Chapter Twenty –
A Most Strange and Unholy Alliance
Jaedin let his eyes slide slowly open, coming out of the trance-like state that he had put himself into in order to seek his princess in the ways of his dark powers. He hadn't gotten a direct lock on her location – she had been resisting him with all her might, and getting anything from their encounter had been difficult to an extreme.
She does not know how powerful she is, he thought, candidly: knowing it as truth.
As the Dark Lord, he had toyed with the minds of many before, but never yet – before this time – had he met with such solid opposition as the Princess Elowyn had been able to give him. That part of her, among the many others, intrigued him, and made him desire her all the more. Here was a feminine entity that could not only amuse him, but challenge him as well.
And how he did enjoy a good challenge.
Finally…acquiring her…would prove to be most worthwhile.
His full lips twisting with the thought of this – and all it entailed – he unfolded his long legs and brought them underneath himself, rising to stand. He looked about himself: dispassionately and appraisingly, gray eyes scanning about the room.
Elowyn didn't know just how close he was; then again, however, neither did Jaedin. Under the cover of night, he had followed her, in dragon form, across the many miles that had separated them again, upon her escape. Now, he had taken up his abode in the ruins of an old castle, quite easily hidden from any and all that might seek to find him.
On the morrow, he had decided, he would go out to look for her again.
And this time, with the aid of what knowledge he had obtained this night, in their brief interchange of words within the realm of the mind, he would be able to at last have her within touching range again.
Satisfied with this thought on his mind, Jaedin turned and sought his sleeping space, not really having the desire to sleep, but also not having anything better to do.
As sleep overcame him, he was seized with a brief sensation of foreboding and apprehension. Someone, something, had followed him, and was lurking nearby, in the corner of his senses, like a splinter in his mind…
But that cannot be so, he told himself, as he rolled over, pulling his cloak more closely around him, to guard against the night's chill.
Even She would not dare hazard such a thing…
* * *
Or wouldn't she?
That night, though none of the dauntless travelers and adventurers yet knew it, would hold the beginning of a great many new things for them all – including the formation of a strange and most unholy alliance between the darkness and the light.
However, as of yet, the storm was still coming…
Elowyn ran through the manor, down halls and around corners, her steps seeming to take her into nowhere but the complete oblivion of shadows – but finally, however, she reached her destination. Her room.
Breathless and trembling, icy cold shivers running through her entire body, she fell against the door and let her hands find their bemused way to the handle. When she had at last got it open, she stepped into the room, eyes quickly scanning across it, and then she ran quickly to the bedside of her sleeping cousin.
"Sala!"
Instantly, the faery lady's eyes opened, blurred with sleepiness for a moment, and then their golden-toned hazel orbs focused on the pale creature that stood before her. She sat up, quickly, murmuring, her tone fraught with concern, "Elowyn, what is it…you look absolutely shaken – are you all right?"
Elowyn shook her head; her throat becoming tight.
"No, Sala, I'm not all right," she said, urgently. "Nothing is right – Sala, there's something out there – something horrid and dark, and it's getting nearer and nearer. We've got to get out now – tonight."
The sound of her voice, although low as it was, awakened Robbie from his uneasy rest, and he now appeared in the open doorway, running a hand quickly through his longish jet-black hair. His eyes – so much like his handsome father's – looked through the shadows, quickly, to the two feminine figures across the room from him.
"Elowyn – Sala," came his boyish voice, tainted with concern as well. "What's going on? I'm not sure whether it was the storm that woke me, or something else – something's going on, isn't there? What is it?"
"Evil approaches."
The fourth – and last – voice came from the other doorway, and Brendan entered the room. All three of the younger sojourners looked to him, questions and inescapable fears reflected in their eyes. Brendan closed the door behind him, and came to stand before them.
"I don't know what evil this is, exactly, and I don't know from whence it came – but I can guess." he told them, grimly.
Robbie's features took on a defensive cast.
"The Dark Lord?" he queried.
Brendan – and Elowyn, although barely perceptibly – gave a long, slow shake of his head, negatively. "No," he replied. "Not he. This is a different kind of evil – one that is as full of power and blackness as the Dark Lord, but of a different mettle."
"He came to me in my mind…" Elowyn murmured, distantly. "He was looking for me…"
Then, she turned her gaze back on her friends: her sea green eyes were wide and dark, with determination, inner resolve to not be afraid, and confusion.
"He was looking for me, but he didn't ever find where we were…it cannot be him who comes now. I could sense this darkness…but it has not his mark upon it. I would have known."
None of the other three could find the will within themselves to ask her just how this was possible. All that they knew was that now, in the dead of the night, there was a great dark power coming for them, borne on the wings of the approaching storm, and it was searching for them. Somehow, inherently, they could all feel its presence within their minds.
Escape was their only option…
Brendan quickly roused himself – and them – from their silence.
"Quickly," he ordered. "Gather everything of ours that we brought here and make ready to leave. We cannot leave any trace of our ever being here behind us – we must fly from this place."
And this was exactly what they did.
* * *
By the time that the thunderstorm broke, in all its fury, over the tiny manor that was hidden somewhere in the forests of Elvendome, the group of faeries had already been long departed. And, as they had all somehow foreseen, there was indeed a great evil brought along by the winds of that storm, and when it was discovered that there was no one about the place any longer, the storm intensified tenfold in its raging, and swept onwards to carve a path through the land…
Meanwhile, in the ruins of the old castle, Jaedin watched the havoc that was being wreaked upon the forests – by wind, rain, and lightning – staring out the broken windowpanes with cold, apathetic eyes of gray.
At length, he turned from his observation, withdrawing from the immediate world into himself: deadening his senses until he could concentrate only on his thoughts.
