The Falling Page 11

  She looked at him, only that, but the power that surrounded her made him flinch back, half convinced she would harm him.

  Shaynith-una rose to his feet, unconcerned with his nudity, and stepped between them, a gesture of protection that was not lost on either the elf, or Brenaith himself.

  She stared at them both for several drawn out moments, a furrow coming to rest on her brow.

  “Sit, Shaynith-una. I have no desire to harm either of you.”

  The knight did not seem comforted. “You take me forcibly from my father, imprison us both here, and you say you have no desire to harm? I find that unlikely at best.” His lip curled. His tone was cold and hard.

  Her tone was equally implacable. “Sit, and I shall tell you why you are here.”

  Brenaith could see the minute tremors that wracked the knight’s body, the signs of the restraint he was putting upon himself to address her calmly. It was evident to all three of them that had she not been behind the protection of the barrier, his master would have torn her apart.

  For a moment, pain flashed in her eyes, then it was gone just as quickly, her demeanor serene, her will focused on her son.

  Brenaith reached out a tentative hand, braced for rejection, and touched his master’s arm. “Let us hear what she has to say, my lord. We need to know what this is about.”

  Shaynith-una did not flinch away, did not react negatively as Brenaith had half expected. He simply remained silent for a moment, then reached over and dragged another chair close to Brenaith so that they might both face her.

  Brenaith let out a shaky sigh. The air of leashed violence had dissipated somewhat, and he could breathe again.

  The elf seemed to feel the same. Her posture became ever so slightly less rigid.

  The shadow knight sat, posture languid, deceptively relaxed, though the red glow of his eyes made his true mood all too evident.

  The elf began to speak. “I am Elgeni, daughter of High King Galendral of the alliance of the Elven plane. I was chosen by the elven gods to be captured by Lutan in order to create you and fulfill the prophecy of Lutan’s fall. To drive demonkind back to their world before they spread from the humans’ lands and portaled into our own. Lutan kept me alive, hoped to weaken me, to use my powers to open the way for his armies into my world. In the end, the book, my book, was the key, was what gave me enough elven energy to create a way home. My gods cast protection spells upon it, hid its importance from Lutan’s notice, guided it into my son’s hands.”

  Brenaith stared at her, a chill realization coming to the fore.

  “We are not—in my world?” This concept was beyond his comprehension. There was no other world…but clearly, the elven world was not his own.

  Shaynith-una tilted his head, his expression morphing into consideration. It was evident that he had known something of this, but perhaps had not considered the details.

  “That is why my father cannot sense me, or I him. You have taken me onto the elven plane.” The knight’s fingers clenched upon the chair arms. “You are fools. He will come for me, and he will destroy you all.”

  She gave a humorless smile. “He has no power here, much though he would like to believe so. He is a young god, strong in his own domain, but considerably less so if he leaves it.” Her look at Shaynith-una softened ever so slightly. “The energy here will not sustain your demon blood. Your elven side will come to the fore. You already have noted that you cannot feed on blood, that your demon nature has to struggle to rise. The energies here will not condone such things. Here, on this plane, the elven gods will bring out the other side of you.”

  Brenaith was watching his master closely, alarmed at these revelations. He caught the flash of fear in Shaynith-una’s eyes, fear that was quickly blanketed by anger.

  “I am what I am.” His voice rang with conviction. “Demon born. No magic, no tricks, are going to make me other than that. No matter what you do, you cannot take away my birthright.”

  “Your birthright has two halves. Do not forget that. Simply because one half was stunted, was not permitted to grow under Lutan’s rule, does not mean it does not exist. Here you will feel the pull of your elven blood. You will become…”

  Brenaith caught a change in her expression, a hint of guilt-ridden sadness as though she knew her son’s fate and her role in it. Whatever it was, Brenaith had the chill certainty that it was nothing kind, nothing merciful. Whatever this prophecy might be, her son’s fate would be intertwined with Lutan’s.

