Dawn of a Legend by R. K. Lander

Author:R. K. Lander [Lander, R. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-21T21:00:00+00:00

Ten

Revelation

“It was a time of uncertainty for Fel’annár. He knew the voices of the trees, understood their ways, heeded their warnings, and smiled at their chatter. But he had always known there was more. There was no sense of finality, he once said. There was something teetering on the borders of his knowledge, like a name long unused but never forgotten.”

The Silvan Chronicles. Marhené.

Fel’annár woke to the sound of hushed voices. His back was stiff and painful, and he felt light-headed. Turning, he sat up and waited for the dizziness to pass. Llyniel and Sontúr were beside him in a moment, and he nodded at them both, accepting the vial of disgusting green liquid that they had been feeding him every few hours.

He’d slept deeply, and he wondered if Sontúr, or even Llyniel, had laced his tea with something. But whatever it had been, it wasn’t enough for him to forget Llyniel’s concerned eyes in the night—or Pan’assár’s story of his fall . . . and his return.

“I’m hungry.” That should encourage his over-zealous healers that he was fine and that he could return to his own rooms. Sontúr didn’t disappoint. He nodded at him and then left him alone with Llyniel.

“I . . . may have asked you for a kiss . . .” he said ruefully, but there was a saucy twinkle in his eyes.

Llyniel cocked a brow and then leaned over him. “Fool warrior,” she tutted and shook her head. “The poison has melted your mind and loosened that tongue of yours.”

“Did I worry you?” he smiled.

“You did,” she said, turning away from him so that he would not see just how much he had worried her. It was something she had yet to ponder—those strong feelings she had experienced when they had discovered the canimbula—and then Arané had announced that the key ingredient to the antidote had previously been stolen. It wasn’t until her mind recalled the black bark and Arané had told her only thirty minutes had passed that her heart had stopped its irregular thumping and the weight upon her chest had lifted.

She fancied Fel’annár, had all but accepted a Silvan fling in the trees with him. But her reactions were not those of a casual friend. She frowned inwardly, because the thought was disturbing. Unwanted.

“Shall we get you dressed?” she asked, turning back to him only to roll her eyes at his lopsided grin, knowing exactly what he was thinking and unable to hide her own mirth. “Get up, you Silvan oaf, and do it slowly. The herbs in the antidote will linger in your system for a while. You will be unsteady on your feet.”

Tossing the bedcover to one side, he swung his feet over the edge and sat up. She was right, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

“Slowly,” she warned.

By the time Sontúr was back, Fel’annár was walking slowly to the chairs before the fire and then sinking into one of them, careful not to sit back and jostle his wound.

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