Cursed (Cursed Magic Series Book One), Page 2
Casey Odell
Claire stirred awake from a deep sleep. The sheets were soft and silky against her skin as she stretched. So, it was just a nightmare. She lay in bed half-asleep, relishing in the fact that she was safe, that the town still stood around her.
She turned over to her side, her body sore. Although her mother never let her wait on tables in the tavern, she still had to serve from behind the bar, wash mugs, tap wine and ale casks, clean, and all of the other work to make the tavern ready and keep it running. All those hours of standing and running around took their toll, and a maiden they’d hired was sick the past week, keeping her on her toes even more than usual.
Warm light fell onto her face and she stretched again. But something was off. The window wasn’t on that side. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she bolted up. Her head swam at the sudden movement.
A strange new room greeted her. Sunlight filtered in through thin white curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. Small but inviting, it was filled with simple elegant ash wood furniture with the plush bed taking up half the room. A vase filled with white flowers sat atop a narrow table, which ran along the far wall by the door.
The night before was not a dream. She was alive, but where? And why was there a bandage on her right hand? Long strips of white cloth wrapped tightly around her hand and past her wrist to end halfway up her forearm. Strange, she didn’t remember injuring it. She also didn’t remember changing into the silky white nightgown. The thin straps and material were much more revealing than she was used to.
She threw her legs over the side of the bed and hobbled to the open window. Her muscles cried out, sore in places she had never been sore before.
The courtyard below was beautiful and completely different than the one in her small town. The buildings were elegant, made of marble and granite with curved archways and elaborate latticework. All weathered like it had been there ages. Flowered vines climbed up walls and columns. Trees sprouted out from buildings, but seemed to have grown too large, cracking walls and roofs, roots splitting the bricks apart. Soft light filtered in through the high treetops and captured leaves rode the breeze before they spiraled down to the stone pavement. A fountain lay in the center, sprinkled with lily pads and flowers, the water cascaded down an elegant stone tier in the middle. People filled the plaza, lounged by the fountain, strolled languidly like they had no place to be. Long colorful robes clung to their slender frames, with hair that fell straight and smooth past their shoulders.
“Where am I?” she whispered as she took the scene in.
The door behind her slammed open then, with a loud crack as it hit the wall. Claire spun around as a tall man strolled into the room. A woman clung to his arm, pleading with him in a strange language, but he brushed her away. His deep blue eyes settled on Claire as he stopped before her and bowed with elaborate flourish, his long honey blonde hair falling over his shoulders. Tall, lithe, and dressed in a cerulean silk shirt with several buttons undone at the collar, he was unlike anything she’d ever seen.
“I am Aeron Enionedhe Echersech Lyel the Third, Captain of his Royal Majesty, Ryaenon the Second’s Guard,” he said in an accented voice. He rose from his bow, and looked her up and down, his lips curling into a grin. “You may call me Aeron.”
Claire crossed her arms over her chest, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the man. Long blond hair, slim build, fair skin, pointed ears, stunning looks. Wait, pointed ears? She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
“You’re an elf!” Disbelief filled her voice. She spun back toward the window, her eyes wide with the sudden realization. There were stories about the Elvin race, but she’d never seen one before, hardly anyone had. She’d even begun to think they weren’t real, legends or tales people spoke of in the tavern, but never really knowing if they were true or not. She turned back to the elf waiting patiently in the center of the room.
Claire approached Aeron, looking him over, examining him. She walked around him as he stood still with arms crossed. He seemed amused by her curiosity.
“My lady, His Majesty has requested your audience,” Aeron said. “You may continue to examine me later in private, if that is your wish.”
“That won’t be necessary!” Claire’s face flushed red. “I have never seen an elf before, so…” she muttered, only getting more embarrassed with each word.
Was this why no one entered the forest? Have the elves been here all this time? And if so, why did they remain hidden? Too many questions flooded her mind at once.
“His Majesty is very impatient, so if you will just come with me,” Aeron said with a sigh. He grabbed Claire by the arm and pulled her toward the door.
“Wait, I can’t go dressed like this!” Claire protested as she tugged her arm out of his grasp to cover herself.
Aeron sighed again and muttered a foreign word, “Stacten.” He snatched a scarlet silk robe that hung on the wall by the door and flung it around her shoulders.
“Good enough.” He grabbed her arm again and pulled her out the door.