  Shaynith-una watched his mother, silent, still, as though he were internalizing what she had said.

  “So you have some use for me. That is why I have not died yet. No doubt you see yourselves as something good, your actions worthy, yet I feel that whatever you plan for me will be nothing greater than the worst of demon atrocities. It is easy to deceive yourself when you have a great goal to achieve. To make yourself better than your enemy. To tell yourself that your cause is true and shining. My father has never hidden himself from me, never lied about what he expected me to be. Yet you creatures of light imprison me for your own purposes and come before me with no honesty in you. I can feel it. You have no intension of revealing the whole truth, of telling me why I have been brought here.” He sneered, rising to his feet once more. “I will hear no more. What you have said here is enough. I know what will come next will be lies and half truths, and I will hear none of it. Begone.” He turned his head, pinning Brenaith with his flame filled gaze. “This is what you speak of? This is a mother?” He walked away to stand before the fireplace, his back to them both, straight, proud, the firelight flickering over his pale, naked flesh making him seem otherworldly.

  Brenaith watched him go, then turned back to the princess, Elgeni. For a moment, grief filled her expression, disappearing again within a blink as she looked at her son.

  “You are closed to me now, but with time your elven side will come to the fore. You will come to understand what is happening and why. I pray it will give you some comfort.”

  The knight made no indication he heard her, his very posture radiating rejection of all she represented.

  She looked to Brenaith at last. “As for you, my young lord, I am sorry that you have been swept up in this. I can do little now to aid you. You are bonded to him, and at this time, I see no way of changing that.” A growl from the fireplace made her cease speaking, shaking her head slightly as though she realized the futility of any further discussion. She was right. Her son was utterly closed to her. Despite her words, he felt as strongly as the knight did that there was so much still unsaid, that something waited in the wings, and that something was anything but pleasant.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As they ate that night, Brenaith went over the encounter in his mind, mulling over the words that had been exchanged. It was evident that Shaynith-una was changing, was becoming something else. He had shown more emotion in these few days, than in all the time Brenaith had been with him. It seemed strange that he had been so controlled while in the chaotic demon energies, while here, in the gentler elven ones, he had swung into something uncontrolled, emotionally wild. Brenaith shook his head. He had been tasked to teach Shaynith-una about emotions. He could not think of a better place than here. But at what cost?

  He looked up, watching his master pace the floor in widening circles. If the knight had been pale before, he was now almost gray, his skin sallow, his face almost gaunt, as though this place were slowly consuming him. Brenaith knew he had not slept the night before. He had woken several times to find the knight pacing silently around and back, an almost desperate intensity to the movements.

  “My lord. Sit, eat. You cannot continue like this, and it will do no good to deprive yourself. If you are weakened, then if escape becomes possible, you will not be able to achieve it.”

  Shaynith-una halted mid-step, head snapping round as he stared at Brenaith with wild, unfocussed eyes.

  Brenaith pulled out the chair and beckoned. “Come, eat. You are not healing.
That also, will do you no good in the end.”

  The knight paused, nostrils flaring like a startled horse, eyeing Brenaith for several moments as though he had forgotten he was there at all.

  At last, after long consideration, he seemed to understand the summons and obeyed. Was it his imagination, or was the knight turning to him, listening to him as he had not before? Was this situation and the isolation from his kind bringing him to depend on Brenaith?

  How could this be turned to Brenaith’s advantage?

  Elgeni had not indicated that there was no hope for the bond to be broken, she had said only that she did not know how to do it. Which meant there was a sliver of hope to be had. Would the elves aid him, or was he simply going to be part of whatever horror was going to be put upon Shaynith-una?

  He shivered.

  The knight glanced at him as he sat, the wildness in his eyes slowly retreating into sanity and awareness.

