Jory Strong - Elven Surrender

Maybe the unknown woman would play a part in the crisis now looming in front of him. Foreseeing ran in his family. Or perhaps she was only a manifestation of his desire to find peace and prosperity not only for himself but for the borderlands.

With a sigh Tynan put his thoughts aside and said, “I’m glad you asked to meet. I’d hoped to have something more than an olive branch to offer before sending you a message.”

The dark knot of tension in Wraith’s chest dissolved into mist. Those simple words confirmed the rumors of Tynan’s honor and the carefully gathered evidence that he was different from his mother and their father.

It had taken Wraith years of hidden study to find a possible solution. He hadn’t done it openly for fear the written histories would be altered or simply disappear. His duties as a hired bodyguard had masked his quest and given him an excuse to travel between the various elven enclaves and territories. He’d finally found what he was looking for in the libraries of a Fire Clan enclave in the western borderlands—a precedent set long ago by two half brothers who claimed to have been born at the same time.

Though Wraith’s spies had already provided an answer, he asked, “Is your heart already claimed?”

If Tynan thought the question odd or offensive it didn’t show. “No,” he said, his answer accompanied by a smile with a hint of something that might be labeled discomfort, there and then gone so quickly Wraith couldn’t be sure.

“Neither is mine,” Wraith said, “which is just as well. If you are willing to share a wife, then we can claim our father’s position jointly. A clear line of succession will be restored with the birth order of our children.”

“You found a law?”

“A precedent.”

Unbidden, the dream face with the silver-colored eyes flashed through Tynan’s mind. He rubbed his chest, remembering how his heart cried with both joy and pain in that instant when her features were finally revealed to him.

He’d thought he reacted to her beauty, but now he knew the true source of his emotion. Discovery coupled with loss. Pleasure meshed with sacrifice and responsibility. On some level his heart had understood that the dream was a prophecy and the woman a reality, though she wouldn’t be his alone.

Tynan’s hand dropped to his side. “I’ve had a recurring dream since puberty,” he said, wishing he could call the shadows and shield himself from the moon’s light in order to hide the flush of color working its way up his neck. “It’s gotten stronger since our father’s death, more powerful. Last night I saw her face for the first time.”

Surprise flickered in Wraith’s eyes though Tynan had the impression it was directed at a sudden, unexpected thought rather than at his admitting to the dream.

“Foreseeing runs in your family?” Wraith asked.

Tynan nodded.

“Mine as well.” There was almost an imperceptible shift in Wraith’s stance, a subtle leaning forward. “What color was her hair?”

“The black of onyx.”

“And her eyes?”

“Silver. You’ve dreamed of her, too?”

“Not a dream,” Wraith said, “but an obsession I should have questioned. I have a cottage nearby. Come, I want to show you something.”

Adrenaline coursed through Silver along with horror and fear. Her heartbeat took up the chorus, thundering Run! Run! Run! with every thump against her chest.

She had to get away from the bar, away from the sorcerers. Somehow they’d known The Mark would appear tonight, that’s why they were circling like sharks, brushing against the witches.

If one of them managed to ensnare her— Instinct jerked her head around. Her feet began moving even before she saw one of the most powerful of the magi pushing his way through the crowd in order to get to her.

She had no chance of escaping even the weakest of sorcerers if she stayed in the club. None of the other witches would interfere or move to protect her once they knew she was marked , null, without magic, her place in the coven uncertain until her fate was resolved.

Silver ducked behind the bar. The fey bartender’s attention didn’t waver from his show of juggled, spinning bottles and poured liquor.

The use of magic for anything but emergencies was forbidden inside, but even a human male would be strong enough to corner and subdue her, to maneuver her past the boundaries of the club. For a marked witch, this place was a trap leading to only one destiny—becoming a sorcerer’s wife.

She got to the exit between bar and stage. Razor-sharp gazes bored into her back as she pushed through the door and into the warm, night air.

Silver ran. There was no point in trying to make it to her aunt’s house. Now that the magi knew which witch was marked, they would spread out, the weaker ones hoping to get lucky and intercept her when she tried to get to a place of safety.

As her legs pistoned and the air whooshed in and out of her lungs, Silver’s thoughts spun like a roulette wheel. Only instead of black or red slots, faces flashed through her mind, witches who would offer her sanctuary until the Turning Ceremony.

Frantically she tried to settle on a destination. But as she dodged first through alleys and deserted streets then through backyards planted for summer gardens, she realized there was no place of safety. The club was on the very edge of town, close to the border where long ago the elves drew a line and dared humans to encroach any further. To get to even the closest witch who might shelter her would require her to double back and traverse an obstacle course rich with mages.

Without her magic she couldn’t feel the tracking spells, but she knew they followed her, leaving a trail for the sorcerers who cast them. If she stopped she’d be caught. If she turned back she’d be caught.

Silver passed through a final backyard. In front of her, beyond a buffering strip of unclaimed land lay the thick, dark forest of the elves.

She’d trespassed in them before—more than once when the need for healing plants was great. But never at night.

Her lungs burned and her sides cramped as she pushed herself forward. Even to gain a blood witch as a bride, the sorcerers would think twice before following her into elven woods under a nearly full moon.

She’d be safe from the magi tonight, but from the elves… She had no choice. Daring a glance behind her and seeing movement, Silver plunged into the night-dark forest.

Tynan barely noticed anything in Wraith’s home beyond the carving of the woman. The wood was smooth and warm against his palms as he held it reverently, cupped in two hands though it extended beyond them several inches on each side.

He was amazed at the fine detail, at how the shadows and stains caused by age and exposure to the elements gave the impression of dark hair and lighter eyes. Wraith had captured her exquisite beauty, found and revealed it in the wood.

“Is it her?” Wraith asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been working on it for months. Driven to handle it even after long days of travel. I should have known what it meant. But even after I found the scroll setting a precedent for how we could claim our father’s title and position without bloodshed, I didn’t guess.”

Tynan traced the sensuous curve of the woman’s mouth with his thumb. He followed the elegant neck down to the swell of her breasts. He was rock hard just looking at the statuette, barely able to keep from taking himself in hand.

“My dreams are impossible to ignore and yet I didn’t consider that they might hold the answer until today,” he said, loath to return the carving but afraid he would embarrass himself if he continued to fondle it.