Chapter Fifteen –
To Touch the Depths of Thoughts that You Cannot Fathom
'Even now, you long for the darkness again…you knew your truest desires in that moment, that moment that we shared: together touching the depths of true passion. Don't you remember, Princess? You desired me as I desired you, in that moment – our souls merged as one: knowing only each other, for those few precious seconds…
We are bound together now – forever.
You remember – that moment didn't mean nothing, and you know it. It meant much more than you can imagine; we are tied together now by a bond that will not be broken: not by time, not by struggle, not by hatred, the light nor the darkness.
We are one. You are mine now…
You are in me, as I am in you…'
It could not be. Such things were not possible – even in a world like hers, where nothing was impossible. But this…this was.
Wasn't it?
Deeply disturbed by the memories and new thoughts that had begun to flow, first at a gentle cascade and then increasingly faster and more torrential, Elowyn paced slowly through the silvery halls of the castle of her Elven kin. Her eyes were downcast and demur, her lashes veiling the pure luminous jade of her gaze, and her demeanor was quiet and pensive.
But within, she was in turmoil.
What had that meant – when his voice had whispered in her mind that now they two: she, the faery princess, and he, the Dark Lord, were now bound together by some unbreakable tie, for all of eternity? How could that be? A kiss was a kiss, she had tried telling herself; no matter what he thought, she had only let him slip under her guard, only surrendered herself to him, for a moment. How could such an exceedingly short and fleeting thing pave the course of all destiny?
Could she believe him?
At this, she shook her head, almost unknowingly. That, of course, was impossible: above all else. She could never believe anything that he had told her. She didn't want to.
But when the truth had come, and was looking her directly in the face…?
She knew that at least part of what he had said, in her dreams, was reality: she had enjoyed that moment, and she had been willing to let them share it – that kiss – together. She had indeed given in to her abruptly insane heart's longings, though she didn't know why she had so suddenly desired him. Him – that was why. He desired her, for whatever dark reasons that he had within his corrupted being; he desired her, and he had captivated her.
But, she recalled, knowing this full well, Desire is not love – nor does it bear promises…
No more, she had tried to tell herself, upon first awakening back in her old room, in Avalennon: with the beloved faces of her family, her mother, father, and several of her siblings, other relatives, and friends looking down on her. No more would she think of him, think of what might have been, had she remained in that dark chamber with him only a few moments longer. No more would she consider – lie awake at night – thinking of how her life might have changed, had she completely surrendered her will to the Dark Lord.
Such resolutions were indeed far too assertive…
The thought of him would not leave her. Every day, as she tried to live her life as normal – as she had before her kidnapping, her imprisonment, and everything else – she found herself feeling as if she was denying the truth, denying reality. She felt scrutinized.
Haunted.
So she began to push out of her mind and her life all things that would remind her of the past, of those horrible memories. She shunned the nighttime, shunned shadows and solitude in the darkness, shunned thoughts of forbidden romance. Fervently, she threw herself back into her studies, into riding Orpheus through the grounds of Iordania, into attending events with Skye and Odessa-Gadriel and the others, into writing to her parents and enjoying her new way of life to the fullest – into brushing through her days without a thought of the one who so haunted her dreams at night with memories.
When she dreamed, however, that voice still came to haunt her; he was there, inside of her, now – she could hardly understand how, or when, or why, but he was there.
Dark One.
Elowyn stopped, suddenly, and turned her jade-green gaze up to the ceiling, which was riddled with etchings of silvery vines and sparkling blooms of white fire-gems. The midday was quiet and serene around her, as the pale yellow sun shone gently above the gardens outside, a playful wind stirring through the evergreen bushes, trees, and flowers.
What do you want from me now – revenge? Can I possibly ever know? Why do you want me…why won't you leave me…
Unable to sense even the slightest answer to those questions – for the air around her provided nothing but silence – she went on again in her meanderings through the palace. At length, she looked up from the floor and glanced at the wall that was a little ways from her. She was near the library wing of the palace by now, and every which way she looked, some denizen of the rich educational and historical worlds looked back at her.
There was a royal family lineage hanging up on that wall, she noticed; with nothing else to do but continue in her confusing train of thoughts, and very much wanting to get away from those, hopeless as they were, she went to it.
Eyes of a shade of green that was nearly indefinable – jade, sea-coloured, and spring-like all at the same time – looked up at the carefully preserved manuscript.
