Bastial Sentinels (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 5) (10 page)

It wasn’t long before Reela was sound asleep, cradled in Cleve’s embrace. He listened to the rhythmic sound of her slumber, which usually soothed him. But tonight he could only worry about what the morning would bring.

Chapter 8:

CLEVE

Reela slept later than Cleve and Vithos. They had the horses outside and ready to leave by the time she began her breakfast. She forced herself to eat quickly, later telling Cleve that she hadn’t been hungry. The fear of meeting Fatholl apparently was too heavy on her thoughts.

Riding through the city, they drew the gazes of everyone they passed. After noticing Vithos’ ears, each watcher would turn away. The Nest didn’t become more crowded the closer they came to the center like it had when Cleve was last here. In fact, when the palace came into sight, it seemed as if all the buildings nearby were abandoned.

Elves guarded the exterior of the grand centerpiece to the city, the old home of the Takary family. The Elves were the only ones who seemed uninterested when they glanced over and found Vithos.

“They must think you’re one of them,” Cleve said.

“Yes,” Vithos said, “we go with thought long as we can. But remember even I and Reela cannot success lie to very powerful psychic.”

A gate surrounded the massive palace. When the trio got close, Elves nodded to Vithos, said something in Elvish, and opened it to let them in.

Easy so far,
Cleve thought.

At the base of the stairs to the palace entrance, two Elves came to take their mounts. At the top, another Elf opened the massive palace doors. Vithos led them in, and the doors were shut with a boom behind Cleve.

“What now?” Vithos whispered.

“Let’s look around,” Cleve said, nervous and eager, like he was about to explore a cave where treasure was rumored to be buried. “But you stay in the front, Vithos. We want them thinking you’re in charge.”

“Alright, I go.”

He brought them through the entrance hall, where the Takary crest of blue soaring wings still covered the center of the marble floor.
At least the Elves left it,
Cleve thought.
Perhaps they aren’t angry with the Takarys.
He still knew nothing of Fatholl, but he figured that would change by the end of the day.

On the second floor, Cleve was surprised to find palace workers buzzing about, just like when he was here last. Even more surprising, they were all Human, and he thought he recognized one or two of them, though he couldn’t be sure. They kept their eyes downcast as his party passed.

“We’d better make sure to remember the way out,” Reela whispered as they came through an empty hall. Cleve had always hated how large the palace was. It was too easy to get lost.

“Is that you, Cleve Polken?” a familiar voice asked.

He turned to find Gerace, his former server.
Jessend’s as well,
he reminded himself.

“It’s nice to see you, Gerace.”

Her mouth opened in a bright smile. “You remembered how to say my name. I thought you would come back. Are you with Fatholl now?”

Was she worried or pleased? He couldn’t tell anything from her indifferent tone.

He looked around before answering. No one seemed to be close enough to hear. “Could we speak somewhere private?”

Her smile flattened. “Why?” The teenager looked ready to flee at the slightest startle.

“You can help answer some questions.”

“I can answer your questions here. But there isn’t much that I know. The guards might be better at answering any questions you may have.” Her eyes shifted to Vithos.

Cleve decided to risk it. “Do you know where the Takarys are?”

She shook her head with a stiff neck, like she was trying to send a message for Cleve to quit asking.

Two Elves with swords on their hips and chainmail covering their chests came around the turn. Gerace froze as she stared at them, looking as guilty as a child who’d just thrown a ball through a glass window.

The Elves stopped to glare at her inquisitively. “What’s wrong?” one asked.

“Nothing,” she lied.

Their beady eyes shifted to Vithos. “Who are these Humans?” one asked him.

Vithos spoke with slow consideration. “They…must…see…Fatholl.” He did well to hide his accent. But then they each asked a question at the same time.

“For what reason?”

“Is he expecting them?”

Reela blurted, “We wish to rid the continent of desmarls, and we were hoping to meet Fatholl. It would be an honor.”