How odd, that his Queen would command him to do something, and then send another one of her creatures to undo his work. He had long been considering why it – the attack of the ranthar upon Elowyn – might have happened; thinking on it since she had fled him, and even before that.
One reason…
The Queen did not trust him – this, he well knew. It was why he wore the vial of his life-essence upon his neck now, allowing her to see him wherever he went, whatever he did: giving her a hold over his every movement. If he disobeyed her, she could effortlessly punish him in either of two ways – within an instant, she could shatter the crystal, therein ending his life, or she could slowly kill its power, cutting off the life within him bit by bit.
But why would she make her plans seem as if she wanted the princess brought to the Black City alive, and then turn around and try to kill her, with a ranthar? It didn't make sense.
Another reason…
Was it a distraction – the ranthar attack? Something meant to keep him occupied with trying to save the life of his princess, his princess, whilst she – the Queen – went about some covert plan of her own? That certainly seemed plausible…although what ulterior motive could she now have – what hidden plan?
Jaedin narrowed his eyes: forming the expression that had cast the dread shadow of fear – fear towards his insatiable, destructive anger – into the hearts of so many, over so many thousands of years. He was not a mere pawn in this game of light and darkness. He was the Dark Lord.
Then why…
Well, soon he would know all.
He would find it out for himself, no matter what she did.
Perhaps…
At the beginning of this new train of thought, he took the vial from its sheltered place in his robes, and held it delicately between two fingers, turning it gently round and round, eyes roving over its glowing whiteness speculatively and distantly: yet still intense.
Perhaps it is time that you made some alternate plans yourself, Jaedin of Sytherria. No one really seems to care about what your fate is anyway – and you'll go to the blazes before you'll let them all have a good, long laugh at you, won't you…? Because, after all, that is how you work – you really can't turn to anyone, can you…
His dark brows came down over the bridge of his nose, turning his expression virulent and truly nasty, and he abruptly replaced the vial in its original place.
No one tells me how I ought to do things, he told the strange, inner voice that had just addressed him; mockingly, it seemed.
He stood, cloak whirling about him, and glared off into intangible space.
No one tells me how my destiny will be, and no one controls it! I am master over everything of myself – I will have her, and I will have this end, as I want it!
Then the storm struck.
* * *
Meanwhile, not so very far away…
Elowyn paused, looking up into the tree branches over her head and reining in slightly, bringing her mount off to the side. Her large, sea green eyes seemed luminescent and – it could easily be marked – somewhat bewildered in the night, the lightning from the storm clouds above reflecting off of their depths. Her friends, noticing her pause, brought their steeds to a halt as well and Brendan, coming to her side, spoke first to her.
"Elowyn," he said, in a low voice. "What is it?"
She seemed as if she was suddenly off in another world. She didn't answer him, for a moment. Brendan felt a line of worry form between his eyebrows.
It was as if her soul – or some other intangible part of her – had detached itself suddenly from her body, and flown off to another place. She now saw the ruins of a crumbling castle about herself, instead of the thick, dark forest; someone was within this place, near to her, and yet she couldn't see him. She was looking for him – moving through stone and air, passing through time and space, ghost-like, searching…
Something began to glow, very faintly; she detected, now, a flickering light, in the corners of her vision. It began to well up, to grow, and become closer, bigger, more menacing…
Moving on, she kept looking – some part of her knew what, who, she was looking for, but in reality, she knew that she was only barely aware of it; a voice, distant and echoing, called to her, insistently: "Elowyn! Elowyn!'
She put up a hand; telling the voice, 'No – no, leave me be, I must find him; no…'
Again, she moved on, and the light became brighter – brighter, and she felt a sudden, horrid heat upon her body, causing a cold swath of sweat to form upon her brow.
Fire.
Then, she saw a figure: shadowy, tall, and menacing, robed all in black, and all too familiar to her eyes. She reached out to him, calling within her mind to him, calling his name.
He turned; he saw her.
'Elowyn…'
All at once, she returned to reality; with a shuddering gasp, she let her eyes fly open again, and found herself staring at the dark, tangled depths of the forest, the figures of her friends and their horses ringed around her. Her cousin, nephew, and uncle were all staring at her, fear and anxiety in their air. Without a word to them, then, she gathered the reins into both of her hands and set her heels into her mount's sides, hard.
Orpheus obeyed his young mistress's urging without a moment's delay. He instantly bolted into a canter, taking them both thundering off into the forest. Elowyn heard hoof beats from behind her and knew that her friends were following.
Somehow – she didn't know how – she felt herself being called, called to that place that she had seen in her dream.
Where this place was, she didn't know, and couldn't explain in words. All she knew was that something was leading her there, and that she had to get there; it didn't matter how. She felt a strange sensation of summoning within her mind, which told her that there was something she had to do – regardless of anything else, of danger, friends, fears, or enemies.
Moments later, they all came out of the forest, reining hard to keep their steeds from plunging helter-skelter down the steep hill that they now found themselves atop of.
Elowyn looked down; there was a wide sort of valley beneath the heavily forested hill, in the center of which she marked the remains of an ancient Elven castle, long abandoned and half-forgotten. Her eyes widened; her arm shot straight out, gesturing towards it.
"There!" she cried, suddenly, her voice strained and trembling, bringing their attentions fully down upon the old castle. "It is as I have seen!"
The castle burned.
* * *
Before Brendan could say another word, or even think to do anything more, he saw that Elowyn had set her heels into her mount's sides – once again – and was now hurtling down the steep incline towards the burning wreckage. Panic coursed through him.
"Elowyn!"
