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She was pleased to be home again. It would give her another opportunity to tackle Papà about finally building the public library Mamma had always wanted. He’d barely spoken to her since she’d arrived.
Book worm?
Besides, if she could catch Papà’s attention—good or bad—perhaps he’d have her dragged to see him and she’d finally get a word in about the library.
Neglectful dad I see. Wonder what happened.
With Papà, it was always strength, war, and masculinity. Lorenzo was a master swordsman and could hit a target with his throwing knives from thirty yards—so no matter his shortcomings, Papà favored him. And since Papà didn’t allow her to learn any of the martial arts—and she loved books as Mamma had—there was just no way to win with him.
“Maybe Luciano will finally become your latest entertainment?” she asked Bianca, who hid her face in a goblet of wine. “Not that I’m complaining,” she whispered, giving Tarquin a slow—very slow—once-over, “but what are they doing in Bellanzole?”
Bianca leaned in. “The Belmonte Company has been handling our… issues with the Immortali. The army didn’t have the expertise to clear the harpy nest in the cliffs, but ever since Arabella Belmonte, their sister, disappeared a couple months ago, Luciano has been studying them and Tarquin has been handling them. They’ve become experts on the Immortali, so Papà hired their company.”
Ah, exposition. Thanks.
The Rift had torn the Veil a few months ago, and the Immortali had re-entered the world as if stepping from the pages of myth and legend. Some were peaceful here in Silen, like the light-elves, the dark-elves, and the fae, and others were monsters who killed with impunity—harpies, wyverns, basilisks, and more.
More context
“Say a prayer for me, Aless.” Bianca gripped the goblet tightly. “I think I love him. I think I want to… marry him.” Marry? With talk like that, Bianca would be the one directing Papà’s attention, whether she wanted to or not. To any woman of the Ermacora royal line, Luciano was forbidden fruit when it came to marriage. Still, in her wistfully recounted daydreams, Bianca always seemed to find herself in an orchard of forbidden fruit anyway, with a ladder just tall enough to reach anything she wanted.
“Papà is only keen on sending me around because he wants to get rid of me. Unlike his favorite daughter.” Since Aless had reached marriageable age, Papà had sent her to maybe… a dozen or two royal bachelors. Although this year, he’d only sent her to two princes and one king. Maybe it was a sign that he was giving up and would finally leave her in peace with her books.
Books over dudes it seems
She straightened. Mamma had spent her life teaching the paesani to read, and when she’d died, all that had stopped. For nearly a decade, Papà hadn’t just stalled Mamma’s plans to build a public library—a center of learning for all—he’d actively avoided it. It was meddlesome to want to dedicate her life to seeing the library built, to want to teach any and all who wanted to learn, just as Mamma had wanted? She huffed. “I want to do more than just be foisted onto royal bachelors,” she declared. “Is it so wrong to have dreams of something more?”
I think I like her...
Most of the paesani couldn’t read, but the nobiltà’s only excuse was willful ignorance. But knowledge wasn’t as prized here as it once was. Papà—and everything he stood for—was evidence of that.
Knowledge is power.
Except for Signore Raven—Tarquin Belmonte. No, he’d thrown the allowable variation to the winds and had come here to shock. To arrive cloaked in death was to object. In his raven mask, black brocade doublet and trousers, and a feathered mourning cloak, he filled out couture well, and he had a lot of nerve showing up to a masquerade at the Palazzo dell’Ermacora dressed in funereal garb. As much nerve as a princess in a grotesque lion mask.
Have a feeling I'm going to like him too
She grinned. A man with a spine. Good. At least one courtier who didn’t fall all over himself bowing and scraping before Papà.
The bar is low...
“The Belmonte brothers have both come here expecting marriages in exchange for their mercenary services,” Papà continued, “but I have only one daughter to give to the Belmonte family, and she is going to Luciano.” Bianca smiled at her. So she was getting her Signore Cat. The orchard of her daydreams was coming true, and it had never been so wonderful to have been so wrong. Aless held back an inward grin.
The dark-elves? Papà was going to stop the hatred after all— He’d said he had only one daughter to give to the Belmonte family. That meant… Peace by marriage. To the dark-elves. Her blood ran cold. He’s offering me up to Nightbloom?
I'm wondering what dark elves are like in this world.
