Elfhame_A Dark Elf Fairy Tale by Anthea Sharp

Author:Anthea Sharp [Sharp, Anthea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-68013-108-6
Publisher: Fiddlehead Press
Published: 2016-06-13T04:00:00+00:00

12

Mara could not take her eyes from the fanciful towers and high, glowing dome of the Hawthorne Court. The sense of dread that had overshadowed her adventures ever since the spider creature’s attack was temporarily buried beneath a renewed sense of wonder.

Certainly she was beyond nervous about meeting more of the Dark Elves, but she would have Bran to defend her if any trouble arose. She was strangely sure of his support. Perhaps because he’d rescued her from the Void creature, he treated her rather possessively.

There were worse things than having a terrifying Dark Elf warrior mage as her champion.

She was aware of the heat of his body at her back, the shifting of his muscles as he guided his horse down the rise.

They skirted the tall, columned gates that she guessed marked the main entrance to the palace. Bran kept them in the shadow of the encircling wall. Hawthorn hedges bloomed there, the flowers white smudges in the dim light.

She was sorry the large moon was setting. It seemed to be the closest thing to daylight she would see in this land.

As if sensing her need for light, two of the bright motes Bran had called glimglows darted over the hedge of greenery. Her spirits lifted as they danced in the air above her head.

“They had better not reveal our position,” Bran said in a low voice.

“I think we’re safe. Surely they flit about all over the grounds.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, but did not argue with her, or blast the sparks out of the air with his powers.

They came to a break in the hedge, and Bran guided them through. The glimglows followed, dipping and bobbing in the air. Ahead of them spread a velvety lawn edged with luminous blue flowers. On their right a wall of pale stone extended, broken by a few arched windows. As they passed beneath one, Mara heard a soft whinny and caught the scent of hay and manure. The stables.

When Bran rode into the building, a smaller Dark Elf hurried up to take his horse.

“Welcome home, milord,” she said. “How goes the battle?”

“Well enough,” Bran said shortly. Gathering Mara against him, he slid down and landed lightly on the straw-covered floor.

The stable girl stared at Mara, her dark eyes widening.

“Is that…the mortal woman?” she asked. “What a strange-looking creature! Where are her claws? What about—”

“I trust you to remain quiet on this matter,” Bran said, his tone hard. “Discretion is essential. Now, see to Fuin, and speak no more of what you have seen.”

The girl gulped back the questions Mara could see filling her mouth, and ducked her head in obedience. She clucked to the horse and led him deeper into the stables, sending one quick backward glance over her shoulder at Mara as she went.

Bran shook his head, his features set in a frown.

“Hurry,” he said, taking her arm and leading her back into the star-spangled night. “Word will spread quickly of your presence.”

“I thought she wouldn’t say anything.

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