And he followed, with a curse in ancient faery: Robbie and Sala close on his heels. By the time that they'd all reached the bottom of the hill, Elowyn had already dismounted; Brendan caught sight of her running straight into the flames. Waving an imperious arm at the two young faeries that were behind him, about to go after their comrade, he ordered, "No! Stay here!"
Then he ran into the fortress as well.
The fire that burned there now was different from any normal fire – it had the stench of evil power upon it. Brendan instantly knew, as he wagered Elowyn had also somehow discovered, that the castle was under assault by dark forces. For what reason, he had no idea…but he would soon find out. They all would, though none of them yet knew it.
Raising an arm to shield his head and face, Brendan stepped over a fallen rafter and scanned quickly through the wreckage, looking desperately for the form of his young niece. Because they were faery, they had all received the warning of a coming evil that night, and had been able to escape. But now Elowyn had somehow discovered this horrible inferno, and she seemed bent on seeking out something – or rather, someone, he now thought – that was within it.
"Elowyn!" he shouted, again.
But she, wherever she was, did not reply.
* * *
I know you are in this place – tell me where you are!
Elowyn's green eyes roved desperately from right to left, searching everywhere, for the figure that she sought. He was here; she knew it. Why she was so compelled to find him, she had no idea. Wasn't he her mortal enemy, her dread and most dire foe, a nemesis for all time…?
But she had to.
Where are you? Answer me! I know you can!
Then, finally, from seemingly far-off: weak and faint, snarling at her like a wolf, wounded and trapped in a hunter's snare—
I am right in front of you, Princess – now you come to me! Now you find me!
And she brought herself to a slamming halt. From within the seething flames of hissing, molten gold and blood-red, she saw the dim outline of a figure that she knew well: standing before her, cold gray eyes staring into hers from beyond the hood of the cloak he wore.
Now where do we go, Princess? Now where do we turn? his voice asked, in her mind.
She felt her mouth tighten.
Out, Dark One – escape is our path.
Though I do not know why, it seems that I am fated to share it with you…
With barely moments to spare, the castle's sole inhabitants – two faeries, and another dark-cloaked, strange figure – fled from within the chaos of its flames. The dark powers, whomever they belonged to, were defeated, and the group of five vanished into the coming dawn.
Morning's light found many questions waiting to be asked…
* * *
Black underworlds…my head…what did they do to me?
These were the first thoughts to enter Jaedin's mind as he slowly swam out of the depths of unconsciousness, back to reality. When he finally did gain control of his senses again, he kept his eyes closed, trying to remember exactly what had happened last in his memory.
He had been staying at the old ruined castle, and he had managed to link his mind with Elowyn's; she had resisted him, and he hadn't been able to directly locate her, and then he had remained where he was, without doing much…then there had been the storm…a fire…
Ah. Now he remembered fully.
There had been a storm – undoubtedly yes. And it had been a storm that was unlike any other – a destructive knot of power, formed at the behest of evil, and sent to both find the princess and her friends, and to punish him for his willfulness. His Queen had sent it.
But then Elowyn had reached out to him, within her mind, hearing his call after he had realized what was happening – after he had marked that his Lady was attempting to unleash her anger against him. Her mind had touched upon his, and he had used that connection to draw her to him, to make her come to find him. The Queen's power, in that storm, could only be thwarted by some outside force, and Elowyn was his utmost choice; she had responded as he had hoped, and found him there, within the ruins.
However…afterwards…
The back of his head was throbbing: an irritating, dull pain, but nothing too unbearable. Of course. They had seen the need to render him unconscious – and therefore not a danger – and had…what had they used to overpower him, once they'd stopped in their flight? He felt a twinge of wry humor within himself then and restrained his urge to smile ruefully.
Silver. She had a silver necklace – and if there was one thing that could truly incapacitate a vampyre like him, even if he was a vampyre who also happened to be a Dark Lord, that was it. Although, now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember if she had been the one to knock him out, or one of her precious friends…
Just then, he heard footsteps coming, from far-off, getting nearer.
Apparently, he was soon to have a visitor.
He gave no indication of his wakefulness as the owner of the footsteps entered the room – or whatever the space was that he was now in; no indeed, he lay perfectly still until he was quite certain that the person was close enough…
The vampyre's hand shot out and clamped down on Robbie's collar, yanking him down closer to the makeshift bed. Eyes of mercury-gray, tinged with violet, glared into the prince's.
"Where is she, and where the blazes am I?" Jaedin snarled at him.
Robbie, however, merely nonchalantly disengaged the Dark Lord's grasp on his shirt and stood straight again, placing the tray of breakfast – whatever it was – on the floor beside the pallet. He smiled: almost amusedly, which only caused Jaedin's countenance to take on an even more dangerous cast, and was silent for a moment.
Then—
"Elowyn!" Calling out without ever taking his ice-blue eyes from the Dark Lord. "He's awake, and you were right – just as bad-tempered as a whole gaggle of furies!"
Robbie turned to leave, but stopped just before he reached the door of the room – actually, it appeared as if it was more of a cell. The ceiling, floor, and walls of the place were made entirely of stone. They were in a cave of some sort, Jaedin decided – whoever they were.
"I'd stay put and keep quiet if I were you," the crown prince of Lærelin then advised him, coolly. "And I wouldn't try blowing up anything, either. She'll want to have a word with you, in a moment, so please…"
And then he turned and left.
Jaedin did remain where he was, but it wasn't because Robbie had told him to. As the footfalls of the boy faded away into the distance, the Dark Lord's gray eyes glared after him: full of hate and loathing. So, this was her friend – one of her beloved comrades.
Well.
He stood and paced across his prison-cell, eyes narrowed.
Once again, the tables had turned on him.
