with Dannon’s sister—and kept her locked away in his dungeons for years. He raped and bred her, eventually given three half-elven children . . .

And Elayina is one of them?!

“But that was a thousand years ago!”

It answered the question of Elayina’s age, which I had heard was in the thousand-year range, yet could never firmly believe because it seemed too ridiculous—even for elves, who lived much longer than humans.

The ancient seer gave me a sad nod, leaning forward tiredly on her cane. “I should have perished long ago. As you know, dark magic kept me alive, as well as imprisoned in Midgard.”

She continued walking, creeping along through the palace, and I followed her like an eager pup.

“I was their firstborn daughter. It is why I am given respect here, because I am the last living remnant of that time. Syndriel was my younger sister, and Vamys my youngest brother.” She glanced at me over her fur-lined shoulder. “I know from watching your memories that you have done research on your origins, child, and have come up short.”

I nodded profusely.

“Syndriel, the middle child of Dannon’s and Amisara’s ill-begotten flock, is the ancestor through which your elven blood flows.”

“Which makes you my . . .”

“Great aunt, child, roughly fifty generations back. Yes.”

I choked back a sound, utterly shocked at this revelation. Elayina said it so simply, despite my hours and days and weeks of torturous research to uncover what I had about my family. If what she was saying was true, then what had been written in the records tomes—the meager, humble, court-adjacent origins of my family on my mother’s side, filled with generations of abuse, humiliation, and inquisitions—was a lie.

But then Elayina twisted it again, showing me the research was not untrue. I had just misconstrued it.

“Though your elven blood comes from Syndriel, it was passed down, eventually, through your male lineage. Your father’s side.”

I let out a deep breath, feeling more grounded when she explained that simple fact. Then another alarming thought came to me and I blurted out, “Do you know who my father is, Lady Elayina?”

She shook her head. “I do not. I have an idea what he is, however.”

I reeled, confused. “What does that mean?”

“I will explain. Come. I would like to take you somewhere.”

She led us deeper into the heart of the palace, away from the interior halls that lined the fringes of the high castle. My mind spun as we walked through rooms, going over everything I’d learned but not thought about in months.

Elayina is my great aunt. She’s one of the original three half-elves from Dannon and Amisara. One of the tiny whelps I saw in my memories when she touched my forehead—a young half-elf girl running around Dannon’s castle, drawing suspicious eyes from King Dannon’s courtiers.

She hasn’t explained my connection to her sister Syndriel, yet. How does she know this half-elven sister of hers—who is long dead—is the progenitor of my line?

I felt I was finally getting closer to an unmistakable truth. Something I could bring back to my mother Lindi, share with her, and ease her mind and pain.

If only I could find out just how deep and treacherous my bloodline really went.

Somehow, Elayina is telling me I am related both to elven and human royalty. On both sides—King Dannon as a distant forebear, a grandfather, and Queen Amisara as a distant ancestor on the elvish side, a grandmother.

Right? Is that what she’s saying?

I needed more answers. I also knew Lady Elayina spoke at her own pace, giving answers when she felt they were worthwhile. I couldn’t press her, because it would only provoke the anger and riddles I had become so accustomed to when speaking with her.

Right now, information was flowing. I needed to keep the levee open and allow it to flow.

We stopped at a simple door, less ornate than many others we’d passed. It certainly led to no throne room or place of importance.

Elayina made a vague gesture with her hands when we stopped, as if Shaping a rune in the sky. I knew elves did not use runeshaping like humans did.

Looking behind me, my mates trailed nearby. Keeping their distance, respectful, though they shared worried looks in their eyes when they saw the trepidation and confusion on mine.

“This next part of the story is a bit convoluted, lass, but it’s the only way I know to tell it,” Elayina said.

I was all ears again, nodding, leaning forward to listen to her raspy voice.

“According to Midgard’s tomes, King Dannon was afflicted by an illness and died mysteriously years after he betrayed Lord Talasin. Yes?”

“Well, it was Lord Talasin, the Deceiver in Gold, who betrayed him . At least in the legends. Dannon saw the treachery in his vision, which styled him the King Who Saw, and saved the humans from certain doom.” I gave her a wistful smirk when I was done, to let her know what I truly thought of that version of events.

“Right.” She scoffed. “We both know that’s bullshit. It was not a cryptic illness that felled Dannon. It was a flesh-and-blood man named Azerot. We call him the Wrathseeker.”

I blinked, nodding with a blank expression.

“I know, being Syndriel’s sister, that Azerot and Syndriel later became mates. It was their offspring, Solzena, where your line can be traced. Solzena is your first known ancestor.”

The name meant nothing to me. Elayina said it with gravity and weight, yet all I could do was shake my head. I wished I was writing all this down.

“But who was she?” I asked. “Why is Solzena important, and how do you know she was my first ancestor?”

“Because of the things I saw in your mind when first reaching in and awakening your memories, child. They have only connected once I returned to Alfheim—as I said, with my power returning. The story you saw of Dannon and Talasin when I touched you was no accident. It couldn’t be, you see? It was—”

“Fragments of a life I never lived,” I breathed, recalling that four-part tale where it seemed I had been an outsider looking into the history of King Dannon and Lord Talasin, at different portions of their lives, as it happened.

“Yes. And to confirm my theory, I would like to show you something.”

“So everything you’re saying is just a theory? Not absolute truth?” Frustration welled inside me as I bunched my hands into fists at my sides. When will I get a straight answer out of this madwoman?!

She simply smiled in that coy, mischievous way.

In that moment, she looked every much the aunt of mine she claimed to be.

Then, making more cryptic, swift gestures with her hand, the simple door in front of us clicked, and she pushed it open.

Inside was a narrow corridor lit by globes of blue lanterns on the walls. Through the twenty-foot passage, the hall opened into a circular room. And in the center of that room was something that looked like an art installment: a dais with a box-shaped glass over it, and a gray, featureless stone about as big as my palm within the glass.

I blinked, confused—

And then recognition fell over me all at once. “No,” I whispered, realizing where Lady Elayina had taken me.

Elayina smiled, sweeping her hand out. “May I present to you the Runesphere, child.”