Epilogue
Jereena
They’d started with Jereena, obviously; they were quite close to Belle’s due date, so it had been a question of killing two birds with one stone.
“Elves. Seriously,” the Dowager King Armand said. Then, turning to Kai, he smirked. “I thought you were funny little people of three feet or so, who helped prepare the Winter Cheers.”
“Would my punching your father be considered a diplomatic issue, Aiden?”
“No, by all means, be my guest.”
Kai punched Armand, who didn’t stop smirking.
“I’m quite happy to sign this acknowledgement of your domain, of course. Technically, this land didn’t exist until last month, anyway.”
Eira had left the wards down, and lifted those on her city, too. It turned out, the chain of mountains he’d never fully explored were larger than Jereena and Ferren put together, almost three quarter of the size of Alenia.
Now she’d stopped freezing everything, they were an explotable land, too. They could plan, and herd their animals.
If they had still less than four hundred subjects, Kai wouldn’t have let Fyn and Eira convince him to rebuild his kingdom, but other elves had made it within days of the attack on their village.
It turns out, by binding him to her, Eira had claimed his people, too. No human could hope to retain any hold over the subjects of a god.
Well, two gods. It was difficult to get used to the idea, but it seemed he was now one, too.
“So, how are you dealing with all that diety shit?” Aiden asked him. “The other day, I got my guard to break my shoulder to see how long it took to heal. Five freaking minutes.”
“Yeah, dear Eira didn’t bother to mention that fact, until her friend threw me right down a precipice, for a laugh.”
Some day, he was going to get his revenge, and Persephone would beg for mercy.
“Shit. That didn’t kill you either?”
“Only beheading works,” Eira clarified. “And some of us can reform a head; it’s best to burn the remains. Unless you deal with a fire-whelding fiend. Then, you’ve probably just help him heal quicker.”
The two guys were smiling from ear to ear.
“Wanna crash a car and see who comes out first?”
Eira rolled her eyes.
“Boys,” Belle summarized. “Anyway, what’s the next stop, Alenia?”
“We considered it, but I thought of starting with Denker, actually. We heard something about a conflict between Alenia and the Woodlands; the de Luzes might have their hands full.”
“Yes,” Aiden nodded, his face instantly somber. “The Woodland Queen has been accused of murdering the rightful heir to the throne by a huntsman, before he mysteriously disappeared. Alenia demands an investigation, and she’s dragging her heels. There’s a story there.”
Twelve months ago,
The Woodlands
Virtue, understanding and patience were all well and good, but sometimes a girl just needed a break.
Blanche ran out of the door right after her twelve hour shift, without even bothering to get out of the sweaty clothes. She needed fresh air, freedom; but more than anything, she needed control right now, and that was what the forest at the foot of Nordeen Castle represented for her.
If Queen Ilda had any idea, she would have each tree plucked out to ensure she was left no respite – and no power.
Blanche didn’t stop until she’d reached the river, a good mile into the forest; some Woodlanders might venture out – they were, after all, a country of huntsmen and foragers – but those who would weren’t loyal to Queen Ilda. Her pawns knew better than to try and enter Blanche’s domain.
In the rest of the continent, people might have forgotten or stopped believing in the tales, but the Woodlands was a small country, and their rulers had always been generous with their magic.
Each year, there was a festival where the royal family had given their thanks to nature, a pageant affair involving barefoot dances and other embarrassing stuff; their magic had shined through for all to see, pouring into their lands.
That was the secret to the Woodlands’ wealth: their farms were incomparable, because their air, their lands, their waters were purer than any other kingdom in the whole of Gaia.
Needless to say, things had changed over the last dozen years. Oh, there had been such a festival, but in private, and Blanche had been forced to perform it, completely alone.
Guess what, dearest stepmother? It doesn’t work.
Nature knew she was suffering, and it wasn’t happy about it.
Their country was slowly loosing the reputation it had built over the course of three thousand years and each passing season, Blanche knew what it might cost her.
Idla would realize that she was useless to her, soon.
As soon as she did, she was dead.
Don’t be silly, little dryad. You won’t go down without a fight.
Blanche did realize that hearing voices wasn’t what one would call a sign of psychological wellbeing, but she wasn’t crazy: trees genuinely could speak. To her, in any case.
“I’ll fight,” she acknowledged.
But there was a very good chance that she would lose.
Her dad had been a powerful Wood, his voice could genuinely make the earth quake a little, when he’d been pissed off. He’d also been a great man, profoundly in love with Blanche’s mother, but one winter changed it all.
Her mother died, so mysteriously everyone had been talking about poisoning, and within weeks – weeks – one of the nurses who had seen to her care was paving her way, first into the King’s bed, then to his throne.
He’d become a mere shadow of his former self, and then, he’d disappeared, without leaving any sort of trace.
Blanche knew magic, she’d been raised to comprehend it: there was no doubt in her mind that her step mother wielded it.
And unbiasedly, she had to admit that Ilda was much more powerful than she’d ever be.
So yes, she would fight; no creature on earth would relinquish to death before its time.
But she also knew she’d lose.
Certainly. If you wish to lose, you shall.
She tuned the buggers out; what did they know? They were trees, for crying it out loud.
In need of a good workout, despite her fatigue, Blanche removed her disgusting dress and jumped head first into the freezing River Reine, warming up with each stroke.
She didn’t last long; perhaps fifteen minutes, but she’d felt refreshed, relaxed by the time she made it back to the banks.
For a minute, that is. Then, she stopped grabbed her dress from the floor, and lifted her head, to come face to face with the hunkiest man she’d ever heard of, encountered or dreamt about.
He was gigantic, and seemed larger still, as he sat at the back of a low, massive bike. He had light brown hair, cropped short, a dusk of hair around a strong chin, a delightful mouth – the bottom lip was plumper, begging to be tasted – and his nose was perfect; the most remarkable feature were the eyes, though. They weren’t normal kinda “yeah, I have two.” Oh, no. These were I’m seeing right into your panties kinda eyes.
Useless, right now, though: she was entirely naked.
Blanche did the only thing anyone in her shoes would have done: she yelled and ran for it, shooting straight through the woods.