It was beginning to seem rather pathetic, to him, that a faery princess – who was many a thousand year his junior, in both age and ability – should have been able to escape him not once, but twice, and at the same time resist and baffle him. Then again, he had rather enjoyed it all, but now she had captured him.
The game, he thought, was getting downright irritating.
As soon as this had passed through his mind, however, he heard a smaller, lighter person's footsteps coming down the stony passageway. He could sense her presence – her air of newborn Spring, intelligence and sparkling wit, and cold, unbending regard – behind him, but he did not turn, did not move to look at her, to send his gaze into hers, until she spoke.
"Good morning, Dark One."
Jaedin turned, dark robes – which had no trace of fire nor wear upon them, whatsoever, even after the events of the night before – swirling about his proud, erect figure. He let his chin take on an arrogant, defiant tilt, looking down on her appraisingly.
Elowyn stood across the cell from him, in the doorway: almost leaning against it. Even after the hard trials that had recently passed her by, her face was as beautiful and utterly flawless as ever: her loveliness rivaled by none, in his eyes. He would have been happy to simply stare at her – to devour her with his gaze alone – for all of time, if that were at all possible.
Ah – if only to take her in your arms – to feel the soft curves of her against yourself again, her heart beating in time with yours…
He smiled then: contemptuously, darkly.
"Ah – so it is you, Princess." he said, with mock-formality and courtly flourish, playing the part of Lord Valdeth again for her. "You have me neatly caught; I'll not shirk from admitting it. 'Tis a most intriguing hand that you have dealt me, now, in this game of ours…"
He began to take a step towards her, to cross the room, narrowing the gap between them; his shadow fell over her, menacing and instantly arresting. They were so close. Then, Elowyn held up a hand, her expression unchanging, and spoke to him.
"Please," she said, softly. "Don't come any further."
Jaedin followed her gaze to where it had centered, on the floor, and now he marked why she had just said those words, ordered him so.
There was a carefully-traced line of silver, glinting entrancingly in the low light that filtered through the gaps in the cavern's stone roof: drawn in a perfect square across floor, walls, and ceiling, without a single break.
If he had crossed that line…
Now he sent her an even more intense look: smirking at the knowledge that she had, indeed, defeated him, beyond all recall or retry.
"Very good, Princess…" he murmured.
Then, he sensed the presence of others and looked up.
In the doorway, standing about their princess, were the three other faeries: the boy whom he had just spoken to that morning, another girl whom he did not know, and a grim-looking older faery who radiated waves of great, age-old White Realm power.
Jaedin let his smirk broaden even more, and he acknowledged them, one by one.
"And I see that you have at last been reunited with your dear friends and allies," he said: his eyes never leaving hers.
Elowyn stared back, her expression still never changing, although he sensed a ripple of some almost completely hidden emotion within her. This made him feel ill-at-ease, suddenly – if he could sense these things about her, he queried himself, could she then do the same in regard to him? He did not let his thoughts show through, however.
"Let me guess…" he continued, and pointed first to Robbie. "You are Robeneron, crown prince of Lærelin, and son of Arin the Enchanter and Elladine of the White Realm: a remarkable swordsman and the voice of reason in all your adventures with the Princess Elowyn and your friends." To Sala, "And you are Salamaïre, daughter of the Duke Lannon II and the Lady Netalla: a wyvern-friend, fiery spokeswoman of your trio, and eldest there, as well."
And then he turned to Brendan.
The eyes of the two met: faery and vampyre. Robbie, Sala, and Elowyn sensed that something, in the silence, had passed between their guardian and the dark figure of their greatest nemesis; it was an ancient, knowing something that they – who were all so young, in the reckoning of both the Dark Realm and the White – could hardly comprehend.
"You…" Jaedin said, speaking slowly and musingly, putting deliberate emphasis on each word: "We have not met."
Brendan shrugged, seemingly nonchalant and calm, although each of the three younger faeries noted that his eyes narrowed slightly at the captive Dark Lord's sally.
"We have," he replied, never taking his eyes from Jaedin's – "But that meeting took place long ago, and in much a different place and guise. I am surprised," and this was added in a tone of wry, scathing sarcasm, "That there is an actual form beneath all the razor-edged armor…Ríth-Anstarinaor n'et Sytherria."
Jaedin bowed, with an equally scathing and knowing look of sarcasm and brittle cynicism on his handsome face, recognizing a well-remembered foe.
"Greetings again, Lord Brendan of Avalennon," he said. "It has been far too long, my age-old enemy…"
Now he turned to survey the room once again, gesturing dramatically as he spoke: his dry, elegant voice resonating clear and sharp against the stone walls of the place.
"So – now you are all here, and, apparently, you have me caught good and proper: right where you want me."
He looked to Elowyn, his eyes focusing in on her: completely ignoring the others.
"What will you have of me this time, Princess?" he asked her, breathing the words softly, seductively. "Anything that I can render unto you…is yours."
There was a world of unsaid things beneath those words.
Robbie – barely able to restrain himself from lashing out, in violence, at the Dark Lord – leaned over and asked Elowyn, in a mutter: "Can I please hit him?"
She made a mollifying motion with her hands, still not looking away from Jaedin.
"No." she murmured. "Peace, Robbie."
Jaedin raised an eyebrow, his full lips quirking in tandem with it; the expression made his scar seem all the more apparent, and Elowyn lowered her eyelids slightly, cursing herself for ever allowing him to draw her into him so very much.
"My words have clearly upset His Highness," the Dark Lord commented, coolly.
Sala now took her turn and stepped forward; she, unlike Robbie, was not as easily dissuaded from anger, and action resulting from that anger, and more often than not, even Elowyn's words had no effect on her temper.