Holy Mother’s mercy, he wanted her to marry one of them? They had claws and fangs, lived in underground caves where not a single rose would grow. No hint of Mamma’s gorgeous gardens there. They ate lizards and lichen, had creepy yellow irises, ghostly white hair, and blue skin like a snake’s. Her skin crawled.
Well, there's the answer to my previous annotation
She frowned. “How can a marriage between a mortal and an immortal work? Can the species even breed? Are children possible?” She’d never read of such a thing. “Quite possible, I’m assured,” Papà replied matter-of-factly, his face a dour mask. “And elders are treated with respect in their society. The gap in aging would be handled appropriately.” The gap in aging. What a quaint way of phrasing the rapidity of Bianca’s old age while her so-called husband would remain young, watching her wither. Probably eager to remarry to one of his own kind, counting down the days.
Bianca was in love with Luciano, and Papà had just announced her betrothal to a dark-elf! How could she stand there and say this was all right? Bianca had been waiting for a marriage since her sixteenth year; she was twenty-three now, had finally fallen in love with a man, and was to be married off to some… dark-elf? How could she just accept this? If it were me, I’d fight tooth and nail. I’d find a way to make the dark-elf release me, even if no one helped me. I’d do it on my own. If it were her… If.
Oooh! They're switching fiancees!
Papà rested his chin on his fist. “Alessandra, you know I love you. But if we are being honest, you are willful, short tempered, sharp mouthed, and presumptuous. You are everything a man does not want in a wife. You try to hire street urchins for your household, donate your coin to peasant rebellions, find every opportunity to show the nobiltà you ‘disagree’—”
She’d agree to this arrangement, but as soon as Bianca and Luciano were married, she’d find a way to persuade this dark-elf prince to release her, to let their friendship show the peace between their nations. Marriages had solidified peace for millennia, but these were modern times. Surely consensual, honest friendship could demonstrate a partnership without resorting to a marriage neither party desired?
“Your claws,” Gavri said with a gasp, and Rút curled her fingers. Damaged claws meant weakness, and the weak were seen as a disgrace to their families. But to mention that now? Really? He scowled at her.
Because if Rút’s anima wouldn’t be enough, Vlasta would die. And if Vlasta died, so would Rút. Such was the danger of the lifebond.
Oh yes, humans were ugly. Their women weren’t taut and toned like dark-elf women; human women were soft like the very livestock they raised for slaughter. They had no fangs or claws, which even dark-elf children had. And their skin—thin, delicate, so easily broken.
As long as she was honest, he could trust her, and as long as they could trust each other, they had a chance. “We will do what’s right. This Offering will go smoothly,” he assured them both. Besides, Riza had helped him choose an impeccable Offering gift for the princess. “And once it does, all of this unrest will dissipate.”
Meeting the prince today… Yes, he’d been intimidating, but he’d also been well spoken, polite—considerate, even. “Maybe he’ll listen.” In fact, she had the perfect wedding gift for him: her new copy of A Modern History of Silen. She still had Mamma’s copy, and the parallel gift would have meaning. It would show her willingness to share this new world with him and his people, and to welcome them as a part of it as he filled the remaining pages with the peace she hoped their people would forge together.
Shortly after the Rift, the Brotherhood had come together to “advance human interests.” Somehow “advancing human interests” always seemed to involve violence against the Immortali. For every perceived injury to humans, the Brotherhood retaliated twofold. Thankfully the Immortali seemed less prone to such violence, as no such faction had emerged on their side—that she knew of. “But Luciano isn’t a member?” Bianca shook her head. “Good. Anyone involved with the Brotherhood has sunk too deeply into hatred.” As much as she didn’t want to go through with this marriage, she didn’t bear the prince,
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Books had power, the power to defeat hopelessness with escape, ignorance with enlightenment, fear with knowledge. And she wanted every person to have access to that power, to harness it, for peace, understanding, and better lives.
Gavri shrugged at her post in the doorway next to Riza. “Perhaps her voice is like claws on limestone. Or perhaps she’s a twit, and her father doesn’t want you to find out.” He snarled. “That is my soon-to-be bride you are insulting.” His gaze locked with hers in the lengthy silence before she looked away.