The Ancestry of the Royal Family of Avalennon
Or
The Lineage of Orandor Raven-Helm and Vahlada, Lady of the Sun
Annotated by the Scribes of Raes-Floranen
– mark indicates marriage.
Orandor, Lord of the White Realm, son of Talius and Beheren – Vahlada, Lady of the White Realm, daughter of Estal and Pavaea
-Beget-
Taiven, eldest son
Ansellus, son – Gyrael
Novia, daughter
Galena, daughter – Eírald
Mardyos, son
Willith, son; twin of Mardyos
Kistella, daughter – Avor
Dranthor, son – Miari
Gavin, son
Elladine, daughter – Arin
Elowyn, daughter; adopted of Diarnan and Lhanallis,
May the Three forever keep them, and may they rest in peace in the Realm of Souls.
-Extended Kin of the Royal Family-
Isdera, sister of Vahlada – Lannon,
-Beget-
Lannon II, son - Netalla
Orlando, son – Arielle
Calista, daughter
Cassandra, daugher; twin of Calista
Lannon II – Netalla
-Beget-
Salamaïre, daughter
Brendan, brother of Orandor
The list went on for a while, and Elowyn followed it down the wall, soon traveling from the current royal family in Avalennon to the ancient clans – which went back a dizzying amount of years, she found – and came to the other family trees: those of Skye and Odessa-Gadriel, the past rulers of both Elvendome and the White Realm, and several others.
It was hard to follow all of the family ties: on paper and in real life. She had only really concerned herself with what she knew in her own reality before – her father was Orandor, her mother was Vahlada, and she had ten sisters and brothers, including Gavin and Elladine. She had a cousin, Orlando, who was married to a half-faery beauty named Arielle, and her cousin-twice-removed, daughter of Orlando's brother, was Sala. Robbie was her sister's son, making him Elowyn's nephew, even though he had been born before her, a cause of never-ending teasing for the unfortunate crown prince. She was also related, somehow, to Prince Skye and Princess Odessa-Gadriel, of the Elven kingdom. There were friends of the family; there were relatives so obscure that she would never figure out her true blood-connection to them, and everyone else—
Elowyn felt eyes on the back of her head.
A slow, numbing chill scurrying down through her entire being, starting from the crown of her head and racing to her feet, she stiffened.
With a flash of bright, white light, a vision exploded into her head.
There was a mirror hanging on the wall behind her: a great, long mirror that was framed in glowing gold and silver, and within its reflective depths, she saw a figure standing. It was motionless, watching her, with piercing, all-knowing eyes of intense violet-gray, which shone from underneath the overshadowing hood of his black cloak…
Elowyn suddenly whirled around, long, wavy curls of pale gold spinning out around her and creating an aura of light about her head; her breath caught in her throat, she felt her life's blood cease to flow in her veins, she stared—
But as soon as she had moved, the vision disappeared, winking out like a candle that had just been snuffed. No!
And when she next realized what was happening, she found that she was standing right at that mirror, her hands having moved to grip the frame on either side of it: holding so tight that her knuckles showed the white bones beneath her pale, fine skin of porcelain, and the carved edges began to pinch her. She was almost pressed against the mirror.
Instantly, returning to herself, she stood away: a look of confusion and remorse – disgust – coming over her face. What on earth had he dissembled in her mind, to make her behave like this? Surely, she felt no more for him than what a captive would inherently feel for her captor: anger, bitter resentment, and, ever so slightly, fear. Yes, she now conceded: as she took yet another step away from the mirror, gazing at it with eyes that were now wide and dark with grave solemnity and knowledge; yes, she must definitely fear him. Jaedin, the Dark Lord of Sytherria, was an entity to be feared, and yet she must never let her fear to overcome her.
But now, as everything around her now threatened to change, yet again, and become as strange and awful and unfamiliar as her own memories, she knew yet another thing…
She must change as well.
With one last startled, bemused glance at the mirror, the young princess of the faeries turned and ran, leaving the mirror – and whatever darkness it had contained – behind her.
* * *
Odessa-Gadriel had just finished reading yet another book from the library that Skye had given her, indulgently, as a present for her last birthday, and was going to replace it on its shelf when there was a knock on the door across the room from her.
With a brief, careless gesture of one hand – a movement that was still full of incredible, inhuman grace and power – she bade the door open. It did, and in a moment, the breathless and pale figure of the young princess Elowyn breezed in.
