Long Live the Elf Queen: The Elf Queen Book 2

Two days and nights passed. With the vast green hills on one side and thick trees on the other, they were close to Doonafell. She remembered racing through Fanvore Wood to get away from pale ones like it was the day before. Layala would never forget the rancid smell of burning flesh and dejection in the people’s eyes as their city burned and their loved ones died. She would also forever remember this city as the place she fell in love with Thane.

The high, bright moon shining in through the barred windows gave away the midnight hour. With her hands behind her head, Layala lay on the hardwood bench, trying to ignore the ache in her back. An owl cooed nearby, the soothing sound of it made her eyelids heavy but the last two nights brought endless nightmares of her searching for Thane but finding the Black Mage instead. She didn’t want to sleep even though her tired body called for it. It was so quiet with only an occasional murmured voice or light footsteps of passing soldiers. Her stomach growled; they didn’t bring her a plate of food tonight and the lingering scent of roasted meat made her hungrier.

“We need to talk.” Varlett appeared on the other side of the back barred window.

Layala shot up, all traces of tiredness gone. “What do you want?”

“We will be in the Void tomorrow.”

“And?”

She paused; her bright golden eyes were even more beast-like in the dark. “And I want to remind you of our bargain. You made a deal with me.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“I am on your side, you know,” she cooed, her tone was all saccharine and poison saying she was anything but on her side. “You can give me what I want. Therefore you’re precious to me. My precious little mage.”

Layala rolled her eyes with a scoff. And lay back down. The audacity of this lady. “You ripped my mate bond from me and tried to murder him, but somehow you’re on my side?” Layala actively avoided thinking about the Black Mage or what they might do to get her to bring him back the last few days. It made her stomach hurt. She feared she wouldn’t be able to stop Mathekis from controlling her. At least that was a better alternative to having her friends murdered until she broke.

Varlett ran her black taloned fingers through her golden hair, clicked her tongue, and a cruel smile grew. “So, you want your mate bond back? I know your gallant prince will want to be bonded to you,” her smile turned into a pout, “when I broke that bond, I felt it rush through me. The connection you both harbored—” she pulled a deep breath through her nose, “it was intoxicating. It vibrated my very bones, filled me with euphoria before it vanished. A bond like that is rare even with magic. To have that stolen away, he must be slowly dying inside.”

Layala touched her chest; the ghost of the pain still lingered there. He must be. Not her.

“His bond to you was stronger than yours to him.”

They weren’t the same? She glanced down. It made sense since Thane always embraced their bond, and she hadn’t until recently. The broken bond didn’t physically hurt anymore but it was a cold loneliness, like an endless night, intensified by everything else.

“If you want a mate bond again Zaurahel will have to do it. That same spell can’t be restored.”

Layala gently took her lower lip between her teeth. She couldn’t be mate bonded to Thane again? Was that even true? The spell was back in the castle library. She shook her head and pushed herself back up to stare at the dragon shifter. “I wouldn’t make a deal with the Black Mage even for that.”

Varlett slid her talon down the bar, scraping it quietly and licked her lips. “Thane would.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know him better than even you.”

Layala’s skin flushed hot, cheeks burning. The nerve. She’d never even met Thane until she tried to kill him. “Why are you even going through this negotiation when you could just call in your favor? To bring him back is clearly the reason you negotiated the deal in the first place.”

The dragon’s yellow eyes seemed to shimmer in the dark. She clicked her tongue. “You don’t have all the pieces to this game of chess yet. My favor won’t be to bring him back. It will come after. All will make sense when Zaurahel is with us again.”

Layala narrowed her eyes. What could Varlett possibly want from her after the Black Mage was alive? She did say she craved power as much as he did, but how could Layala be involved with that? There must be another reason. “I don’t understand.”

“And you won’t, until you bring him back.”

More coercions. Layala rubbed her temples. Her magic had nothing to do with regeneration or giving life; none of this made sense. “Why is it me who can bring him back and not any other mage? And saying it’s the mark on my arm isn’t helpful because I don’t know why I have that either.”

Varlett clicked her talons on the metal bars. The pinging sound grated on Layala’s nerves. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Even if I wanted to tell you—” she ground her teeth as if struggling to speak, “I couldn’t. My tongue is tied.”

Layala’s brow furrowed, unable to speak the truth? How? “As in, he somehow magically forbade you to speak of it?” That didn’t make sense either.

“I can’t say.”

Layala groaned. “What can you say?” She’d wondered about her magic, about this mark on her all her life. And ever since Thane told her that the enemy wanted to use her, she couldn’t fathom why it was her. Why did the Black Mage have an apparent fascination with black lilies? Atarah said he’d had them tattooed on his forearms, and then there was his chair in the mage’s tower; the likeness of it to her magic was too uncanny to deny. Was it simply because he foresaw her coming birth? That she was his savior, so he worshiped her before she even existed? And if he could see into the future, couldn’t he have prevented his own downfall?