“Does it really matter what the human wants?” Gavri added. He stiffened and glared at them. By Deep and Darkness, of course it mattered. He was bound to obey Mati’s orders, but not without care.
If she could never see him as a lover, Princess Alessandra could live her life as she wished, to the best standard he could deliver, and he could live his. A practical arrangement.
“Yesterday, when Gabriella told him about the Vow of Silence, he seemed… enraged.” Bianca’s hands paused in their work, and her footsteps retreated. “Enraged? As if he would get violent?” “Not exactly.” She held up her hair again. His reaction had seemed almost—almost protective of her. “At least not toward me.”
“He had this expression of fury, and he hissed… It was as if the very notion of me being sworn to silence offended him.” A good sign. She turned to Bianca, who settled the white-lace wedding gown into the trunk. “The dark-elves’ royal line is matriarchal, right?” Bianca closed the trunk. “It is their women who hold power. Maybe he agrees that others shouldn’t dictate the course of your life—nor silence your voice when it comes to your future.”
wanted you to know,” she whispered, and he eyed her peripherally, “that I was trying to make a point to my father about choice. With the red dress and raven feathers. I wasn’t trying to offend you, although it occurred to me that that’s exactly what might’ve happened. I’m sorry.” “What point was that?” he answered, just as quiet, looking ahead. She exhaled lengthily. “That we should have a say in our own futures.” He stiffened. “You didn’t have a say.” That steely velvet voice was low, icy. A dreaded conclusion? Willing? he’d asked during the ceremony. He had cared. Maybe more than she’d
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Lorenzo was Papà’s firstborn son and heir, but for years he had bucked that yoke, struggling in vain for a simple life that he could never have. Oh, if only they could have traded places—she would have gladly accepted the responsibilities he wished to shirk, and he could have as simple a life as he wanted being traded away like a pawn.
the night of the Offering, it says to a bride, ‘I am not too proud to serve you. I will never be too proud to serve you. It is my honor and pleasure.’” She held her breath as he poured water onto her skin from his cupped hand. Slowly, sluggishly, she blinked. “Things are quite different where you’re from.”
Veron approached Bianca—and bowed. Low. In the ensuing silence, he remained utterly still, his powerful form as if sculpted from stone, ready to endure for centuries, millennia. He’d bowed. Apologized to Bianca. Bianca’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up. So did hers.
Veron had apologized to Bianca, but he’d still gotten his way, hadn’t he? Could he be trusted, or did he only wear a mantle of earnestness, beneath which only his mother’s will lived and breathed? Begging him had been awkward, but being rejected had been even more awkward. He rode just ahead, his hooded figure nevertheless identifiable by his broad shoulders and bearing, atop that massive beast he called a horse. She narrowed her eyes. He glanced over his shoulder in her direction. With a huff, she yanked the curtains shut and crossed her arms.
There had been rumors that sick or misbehaving children were light-elf changelings, that any maiden or child that disappeared was abducted by the light-elves or the other Immortali. That light-elves cursed crops, stole random trinkets from people’s homes, poisoned livestock… But surely no one had believed such farfetched tales? Light-elves had no magic and rarely if ever ventured out of their forests. They placed no value on jewels or precious metals, let alone worthless trinkets. Human women fled their husbands, children got lost, crops failed, livestock died. It was easier to blame the
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“You treat her like a dark-elf bride, Your Highness—albeit a very inadequate one.” “She is a dark-elf bride, Riza.” She raised an eyebrow, then her mouth curved wider. “Her Majesty would be proud of you.” Deep, Darkness, and Holy Ulsinael willing. But this wasn’t just for Mati’s praise; he and Alessandra would now be living a life together. He needed to make amends, and she… well, she needed a tent pitched.
“Raise it higher, Gabriella. It’s suffocating in here,” Alessandra said. Except Gabriella was making her way across the camp. Suppressing a grin, he did as she bade. Wood thudded against wood and ropes hissed while she shuffled around inside. “Yours looked so simple, but this one is—not. I’m definitely not going to ask him for help. Are you certain there are no instructions?” He schooled his face. “None that I saw,” he answered, unable to hold back the amused lilt. No answer came as she froze beneath the canvas, then scooted completely under it. “Alessandra…” A heavy sigh. “I suppose you’re
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A barely audible throat clearing came from the tent. “Why didn’t you tell me that sooner? That the people were expecting us on specific days?” “I told you we had a strict schedule, that people were expecting us.” But even as he’d spoken the words then, she’d stormed out in tears and hadn’t wanted to listen to another word. And he shouldn’t blame her for it. At least she seemed of a mind to listen now. “I didn’t know about your sister. I didn’t think the people were looking forward to the specific day. I thought…” A deep breath. “I don’t know what I thought.”