  “You are cold?” There was almost concern in the tone, almost…

  Brenaith tried to shake away the feeling of warmth. He was becoming too close, too fast. He had to remember what this being was, what he was capable of. If there was a hope to be free, he had to keep himself armored. He could help, yes. He knew himself incapable of standing by and doing nothing while another suffered, but he had to keep a piece of himself separate, ready. This, finally, could be the chance he had prayed for, for so long.

  “We must find out if the bond can be broken.” The calm, matter-of-fact tone brought Brenaith’s thoughts to a halt, fork held half way to his mouth.

  The knight shrugged at his startled glance and began to put food upon his plate, slowly and without enthusiasm. “They are going to kill me. It is evident, and there is no need for you to die as well.”

  The calm was back, implacable and chillingly rational. The mood swings were becoming worse even over this small period. A terrifying concept for the future. Would there come a time when Shaynith-una would lose all control and turn on him?

  Before, Brenaith would have had some degree of faith that it would not happen. But now everything had changed, and his master was losing all sanity.

  He chewed and swallowed, trying to consider how to answer. It was amazing to him that the knight considered such a thing at all. Was this the elven half rising to the surface?

  “I would appreciate if something could be done.” The statement seemed so small compared to the gratitude he felt. He would not have to fight for this, it seemed.

  “We will ask her when she returns.” His master’s tone was even, but his eyes flared dark red for the briefest of moments.

  She had become the enemy. That was evident. Brenaith could not help wondering if she actually was. Would she do nothing to protect her son? Or was he such an abomination that she would be glad of his death, an end to a living symbol of her shame?

  Her chill, regal personality seemed to indicate she would, but those faint flashes of emotion when she watched her son made Brenaith think there was a lot more to her feelings toward him than she let on.

  They ate in silence, Brenaith occasionally urging another bite of food upon his master. Shaynith-una brooded, the slump of his body, the faint tremble of his fingers pointing to his exhaustion.

  It seemed so strange to see him vulnerable like this. Brenaith could not understand the whole of it. The knight was a demigod. That had been fully evident in their world. Wasn’t he still? Or was being on this plane of existence changing something? Could you take away divinity? He felt woefully unequipped to even speculate on these matters.

  Shaynith-una paused, head tilted, listening.

  “They are coming.” He pushed the chair back from the table but remained seated, his expression smoothing into calm, cool disinterest.

  Brenaith glanced at him but remained where he was. He could not see the need to guard himself against Elgeni.

  The door slammed open abruptly. Those who entered brought with them a wave of anger, of violence barely leashed.

  The foremost of them waved his hand, moving the barrier back even as Elgeni had, but he forced it further, until it was nearly on top of them. Brenaith sprang up, the barrier nearly burning him, and he retreated.

  Shaynith-una remained where he was, even when the blue light touched his fingers and set his bandages afire.

  Brenaith could not withstand this horror. Whatever Shaynith-una was trying to prove, Brenaith could not watch. He grabbed hold of the knight, dragged him backward away from the threat, and seized the pitcher of water off the table as he did so. He doused the bandages, swiftly unwinding the charred remnants, horrified at the reddened burns beneath.

  He could not help it. He sent a glare at the three elves who had forced themselves upon them so aggressively.

  The tallest one, standing with folded arms, showed no shame at his actions, but the other two seemed uncomfortable under Brenaith’s accusatory glare, looking at Shaynith-una’s hands, torn and now burned, and then glancing away.

  Their leader held no such qualms. He held a sense of great power, great presence. Elgeni herself seemed smaller in comparison. Brenaith suspected he knew why. The elf’s lean features and luminescent gray eyes gave away the lineage.

  It seemed the High King, Elgeni’s father, had come to view his grandson for himself, and there was nothing of mercy in his icy stare.

  Hatred and fury swirled around the room, and Brenaith saw Shaynith-una take a deep breath of it, standing taller.

  He was larger than the elf king by at least four inches, but they both had the same slender build. At this moment, apart from his eyes, he seemed as elven as the High King himself.