Hazel eyes snapping, she addressed the tall, proud figure before them.
"You clearly know of us, vile one," she said, putting mocking emphasis on his use of the word 'clearly'. Jaedin reacted to this merely by letting his smirk center on her, as he took up his pacing stride across the small space that they had given to him as his cell. "But we know very little of you. Especially in regard to why you have followed our princess here."
The gray eyes held more than a hint of arrogance and contempt.
"And I do not ask your forgiveness for 't, either, lady," he replied, coldly and formally. "I followed your princess here of a purpose – to carry her off. That does generally follow the general contractual obligations of a resident Big Bad Wolf, does it not?"
And he turned a mocking smile on them all.
Elowyn heard Robbie mutter belligerently under his breath and felt him shift position at her left; meanwhile, on her right, Sala sent flamethrowers at the figure of the Dark Lord with her eyes, and behind her, Brendan was completely silent. She was glad to have them there with her…for now she knew that she had to ask the one question that she had long desired to have an answer to…
"How does your Queen intend to destroy us, Jaedin of Sytherria?"
Unknowingly, she took a step forward, moving away from her friends and coming closer to the boundary line of the vampyre's prison. Jaedin ceased pacing, like a caged panther, behind the line of silver and stepped towards her as well.
They drew near to one another, and for a startled, incredible moment, it seemed as if they were not a Dark Lord and a faery princess, not mortal enemies, or anything but two beings who had somehow known each other from all of eternity before.
Two souls who knew one another with infinite intimacy, having a bond between them that nothing could break – not war, not lifetimes of separation…
The spell remained unbroken as Jaedin came to stand before her, so that they faced one another, a very tantalizing and precarious few inches – barely a foot – apart. His gray eyes pierced into hers, their gazes locking as their minds did the same.
Here, now, the shadows could not exist.
"I will not lie to you, Fairest…" he said, and his dry voice that was neither deep nor tenor, but resonant, clear, and immediately arresting, was lowered into a soft, gentle murmur that was almost tender.
He raised a hand: brushing fingertips in the air, almost touching her.
"The plan is quite simple. You are fated to have a part – the main role – in the destruction of the Dark Realm. A prophecy has long declared this to be true: you are the Child of Destiny."
He drew even nearer to her.
Elowyn opened her lips, in warning, but somehow, something in Jaedin's eyes of molten silver told her that he did not need to be reminded. He stood, with the toes of his boots just a fraction of an inch behind the line, and looked deep into her face, her eyes.
"Therefore," he said, seeming to speak to her and her alone, "The Ebony Queen desires this of your father, ruler of all the faeries – he must either relinquish his daughter, the only hope that the White Realm will ever have for the eventual obliteration of the world's looming evil, giving her into the hands of his one greatest enemy…"
Elowyn gazed up into his eyes, feeling the inevitable, inescapable attraction – the gravity, the pull – of her spirit, her mind, heart, soul, and body, towards him. She wanted to step across the line, all at once, and she wanted to forget: knowing nothing but the safety and warmth of his arms, and the feel of his velvet lips upon her brow. Jaedin stared back at her, his eyes full of memory – of memory and longing and, faintly, hope.
Then, Robbie's voice: impatient – "Or?"
And Jaedin stepped back, instantly, putting distance – and cold formality – in between the two of them again, although his eyes still did not take themselves from hers.
"Or hand over to her the spell that links the world of magic and enchantment to the world of the mortals, therein making it hers. The Dark Realm's." he amended, almost ruefully.
He spoke in his normal dry, bitter tone again now: his voice fraught with austere, cynical coldness and contempt, the sharp edge of his deadly sarcasm held in check on by a thin veneer of frigid decorum.
"If he should choose the latter, your precious last hope for preserving the White Realm and all those who dwell within it will endure, and you may yet have the chance to one day destroy the darkness."
This was all said dispassionately and mechanically, almost as if he were reciting a tactical report to several members of his military. Elowyn wondered, then, what his real outlook on the situation was. From what she had seen, his relationship with his Queen was a truly bizarre one…
And it was not necessarily a partnership of complete amity…
But now Robbie was stepping forward again, ice-blue eyes blazing.
"That's a lie!" he said, furiously.
Jaedin raised an eyebrow and looked to Elowyn for explanation. She pondered for a moment just how much she ought to tell him – but, then again, he was their prisoner now, and he could not make an attempt to escape or to otherwise harm them without fear of incurring some damage to himself in the process.
And he had already told them enough…
"Without the mortal world," she said, speaking slowly and pensively, "The magic – the power – of the faeries cannot survive. We would fade and die, in time."
…Their beauty will last in memory alone – they have nothing to do but fade and wither away, as time touches them…
Elowyn flinched at the memory of his words, suddenly realizing just what they portended. None of her friends seemed to have marked her movement, however; and Jaedin, if he had seen her reaction to that memory, did not give any indication of it.
"So then," he said, drawling the words coolly and nonchalantly. "You have come to a draw – you cannot now move either way."
"Not quite, evil one," Sala interposed, her eyes flashing dangerously. She was only just controlling herself. "For now we have you – now, the bargaining power is ours."
Jaedin laughed: the sound ringing cold and clear in the stone room, resonating in their ears much as his voice did when he spoke.
He turned his vibrantly amused regard on the lovely faery, then, and, grinning, eyes bright with mirth, asked her, "Really now? How so, m'lady? For my Queen can operate fully well without me – she will be significantly impeded, weakened, without my aid, but I would not be so overly confident, so vain, if I were you, even at that."
"We have great reason to be as confident as we are," Robbie replied, in challenge. Jaedin's eyes held a venomous gleam when he looked at the young prince, who continued, "Your captivity at our hands is quite enough, and more, to ensure us the ability to stop your bloody Queen's plans here and now."
