The Spark Of Divinity by C. E. Clayton

Author:C. E. Clayton [Clayton, C. E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DevilDog Press
Published: 2018-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

“It be fancier than I expected from the likes of you, lass.” Chandrelle leaned against the door of Tallis’s office in her Ludwik estate, admiring the handful of gold-painted weapons decorating the walls and ignoring the persistent creak of the antique house. “Figured your lot would prefer more that earthy shite. Like the rest of them sodding voronwerea.”

Tallis rolled her eyes and turned to face the scarred tremp. A fragile, and unexpected, friendship was slowly growing between them.

Sleep had remained an elusive lover to Tallis the whole trip from Lechoslaw to Ludwik once more. She tended to Marcelina’s nightmares or contended with her own. She still could not place the damp, glistening stone cell her mind had traveled to, nor quell the aching pain in her head or the paralyzing fear in her heart. Occasionally, she thought she saw Tomas in her dreams but he looked so ghostly, so bruised and beaten, that she often woke with a start each time. Her dreams left her unnerved, an anxious fear weighing on her chest that she couldn’t shrug off.

Like her, Chandrelle rarely slept. The older elf had made it a habit, after her clan had turned on her and her parents, of sleeping lightly. As she’d explained to Tallis, she only had suspicions as to why her family was killed—but had no idea why her clan thought maiming her face was necessary—nor why she was left to die in the wilds. Though, as Chandrelle told the story, there had been a tremor to her voice and her hands twitched, making Tallis believe there was a half-truth buried in the woman’s story, as if she did know the reason, but was reluctant to share. Regardless, if it hadn’t been for a group of Warriors who took pity and adopted her, Chandrelle staunchly believed she would be dead. It explained much about the gruff and grizzled tremp, her dislike of the voronwerea, and her devotion to the Warriors in her Household.

During those late-night conversations when sleep evaporated from them, they’d had time to come to an understanding of sorts. Neither woman would call the other a friend just yet, but it was an easier relationship by far than what Tallis had with Konrad.

“I’m no loyal one like those elves, nor a silent one like you, so I don’t know what you were really expecting. Also, despite what you think, I’m not a barbarian,” Tallis said over the sound of Marcelina’s laughter as she chased one of Michal’s Servants from room to room, waiting for her uncle. From the sound of her squeals, one would never know she’d been locked in a cage and beaten.

Chandrelle shrugged and moved off the door frame like a ripple in a pond, all in one graceful gesture. Her scars might make her stand out from others of her kind, but her movements were as elegant as any other elf.

“I be the judge of that one lass, and I ain’t decided yet. It be a shiny collection though,” Chandrelle said, waving at the display.

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