The first light of morning started to creep across the sky as Claire paced back and forth in front of the bed. She’d gathered her belongings and set them on top of the plush quilt, which took a lot less time than she had planned. Somehow, seeing her entire life belongings reduced to just two things depressed her even more. Maybe she shouldn’t have thrown her mother’s bracelet at the elf. She couldn’t ask for it back now, though, she’d made up her mind to meet Bren by the western gate. If she saw any of the elves, her chances of going would be scrapped.
Sleep had evaded her for most of the night. Instead, she’d set about cleaning. Cleaning her dagger. Cleaning the wooden sword. Cleaning her clothes. She even started to clean up the room, but stopped before she got too crazy. She did have plans to make. So, she spent the rest of her evening planning her escape and pacing around the room.
Her courage faltered slightly as she looked out the open window. The first signs of life were beginning to stir in the city. It was now or never. She grabbed her dagger, fastened the belt around her waist, and tucked the practice blade under it, which she’d debated on taking. But it was a gift, after all. Then she wrapped the long black scarf around her neck and head to hide her face a little.
She cracked the door to her room open and peeked out into the hallway. A waitress from the café walked hurriedly down the dim hall while she tied her apron around her waist. The young auburn-haired woman smiled shyly as she passed. No doubt Aeron’s latest conquest.
Claire took a deep breath, slipped out the door, and tip-toed down the hall to the stairs. Descending slowly, she glanced around the lobby for the other elf. With the coast clear, she sprinted to the entrance. The man behind the counter watched her with a curious expression.
She dashed through the streets and alleyways, only stopping to ask a few passersby which way the west gate was. She hoped Bren would be there and although he hadn’t specified a time of day, being early couldn’t hurt.
The walls of the city were soon within her view and her pulse quickened. Was she actually doing this? She had hoped to spend more time in this exotic city. But, she’d made up her mind and hurried before she lost her resolve. She breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of Bren waiting patiently by the massive bronze gate and the fatigue she felt just moments before faded almost instantly.
“Miss Claire, I’m glad you came.” Bren looked relieved as well; his cheek was still slightly red from his skirmish with Farron. His long brown cloak covered his shoulders, freshly cleaned, with a gray shirt underneath.
“Yes,” was all she could think to say.
“Come, we’ve no time to waste, Miss Claire.” He grabbed her hand and led her through the gate.
The dirt road led them through a forest before it opened up to a wide field when the sun shone directly above them. Bren veered off from the path and climbed up a hill with a gradual slope. Claire followed behind, the tall grass brushing up to her knees.
Bren had been oddly quiet for most of their journey so far. Did he regret his decision?
A low stone wall sat atop the hill in various states of decay as it spread out in geometric shapes. Large gray stones littered the ground, succumbing to nature. They were ruins of some sort. Bren stopped on the far side of the hill, his eyes swept across the horizon. She walked up beside him and followed his gaze. In front of them the hill dropped steeply down into a thin stretch of field before it ended at another mass of trees. Far in the distance, roofs poked up above the treetops.
“What is this place?” She turned around to inspect the ruins again.
“Levinon. It was one of the humans’ last strongholds during the Great War.” He turned to face her. “Let’s rest here for a bit.”
Claire sat down on a sturdy wall. She seemed to be the only one left out of the loop when it came to the Great War. Bren stepped up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Lord Byron is a friend of Lendon and I’ve dealt with him on many occasions. He’s a good man.” He started to massage her shoulders. “He should be able to help us.”
“I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this.” A wave of guilt washed over her. Who knew what type of mess she was getting in running away from the elves?
“Miss Claire, there is no need to apologize.” His grip tightened on her shoulders, his fingers digging in slightly. “I’m the one who dragged you out here, after all.”
She leaned back and looked up at him.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “We should arrive at Byron’s before night fall.”
Bren seemed tense. Perhaps he was nervous about the whole thing. He’d just stolen away a married woman, after all. And from two well-trained elves on top of that. She’d be nervous too, if she wasn’t already— although her reasons were a bit different. She’d have to tell him the truth one of these days, but one problem at a time.
The village of Behran consisted mostly of a few scattered houses and other buildings arranged around a central main road. A crude stone wall surrounded the village with plain buildings made of minimal materials; white plaster walls met with straw thatched roofs, similar to Sanre.
Bren gripped her hand as they entered through the rather unimpressive front gate.
Not many people roamed the streets, and the ones that did seemed downtrodden, with heavy spirits. The dreary village was a sharp contrast to the vivid Rodem only a short trek away. It struck her as odd, but she brushed the thought aside. Every town had its bad seasons. Even Stockton had had a rough couple of years recently. Crops haven’t been yielding as much as they used to.
