Cursed, Page 3

  The elf with the silver hair kept his grip on her arm just above the mark. He glanced at Claire, his unsettling eyes piercing into her, studying her face for a moment before shifting his gaze back to her hand. A hint of sadness crossed his face as he gazed 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. The acidic smell burned her nostrils and stung 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 licked up her arm and across her skin. A million needles pricked her at once. She began to writhe once more and pried at Aeron’s grip with her free hand, but it was no use. His grip 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.

  Then, suddenly, 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 now silent room. The vine-like design writhed up Claire’s wrist as the tendrils wound around her arm as if it were alive. The silver-haired elf released his hold on her before it reached his hand, like he was afraid to be touched by it.

  Claire’s arm fell limply to her side and she collapsed to her knees when Aeron released her, sitting 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?

  The soft blue glow gradually faded as her pulse eased. Her head hung low above her lap as she clutched her arm close to her chest, the pain subsiding a bit. 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. 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. Maybe it was a form of entertainment in the Elvin world. If that was their way, then perhaps it would have been better if the centaur really had gotten her.

  The female elf approached Claire with a damp cloth in her hand and started to wipe away the liquid. The elf’s thin hands trembled. Her eyes avoided 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 was set in deep thought, his arms crossed over his chest.

  After a few moments, the King motioned to Aeron with flick of a hand. The elf approached and bowed 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, and took her hand. In one fell swoop, he picked her up off the floor.

  Claire rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her back towards the entrance, the energy sapped from her body. She closed her eyes as she leaned against him. Her body lacked the energy 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.

  3

  Claire’s body jerked awake, her eyes wide, her body covered in sweat. Her dreams were filled with the events of the past couple days. The centaurs raiding through her town, her mother in the middle of it all. She had tried to get to her, to rescue her, but no matter how hard she ran she could never get any closer. She felt drained. Sleep seemed more exhausting than reality lately.

  The room was different from the last. She sat up in a four-post bed with a light sheer curtain strung between the pillars. The large bed was miniscule in the new room, a deserted island lost in the stone sea of the floor. Flowers of all different shapes and colors blanketed the chamber, filling the air with their sweet aroma, and a cool breeze wafted in from the open window to the right that raised goose bumps on her arms.

  She looked down at the crimson silk gown that clung to her body. The straps were thin and the top plunged down to her breasts. What was with all these revealing nightgowns? And who kept changing her? She really hoped it wasn’t that Aeron fellow. She shuddered at the thought.

  She got up out of bed and stretched. The nightgown slithered around her legs as she made her way to the window.

  Flower-shaped cutouts at the top of the frame splashed hundreds of tiny shapes across her face as she approached. A different view of the plaza greeted her, but the scene looked the same as before: soft golden light, pretty fountain, elves lounging around in colorful robes. Beautiful but lifeless, it certainly lacked the energy that the plaza in Stockton had during midday.

  She turned from the window, trying to ignore that last thought, and noticed a pair of glass doors across the room. She walked over, opened the doors and stepped out onto a small balcony.

  Trees spread out as far as the eye could see in all directions, their tops reaching high to the heavens. The building hung over a steep drop on top of a cliff, solid ground too far down below.

  Quickly, she spun back around, her head reeling. She had never been afraid of heights before, but then again she’d never been this high up either. Claire closed the doors behind her and drew the curtains closed. She’d deal with the view later.

  Across from the bed was a curved archway that led to a little seating area. Paintings and tapestries on the walls, lit by a great metal chandelier above. Claire tip-toed to the wooden doors that led out of the room and laid her ear against the smooth surface, where it was met with silence. She tried the handle next, turning it slowly. Locked.

  Claire sighed, walked back to the bed and plopped down across the middle. She held her arm up before her and started to trace the vine-like mark with a finger, the skin still a little pink from the burning ointment.

  What was going on around here? It was as if she were a prisoner-- though a pampered one-- but a prisoner nonetheless. She hoped this wasn’t how they treated all their guests. However, it was better than a dungeon. She was anxious to return to her town and start looking for her mother, her friends, or anyone else she knew. If they were still alive. She banished the thought from her mind. Must not think like that.

  A knock at the door startled her, but before she could answer a female elf entered. She carried a tray of food and set it on a table in the corner. Her long copper hair was twisted in a braid down her back and a plain white gown draped on her tall, slender frame.

  Claire remained still. Should she say something? The elf didn’t exactly look like the sociable type. So she sat in the bed and quietly watched the elf. The servant bowed to her, never once meeting her eyes or speaking a word, then was gone.