He dragged her down a hallway, her steps barely able to keep up with his. The floor was cold and hard under her bare feet, the stone gleaming from the light of elaborate lamps that lined the corridor.
She had managed to get her free arm through one sleeve of the robe and clutched it closed around her body until they could stop.
“Why does the king want to see me?” Disbelief filled her voice.
“It is the polite thing to do when you enter someone’s home.”
“That may be true, but why do I have to go dressed in a robe?”
Aeron only laughed.
Elves watched with curious eyes as they burst out into to courtyard. Gasps and whispers reached her ears as they passed by and her face flushed even more. She had never been so embarrassed. It wasn’t exactly how she would have imagined being introduced to a new culture or her first time meeting royalty.
They climbed up a set of steps that led to an enormous pair of carved mahogany doors. A guard stood on each side, their sparse metal armor gleaming in the sunlight, looking more for show than function. They bowed before pushing the doors open.
The room inside was elaborate to an excessive degree. Floors shined like water, timber beams cut across the high ceiling, and stained glass was everywhere. Tapestries hung on the walls, framed by a deep crimson cloth that swept down to the floor. Metal chandeliers dangled from the beams, each a different shape with tiny cutouts that cast playful shadows across the room. Claire gazed in wonder at it all, her mouth forming a silent ‘oh’.
Aeron slowed his pace, his footsteps clicking on the floor, echoing loudly through the large, quiet hallway. He stopped halfway down at a little wooden table where a vase filled with red flowers sat on top. The area served as a crossroads of sorts. Hallways stretched out in four directions, the ends closed off by huge doors like the ones they had just passed through.
Aeron let go of Claire’s arm and plucked a flower from the vase. She used the opportunity to slip on the rest of her robe, tie the sash tightly around her, and run her fingers through her hair. She sure wished that she had the time to clean up before meeting royalty, but it would have to do. Why would the king want to see her, anyway? Was it really because she’d entered their land?
In any case, she would apologize and thank them for their hospitality. She had to get back to Stockton and find Mother as soon as possible. Her chest tightened at the thought. The town, Mother, her life. Were they really all gone?
“This way, my lady,” Aeron said, and offered his arm.
Claire took it hesitantly and they walked to the end of the hallway. Aeron sniffed at the red flower with an amused look on his face. He knocked three times and the doors opened, the hinges creaking as they swung slowly inward.
The throne room was small and intimate. Musky incense slithered into her lungs as they entered. A cluster of tiny metal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, dangling at different lengths and casting the room in a soft, warm glow. A m
ahogany throne sat atop a platform, draped in burgundy fabric with intricate latticework carved from redwood making up the wall behind it. Light from the candelabras that dotted the walls bounced off the gleaming marble floor.
The large doors closed behind them with a definitive clunk after they entered. A hush swept through the group of elves that stood scattered across the room. Claire could almost feel their eyes on her, intense, studying, curious, like she were a rare specimen newly discovered. There was something a little cold in that look, though, and she got the feeling she wasn’t exactly a welcome guest.
Aeron stopped in front of two elves and bowed. Not knowing what else to do, Claire followed with a curtsey. At that moment she was glad that Mother had taught her how all those years ago.
The male elf in front of them was magnificent to say the least, dressed in silk robes of a deep red hue with long sleeves that swallowed up his hands. A magnificent gold necklace hung around his neck, adorned with purple jewels. Black hair fell well past his shoulders and framed a beautiful but emotionless face as Lapis Lazuli eyes examined her closely. He stood regally, tall, proud, his status unmistakable.
This must be the King. Her cheeks flushed hot again as she averted her gaze to the floor. What she would have given for clothes at the moment.
The King said something in another language, the words rolling off his tongue in a deep clear voice. He turned to the elf beside him, but this one was much older. Wrinkles had formed around his eyes and his long hair had grown gray with age. White robes draped on his withered looking frame. Thin fingers shook slightly as they unrolled a yellowed scroll, and held it up in front of the King.
Unable to understand any of the conversation, Claire looked around the room to examine the others. A female elf stood silently to the right side with blonde hair framing charcoal rimmed green eyes that were fixated on the king. A cerulean silk dress formed to her body and in her hands she held a black ceramic jar. Something seemed off about her, but then again Claire didn’t really know anything about court customs, especially Elvish customs.