“Look I just thought I’d come over here and chat so we could prevent killing your friends tomorrow to get you to cooperate. Although, a goblet of the redhead’s blood would be delicious. One way or another we will force your hand. You won’t stop this. He will come back. That isn’t a hope. It’s a fact. Only then will you know the truth.”

“Piss off.” But her mind started working. “The stone,” she murmured, tapping a finger against her lips. She didn’t need Varlett or the Black Mage to give her answers. The All Seeing Stone would hold the answers to every question she had about her bond, her connection with the Black Mage and how to destroy the curse on this land.

“Stone?” Varlett questioned tilting her head slightly. “You mean the All Seeing Stone.”

Layala turned her head away. Damn it all. Why did she say that aloud?

“Even if you had it, it wouldn’t change anything.”

When Layala peeked over again Varlett was gone.

The acrid scent of something burning pierced Layala’s senses. Woken from a light sleep, she quickly hurried to the back door of the cart. It was still dark, but morning light peeked over the horizon. It smelled of burning wood. Oh Maker, no. Not again. Doonafell couldn’t take another attack from pale ones. They’d already suffered so much, just months before, and were still rebuilding. Layala kicked at the door, grunting as her foot slammed over and over. “Come on, you piece of shit.”

Why wasn’t the entire camp on high alert? Could no one else smell that? The few guards she spotted walking nearby were laughing. Aldrich emerged out of the tent closest to her and stretched his arms over his head with a big yawn. A slender brunette with big messy curls came out moments later and wrapped her arms around his waist. Layala stopped kicking, knowing he’d hear it. When he looked over at her, she stuck her arm between the bars and flipped her middle finger. “Stupid bastard,” she murmured. She almost blurted out about the smell of smoke, but she clamped her teeth together. If the pale ones attacked, that would be her way out of here.

With his arm slung around the maiden wearing only an oversized white tunic, Aldrich sauntered over. Layala grew a devious smirk when they approached the cart.

“You’re smiling for once,” Aldrich said.

“I was thinking about when I stab you in the back like you did to Thane and me, only I will be literally stabbing you in the back, and then I will stick your head on a pike after I cut it off, so all will know to never betray me… and that thought made me smile.”

Aldrich pulled his arm from around the squirming maiden and tucked it to his side. “You know, for how much you hate my father, you sound exactly like him.”

“Your father only wishes he is capable of what I will do. You chose the wrong side.” She plastered on a huge fake grin. “Have a nice breakfast.”

The female stepped behind Aldrich and after he stared at her long and hard, he walked away. Maybe he regretted what he did. There was some sorrow in that stare. But he could never be trusted again, never be redeemed after a betrayal of this magnitude. He’d only thought about himself, and his own power and Thane might be gone because of it. “I will bring magic back to the elves and they will love me for it.” Conceited, arrogant fool.

She pulled the last hairpin from behind her ear and held it before her face. “Don’t fail me.” Then she reached down and wiggled the pin into the big metal lock. She’d tried this every night for three days and broken six flimsy hairpins in the process.

She paused; a shadow passed in the dark forest ahead. The hairs on her arms raised before she lifted her chin. Were the pale ones here? She searched the tree line. Mossy vines hung from branches. Thick green foliage covering the forest floor and wide twisting trunks made it difficult to see deep inside. The horse attached to her prison, neighed, and shifted, moving the cart enough that Layala tipped sideways and lost her grip on the pin. She cursed, and reached for it again, praying it was still in the lock. Her fingers grasped the tiny metal bar, and she sighed in relief. Another shadow moved in the woods. Get out. Get out. Get out, she chanted in her head.

The crunch of metal and the dying groan of someone nearby made Layala work furiously at the lock. She twisted and pushed and prodded. Please. Please work. The metal pin snapped. “Damn it all,” she snarled.

Another quiet moan and a body hitting the ground, drew her arm back inside. At least the pale ones couldn’t get her in here, right? But they weren’t usually sneaky like this were they? More of a brute force attack with shrilling wails and—a black-winged helmet caught her eye. Holy shit. “That is a Raven helmet,” she murmured. That little spark of hope she’d held onto for weeks soared. Was he here? Had he finally come?

Snapping jaws and wholly black eyes on a ravenous face popped up outside the window. Layala shrieked and fell back hard on her wrist. It ached as she scooted until she hit the wall. The pale one sniffed the air. “Mmm, you smell delicious.” Chest rising up and down, she pressed harder into the wall as it circled to the side drawing closer. “You’re the mage, aren’t you? The one master says not to touch.” His voice was rough, and he smelled like he died weeks ago, like his flesh rotted while he walked and breathed. “But one little lick wouldn’t hurt.”

Following him closely with her eyes, she swallowed hard. He can’t get in here. He can’t get in here. 

He wrapped his white hands around the bars and pressed his face against the metal and stuck out his long black tongue. What she wouldn’t do to have a weapon to slice that disgusting thing off. “Come here,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Let us have a taste.”