"Indeed."
Jaedin purred the word, like a giant predatory cat; his eyes narrowed to slits, allowing only the faintest glimmer of his irises to show through.
"Please, do explain this to me, your Highness…"
"No." Sala said, flatly. "You tell us where you hid the spell."
Jaedin's mocking expression fell flat – his outward façade of complete arrogance and confidence wavering for an instant, but only Elowyn noticed, for he quickly replaced that mask, asking, "What?"
Robbie replied for his cousin.
"It was stolen from its place in Avalennon not two nights hence…where have you taken it?"
"This is easily the most pathetic thing that I have ever heard, I assure you, milords and miladies!"
The handsome Dark Lord took a step back and looked upon them all now, shaking his head in utter disbelief, condescending and theatrical: making the situation seem like it was all some sort of overdone melodrama, and they the sorry players who attempted it onstage.
"Of a courtesy, could you possibly run that by me again, so that I may be certain that I have heard you aright?"
A muscle worked in Robbie's jaw as he said, in a very tight and very controlled tone of voice, "The White Realm has a spell that links it to the mortal world – you said that your Queen would take it in exchange for Elowyn's life. It is gone already: what do you know of it?"
Jaedin's amused expression now turned to a dangerous snarl.
"This is ridiculous!" he spat. "I have never laid hands on the spell you speak of!"
Sala turned to her comrades, with an air of desperation and flouted strength. "Yet still he lies…" she sighed; then she looked back to him. "Where is it?" Punctuating every word.
And now Jaedin looked as if he might just step over that line and risk considerable injury to himself, if only to throttle her. His eyes, all of his features, alight with that same vengeful rage that had terrified and cowed so many of the thousands of years of his existence, he shot back at her, "How can you ask me? I don't know!"
Elowyn looked at him, unable to take her eyes away, as she realized—
He's telling the truth.
For once, it is not lies, not deception, that falls from his lips…
It seemed as if he was now trying very hard – surprisingly – to control himself; possibly, they thought, because he didn't really want to cross the boundary and be affected by the poisoning effect of the silver on his vampyric body. There might have been another reason entirely for his abrupt turning around, putting his back to them as his fingers worked – balling themselves into fists and then flexing, as if itching to strike out as something, violently – but none of them could comprehend or imagine it.
Jaedin stared at the stony wall, trying furiously to think.
Thoughts were flooding his head – doubts, questions, and many, many more, so totally filling his consciousness that he couldn't concentrate on anything else. Then, something suddenly resounded in his head: something that made him stop all thought process, visibly stiffening. He now realized what must have happened – what had happened.
His conjecture from earlier had been correct, after all.
An unpardonable treason had just been enacted against him by the very one whom he had sworn to serve and obey for all of eternity.
The Queen, distrusting him and his loyalty to her in the wake of his dealings with the Princess Elowyn, whom he so desired, had sent the ranthar to attack Elowyn, to distract him while she sent another of her minions to steal the legendary linking spell from Avalennon itself. And now, he was caught by the very people whom he had been meant to destroy, and there seemingly wasn't any way out for him, unless he could rely on reason…
But one glance at the group that stood before him told him that no: that would never work. They were all too ready to hand him over to justice – to the wrath of the faeries of the White Realm and whatever punishment that they had ready for him – and would never even attempt to negotiate anything with him. He hardly laid fault to them for this. He wouldn't do the same himself.
Unless…
Again, the strange, unearthly link that he had always felt between himself and Elowyn served as an invisible aid; Elowyn, somehow sensing his thought, looked at him: her eyes burning the back of his shaven head, and Jaedin continued to stare at the wall, letting his eyes ease open a little more. Speak, if you will, Princess… he told her, within his mind.
"You know something of it," she said, in her soft voice.
He nodded, slowly, and then turned around again, facing her once more.
"I do," he conceded, slowly and guardedly, "But I am hardly certain of anything that I see or hear before me this morn – I do not trust my own thoughts…"
At this, there was an entire barrage of questions and then threats from the group of faeries who stood before him, but the captured Dark Lord refused to say more. Finally, Elowyn turned to her friends and gestured that they should follow her out into the hallway.
Jaedin remained behind, to further pace in his cell, like the caged feral being that he was.
Once they were well out of both sight and hearing range, in the cavern's main chamber, Elowyn threw up a shielding spell around the four of her group and spoke quickly.
"He does know something," she told them all. "He will not say what, but the fact remains that there is something in his mind pertaining to this thing – I must find out what it is."
"So must we all," was Robbie's rejoinder to that.
"We needn't say that the fate of our world – of you, especially, Elowyn – hangs in the balance," added Sala, grimly. "Perhaps this is too great a thing that we have undertaken; already, the wrath of his Queen will be upon us for imprisoning her right-hand."
"No, I do not think so."
Brendan spoke for the first time, in seeming eons. They looked to him, questions in their eyes. He shrugged, shortly and simply, and then explained.
"The Dark Lord of Sytherria has always maintained an odd sort of relationship, at best, with the Ebony Queen; you all will have well-guessed this by now. He neither renders respect nor complete obedience to her, and she has not yet demanded either of him, in full…until now. My theory is that somehow, something has passed between them that has caused a sort of great rift in their partnership. Can you not see how he reacted to the news that the dark powers had moved, without his foreknowledge? She is going behind his back, in some strange and fell way, and they are sundered, for the time being."
Elowyn was silent, mulling over this. She bit her lip, and then looked up at them all.