Claire turned back to Aeron but he had wandered away, abandoning her in front of the King to fend for herself. A gentleman that one, she thought. It was because of him that she was in front of the king in such a state. And if it were up to him, she’d be wearing even less. She watched him as he strolled over to another elf that stood at the other side of the room with his arms crossed.
This elf’s appearance was striking, much different than any of the others she’d seen so far. Platinum blonde hair was pulled back from his face, leaving the bottom half to fall freely just past his shoulders. Ice blue eyes stared daggers at the approaching Aeron. He wore a similar outfit to the other elf’s, with a sword attached to a belt that encircled a slender waist.
Aeron bowed and offered the flower he’d picked up earlier. The silver haired one smacked the flower out of Aeron’s hand to the floor.
Aeron’s laughter suddenly filled the room, drawing everyone’s attention. Claire had to hide her own smile. He may not be a gentleman, but at least he knew how to laugh it seemed. Unlike many of the other solemn looking elves she’d seen so far.
With a scowl on his face, the elf with the silver hair marched over to the King. He pointed to Claire, speaking in the same flowing language the others had used. Whatever he was saying, she was sure it wasn’t the friendliest of words.
Confusion started to brew inside of her. She had been brought here to meet the king, but it seemed that he was not very interested in meeting her. He had barely even nodded in greeting when she’d been introduced. He may be royalty, but at least he could display good manners.
The King gestured with a wave of his hand to the statuesque female elf Claire had spied earlier. She sauntered up to them, hips swinging wide, before bowing to the King. Claire eyed the jar in her hands suspiciously. She was starting to have her doubts that it was anything good.
The elves gathered close around her then. Her stomach dropped as she scanned their faces and the first hint of genuine fear swept through her. This wasn’t just a simple meeting after all. They weren’t smiling and neither was she. Perhaps she was going to be punished for entering their territory, for trespassing on their land without their permission. She’d escaped one horror only to stumble into another. Mother’s assumption that they’d take care of her was true so far. But why bandage her up only to punish her later?
“Sorry, mon lainí,” Aeron whispered as he grabbed her from behind. One arm circled around her waist while the other snaked around her shoulders. He held her tight against his body, his grip strong and firm.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” Claire shrieked. She struggled, her nails digging into Aeron’s skin as she tried to pry his arms away. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to come here! I was just trying to escape!”
The silver-haired elf grabbed her bandaged right hand and drew a dagger from behind his back. The sight stopped her voice in her throat, her eyes growing wide.
“Please don’t,” she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper.
Her body writhed as she fought to break free, but Aeron’s grip tightened around her, holding her steady against him. She thought for sure they were going to cut off a finger or two as punishment, but the silver-haired elf slipped the blade under the bandage instead, managing to avoid her skin entirely, and cut through the layers of cloth with ease. When the bandage fell to the floor, he sheathed the dagger again and Claire breathed a momentary sigh of relief.
All at once, the group gathered closer around her to peer down at her newly exposed hand, their faces curious, eager.
Claire grew still as she looked down at her hand to see what exactly was so fascinating. Thin black lines traced across the back of her hand and up her wrist like a vine. Its tendrils spread out in all directions, twisting and swirling to form intricate flower-like shapes. She stared at the mysterious new mark in disbelief. That’d never been there before.
The old-looking elf held the scroll up next to her hand and spoke to the King, but it sounded slightly different, more harsh and guttural than before, like he was speaking a different language altogether.
The elf with the silver hair gripped her arm just above the mark. He glanced at Claire, his unsettling eyes piercing into her. He studied her face for a moment before shifting his gaze back to her hand. A hint of sadness crossed his face as he looked down at the mark, but then it was gone, swept away by an emotionless mask.
The female elf uncorked the jar she’d been so patiently holding, and began to smear a clear ointment onto Claire’s hand. Not at all what she had expected, the acidic smell burned her nostrils and stung at her eyes. It grew warm where it touched her skin, the heat steadily growing in intensity.
“What—” she began to ask, but that’s when it started.
Light smoke drifted up from the liquid and Claire gasped as her hand began to burn, like flames themselves were licking up her arm and across her skin. She began to writhe once more and pried at Aeron’s grip with her free hand, but it was no use. His hold remained strong and solid around her. Shrieks climbed up her throat as the pain shot up her arm and throughout her body until she was completely engulfed.