  How very odd. It was almost as if she was of afraid of her.

  Claire stumbled off the bed and crossed the room to examine the food. Steam rose up from the dish of noodles and sauce, filling her nose with a sweet smell. Her stomach growled. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. She grabbed the fork and began to eat at a voracious pace, barely tasting the food as she stuffed it into her mouth, washing it d
own with the sweet red wine that filled an elegant silver flute.

  The days passed. The servants came and went without speaking a word, ignoring her persistent questions. Her meals arrived three times a day. How many days has it been since she arrived here? Two? Three? Six? They all seemed to melt together with each hour passed.

  She couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to get out. Her sanity wouldn’t last much longer. There were only so many ways she could rearrange the flower vases scattered around the room.

  She began to memorize when her meals would come, studied the halls when they took her to the baths. A single elf stood guard at her door at all times. She could have climbed over the balcony, but her stomach flipped at the thought. She wasn’t that desperate yet. Her best bet at escape would be when she was escorted to the baths. The halls were winding, but she would be out of the room and past the guard. The servants should be easy to slip away from.

  The same two female elves arrived as always, with long copper hair twisted into braids down their backs and white dresses that swished along the stone floor as they walked. Their beautiful faces solemn, always quiet, always avoiding her gaze. She was beginning to feel like some sort of freak, the way everyone kept shunning her.

  Silently, she followed behind, slowing her pace to look down the adjacent hallways. Which one? Which hallway was it? She only had one chance. If she were caught they would no doubt increase security or move her to a different room altogether. And that one may not be so pleasant. She had to make a break for it now before she went insane.

  She glanced down a hallway to her left. Sunlight bounced off the floor at the end where it turned at a corner. That one!

  With her breath held, she ducked into the hall and ran on bare feet towards the light, her robe fluttering out behind her. She turned the corner and burst through a pair of doors out onto a wide patio.

  Huge trees loomed up before her. She’d come out on the forest side. A stroke of luck, perhaps. She rushed to the edge of the patio overlooking the cliff below. She scanned in all directions, following the stairs that wound along the cliff side in both directions with her eyes. Left led up, back towards the palace it seemed; the right side led down. Right it was then.

  She ran towards the stairs, her feet moving hastily down the steps; her hand lifted the hem up to prevent tripping while the other gripped the stone railing. The stairs circled around the building as they climbed lower along the cliff edge. She reached another patio area with a pair of doors to the left. The rest of the stairs were straight across. She leaped over the last few steps and started to sprint to the other side.

  Her body froze suddenly to a stop and her heart skipped a beat.

  The silver-haired elf from before leaned back against the railing. His eyes were wide with surprise. They stood looking at each other for a few moments. Neither of them moved.

  Claire’s hopes dropped. She was caught.

  Shouts rang out in the distance and she glanced back towards the stairs.

  No, she couldn’t give up yet. A fearless, desperate wave washed over her, filling her veins with fire. She turned back to the silver-haired elf and rushed up to him. Her hands grabbed onto his shirt as she looked up at him, her eyes pleading.

  “Please, just let me go!” She kept her voice low. “I just want to go home and find my mother!”

  His cold eyes stared back at her, unmoved. “So you’re the cause of all this commotion.”

  She gaped up at him as the said commotion drew nearer.

  “Farron, that is no way to treat a lady in need.”

  She knew that voice. Claire spun around to face Aeron as he stepped through the pair of doors with a smile across his lips. Her heart sank even further. There was no chance of escape now.

  “I just want to go home!” she cried. “I’m tired of sitting in that room!”

  “I am afraid that is not possible,” Aeron said. His face grew solemn.

  “It may be.”

  Claire turned to look at Farron, her hopes lifting a bit. He stared at Aeron with arms crossed and an insolent spark in his eyes.

  “It is not part of the plan.” Aeron’s face twitched.

  “What plan?” she asked, but was ignored.

  “A little detour couldn’t hurt.”

  “His Majesty will not allow it.” Aeron frowned.

  She could feel the tension rise sharply between the two.

  “Will you answer my question?” Claire yelled. The tension eased a bit as their focus switched to her.

  “My lady, His Majesty has ordered for us to go on a mission,” Aeron said.

  “A mission?” she asked. “With me?”

  Claire looked between the elves. They stood silent, not offering the answers she wanted.

  “What kind of mission?” She turned to Aeron.

  “I cannot say.”

  “Why not?” Anger began to well up inside of her. “I won’t go.” She crossed her arms.

  “I am afraid you do not have much of a choice, my lady.”