She let Bren lead her through the little town, down the main dirt road. The townspeople watched them with suspicious eyes as they passed. She gripped Bren’s hand tighter. Perhaps they didn’t get a lot of visitors.
A great manor loomed above the surrounding houses like a gray shadow at the end of the main road.
“Is this it?” She eyed the building as they passed through the front gate, manned by two guards.
Bren simply smiled at her. “Let’s just hope he’s home.”
Was this Lord Byron really such a good friend? The General’s shoulders seemed a little too stiff.
The guard at the massive front door stopped them, his eyes narrowing. But it wasn’t before long that Claire was in a sitting room off the main entrance. The stone walls were covered with tapestries and paintings of battles. A plush rug of crimson and gold took up most of the room. The chair she sat in was a deep maroon, the hard cushions and structured back offering little comfort. A couch in the same fashion stood empty across from her. Bren walked slowly around the room, his hands clasped behind his back as he admired the gruesome images.
Claire sat unmoving with her hands clenched tightly together in her lap. An older, kindly fellow with graying hair had come to serve tea before dismissing himself. She raised one of the delicate cups to her mouth and took a sip of the sweet smelling tea. The tea set was dainty, the teapot and two cups made of fine white porcelain and trimmed in red and gold. It looked odd and very out of place in a room full of such a masculine presence.
“Bren, why don’t you sit down? You’re making me nervous.” She set the cup on a table between the two chairs.
Bren came around from behind her and sat on the couch. “Sorry, Miss Claire. I just haven’t seen Lord Byron in a while. And he’s not a big fan of surprise visits either, I’m afraid.”
That was nice to hear now.
He took her hand in his. “But don’t worry,” he assured her, “I’m sure he’ll help us.”
“Thank you for helping me, Bren.” She placed her other hand on top of his.
He gave her hand a squeeze before he released it and leaned back on the couch. The room fell silent once again as they waited. The servant had told them earlier that Lord Byron would be with them shortly. She was wondering how long they’d been waiting when the door burst open.
The servant from before entered and stepped aside to hold the door open. The man that followed was
magnificent. His face was strong, with high cheekbones and fine wrinkles that made him seem more dignified than old. Gray hair was peppered with the remnants of his once russet locks. A maroon tunic covered his chest over beige pants tucked into shining black boots.
That must be Lord Byron. His presence filled the room, making her feel insignificant. Bren stood and she followed.
“Lord Byron.” Bren’s face lit up as he approached the older man.
“It’s been awhile, Bren.” His voice was deep and rumbling.
A hint of a smile showed on Lord Byron’s face as he shook Bren’s hand. He looked past the General, his deep brown eyes resting on Claire. They were just a tad unsettling, with a yellowish ring along the outer edge and a hard sheen. She swallowed the lump in her throat and managed to curtsy without incident. Lord Byron strolled further into the room and stopped in front of her, looking her up and down. He took her hand in his and lifted it up between them.
“And you are?” He raised his eyebrows in question as he waited for her response.
“Miss Claire DuBonte, my lord.” It probably wasn’t the best time to start telling the truth.
“A pleasure, Miss DuBonte.” He laid a soft kiss on her hand before he deposited himself on the couch. “Now, what brings you here, if I may ask?”
Claire sat back down in the chair, her eyes following Bren as he paced back and forth behind the couch. She opened her mouth, but didn’t know how to start or what exactly to say. Bren was silent as well, his face set in a serious expression. Her chest tightened. She hadn’t thought he was that nervous. Maybe Lord Byron was a strict man, even though he seemed pleasant so far.
“How was your journey?” Lord Byron asked instead as he poured himself some tea in the cup Bren never used. He brought the tea up to his nose and closed his eyes to enjoy the sweet aroma before taking a sip.
Claire clasped her hands together in her lap again. “It was fine, my lord,” she answered politely.
“Good.” Lord Byron set the cup back down on the table in a delicate manner— slightly odd for a man his size. “I hope the weather was agreeable as well.”
“It was.”
He nodded. “You came from Rodem, correct?” His face was pleasant as he studied her. “I hear the tournament is quite good this year. It’s a shame I wasn’t able to attend.”
“Yes, it was.” She began to relax a little. “From what I got to see of it, it was quite fun. I just wish we could have stayed a little longer.” She picked up her cup again and took a sip. “You have my deepest thanks for helping us on such short notice, my lord.”
“Oh, believe me, it is my pleasure.” He took the delicate cup in his massive hands again. “Although, it’s too bad your Elvin friends couldn’t be here.”
The blood drained from her face. She looked past the lord to Bren, who still paced back and forth behind the couch. How did Lord Byron know about the elves? Had Bren told him? But he hadn’t left the room or her presence since they’d left Rodem.