"Then that's it," she said, simply and resolutely. "Regardless of anything…the past, the future, anything…we now have, as you have already noted, an unexpected aid in our war-game here. We have the Dark Lord, and if he is as set against his Queen as you say, Uncle Brendan…well then, we may just have an advantage, at long last."
Robbie and Sala gaped at her as they realized what she meant by this.
"Elowyn, no – you can't possibly—" began Robbie, but she cut him off with a gesture of one hand, smiling wryly and a bit grimly as she did so.
"I can, and I must, dearest Robbie," she replied. "This is not a mere tiff between rival parties that we are dealing with, as is utterly obvious by now – this is the beginning of a war. And I intend to do my part in it. You forget that I am the Child of Prophecy…and I have had dealings with this particular Dark Lord before. Worry not; I go to seek out the Wolf, once again…"
* * *
Elowyn approached the cell silently, her booted footfalls noiseless on the cold stone floor; she came to stand at the door, leaning against its side and looking into the room without comment. Her green eyes ran over the still, proud and erect figure of the captured Dark Lord: recognizing and knowing him. In all her previous days, she would have never imagined that she would, one day, actually meet the Dark Lord of Sytherria – and she certainly could have never fathomed what their interactions with one another would have been like…
It just goes to show you how life can, and always will, surprise you.
Jaedin was standing still in the center of the small space, staring up at the ceiling, which had a sort of skylight in it, far above even his head. The light poured down, faint and chalky, onto his figure, glancing upon the straight, bold lines of his shoulders, and highlighting his pale skin and shaven head. He looked ghostly; spectral. Him.
She roused herself from her casual position of observance, allowing him to become prescient of her being there.
As she had expected, he reacted by ceasing to be a living statue: first, his fingers flexed, at his sides, and then his shoulders gradually, gracefully fell; and, last of all, his head slowly came down to its proper level – notwithstanding, of course, its perpetual arrogant tilt.
That, she was certain, would always be a part of him.
He turned his head to the side, slightly, allowing him to catch her in his peripheral vision; it was, most likely, alarmingly good, she thought.
"You know," she commented, entering the room: stepping out of the shadows and allowing her figure to be fully illuminated by the light within the place, "You shouldn't scowl like that – it will give you worry-lines."
Jaedin's full lips twitched, faintly, in bitter amusement at her sally. He turned, ever so slightly, as she came further into the room, stopping only when she stood about a foot back from the line of silver. His gray eyes gleamed unnervingly as the light glanced upon them.
"Did you come here just for that – to give me cosmetic advice?" he questioned her, cynicism and sarcasm dripping icily from his tone.
Elowyn shrugged, calmly.
"Perhaps."
He was very volatile – she should have remembered that from before; for now he suddenly and without warning rounded on her, eyes blazing and features twisted into a fierce snarl.
"Do not dissemble with me, little one," he rasped. "I warn you – doing so will scarcely improve my temper!"
Elowyn did not react, other than quickly inhaling, her eyes widening ever so slightly, which made her dark, thick eyelashes form a vivid contrast to the pale skin of her brow bones. The two archenemies faced one another, at a standoff: he, the power-radiating, dark figure that towered over her, the pale and supremely beautiful form of light.
Then, from her, with bizarre, mordant cheerfulness: "I think that we should have had it well established by now that I am as capable of dealing with your temper, Dark One, as you are of dealing with mine – I can hardly have any doubts there, after all of this."
Jaedin, for all his wrath at his imprisonment and the betrayal of his Queen, could not help but recognize those words as true.
They were, truly, evenly matched as far as temper. And now, as he looked at her, he knew – again – that he could never allow her to be destroyed…
"What do you want of me, Princess?" he asked her, breathing his question in a low voice that only she could have heard. He stepped close to the line, bending his head down so that he could look, with greater ease, into her eyes. "What did you come here, to me, for?"
Her regard upon him did not change; the sea green eyes did not waver.
"When it was said that someone within the dark forces moved, without your knowledge, I sensed your thought – you had not expected this, you did not know of it."
"Yes…" Jaedin fairly hissed the word.
"What does this mean, Dark Lord of Sytherria?"
He shrugged, staring off: silently, into space.
"What does it mean? Perhaps much – perhaps very little. It all depends on one's perception, I suppose…"
He trailed off; then, with a quick, decisive glance at her, he continued, as if he had suddenly decided to trust her, however marginally.
"My relationship with Zaschaea, the Ebony Queen, has become remarkably strained as of late, as a result of the infinite attraction that you are to me, Princess. I won't lie to you about that, at least."
So saying, he turned and paced across the room again, then half-pivoted on one booted foot and leaned his elbow against the wall, resting his weight upon it, his eyes never leaving her.
"I've made far too many enemies of myself in this world, Princess," he told her, wryly. "The Dark Realm, the White Realm, the entire land of Sytherria, among many others…"
"There's more?" she asked, acerbically.
Jaedin shot her his most debonair and rakish, lopsided half-grin.
"Believe it, Princess…" he said. "There's many more than even you can imagine."
"Oh, I do not doubt it," she replied. She took another step closer to him, carefully remaining behind the line of silver, however. "And now your Queen is your enemy…"
He made a faint scoffing noise, shrugging disdainfully.
"When was she ever my friend? In this matter, I will let you draw your own conclusions, Princess. The immediate scene before you ought to tell you enough – I am here, at your mercy, and it seems that no one is in any immediate haste to lend me their aid. Power comes at a high price, and even then, it is not totally bereft of the threat of betrayal. I am alone in this world."
Elowyn let her lips quirk, wryly; she had guessed as much.
"And what of your solemn friends, the Antari?" she fired back.
