Chapter 2: Cornered and Captured
Caoimhe McKenna tossed her keys into the bowl by the door with a sigh, glad to be back from a long month in Ethiopia. It was past midnight. She swung her backpack onto the floor in the entrance hall and stepped away, rolling her tired shoulders.
She had been in Ethiopia to destroy the fragment of the Royal Crown of Bethmoora, entrusted to her family by the Elf King, at the time of the Treaty. Caoimhe, together with her family, had grown dismayed at the behaviour of their fellow humans. The Treaty was clearly forgotten by the majority, and humans were violating it in their greed and ignorance. Worse, whispers had come to the family that certain human factions who still recalled the Children of the Forest coveted the fragment, seeking dominion over the Elf Kingdom and their magical allies through some devilry centred on it.
It was this revelation that had spurred Caoimhe to seek an audience with King Balor. Or, to be more honest, had spurred the crown fragment to whisper to her that she must request the audience. Caoimhe couldn't change the way humans all over the world were destroying the environment and endangering other species, but she could and would do all in her power to protect the Treaty. The fragment had known what to do. As directed, she had gone to the woods each full moon, singing her request in ancient melody and words. She felt the power of the crown fragment within her body each time she sang, but despaired of receiving an answer.
But answer the elves had. As Caoimhe had stood in a clearing bathed in moonlight, the final notes of the song hanging in the air, a voice behind her had informed her that His Majesty King Balor would grant her an audience. She had almost jumped out of her skin! The voice instructed her not to move, and to close her eyes. She didn't hear the other come up behind her, but a blindfold was secured over her eyes, and she was unceremoniously pulled along by a very strong hand. She became aware of others around her. She kept her tongue, puzzled as the night wind disappeared and the air changed. She was no longer in the wood, but where they had taken her, she had not known.
And so, she came into the presence of the Elf King. He had not surprised her with his kindness, despite the stories passed down in her family which painted him as a cunning warrior, very much to be feared – her crown fragment knew better, and so of course, did she. His counsel had led her to travel to the Lake of Fire in Ethiopia, where the fragment had asked to be destroyed. She could still see it sinking into the lava, sparkling like a star, fading and dying, singing hauntingly as it melted and the magic within was released. She had wept as this happened. She knew that a part of her had died that day, and that she would never be whole again, but she was surprised at how peaceful she felt. She suspected that the crown piece had bestowed this serenity on her, as a parting gift.
Having dutifully called her mother and reported her safe return, Caoimhe lit candles in the front room, smiling to be back in her much loved home. She crossed to the front windows, enjoying the light of the moon on the winter beauty outside. She lived in a former game keeper's lodge on her family's ancestral lands, nestled between an extensive wood and the pastures of their horse stud, in the green heart of Ireland. She loved being so close to nature. It seemed to touch an ancient chord within, from the days before urbanisation and all pervasive technology. Her vantage point showed her undulating pastures frosted with diamonds, where fatly pregnant mares grazed peacefully. Caoimhe smiled, feeling the stresses of the trip slip away as she enjoyed the sight, thinking happily about how she would bring her dogs home in the morning.
A flicker of movement behind her reflection caught her attention. Startled, Caoimhe whipped around. Her heart seemed to freeze as she met the gaze of a tall, pale elf, his golden eyes burning within the darkness of his lids, his black mouth thin, his white skin and silver blond hair glowing in the candle and moonlight. He was beautifully dressed in flowing, archaic robes, the splendid royal seal of Bethmoora over his flat belly. She'd never met this man before, and yet, there was no doubt in her heart that she was facing Prince Nuada, Silverlance, Heir of the Kingdom of Bethmoora – beloved of her crown piece.
Caoimhe reacted as the crown piece would react: her face lit up as she met his eyes; she put her hand out to him without thinking. Next, she faltered as fury flared on his white face, and she realised her presumption. All the tales her crown piece had told her of Nuada's lethal talents and his consuming hatred for mankind came rushing back to her.
Unnerved, Caoimhe stumbled back as he slowly approached, his steps measured and eloquent of muscular power. Nuada stopped pointedly within striking distance, towering over the diminutive woman, scowling down at her. She stared up at him, experiencing an uneasy mixture of bliss at being with one her crown piece loved above all others, and fear of what he might do. She valued him as greatly as her crown piece had, but what value did he have for her? To him, she was but the enemy, to be summarily dispatched.
Caoimhe knew what Nuada sought, as surely as she knew how furious he would be once her actions came to light. Thank God that she had already destroyed the crown piece! She steadied herself with a quick breath, reminding herself of her duty and her sacred trust. The Truce with the Children of the Forest must be upheld. If she was to be sacrificed so that peace would persevere, then so be it. She only hoped that she could welcome death with dignity.