His eyes suddenly bulged, and he stiffened, and his mouth opened wide into a silent scream. Then he dropped, disappearing from view. That Raven winged helmet she saw earlier took the beast’s place. “Lady Layala?” a male with an accent questioned.

Layala jumped up, and dove at the window, heart crashing like a thundergod’s hammer. Bright red hair, tattooed moons on a beautiful, blue-eyed, and brown-skinned face. Layala beamed. “Leif,” she nearly cried, and reached through the bars.

He took her hand and held it. “Fightbringer,” he said with a smile. “It’s good to see you. We’ve been worried.”

“Where is he? Is he here?” She couldn’t keep the desperation from her voice. She searched the darkness around them. Another Raven moved along the shadows of a nearby tent, but he didn’t look large enough to be Thane.

“He’s here for you.”

Those words flooded her with relief and happy tears slid down her cheeks. “He’s alive? Maker above,” she breathed, smiling. ‘‘He’s alive. He’s alive.” All that worry, that back and forth of wondering, finally put to rest. She wanted to shout his name, to see him come running, and behold his beautiful face. She couldn’t wait.

Leif patted her hand. “He is. And he’s come to get you. The Ravens are here for you, but not enough to defeat the king’s guard. We must be quiet.”

“The lock.” Layala moved to the door. “Break the lock. Get me out.”

Leif bent down to inspect it. “That’s a big bastard. It will take a lot of force to break it. Which will be loud. I need to get Thane. He will be able to get you out with his magic.”

He took a step away and Layala reached out. “Don’t leave me. Please.” Her breaths came faster now. She could picture him melting into the darkness and never seeing him again.

Offering a reassuring smile, he said, “You’re not going anywhere, and I’ll be right back with Thane. I promise. You’re safe now.”

She slowly nodded with threatening tears stinging. In a stealthy run, he took off and disappeared among the trees. It wasn’t but moments later a loud horn blew. Layala jumped and darted to the other side of the prison cart where the sound came from. Several groups of four to six soldiers made their way toward the blowing horn to the North, metal armor clinking as they dashed.

“Intruders!” a deep voice shouted. “Pale ones! And Ravens!” The voice was full of fear now. “We’re under attack!”

“Don’t let them get the mage!” someone bellowed. “They are here for her!”

A pale one walked around the side of the cart, and the sorrel horse attached to Layala’s cart neighed loudly. “What do we have here? A scared little she-elf? Let’s hear you scream.” He slammed his fists over and over on the wood door, rattling it so loudly it hurt her ears. Layala clenched her teeth together and moved as far away as she could. “Come here.” He reached through the bars and clawed at her. “Come here so I can have a little snack.”

Layala stooped down and picked up a handful of round goat droppings. “Have a taste of this!” she shouted and threw it in his face.

With a sharp squeal, the pale one jerked back and with pure hatred in his black eyes, he dashed to the front of the cart, and sliced through the rope holding the horse to a post. He hit the hindquarters of the horse and shrieked at the poor creature until Layala fought the urge to cover her ears. The horse lurched forward, sending Layala crashing into the back door.

No! No, she couldn’t leave this spot.

The pale one laughed as the horse, wagon, and Layala ripped by. “Scream, little elf,” the pale one said with a laugh.

Layala desperately reached for a hold on something as they slammed over bumps, sending her bouncing around like a toy doll inside. Her head smacked onto the floor of the cart and then again on the bench. Warm blood trickled down into her left eye. Damn it. She mopped it with her sleeve and pushed up, jumping for the bars. “Stop, horse!” she yelled. She didn’t want to shout for help. The wrong hero might catch her.

Tents, fires, and trees whipped by so fast everything became a blur. The sound of swords clanging rang out over the squealing of the wheels and stamping horse hooves. This horse had to come to a stop sometime soon, right? It would get tired and then hopefully it would be Thane who found her. If only they still had their mate bond, he’d be led right to her.

The momentum suddenly shifted, and they careened downhill. Great. Layala peered out the bars; there was nothing and no one around. The city of Doonafell was in the opposite direction. At her back the camp’s fire lights grew dim, and the sounds of fighting drifted away. The road they were on was so overgrown with grass that it could barely even be called a path anymore. Had she been this way before? It didn’t look familiar.

Just ahead a staked wooden sign came into view. She narrowed her eyes to read: “Warning: road ends. Cliff.”

“Shit. A cliff! A blasted cliff?” She looked around the cart she’d rummaged through for days for something to use to break free. There was nothing and the reins to control the horse were way out of reach. “Stop! Halt, you damned horse!” Doesn’t it know commands? “Halt! Whoa—Walk!” The stressed wheels squealed even louder.

She slammed her palm against the metal bars in frustration. She only had one hope left. “Thane!” she screamed and her throat burned. “Thane!” Her voice echoed off the hillside, and if that was the last word her lips ever uttered, at least it was his name.