A faint blue glow appeared around the edges of the mark, and the group of elves gasped as the lines began to move. The female elf dropped the jar and it shattered on the floor. The sound rung loudly throughout the silent room. The vine-like design twisted up Claire’s wrist as the tendrils wound around her arm. The silver-haired elf released his hold on her before it reached his hand, as if he was afraid to be touched by it.
Claire’s arm fell limply to her side. She collapsed to her knees when Aeron released her and sat hunched over in the middle of the room, the stone floor hard and cold beneath her. She started to wipe away the ointment with her robe, ruining the fine red silk. What was going on? There was never a mark there before. Surely she would have noticed an enchanted vine growing up her arm. Was it the curse of the forest?
&nb
sp; The soft blue glow gradually faded as the pain eased. Her head hung low above her lap as she clutched her arm close to her chest. The sweet smell of the incense became stifling. She didn’t want to see the faces of the elves, and was afraid to show hers as she began to sob quietly, her shoulders trembling.
She hadn’t asked for any of this. She just wanted to return home and see her mother again, to know that she was safe, or even alive.
A deep laugh cut through the heavy silence then. She looked up at the King, who’d collapsed onto his throne. His laughter trailed off to leave a smirk in its place. It was nice to know the King found torture amusing. But Claire took slight comfort in the fact that none of the other elves were smiling.
The female elf approached Claire again, only this time she had a damp cloth instead of the jar. Her confidence from before had faded. The elf’s thin hands trembled as she started to wipe away the burning liquid, her eyes avoiding Claire’s as best they could.
The King summoned the old elf to the throne where they conversed in a hushed manner.
The silver-haired elf retreated to the side of the room, his face set in deep thought.
After a few moments, the King motioned to Aeron with flick of a hand. The elf obeyed, bowing silently at the foot of the pedestal onto one knee. The King spoke to him and Aeron nodded and rose. He walked over to Claire, still hunched down on the floor, took her hand, and in one fell swoop, picked her up off the floor.
Claire closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her back toward the entrance, the energy sapped from her body. She lacked the will to move, to protest, to do anything. The stress of the past couple days had taken its toll on her body and mind. She still had so many questions, but didn’t know where to start or whom to ask. Or even if they would answer her. To be treated like this, after all she had been through… it was just too much.
“I am sorry, my lady,” Aeron said, his voice soft.
She bet he was. He had probably known what was going to happen all along, whatever it was that they did. So much for trusting the elves. And her mother’s judgment for that matter.
She turned over to her side, her body sore. Although her mother never let her wait on tables in the tavern, she still had to serve from behind the bar, wash mugs, tap wine and ale casks, clean, and all of the other work to make the tavern ready and keep it running. All those hours of standing and running around took their toll, and a maiden they’d hired was sick the past week, keeping her on her toes even more than usual.
Warm light fell onto her face and she stretched again. But something was off. The window wasn’t on that side. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she bolted up. Her head swam at the sudden movement.
A strange new room greeted her. Sunlight filtered in through thin white curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. Small but inviting, it was filled with simple elegant ash wood furniture with the plush bed taking up half the room. A vase filled with white flowers sat atop a narrow table, which ran along the far wall by the door.
The night before was not a dream. She was alive, but where? And why was there a bandage on her right hand? Long strips of white cloth wrapped tightly around her hand and past her wrist to end halfway up her forearm. Strange, she didn’t remember injuring it. She also didn’t remember changing into the silky white nightgown. The thin straps and material were much more revealing than she was used to.
She threw her legs over the side of the bed and hobbled to the open window. Her muscles cried out, sore in places she had never been sore before.
The courtyard below was beautiful and completely different than the one in her small town. The buildings were elegant, made of marble and granite with curved archways and elaborate latticework. All weathered like it had been there ages. Flowered vines climbed up walls and columns. Trees sprouted out from buildings, but seemed to have grown too large, cracking walls and roofs, roots splitting the bricks apart. Soft light filtered in through the high treetops and captured leaves rode the breeze before they spiraled down to the stone pavement. A fountain lay in the center, sprinkled with lily pads and flowers, the water cascaded down an elegant stone tier in the middle. People filled the plaza, lounged by the fountain, strolled languidly like they had no place to be. Long colorful robes clung to their slender frames, with hair that fell straight and smooth past their shoulders.
“Where am I?” she whispered as she took the scene in.