  The terrace grew quiet. Claire looked at Aeron, his face serious, his eyes cold. She was tired of this, tired of being a captive. They wanted her for a reason. Could it be the mark? She looked down at her right hand. He was right, however: she was currently in their possession and she would have to play by their rules if she ever wanted to see her mother again.

  “Fine,” she said and a defiant look took over her face, her hands rested on her hips. “I’ll go on your mission. No questions asked-- under one condition.”

  “And what would that be, my lady?” Aeron’s eyebrows rose.

  “You help me look for my mother.” Her voice lost its edge. “I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll help me.”

  Aeron took a deep breath and let it out, his gaze shifting to the ground.

  “You need me for something,” she said. “I’ll help you if you help me.”

  “Done,” Farron declared behind her.

  She turned and looked up at the tall elf.

  His gaze met hers for a brief moment before he looked back at Aeron. “His majesty never needs to find out. We’ll just take a small detour along the way.”

  “Fine, but that is it,” Aeron replied sharply. “Be ready to leave in the morning.” He turned and went back through the doors, flinging them open wide.

  The shouts from before slowly died, leaving the palace quiet and peaceful once again. Claire turned to Farron.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “No need.” His eyes studied her. “Just keep up your end of the bargain. Besides,” a smirk curled the edges of his mouth, “there’s no way out on this side of the castle.” He strolled away and disappeared down the steps.

  She stared after him in disbelief, not knowing what to say to that. The two servants from before rushed through the doors, anger on their faces. Claire felt uncomfortable as the subject of their ire, although it was a relief to see some sort of emotion from them finally.

  4

  Yaederrí.

  That’s the only word the female elves spoke to her, still avoiding her gaze as much as possible. No matter how many times she asked, about what it meant, about the mission, about anything, she never got a reply. They didn’t speak her language. Either that or they were really good at ignoring her.

  Claire yawned as she pulled on a soft purple over-shirt. The servants came early in the morning with a pile of folded clothes and, to her surprise, her mother’s dagger sat neatly on top. She didn’t remember what had happened to it that night. The events already started to blur together.

  The elves waited in the little sitting room after she refused their help getting dressed. It really wasn’t that hard of a task. She tied the purple shirt on the side just above her hip. The neck plunged down into a V-shape to reveal a snug black undershirt. The fabric was thin, almost transparent and form fitting. The sleeves reached her elbow with ties on the cuffs. She pulled on a pair of knee high, dark brown leather boots over snug black slacks and sat on the floor to tie
the laces.

  Claire grabbed the dagger sitting on the bed and drew it from the simple leather sheath. The blade looked new and polished. The elves must have done that. A weak smile crossed her lips as she examined the knife. Her stomach was full of butterflies, both excited and terrified for the upcoming journey. She didn’t know what awaited her or what the elves wanted with her, they hadn’t revealed anything more about the mission. She was just eager for the chance to search for her mother. And get out of this cage. She snapped the dagger back into its sheath and slipped the belt around her waist.

  If only she had stayed with her mother, she wouldn’t be in this mess. She would know that mother was safe. She would not run away anymore. A fiery surge of confidence swept through her. She had to become stronger, more courageous. Marion had a strong fighting spirit, her strength and confidence tamed the toughest of foes, overcoming any obstacle. She had been well respected, and a little feared, in Stockton.

  “I’ll make you proud, mom,” Claire muttered before she faced the servants.

  Hushed whispers floated on the cool morning air as Claire stepped through the large mahogany doors. Elves filled the square. Guards held back the mass to form a walkway to the center. The two servants stayed by the doors and bowed their heads. She scanned the quiet crowd with wide eyes. Her pulse quickened, shocked by the strange reception. Flower petals floated on the air before finally falling onto the stone pavement. She took an unsteady step down the stairs, her legs turned to jelly. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention. Why had they gathered there? Did it have to do with her mission? If so, did they know more about it than she did?

  The King stood imposingly in front of the fountain in the center of the plaza. His red and purple robes swept down to the ground. Aeron stood next to the King in a similar outfit as the day before: deep blue shirt, brown slacks and black boots. A sword handle peeked up above his left shoulder, a bow and arrows above the right. Farron stood next to him. His appearance was intimidating and a complete transformation from what he wore before. The stark black of his clothes contrasted sharply against his pale skin and silvery hair. Black fingerless leather gloves wrapped up his forearms while black leather straps crossed over his short-sleeved black shirt. Silver hilts glinted past each shoulder, the top of a bow and arrows over his right. They weren’t expecting a fight, were they?