  Brenaith moved to stand in front of his master. Whatever blood they may share, there was no caring in the high king’s visage, no mercy for a grandson of rape. Brenaith could literally feel the desire to do harm flowing from the king, and he knew this could not end well.

  The elven king lowered his fierce gaze to meet Brenaith’s, as though in disbelief that the small human could dare to stand between them, dare to imagine he could influence the outcome with his fragile body.

  Brenaith found his chin rising, challenge in his stare. He wished he understood his own flawed reasoning, understood why he felt this need to protect Shaynith-una, but he did not, and this was no time for self-reflection.

  Shaynith-una, for his part, stood silently behind him for a moment, then he grasped Brenaith’s arm and drew him aside. There was no fear in his eyes as there had been with his mother. Here and now, there was only challenge in his stance and in the sneer that contorted his beautiful, elven lips.

  “You vile abomination.” The king’s voice held vitriol. His hands slowly clenched into fists. “If it were not for your worth to the priests, and to my daughter, I would cleanse this world of your stain upon our bloodline this very moment.”

  Shaynith-una tilted his head, his blossoming smile anything but kind. “Easy enough to say when you stand behind a barrier. I may be weakened, elf, but I am not without strength. I would gladly meet you upon the field of battle, if you choose to quit cowering behind your magic.”

  One of the other elves grasped the king’s forearm as he made a furious, abortive motion toward the barrier.

  Shaynith-una grinned, his eyes glinting. “When my father comes, and I am released, I hope to meet you. We will see who is stronger.”

  The king drew a deep, stabilizing breath for self-control. “I would not give you a moment of time, nor the honor of death by my sword.”

  “Yet you came. Wanted to see what I was? What your daughter created?” The mockery struck the elven king like a blow.

  “My daughter created nothing. She was—despoiled—by your gods damned sire, through no fault of her own. She, at least, is innocent in this.”

  “And yet, I, who had no part in this either, am guilty?” The knight sounded curious more than hostile.

  “Elven blood was never meant to mix with the darkness that is Lutan. We have battled him through the ages as he’s soug
ht to destroy us, the keepers of light. He would have his darkness smother all planes of existence, and you are his sword. You, who polluted my daughter’s womb.” The hatred in his eyes was searing. “You are the essence of darkness, the very personification of all we fight against. It is universal justice that it should be you who will bring him down, you who will see your grotesque sire die in your name. That will be sweet to witness, something sung in ballads down through the aeons.” He flung his head up, golden hair sweeping over his shoulders. “Sleep well, knight.” The title was flung as an epithet. “Tomorrow, your stain will be removed from our lives.” He whirled on his heel as though he could not bear another moment within the room, his two companions casting a last look over their shoulders before they followed.

  The door slammed in their wake.

  For moments, the blue barrier did not move, did not retreat to its former position, and Brenaith feared that they would be trapped within the small confines of the present area, but finally, it began a slow retreat back to the wall.

  Brenaith sighed with relief. The meeting of High King and grandson had left the air charged, like a storm close at hand.

  He glanced at Shaynith-una, expecting to see restrained anger, but instead, the knight was carefully blank, his gaze fixed upon the door. For just a moment, there was a flicker of what could have been regret in his eyes, then it fled completely, leaving his master cold and calm.

  * * *

  Brenaith rose from beneath the covers, shivering as he crossed the stone floor to gather two more logs to place on the coals of the fireplace. The flames caught, and he dashed back, almost flinging himself back into the blessed warmth of the bed.

  A long arm drew him closer, and he tensed, expecting the usual chill of Shaynith-una’s flesh. But instead, he was drawn up against a warm, almost hot, body.

  He rose up to one elbow, peering at his master in the growing light of the fire.

  His master lay on his back, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. His skin, always so pale, seemed to almost glow in the dimness, and Brenaith put out a wondering hand, half expecting the glow to disappear as he blinked.