Gerace promptly left with a curious look back at Cleve.

Why is she still in the palace when the Takarys were forced out?
Doesn’t she care about them?
Then he realized she probably was wondering the same about him.

“What’s wrong with you?” an Elf asked Vithos. “You know Fatholl is too busy to personally meet with new recruits.”

“I am sorry,” Vithos said slowly.

The Elves shared a concerned glance. One said something in Elvish, and the other replied. They turned to Vithos with a different look than before, harder, colder. One asked him something in Elvish. When Vithos didn’t answer, the Elf repeated the same question, this time louder as he drew his dagger.

“Please.” Reela held out her hands and stepped forward. “He doesn’t know Elvish. The three of us are from Kyrro.”

Their eyes went wide as Elvish flowed from their mouths. They spoke to each other hastily, both seeming to ask questions without receiving answers. Another pair of Elves came down the hall. Soon all four were clamoring in Elvish and gesturing at Cleve’s party.

One of the newly arrived Elves stopped everyone with a hand gesture and appeared to ask Vithos a question.

“I no speak Elvish,” he replied.

“What kind of Elf doesn’t speak Elvish?”

“I speak Kreppen and some common tongue.”

That confused the four of them even more. They began to argue. Eventually, Cleve whispered to Reela, “Can you tell anything from psyche?”

“I’ve been trying to detect aggression, and it hasn’t come yet. They don’t have any plans to hurt us, but they certainly are confused.”

Another Elf came down the hall and joined the others. The sound of their language was soft and rhythmic. It made Cleve think of an exquisite signature, illegible yet beautiful.

It wasn’t long before there were ten Elves in the hall, now arguing and gesturing at them. Cleve waited patiently, watching Reela’s face for what she was picking up from psyche. She didn’t seem nervous, so Cleve tried not to be either.

Eventually, the Elves seemed to come to an agreement. “Follow us,” one said.

“To where?” Reela risked asking.

“To see Fatholl.”

Then the nervousness came to Reela’s eyes that Cleve had been watching for. In turn, he felt it churning in his stomach.

He whispered to Reela, “It might be best if you speak for us. You don’t have the same allegiance toward the Takarys that I do, which Fatholl might sense.”

“Right,” she whispered back. “I’ll just try to get an idea how to find the Takarys. Then we can leave.” She made it sound easy.

The Elves brought them outside a double wooden door and knocked. A voice from inside called out in Elvish, and one of the Elves accompanying Cleve’s group replied with a long statement. Cleve recognized the word “Kyrro,” but that was it.

There was a pause.

“Kyrro?” the voice from within asked.

The Elf beside Cleve spoke another long statement.

Again they waited. Finally, the voice answered, this time in common tongue. “Bring them in here.”

The Elves opened the doors, revealing a lavish meeting hall. Two extended couches with golden threaded cushions and decorative armrests laid a path to a commanding golden throne. Upon it sat an Elf with silver hair, his face both youthful and wise. As he rose, his Elves got up from the couches
.

It had to be Fatholl.

“Who are you?” he asked the three of them, his boots clicking against the marble floor as he approached. The guards shifted to encircle Cleve, Reela, and Vithos in case they gave a wrong answer. “You’ve told these men that you’re from Kyrro, correct?”

Cleve was interested to note that Fatholl referred to the male Elves as men. He’d thought the word only applied to Humans.

“We are,” Reela answered. “I’m Reela. This is Vithos and Cleve. We arrived at the docks in Goldram less than a week ago.”

Fatholl tilted his head. “You’re a psychic.” He seemed pleasantly surprised. “Are there many Human psychics in Ovira?”

“At least a few hundred,” Reela said.

For several breaths, Fatholl and Reela simply stared into each other’s eyes. His were gray, yet somehow vibrant.

The silence continued. Fatholl pursed his lips and tilted his head from one side to the other.