The Elven princess's dark eyebrows drew together in a bit of a puzzled, concerned frown, as she stepped forward and gathered the pallid child's hands into her own.
"Elowyn, dearest, what is it?" she asked. Not another dream; let him haunt her days and nights no more, she prayed earnestly to the Three, and every one of the Seven Powers of the World. "You're absolutely ashen – are you all right?"
Wide jade-green eyes stared back into her own emerald gaze: searching and, it seemed, haunted. Odessa-Gadriel felt a twinge of unease; Not again…
But Elowyn made never a mention of the Dark Lord.
Her words were far more startling.
"Odessa-Gadriel…you are, of all things in this place, fairest…"
A pause, as if she was about to make a life-altering decision.
"Could you make me like you?"
* * *
Iordania was filled, within a fortnight, with thousands of newcomers – travelers and guests, namely, as the annual Embassy Ball was to be held in celebration of the first days of summer. It was a fabulous and long-kept affair, implemented in the early days of the world when the faeries of the White Realm and the Elves had been supreme rulers of their world. Now, it was still held – in order to celebrate the diversities and friendships of the races gifted with the powers of magic and enchantment – in spite of the fact that the faeries and all those like them were becoming more and more beings of fantasy and legend in the mortal lands.
The celebration itself went on for three and a half weeks, and every day of it was rife with banquets, cotillions, balls, and other sorts of formal functions.
It was said that each gown worn by each lady at the Embassy Ball was equal to the lifetime work of a hundred mortal seamstresses, and it was true – not one gown was the same, or even remotely resembled another. It was a veritable sea of colour, shape, and size, and that was only speaking of the ladies' apparel. The men and children's garb further extended the list, until it seemed as if it would reach past the very ends of infinity…
Upon the night of the ball, the city was awash with colour, sound, smell, and movement: decorations and finery were to be seen in every which direction, as the exalted guests – hailing from lands far and near, utterly foreign and nearby neighbor – made their way in a steady stream towards the castle. This night, it was noted by the crowds who stood nearest to the gate, it seemed that there was to be a more diverse crowd than usual.
This was caused by the arrival of a company of tall, grim, and quiet figures, all of whom rode tall and assured upon the backs of sleek, clean-limbed horses. All wore identical, ascetic attire: white tunics with scarlet cloaks, a gold broach as a fastening. Their leader, however, who stood out among their ranks, was resplendent and utterly captivating in his black cloak and dark, mysterious swirling robes of some strange, velvety black material, which shimmered a deep, wine-hued maroon whenever the light happened to glance upon it.
Vampyres, was the whisper that went through the crowd, and many a gaze was turned upon the new arrivals, who rode directly up to the palace itself, and disappeared.
There was a host of widely varying emotions in the air then.
Everyone who had ever learnt anything about vampyres knew of their most obvious traits, which set them totally apart from any of the other Sentient races. They were solitary beings, who would commune with one another much more often than anyone else, and even then, they were rarely in the company of each other. Most of the time, they could be found in the lands of the far north, in the forests that travelers infrequently visited. People alternately feared and were awed and intrigued by them, not having much knowledge about the race.
Of course, when it came right down to it, the seeming 'scarcity' of the vampyres could have easily been explained by their nocturnal habits. Vampyres were exceedingly 'allergic', it was well known, to the light of the sun. More than three days' exposure to it would kill one.
Thus it was that they kept to life at night, and thus it was that not very many people could boast about having actually met a true vampyre.
Outwardly, the race resembled the faeries and the Elves; however, vampyres did have a slight difference of appearance, other than their pale complexions: devoid of the sun's tanning effect. One look at a vampyre's smile would make obvious this variation – all vampyres had very white, very sharp-looking incisors: improperly labeled 'fangs'. Anyone who called them that did not stand the chance of ever getting a vampyre's good opinion.
Beyond this, there were many more mysteries to the vampyrian people, but no one had ever really made a move to discover just what those were. Vampyres naturally stood out in the crowd, even among such a diverse and fair crowd as this one happened to be, and there was not a small amount of wonder in the onlookers…
Vampyres – in Elvendome, in Iordania.
What kind of omen was this?
* * *
A/N: What kind of omen is this indeed? Perhaps we are about to come face-to-face with a new character…? This I cannot tell… *winks* So, please, on to the next chapter. Jaedin and I command it. ^_^
(And do r&r.)