The door behind her slammed open then, with a loud crack as it hit the wall. Claire spun around as a tall man strolled into the room. A woman clung to his arm, pleading with him in a strange language, but he brushed her away. His deep blue eyes settled on Claire as he stopped before her and bowed with elaborate flourish, his long honey blonde hair falling over his shoulders. Tall, lithe, and dressed in a cerulean silk shirt with several buttons undone at the collar, he was unlike anything she’d ever seen.
“I am Aeron Enionedhe Echersech Lyel the Third, Captain of his Royal Majesty, Ryaenon the Second’s Guard,” he said in an accented voice. He rose from his bow, and looked her up and down, his lips curling into a grin. “You may call me Aeron.”
Claire crossed her arms over her chest, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the man. Long blond hair, slim build, fair skin, pointed ears, stunning looks. Wait, pointed ears? She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
“You’re an elf!” Disbelief filled her voice. She spun back toward the window, her eyes wide with the sudden realization. There were stories about the Elvin race, but she’d never seen one before, hardly anyone had. She’d even begun to think they weren’t real, legends or tales people spoke of in the tavern, but never really knowing if they were true or not. She turned back to the elf waiting patiently in the center of the room.
Claire approached Aeron, looking him over, examining him. She walked around him as he stood still with arms crossed. He seemed amused by her curiosity.
“My lady, His Majesty has requested your audience,” Aeron said. “You may continue to examine me later in private, if that is your wish.”
“That won’t be necessary!” Claire’s face flushed red. “I have never seen an elf before, so…” she muttered, only getting more embarrassed with each word.
Was this why no one entered the forest? Have the elves been here all this time? And if so, why did they remain hidden? Too many questions flooded her mind at once.
“His Majesty is very impatient, so if you will just come with me,” Aeron said with a sigh. He grabbed Claire by the arm and pulled her toward the door.
“Wait, I can’t go dressed like this!” Claire protested as she tugged her arm out of his grasp to cover herself.
Aeron sighed again and muttered a foreign word, “Stacten.” He snatched a scarlet silk robe that hung on the wall by the door and flung it around her shoulders.
“Good enough.” He grabbed her arm again and pulled her out the door.
He dragged her down a hallway, her steps barely able to keep up with his. The floor was cold and hard under her bare feet, the stone gleaming from the light of elaborate lamps that lined the corridor.
She had managed to get her free arm through one sleeve of the robe and clutched it closed around her body until they could stop.
“Why does the king want to see me?” Disbelief filled her voice.
“It is the polite thing to do when you enter someone’s home.”
“That may be true, but why do I have to go dressed in a robe?”
Aeron only laughed.
Elves watched with curious eyes as they burst out into to courtyard. Gasps and whispers reached her ears as they passed by and her face flushed even more. She had never been so embarrassed. It wasn’t exactly how she would have imagined being introduced to a new culture or her first time meeting royalty.
They climbed up a set of steps that led to an enormous pair of carved mahogany doors. A guard stood on each side, their sparse metal armor gleaming in the sunlight, looking more for show than function. They bowed before pushing the doors open.
The room inside was elaborate to an excessive degree. Floors shined like water, timber beams cut across the high ceiling, and stained glass was everywhere. Tapestries hung on the walls, framed by a deep crimson cloth that swept down to the floor. Metal chandeliers dangled from the beams, each a different shape with tiny cutouts that cast playful shadows across the room. Claire gazed in wonder at it all, her mouth forming a silent ‘oh’.
Aeron slowed his pace, his footsteps clicking on the floor, echoing loudly through the large, quiet hallway. He stopped halfway down at a little wooden table where a vase filled with red flowers sat on top. The area served as a crossroads of sorts. Hallways stretched out in four directions, the ends closed off by huge doors like the ones they had just passed through.
Aeron let go of Claire’s arm and plucked a flower from the vase. She used the opportunity to slip on the rest of her robe, tie the sash tightly around her, and run her fingers through her hair. She sure wished that she had the time to clean up before meeting royalty, but it would have to do. Why would the king want to see her, anyway? Was it really because she’d entered their land?
In any case, she would apologize and thank them for their hospitality. She had to get back to Stockton and find Mother as soon as possible. Her chest tightened at the thought. The town, Mother, her life. Were they really all gone?
“This way, my lady,” Aeron said, and offered his arm.
Claire took it hesitantly and they walked to the end of the hallway. Aeron sniffed at the red flower with an amused look on his face. He knocked three times and the doors opened, the hinges creaking as they swung slowly inward.
