Jenna Helland - The Fanged Crown

The narrow alley was filthy, and she could hear the rats scurrying behind the rubbish bins. It reeked of alcohol and rot, and was the last place she wanted to be. It was the last place she wanted Harp to be. She crouched down beside the body at her feet. Unconscious, Harp lay in a twisted heap, his breathing shallow and labored.

She had been trailing Harp through the city for a couple of days, trying to figure out what to do. She thought about talking to Kitto, but he was always with Harp or the gaunt dwarf, whoever he was. Liel had seen Harp’s scars from a distance, but it was the first time she’d seen them up close—thick, red lines crisscrossing his face and hands like a grotesque jigsaw puzzle. His shirt was tangled around his chest, and she could see the scars on his back and stomach.

Cardew had done that to him. Her husband’s threats had been real. The Branch of Linden had spies everywhere, and if Cardew even knew she was in that wretched city, he would come after Harp. Liel had never felt so trapped. She didn’t know how far her husband’s reach extended. If she left Cardew, he might focus his ire on her father and the elves of the Wealdath. Besides, she and Harp had parted in anger. For all she knew, Harp hated her. The safest thing she could do was to leave Harp in the safekeeping of his friends.

She pulled him close so his head rested against her chest. If she didn’t help him, he would die in the alley, drunk and bleeding. She couldn’t let that be the culmination of his life.

How the human had managed to take root in her soul, she would never understand. Until that moment, she had told herself that what she felt for Harp was just a construct of desire, something easily shattered or sacrificed. But she’d never been good at lying to herself, and as she held him, there was no denying what she felt for him.

She forced herself to block out the stench of the alley, the wretched buildings, and the filthy city that corrupted the force of life. With his warm body in her arms, she could finally hear the rustle of leaves, the call of the birds, and the pulse of the faraway forest. She found her strength to mend his broken ribs and to heal the shattered bones in his hands. The gash on his forehead closed, but still the scars remained. When his breathing was deep and even, she pulled him to his feet.

She half-carried him down the road to the dodgy boarding house where he was staying with Kitto and the dwarf. She lowered him onto the doorstep, knocked loudly on the door, and disappeared into the shadows before anyone saw her. Still, there was something else she could do. Liel headed to the docks, where she had seen Harp talking to a fat man about a boat called the Crane . That ship might be his best chance for something that resembled happiness.

Sitting in the soft chair closest to the fire, Cardew rested his elbows on his knees. He stabbed at the burning logs with the fireplace poker, making the flames crackle higher and sparks hiss and pop as they flew up the chimney. Cardew crossed the room to the collection of liquor bottles and poured a glass of the amber liquor that had been imported from the midlands.

Enjoying the sweet, warm taste, Cardew looked appreciatively at the wall tapestry showing a flock of sheep in a green meadow, the high shelves filled with leather-bound books, and the glossy mahogany desk and matching chairs. Officially it was Tresco’s study, but he rarely used the room, and Ysabel had long claimed it for her own.

“Why do you look so pensive, Master Cardew?” Ysabel said from the doorway. She was dressed in a dark navy dress with a high neck. Gone was the girlish braid, and her blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders. “You look beautiful,” he told her.

She smiled and came to sit in the chair next to him. “How was your business in town?”

“Boring. Just details about an estate I plan to purchase near the capitol,” he told her.

“I hear you and Uncle are going fox hunting.”

“Is that what he told you?” Cardew said. “I hadn’t heard what the old scoundrel had planned for us. What would you like to drink, Bella?”

“Whatever you’re having,” she replied.

Cardew poured a second glass of the amber liquid and came to sit beside her again.

“What time will dinner be served?” he inquired, glancing at the closed door.

“Shortly.”

“Will Tresco be joining us?”

“No,” Ysabel said tersely.

“How interesting.”

“Isn’t it?” Ysabel agreed.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been fully alone with you,” Cardew mused. “Tresco has kept you so well guarded.”

“For my own safety.”

Cardew frowned at her coyness. “Can we speak freely or not?” He reached over and laid his hand on her thigh. “Are we free to do as we please?”

Ysabel pushed his hand away. “We can speak freely, Declan. But you are not free to do whatever you please.”

Cardew was surprised and a little hurt. “Did you get the spellbook I left for you?”

“I did. It was quite elementary. Of the same level as the spellbooks you brought me when I was a child.”

“Really? You must have advanced quite a bit since we last talked. Does Tresco know what you’ve been up to?”

“Of course not,” Ysabel said crossly. “You know how he feels about the subject.”

“Well, maybe you’ve become so adept you don’t need me to bring you any more books,” Cardew said. He stood up to refill his drink. When he turned around, Ysabel was standing directly behind him. His drink sloshed over the side of the glass and onto his hand. Irritably, he set the drink down on the table and dried his hand on a linen napkin.

“I appreciate your attentiveness, but I am ready for something more … fulfilling,” Ysabel said.

Cardew reached for her, but she stepped away. Cardew let his arms fall to his sides.

“Why are you acting this way, Bella? Last night … I thought …”

“Acting like what?” she said petulantly.

“As if you don’t know me,” he said reaching out to stroke a lock of her hair. He wound it around his finger and gave it a little tug. “As if we’re not planning to be together forever.”

“Forever?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, Bella. That’s what people do when they’re in love.”

Ysabel turned away from him and walked across the room to the bookcase. She ran the back of her fingers along the row of colorful spines until she reached a black leather tome, which she pulled out and held against her chest.

“The history of the Dragon Coast,” she announced, tapping the cover. “It was written by a bandit who lived near Nathlan and was more erudite than most so-called intellectuals of the court.”

Cardew didn’t give a fig about the Dragon Coast. “No one doubts you’re a smart girl …” he began.

“Did you know that I’ve read all of those volumes?” she continued, gesturing at the shelves behind her. “Philosophy, geography, history. All of it very dry, none magical of course. Uncle keeps the good books locked away.”

“What are you saying?” Cardew demanded impatiently.

“I’m tired of people treating me as if I were a child,” Ysabel said, not bothering to disguise the anger in her voice. “Tresco’s kept me as if I were a pet. I’ve been under lock and key and constantly watched by guards. He has restricted all my schooling and refused to let me develop my spellcasting.”

“I helped you with that, didn’t I?” Cardew pointed out.

“You did,” she acknowledged. “And I’m eternally grateful. But we’ve reached a fork in the road, if you will.”