As he began to rise, she took his hand. “Wait. Can I sleep with you tonight?” The question stopped him—stopped him completely—but he swallowed and helped her up as he stood. “I mean—” she whispered. “Won’t it look bad if we sleep apart? As if we don’t agree, as if there’s disharmony between us.” She was right, but there had been disharmony between them. He’d assumed separate tents, but… “As long as it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.” “It doesn’t.” Her brief smile lit up her face with its brightness, just for a moment. It reached her eyes, their beautiful darkness gleaming, like moonlight over
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“Your Highness, I only meant to—” Scowling, he held up a hand. “You lied.” She met his eyes, wouldn’t look away, that crease returning to her brow as she crossed her arms. “She put on that show in her ignorant human city and made you look like some barbarian, abducting her from—” He leaned in. “I. Don’t. Care.”
Oof. He's mad...
He shook her off and strode to his tent, fists clenched. Gavri was like a sister to him, but if she was going to betray his friendship, endanger what they were doing here, disobey Mati’s orders, then she had no place among his inner circle. The cost of her recklessness could be catastrophic.
but his brother, Tarquin, has given me reason to believe he is,” she said, wriggling closer. “Veron, I think he might be… watching us.” “Tarquin,” he said, testing the name as his claws bit into his palms. There had been a man in the abbazia who’d stared lances through him, the same man who’d cut into Alessandra’s dance with her brother Lorenzo. “His sister Arabella disappeared, and he blames the Immortali. Before we left, there was an attack on a light-elf settlement in the night, not far from Bellanzole,” she said, wringing the gray fabric in her hand. “I don’t know whether it’s isolated or
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With a glance at his nearby guards, she took his hand and led him behind a thicker orange-red trunk, where he looked down at her with glimmering half-moon eyes. She reached up and brushed a finger along the edge of his black hood. “Do your people always wear masks and hoods?” He looked away. “In the sky realm, yes.” A matter-of-fact answer. “Why?” A pale eyebrow quirked. “People fear us.”
Biting her lip, she slowly raised a hand toward his face, and when he didn’t move, simply kept those golden eyes fixed on her, she tugged down the mask, revealing his sculpted jaw, the slate-blue of his face. So close, his scent of earth and fresh water soothed its way to her nose, like a meadow after a summer storm, maybe, and she breathed in deeply, rising on her tiptoes to draw back his hood. Her finger brushed against smooth, pale hair, and for the briefest of moments, he closed his eyes, exhaled through parted lips.
Obedient as he was, he’d been kind to her. Sympathetic. Understanding. Patient. And to her, now, the thought—of kissing him— She sucked in a breath. It didn’t fill her with repugnance or discomfort. It didn’t unsettle her. It—
She took it, keenly aware of his thick forearm and thicker bicep, of his broad shoulders and towering figure, of his summer-storm scent and the shiver it stroked up her back. It excited her. He excited her. A dark-elf. What on earth…? No, the last thing she needed would be to fall for her dark-elf husband—and end up a trophy his mother would lock deep inside a cave somewhere. It would be the life Papà had always wanted for her, the life she could never stand to live. She’d never see Mamma’s library realized, nor live her dream. And worse, Veron didn’t find her attractive. This was all still
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If the gap between them was closing, however, someone would have to broach the subject, admit the shift in perception. And it would be him. He’d have to confess his budding attraction to her first. And he would. No hiding. No dishonesty.
Ata had crouched to eye level, smiled, and patted him on the shoulder. Not this time, son. But I’ll be back before you know it. With a beaming grin and a nod, he’d watched Ata walk to his death. To end the war between Nozva Rozkveta and Lumia, Ata had willingly turned himself over, and had saved many dark-elf lives with his sacrifice, but he’d betrayed the love of his own children, of Mati. The stillness Mati had gone through, like living death… all because Ata had betrayed their love when he could have—