The throne room was small and intimate. Musky incense slithered into her lungs as they entered. A cluster of tiny metal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, dangling at different lengths and casting the room in a soft, warm glow. A m
ahogany throne sat atop a platform, draped in burgundy fabric with intricate latticework carved from redwood making up the wall behind it. Light from the candelabras that dotted the walls bounced off the gleaming marble floor.
The large doors closed behind them with a definitive clunk after they entered. A hush swept through the group of elves that stood scattered across the room. Claire could almost feel their eyes on her, intense, studying, curious, like she were a rare specimen newly discovered. There was something a little cold in that look, though, and she got the feeling she wasn’t exactly a welcome guest.
Aeron stopped in front of two elves and bowed. Not knowing what else to do, Claire followed with a curtsey. At that moment she was glad that Mother had taught her how all those years ago.
The male elf in front of them was magnificent to say the least, dressed in silk robes of a deep red hue with long sleeves that swallowed up his hands. A magnificent gold necklace hung around his neck, adorned with purple jewels. Black hair fell well past his shoulders and framed a beautiful but emotionless face as Lapis Lazuli eyes examined her closely. He stood regally, tall, proud, his status unmistakable.
This must be the King. Her cheeks flushed hot again as she averted her gaze to the floor. What she would have given for clothes at the moment.
The King said something in another language, the words rolling off his tongue in a deep clear voice. He turned to the elf beside him, but this one was much older. Wrinkles had formed around his eyes and his long hair had grown gray with age. White robes draped on his withered looking frame. Thin fingers shook slightly as they unrolled a yellowed scroll, and held it up in front of the King.
Unable to understand any of the conversation, Claire looked around the room to examine the others. A female elf stood silently to the right side with blonde hair framing charcoal rimmed green eyes that were fixated on the king. A cerulean silk dress formed to her body and in her hands she held a black ceramic jar. Something seemed off about her, but then again Claire didn’t really know anything about court customs, especially Elvish customs.
Claire turned back to Aeron but he had wandered away, abandoning her in front of the King to fend for herself. A gentleman that one, she thought. It was because of him that she was in front of the king in such a state. And if it were up to him, she’d be wearing even less. She watched him as he strolled over to another elf that stood at the other side of the room with his arms crossed.
This elf’s appearance was striking, much different than any of the others she’d seen so far. Platinum blonde hair was pulled back from his face, leaving the bottom half to fall freely just past his shoulders. Ice blue eyes stared daggers at the approaching Aeron. He wore a similar outfit to the other elf’s, with a sword attached to a belt that encircled a slender waist.
Aeron bowed and offered the flower he’d picked up earlier. The silver haired one smacked the flower out of Aeron’s hand to the floor.
Aeron’s laughter suddenly filled the room, drawing everyone’s attention. Claire had to hide her own smile. He may not be a gentleman, but at least he knew how to laugh it seemed. Unlike many of the other solemn looking elves she’d seen so far.
With a scowl on his face, the elf with the silver hair marched over to the King. He pointed to Claire, speaking in the same flowing language the others had used. Whatever he was saying, she was sure it wasn’t the friendliest of words.
Confusion started to brew inside of her. She had been brought here to meet the king, but it seemed that he was not very interested in meeting her. He had barely even nodded in greeting when she’d been introduced. He may be royalty, but at least he could display good manners.
The King gestured with a wave of his hand to the statuesque female elf Claire had spied earlier. She sauntered up to them, hips swinging wide, before bowing to the King. Claire eyed the jar in her hands suspiciously. She was starting to have her doubts that it was anything good.
The elves gathered close around her then. Her stomach dropped as she scanned their faces and the first hint of genuine fear swept through her. This wasn’t just a simple meeting after all. They weren’t smiling and neither was she. Perhaps she was going to be punished for entering their territory, for trespassing on their land without their permission. She’d escaped one horror only to stumble into another. Mother’s assumption that they’d take care of her was true so far. But why bandage her up only to punish her later?
“Sorry, mon lainí,” Aeron whispered as he grabbed her from behind. One arm circled around her waist while the other snaked around her shoulders. He held her tight against his body, his grip strong and firm.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” Claire shrieked. She struggled, her nails digging into Aeron’s skin as she tried to pry his arms away. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to come here! I was just trying to escape!”
The silver-haired elf grabbed her bandaged right hand and drew a dagger from behind his back. The sight stopped her voice in her throat, her eyes growing wide.
