“Rebels succeeded in killing my men?”
“Yes. They were taken unawares.”
“Yet you live.”
Ceredon shrugged.
“Both were wounded, and this time I was the one doing the ambushing.”
The chief ranger grunted, cocked his head, and deliberately sheathed one of his two frightening swords.
“Do not run off again, Master Ceredon. You are under my protection while we patrol. Should you fall prey to the insurgents, the Neyvar will make sure it’s my head on that pile.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Ceredon said, “I am under your protection, but not your orders, Chief Shen. Should you have a problem with that, you can take it up with my father.”
Shen pointed the other sword at him and then slid it into the scabbard on his back beside its twin.
“Watch the way you speak, young prince,” he said.
The Ekreissar went about clearing the area. A group of twelve Dezren was summoned with six flat carts, onto which they slung the corpses of their renegade brothers. Ceredon tried to appear untroubled though he raged on the inside. These elves were cousins to his kind, two races created by the hands of the same goddess. Yet now the Quellan were considered the Dezren’s betters. Any Dezren elf who refused to bow before the Neyvar was thrown into the dungeons beneath Palace Thyne. The populace lived in fear, knowing that the slightest word might be taken as an offense worthy of execution.
He had argued vehemently with his father when he first caught wind of the plot to occupy the city. The Neyvar had chastised him and then locked him in his chambers for days without food. In the end, Ceredon had yielded. If he were to save these people, he would do it from the inside, with the support of an entire nation at his back.
His first act had been to free the Dezren of Stonewood from their cages, allowing them to flee the emerald city, and it was Aullienna Meln’s face he saw on the body of each dead elven girl that was carted past the palace gates. He wondered how she was, whether she were safe. He dreamed almost every night of the precocious young princess who had become like a sister to him.
For you, Aullienna, he thought. I do this for you.
As well as for yourself, his conscience corrected. He could not justify the cruelty he’d witnessed. His father was wrong if he thought he could belittle the populace into submission. The rebellion was proof of that.
The Dezren threw the last body on the carts and then collected the severed heads. With a crack of whips, they rolled down the path back toward the city. The Ekreissar followed, forming two equal lines, with Chief Shen in the lead. Ceredon lagged behind, looking at the darkened treetops one last time. He swore he saw the twinkling of eyes among the branches. He lifted his hand and made a fist, his thumb and pinky finger outstretched to either side in the Dezren gesture of unity. If there were indeed any rebels hiding up there, he hoped they saw him. And understood.
Palace Thyne was an immense structure of pure emerald, its spire rising two hundred feet into the air. Ceredon tramped up the steps leading inside, gladly leaving the gloomy afternoon behind. His head pounded from lack of sleep, and his jaw still ached from his clash with Teradon. The spiced tea and wickroot he’d taken to alleviate the pain had not yet performed its magic.
He passed by the Chamber of Assembly, a massive space that functioned as a throne room in a land without a king. Pausing, he glanced inside to see Lord Orden and Lady Phyrra Thyne kneeling before the giant statue of Celestia that dominated the rear pulpit. Their backs were to him, their heads bowed in prayer. He felt conflicted just looking at them. The Thynes had betrayed their own people by allowing his father to tramp over the populace and imprison whomever he wished.
Stop it, Ceredon thought. You cannot be too harsh on them. It was true. It wasn’t their fault they had been taken off-guard by a gesture of friendship veiling a darker purpose.
Lord Orden cleared his throat, and when his head swiveled around, Ceredon hurried out of view. He continued down the hall, made of solid gemstone, until he reached the entrance to the main stairwell. Deckland, a member of his father’s personal guard, bowed and stepped aside so he could enter.
It was a long climb up the fifteen flights of steps to the palace solarium. The sun-filled space was a tall and slender room, its walls smooth and shimmering green, filled with furniture crafted by centuries of talented Dezren hands. His father had once told him that all that remained of the history and glory of Kal’droth, the former home of the Quellan and Dezren before Celestia split the land in preparation for the coming of man, resided in this very place.
Neyvar Ruven Sinistel sat in a high-backed ivory chair positioned before the southwest-facing window, allowing the Neyvar a view of both the immense clearing in which the palace and supporting buildings were situated and the forest city beyond. His father’s long white hair was loose over his shoulders, so long it reached his waist. His flesh was as smooth and flawless as Ceredon’s own.
“Son, I’m glad you have come,” said the Neyvar, his eyes still gazing out the window.
Ceredon approached the chair and knelt beside it. “Why did you call, Father?” he asked.
The Neyvar tilted his head to the side, gazing on him with forceful gray-green eyes.
“I was told you broke etiquette early this morning. You left those meant to protect you.”
“I did,” Ceredon answered. He spoke cautiously, measuring every word. “I knew the scouts had been sent ahead, and then I spotted a group of insurgents leaping through the treetops. I tried to save the scouts, but I arrived too late.”
“I told you not to leave Aerland’s side,” his father said harshly. “You are my only heir, and you placed yourself in unspeakable danger.”
“I am a man grown, Father,” he replied, touching the smooth flesh on the back of the Neyvar’s hand. “I have lived for ninety-six years. I am more than capable of surviving without a platoon of men looking over my shoulder.” He paused, then said, “And I’m more than capable of besting an enemy.”
Neyvar Ruven nodded. “Yes, I heard you put an end to two rebels.”
“I did.”
“How did it make you feel?”
Ceredon shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “These creatures are beneath us. Those who betray our doctrines and strike at us with swords and arrows will receive the fate they deserve.”
His father withdrew his hand and patted him on the arm. He nestled back into his chair, a strange expression on his face, almost as if he were disappointed. “A hard doctrine. I suppose I should be proud.”
“So,” Ceredon said, trying to bridge the subject casually, “have you received any word from the rangers you sent out in search of the Melns?”
“No,” said his father. “I recalled those rangers months ago and sent them back to Quellassar. Lady Audrianna and her family are irrelevant now that outside parties have ‘forgiven’ our transgressions. If they live, they are without home or sanctuary. Let them suffer in the wilds. They pose no threat to us.”
The Neyvar shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes. Ceredon glanced around with uncertainty, then stood up and grabbed a second chair-this one simply wooden, though gracefully etched with vines and roses and lacquered to a shine-and placed it beside his father’s. He then sat down, staring out at the sparkling emerald city.
“This is ugly business,” Neyvar Ruven said after a short silence. “But some find it necessary.”
His father’s tone was delicate, and every word that came from his mouth sounded heavy with regret. It was a moment of weakness that took Ceredon off guard. He had not spent much time with his father over his near century of life. His mother, Jeadra, had raised him, teaching him his lessons and showing him how to love, and his servant Breetan had accompanied him on hunting excursions, demonstrating how to string a bow and swing a khandar. Neyvar Ruven had always been a lingering presence, one that offered harsh criticisms and pointed words, but not much else. There were times when he wished his mother had remained in Dezerea instead of returning to Quellasar to maintain the city, for Ceredon had come to look on his father as one who existed solely to inform him of his unworthiness.