“Ah, and here is the girl and the limbit now!” a boisterous voice called out across the large space.
Jahrra spun around, seeking out the source of the imperious tone. About a hundred feet away, a throne of sorts sat perched atop a dais carved from a cluster of stalagmites. An elf bedecked in stately robes and glittering jewels stood there, too far away for Jahrra to make out his features. But she didn’t need to. Surely this was the regent, Morivan Fairlein. Keiron’s father. And beside him, like a great statue carved from jade, reposed a Tanaan dragon.
“Jaax!” Jahrra cried out.
She started toward them at a fast pace, eager to make sure her guardian was unharmed.
A shout of alarm filled the cavern as the guards, discreetly placed throughout the small crowd, leapt forward to block their sovereign from her approach. When she realized that her actions had caused such a stir, Jahrra skidded to a stop with a good twenty feet still separating her and the Tanaan dragon. She sent a questioning glance in her guardian’s direction. The look he shot her way was hard and unreadable. He gave the slightest shake of his head, and Jahrra bit her lip. From that expression alone, she knew to be very careful with her actions and her words.
“Father!” a familiar voice echoed across the cavern. “This is the young woman we rescued from the Tyrant’s soldiers this very morning. Tell your guards to return to their posts!”
Keiron strode purposefully through the stone archway, this time outfitted in leather armor, a pale blue cape unfurling behind him. He looked like the avenging soul of a warrior slain in battle, come to wreak havoc upon those who dared stand in his way. Jahrra’s unease lessened. For some reason, Keiron’s presence soothed her.
“Guards! Stand down!” Keiron repeated, his pale eyes flashing with anger. “This is the human girl promised in the prophecy. Lower your weapons now!”
The elves obeyed Keiron without even glancing at the steward. They lowered their lances and stepped back, giving Jahrra room to move away. She turned and blinked at Keiron, but he only nodded for her to continue toward Jaax, his expression still stern.
Jahrra straightened her spine, offered him a gesture of thanks, then continued on toward the throne, at a much slower pace this time. With as much grace as she could muster, Jahrra gave Morivan a slight bow and introduced herself.
He clapped his hands together and displayed a sardonic smile.
“So the rumors are true!” he barked, seemingly unaffected by the episode with Keiron and his guards.
Jahrra stilled at his words, then cast Jaax a slightly horrified look. Rumors? Was he referring to the lies Shiroxx had spread before they left Lidien? But her guardian had no answers for her. He simply glared at the regent, a low burning anger smoldering deep within his eyes.
“Rumors, Sire?” Jahrra knew the title ought to be reserved for true royalty, but she was getting the impression that flattery would work best with this elf, even if it was undeserved.
“Yes!” he exclaimed, the gems sewn into his mantle flashing as he cast out an arm. “That you stir up trouble wherever you go!”
Jahrra had not expected such a ridiculous response, so she blinked at him in bewilderment. He guffawed, a startling sound that bounced around the stone chamber like an errant bat. Jahrra’s hands tightened into fists. His behavior was starting to resemble the obnoxious, grating tone of his voice. She had been in his presence for less than ten minutes, and already she did not like him.
Leaving the regent to his derided humor, Jahrra turned to Jaax once more.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly. “Did the Tyrant’s soldiers hurt you?”
To her relief, Jaax actually smirked, taking away some of that dangerous tension he’d been exuding.
“Some of their arrows pierced my wings, but nothing worse than that.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but Jaax growled under his breath, “Later.”
“Though I cannot say I’m a bit surprised,” the regent was saying, oblivious to the quiet conversation taking place beside him. “After all, now that the word is out you’ve been born and are of age, everyone in the employ of the Crimson King will be looking for you.”
Jahrra blanched. She knew all of this, of course, but to have the regent so blatantly state it as if he were discussing something as commonplace as an unfortunate spell of dry weather, only scraped at her nerves.
“Oh, and how charming!” he continued, casting his glance past Jahrra to fall upon Dervit, standing still and quiet at the end of the chamber. “You have a pet wildling to accompany you on your journey. Almost as interesting as keeping company with dragons.”
Jahrra bristled. She couldn’t help it. The regent’s tone had been light, friendly, but the insult was there all the same.
“Father!” Keiron growled again.
With his ostentatious parent taking center stage, Jahrra had almost forgotten about Keiron. She glanced back to see him moving forward to stand on the steward’s other side.
“You provide our guests with great insult,” he hissed into his father’s ear. “Introduce yourself to Lady Jahrra and then invite them to stay for dinner, where hopefully, the conversation will be much more civilized.”
That Keiron was horrified by his father’s behavior was unquestionable. As much as Jahrra was intrigued by the young elf, and growing more intrigued by the minute, a dinner with his father was not in the least bit appealing. Even if it meant spending more time with his son.
“Yes, do forgive me. I did forget to introduce myself,” he drawled, in a more subdued tone.
As if forgetting to give us your name was the most insulting part of this introduction, Jahrra groused to herself.
“I am Morivan Fairlein. Regent, and therefore ruling sovereign, of Cahrdyarein.”
The cavern grew suddenly calm, the hushed tones of those conversing within the alcoves the only sound carrying out into the wide open space.
“My darling,” Marzi queried from across the cavern, “shall we retire upstairs to the dining chamber with our guests?”
The cold, elegant elvin woman had extricated herself from her entourage and now stood between the dais and the entrance hall.
Before Morivan could comment on his wife’s suggestion, Jaax stood and refolded his wings, making himself appear larger for a moment. A gesture, Jahrra was certain, meant to intimidate those currently in attendance.
“We thank you for your invitation,” he said, in a tone he often reserved for only the most tedious of Coalition meetings. “But my ward and I must check in on our injured companion, as well as discuss plans regarding our respite here in Cahrdyarein. Perhaps, we can join you another night?”
He gave the regent a sickly sweet smile before moving forward.
“Jahrra, Dervit,” he said, calling them both to his side.
Jahrra was careful to give the regent, and his wife and son, a bow before making her escape. She couldn’t wait to get back out into the open air. As beautiful as the lodge and adjoining cavern were, the pompousness of its ruler was suffocating. Still, none of them spoke until they were well away from the fortress.
“What happened in there?” Jahrra asked, careful to pitch her voice low so those busy closing up shop or heading home for the evening didn’t hear her.
Deep twilight had settled in, and although the activity had lessened, there were still plenty of people milling about. Lanterns that Jahrra hadn’t noticed on the walk up to the regent’s domain hung from the cross posts of buildings like tiny, suspended stars, and the doors to the taverns were flung open, firelight, music and raucous laughter spilling forth onto the street.