“Please don’t,” she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper.
Her body writhed as she fought to break free, but Aeron’s grip tightened around her, holding her steady against him. She thought for sure they were going to cut off a finger or two as punishment, but the silver-haired elf slipped the blade under the bandage instead, managing to avoid her skin entirely, and cut through the layers of cloth with ease. When the bandage fell to the floor, he sheathed the dagger again and Claire breathed a momentary sigh of relief.
All at once, the group gathered closer around her to peer down at her newly exposed hand, their faces curious, eager.
Claire grew still as she looked down at her hand to see what exactly was so fascinating. Thin black lines traced across the back of her hand and up her wrist like a vine. Its tendrils spread out in all directions, twisting and swirling to form intricate flower-like shapes. She stared at the mysterious new mark in disbelief. That’d never been there before.
The old-looking elf held the scroll up next to her hand and spoke to the King, but it sounded slightly different, more harsh and guttural than before, like he was speaking a different language altogether.
The elf with the silver hair gripped her arm just above the mark. He glanced at Claire, his unsettling eyes piercing into her. He studied her face for a moment before shifting his gaze back to her hand. A hint of sadness crossed his face as he looked down at the mark, but then it was gone, swept away by an emotionless mask.
The female elf uncorked the jar she’d been so patiently holding, and began to smear a clear ointment onto Claire’s hand. Not at all what she had expected, the acidic smell burned her nostrils and stung at her eyes. It grew warm where it touched her skin, the heat steadily growing in intensity.
“What—” she began to ask, but that’s when it started.
Light smoke drifted up from the liquid and Claire gasped as her hand began to burn, like flames themselves were licking up her arm and across her skin. She began to writhe once more and pried at Aeron’s grip with her free hand, but it was no use. His hold remained strong and solid around her. Shrieks climbed up her throat as the pain shot up her arm and throughout her body until she was completely engulfed.
A faint blue glow appeared around the edges of the mark, and the group of elves gasped as the lines began to move. The female elf dropped the jar and it shattered on the floor. The sound rung loudly throughout the silent room. The vine-like design twisted up Claire’s wrist as the tendrils wound around her arm. The silver-haired elf released his hold on her before it reached his hand, as if he was afraid to be touched by it.
Claire’s arm fell limply to her side. She collapsed to her knees when Aeron released her and sat hunched over in the middle of the room, the stone floor hard and cold beneath her. She started to wipe away the ointment with her robe, ruining the fine red silk. What was going on? There was never a mark there before. Surely she would have noticed an enchanted vine growing up her arm. Was it the curse of the forest?
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sp; The soft blue glow gradually faded as the pain eased. Her head hung low above her lap as she clutched her arm close to her chest. The sweet smell of the incense became stifling. She didn’t want to see the faces of the elves, and was afraid to show hers as she began to sob quietly, her shoulders trembling.
She hadn’t asked for any of this. She just wanted to return home and see her mother again, to know that she was safe, or even alive.
A deep laugh cut through the heavy silence then. She looked up at the King, who’d collapsed onto his throne. His laughter trailed off to leave a smirk in its place. It was nice to know the King found torture amusing. But Claire took slight comfort in the fact that none of the other elves were smiling.
The female elf approached Claire again, only this time she had a damp cloth instead of the jar. Her confidence from before had faded. The elf’s thin hands trembled as she started to wipe away the burning liquid, her eyes avoiding Claire’s as best they could.
The King summoned the old elf to the throne where they conversed in a hushed manner.
The silver-haired elf retreated to the side of the room, his face set in deep thought.
After a few moments, the King motioned to Aeron with flick of a hand. The elf obeyed, bowing silently at the foot of the pedestal onto one knee. The King spoke to him and Aeron nodded and rose. He walked over to Claire, still hunched down on the floor, took her hand, and in one fell swoop, picked her up off the floor.
Claire closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her back toward the entrance, the energy sapped from her body. She lacked the will to move, to protest, to do anything. The stress of the past couple days had taken its toll on her body and mind. She still had so many questions, but didn’t know where to start or whom to ask. Or even if they would answer her. To be treated like this, after all she had been through… it was just too much.
“I am sorry, my lady,” Aeron said, his voice soft.
She bet he was. He had probably known what was going to happen all along, whatever it was that they did. So much for trusting the elves. And her mother’s judgment for that matter.