The thought simultaneously occurred to her, then, that they were, once again, fencing words, and in much of the same manner that they had utilized in the very beginning of their acquaintance. Before violence and desire had gotten in the way, that was…
Jaedin's expression became dark and knowing, his eyes boring into hers, as he replied, "I wouldn't bring them into this, merron nenein,"—That name again! What does it mean?—"Don't you think I soon learnt of exactly how you had made your escape from my fortress? And besides," Rousing himself once more, pushing away from the wall, and coming towards her, "The Antari have the strange and wonderful tactic of making themselves exceedingly scarce when their master is not present to command them. I could not very well summon them now and, at the same time, have any hope to keep the Queen's eye from being drawn to me."
They now stood directly across from one another.
"So you really are alone in the world," Elowyn said, softly, but without emotion. She turned her gaze up, to look into his face: trying to read his features. But there were so many shadows there – so many memories and ghosts of thousands of years past, blown into obscurity by his immense age and boundless experiences…she couldn't see beyond those entrancing gray eyes.
Jaedin nodded.
"Yes…and you want something of me, don't you, Princess?"
He bent his head again, angling it so that he could look directly down into her face. If the line of silver hadn't been there – barring him from her with its invisible blockade – she was certain that his fingers would have, in the next instant, reached out to touch her face, to tilt her chin up and back, until she was looking up at him as well, fully.
"There is something that you desire of me."
"There is…" she echoed, distantly.
"Princess, do you fear me?"
With those words, in an instant, she came back to reality: out of the realm of thought. She fought the ether from her mind and looked up at him, resolute and cold.
"Yes, I fear you, Jaedin of Sytherria," she said, without balking at the revelation. "I fear you more than any other entity in this world – and it is well that I do, for no other soul has touched mine as you have, and yours is a soul tainted with the darkness. But when everything – everyone – that I know and love is in peril, when fate of the world that is mine hangs in the balance, and it is within my power to save it…"
"You would not hesitate for a moment."
Oh, your memories!
Elowyn nodded, without looking away.
"What is your bidding, Princess?"
And she spoke the words – the words of binding destiny.
"You will take us: myself, the Lord Brendan, Prince Robeneron, and Lady Salamaïre, to the Dark Realm, to the fortress of your Ebony Queen; there, you will help us to recover the spell that she has stolen from us. You will not attempt any treachery. After all of this has been done, the ties of my demands are broken, and you may go free. If you refuse, we shall hand you over – here and now – to the heads of the White Realm, who will give you the end you justly deserve."
"The end that all dark lords are, in time, forced to subject themselves to, is that not right?" he asked, coolly; seeming utterly unfazed by her ultimatum.
He shrugged.
"I may show you the way to the Dark Realm easily enough, for it is a path that I have traveled many a time – the question is, however, Princess – are you willing to delve into such darkness?"
"I have now immersed myself in the shadows that are you, Ríth-Anstarinaor," she said, her words a cold and impassive murmur. "I do not believe that I will ever know anything darker."
Jaedin's lips curved in a slow, strange smile.
"Then perhaps we will both learn further of this together…" he said, enigmatically. Elowyn held his gaze for a moment longer; then, suddenly, he looked away: his expression changing from one of an intense, fiery longing and desire to one of cold, hard realism.
"Princess, I believe you have a dagger on your person, somewhere?"
Taken aback by this abrupt change of subject – even from one so highly volatile and even seemingly bi-polar as him – Elowyn was stunned into silence for a moment. Then, slowly, she nodded, and unsheathed the small blade that hung at her belt, almost hidden by the folds of the thick gray cloak that she wore. Behind the boundary, Jaedin held out a hand: a gesture for her to come closer. Mystified, she obeyed.
The vampyre Dark Lord took a step forward, bringing them to within a foot of one another, so that they were almost touching, and then he did something very strange indeed – pulling back the sleeve on his right arm, he bared his wrist to the chill air in the room.
Then—
"Lance the skin," he told her: in the same calm, nonchalant tone that he might have used if he had been telling her to go out and fetch a pail of water.
Elowyn stared at him, in horror.
"What?" she asked, incredulously.
Jaedin seemed oblivious to her alarm, and repeated himself.
"Lance the skin. Do as I say."
But she couldn't – what kind of bizarre behavior was this? If she lacerated one of his veins, he would die: bleeding to death in a few moments!
And she could not risk that, his death…
When she did not comply, Jaedin moved – almost unthinkably fast – and suddenly his other hand was around hers. His grip was cold and hard, like a vice. She stared up into his eyes, her mind whirling, as he repeated, in a savage, snarling low voice, "Do as I say."
And then, without another moment's delay, he took her hand, in which she held the dagger, and used it to slash the blade across his own skin.
Elowyn nearly choked on the emotions that were welling in her throat; he released her, abruptly, and she fell back, staring at him. Jaedin, meanwhile, was looking at the long, thin score on his forearm: watching as the blood began to well up from the wound. He placed his other hand over it, and looked up at her, finally.
"The promise of a Dark Lord – bought at the price of blood."
He handed the dagger back to her with these words, making carefully certain to keep his arm from going over the line. Elowyn took the dagger, staring with wide, dark eyes at the scarlet staining the blade, as Jaedin's eyes of molten silver gazed at her: seeming to penetrate through her skull, into her mind itself.
"May you do this and worse to me, if I ever turn my hand against you in the course of this quest, Princess Elowyn," she heard him say. "I will take you to the Dark Realm."
* * *
A/N: And that is how a Dark Lord makes his promise…not going to be going there again… Well, I suppose that I've warned everyone – the rating on this tale stands for "intense characters/situations". *grins* So, now we finally have our alliance formed between the forces of ultimate evil and unsullied good – what is destined to happen next? Only time will tell…that, and the update to come…until then, my friends!
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