“You’re strong with psyche,” he said. “Both of you are. But there’s something you’re hiding from me.” His eyes never left Reela. Cleve started to feel disgust at the way the Elf stared, as if he lusted for her. “You’re special, and you know it.”

“Not special, just different.” Reela spoke calmly.

“No.” He shook his head. “Special. And it’s not that
you
think you’re special, it’s that you know I’m going to think you’re special. And you’re right. I already do think you’re special, though I still can’t figure out how.” Fatholl reached out and took her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “Show me your ears,” he whispered sensually, as if asking her to disrobe.

As Reela parted her hair and freed her ears from the clips holding them back, Fatholl gasped and leaned closer, not dropping her hand.

“I don’t understand how this is possible.” He gently caressed one of her ears, his expression awestruck. “My ancestors came back from Ovira without ever mingling with Humans. Yet here stands a half-Elf and another speaks Kreppen. I don’t understand, yet I’m overjoyed.” He grabbed Reela’s other hand forcefully. “You’re the most beautiful woman in this world, the embodiment of coexistence and peace.”

Cleve couldn’t figure out how he felt as he watched Fatholl drop to one knee and kiss Reela’s hands, one after the other—insignificant, boiling with rage, overjoyed from the leverage this gave them, it all led to utter confusion.

“Your ancestors were among the Elves who traveled from Greenedge to Ovira?” Reela asked, her cheeks red.

“Yes. They were the original men and women who believed psyche could help the world. Unable to practice in their own homeland, and without a place they were welcome on their own continent, they sailed to Ovira. But they were attacked by an army too powerful for them to fight—the Krepps.” Somewhat petulantly, Fatholl held up his hand toward Vithos. “So I don’t see how an Elf has not only learned the language of my ancestors’ enemies, but it’s the only language he knows fluently.”

“My ancestors are your ancestors,” Vithos said. “Krepps my enemy like your enemy. Reela is half-sister to me.”

Reela nodded. “Our father was the last king of the Elves in Merejic when they were attacked. Vithos was taken by the Krepps. Our father was separated from him. He tried to get Vithos back, and eventually he was killed for his efforts. He’d met my Human mother before that—in the process of acquiring help from the Humans in Kyrro.”

“What did the Krepps do to you?” Fatholl asked Vithos with a grimace.

“It’s a long story,” Reela warned him. “I only met Vithos for the first time less than a year ago. Before that, he was with the Krepps.”

Straightening his back and glancing at the guards surrounding them, Fatholl seemed to be coming out of a trance. “They’re clearly no threat to me,” he said to the guards. “Go back to your tasks.” As they filed out, Fatholl leaned close to Reela once again. “Will you please sit and share your and your brother’s stories?”

“Gladly,” Reela said politely. “But will you tell us about Goldram first? We thought the Takarys would be here when we arrived.”

Solemnly, Fatholl let out his breath. “Goldram and the rest of Greenedge, I’m afraid, have been and will be going through the most trying times in history. While the Takarys are not my enemy, I am theirs. My only enemies are the desmarls.”

Fatholl spoke so sincerely, Cleve had to remind himself Danvell was killed at this Elf’s command. He felt compelled to mention it and study Fatholl’s reaction.

“People say you killed Danvell Takary,” Cleve said. “Is this true…even though the Takarys aren’t your enemies?”

“It’s true,” Fatholl said regretfully. For a breath, Cleve wondered if the Elf could be feigning. But he figured Reela and Vithos could pick up on it, or at least they would eventually as Fatholl continued. “I couldn’t devise a plan that involved exterminating the desmarls without eliminating the four kings.” He stopped himself with a glare at Cleve. “You’re connected to the Takarys. I don’t understand. Tell me.”

Cleve felt compelled to answer with haste and honesty. “Jessend Takary came to Kyrro months ago. She brought me here with her, and I helped Danvell retrieve his wife and son when they were taken. In exchange, the King—”