She watched as his armour-clad chest heaved, evidence of the depth of his emotion. She could practically feel the hatred and anger radiating from him. She realised that if she couldn't somehow diffuse the situation, he would simply lash out at her, as he would at any human who was unlucky enough to cross his path. Or lucky enough – just being with him made her spirits soar, even if she was in mortal danger. How could she reach the sharp intellect and deeply moral elf behind the burden of anger and pain? The crown piece had shown her that courtesy was critical in meeting the Elf King… perhaps courtesy would help her with the Elf Prince? Should she kneel before him, as she had been directed to kneel before his father? No, he was standing too close now – she had missed her chance. What if she welcomed him to her house? She marshalled her courage.
Caoimhe hesitantly gestured toward the couch and chairs behind him. "H-highness, would you care to be seated?" she invited in Elfin, forcing herself to radiate a gentle serenity as she politely met his burning gaze. She calmly expanded the gesture to include a series of bottles on the side board. "May I offer you refreshment, Your Highness? Whiskey, perhaps?"
Nuada stared down at her incredulously, his thin lips becoming thinner. With a movement so quick that she couldn't track him, he drew a sword, flashing it around and placing the flat edge very precisely against her throat. Caoimhe jumped with a sharp gasp.
"Or- or whatever you prefer, Highness! Cocoa, Horlicks, anything!" she squeaked, trying to pull away from the blade, standing on her toes and pressing even harder against the cold glass.
Horlicks? Nuada couldn't believe what he was hearing. For a suspended moment, her ridiculous behaviour distracted him from his anger, and his lips quirked. Caoimhe's heart leapt at the brief softening of his mouth, and her eyes widened hopefully.
Her hope was short lived: Nuada growled softly, pointedly rotating his sword so that the sharp edge was biting into the slim column of her neck.
Caoimhe froze, her eyes big. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she gasped, her words tumbling over each other. "I didn't mean to offend you, Highness!"
He slowly lowered the blade from her neck, pressing the weapon instead across her chest, pinning her against the window.
"You do offend me, human. You offend me for breathing the same air I breathe. By your very existence, you offend me," Nuada bit out. Cold, ancient hatred decorated each crisp word as he continued softly, "I am Silverlance, Warrior Prince of Bethmoora; do not presume to be worthy of hosting me. I am here so that you can answer for your insolence, for the betrayal of your kind, human."
Caoimhe quailed under the hatred concentrated in the word, 'human'. She was terrified to realise that he seemed to be holding onto his control with only the most tenuous grip, that he was a heartbeat away from punishing her for the ages of pain he had suffered at the hands of her kind.
"How dare you come before my father!" Nuada snapped, raining his words upon her like blows. "How dare you bring your filthy person before him! You should suffer a hundred screams for even daring to ask for an audience!" He heaved another unsteady breath. "And you will, oh you will, I promise you…"
He struck her across the temple with the hilt of his sword before she knew the blow was coming. She cried out, light exploding behind her eyes, darkness following the pain. She was thrown across the room by the force of his blow, landing in a boneless heap. She lay as she landed, twisted, unconscious.
"That's your first scream, human," Nuada ground out, kneeling beside her, ignoring the blood streaming from the gash on her head, painting her hair bright red. She was to die anyway, though not before he fulfilled his promise.
But first, he needed the crown piece. He brusquely flipped her onto her back and slashed his blade across her belly. He froze: his sword cut her clothing easily, but the blade refused to touch her skin! He slashed again, and again, the silver blade moved seamlessly above her skin without contacting her. What magic was this?
Abruptly, the image of his royal father formed in Nuada's mind, King Balor blessing this filthy human, his hands on her body, his lips on her forehead, magic encasing them. Nuada snarled, unceremoniously pulling the torn material back to reveal her skin. He looked incredulously at the glowing mark of the One Tree on the muscular curve of her belly, naming this thing lying broken and twisted before him as being under his father's protection!
Anger flared in Nuada. Springing to his feet, he threw his head back and howled in frustration, wanting with all his strength to slash her limp body to pieces, to rip her apart and paint the floor with her blood. But he could not – his father had seen to it that he could not rip the crown piece from her bloody flesh.
Breathing deeply, Nuada forced himself to regain control. So she would have to be… convinced to give it to him freely, would she? If that was what his royal father decreed, he would play his father's game. Nuada put his hand over her heart, considering its erratic beat. She was even more fragile than he thought. He snarled words of power and life over the fallen human, breathing strength into her blood, denying her the escape of death.
Nuada closed his eyes and explored the magic enveloping Caoimhe. Magical protections were woven into her blood and bones, into the very fabric of her body. He would not be able to easily break them to take the crown piece, though clearly, he could break her easily enough, judging from how little effort it took to put her next to death. Nuada frowned, sensing fury within the unconscious human, as if the magic within her was judging his behaviour. His brows contracted as this thought, puzzled by it. His own anger flared at the suggestion that he was in the wrong for attacking the human. Unwilling to spend another second in the confines of a human home, Nuada grasped Caoimhe by one arm and effortlessly dragged her behind him into the freedom of the extensive forest cradling the house.