“Yes, it is, my lord.” She managed to squeeze the words out of her tight throat and glanced toward the door. The male servant stood in front of it, his solemn face staring forward, hands clasped in front of him as he tried his best to ignore the situation.
“It’s not every day you see an elf.” Lord Byron turned his eyes on her, his face steady and calm as he took another sip of tea. “I haven’t seen one myself in years. How did you happen across two of them?”
Slowly, she set the teacup down, trying hard to mask the slight tremble in her arm. How did he know so much about her already? “Well—”
“Don’t you find it a little curious that a human is traveling around with elves?” He raised his eyebrows. “They’ve been in hiding for a very long time.”
“What’s going on here?” She looked up at Bren, but he offered no help.
“I grow tired of this, Bren.” Lord Byron’s voice boomed through the room. His pleasant demeanor vanished almost instantly.
Bren came around behind her and clamped his hands down on her shoulders. “Answer the questions, Claire,” he whispered in her ear.
Claire tensed at the cold tone in his voice. She gripped the arms of the chair and looked up at Lord Byron with a growing sense of fear.
“They are just some guards my father had hired to escort me to Rodem.” Her voice shook as she answered.
Lord Byron glanced past her to Bren and the look on his face told her he wasn’t buying it. Claire rose to her feet and turned to face Bren.
“Bren, what’s going on here?”
“Miss Claire.” Bren smiled kindly and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “We just want the truth.”
Her stomach sank even further. “I don’t know what you mean.”
In a sudden move Bren raised his hand and struck her on her right cheek, just under her eye. The impact sent her to the floor and the pain of landing on the bruises along her left side jolted through her body. Her head reeling, she propped herself up on an elbow. Air escaped her lungs in shallow, shaky breaths as her mind tried to comprehend what had just happened. She blinked her eyes repeatedly and touched her cheek where he’d hit her.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Claire.” Bren turned her around and kneeled over her, pinning her to the floor. His usually luminous face was filled with anger; his gray eyes dark. “Who are you and why were you traveling with the elves?”
Claire looked up at him in disbelief. Was he really doing this right now? Had he really just hit her? How could such a pleasant man change so suddenly? And why?
“What do you want from me?” Tears stung at her eyes. Why did she always cry at times like this?
“Answers, Claire.” He leaned in closer. “I’ve seen it.” He grabbed her right arm by the wrist and yanked it up between them. “What is this?”
Her eyes widened. When did he…?
“Bren, there’s no need to get violent so soon.” Lord Byron stood from the couch. “Why don’t you show her to a room? I’m sure she’s tired and I still have some rather important matters to deal with, with that prince of yours.” He walked around them to the door and paused in front of it. The servant opened it obediently. “You can question her further later. And if she doesn’t answer, feel free to use any means you wish.”
With that, Lord Byron was gone. Two guards entered the room, their bodies covered in worn brown leather armor. Bren yanked Claire to her feet.
“Show her to a room.” He waved a hand dismissively and turned away from her.
Claire let the guards drag her away. Her mind and body were in too much shock to protest and trying to escape would only make matters worse. Who was that man in there? The General was certainly not the same man she’d greeted so happily earlier in the day. The guards took her up to the second floor, down a cold, dark corridor and shoved her into a room, slamming and locking the door behind her.
The chamber was opulent, better than all the inns she stayed at on her journey, but at that moment she would have chosen to sleep on the hard ground outdoors if it was away from this place. A four-posted bed sat across a fireplace built into the gray stone wall. A fire crackled inside, the flickering light bouncing across the dark room. A small table sat under a window on the far wall, framed by two delicate chairs. The rest of the room was decorated in red, purple and gold: the rug, the tapestries on the wall, the bed quilt. Even the window had red stained glass diamonds set in the frame.
Claire touched her cheek; her cold fingers stung the swelling skin. She winced. The bruise along her left side throbbed, still fresh from the day before. They’d left her the dagger and the wood sword, surprisingly. Everything happened so fast, they had probably forgotten. Silently, she thanked their little oversight and rushed to the window. She pushed on it and checked around it but the frame sat solidly in the stone. It would draw too much attention of she tried to break it. Not her first time in this sort of situation, she did the only thing she could do: wait.
She laid down on the bed, fatigue
finally catching up to her. She cursed at herself for being so stupid and naïve. But how could she tell that the General was going to turn on her? She had listened to his sweet lines and fell for his charms. Had he ever actually felt anything for her? Or was she just another pawn in another game? She knew she wasn’t being fully honest herself, but at least her feelings were real.
Tears fell freely from her eyes. No one was around to see them. So she let loose and buried her face in the pile of silk pillows on the bed. Her shoulders shook violently as she sobbed; her hands gripped the thick quilt beneath her. It wasn’t the first time she had cried herself to sleep, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.