Chapter 14: Chapter fourteen

As expected, faðir called within minutes of the live broadcast ending, and being the devoted dóttir I was, I declined his call. The next call was to the mirror in Sorcha’s pocket, a stark reminder that the Pixie belonged not to me, but the royal consort.

Sorcha appeared hesitant as she answered her personal scrying mirror, her eyes darting between myself, and the larger mirror as a low voice spoke to her.

I watched as her copper eyes took on a fearful gleam as she found herself torn between two masters.

“Tell athair I’m busy playing with my new pet,” I ordered.

The Pixie’s wings trembled, her tanned complexion paling rapidly as dark onyx bands of shadow coiled around her body. Her throat flexed as she swallowed heavily, her gaze dropping to the mirror she held.

Fingers buried in Kyrian’s curls, I waited to see what choice the little Pixie would make.

“My beloved moon, the Smártungl, is occupied with her pet, and is unable to take your call. If you would like, I can pass on a message and she will return your call at her earliest convenience.” Sorcha said, following the script she used when answering the calls from the other enclave lords.

I didn’t expect her to go quite that far. I smiled, wondering what expression would be on the consorts face at this moment.

Helvern spoke again, his voice too low for me to hear with my short Aos sí ears.

Sorcha let out a soft squeak as the shadows wrapping around her body tightened, an indication that Helma at least had heard the order given, and was warning the Pixie against acting on it.

“You have a choice to make Sorcha,” I said in a deceptively good-natured tone.

“I- will make the oath.” She whimpered, her fingers pressing something on her mirror. The faint light it gave off faded, signifying she cut the connection to the Mímir network. The shadows wrapped around her body fell away, and she gave a little shiver, rubbing at her arms.

“Good girl,” I praised, nudging Kyrian aside with my knee. The Álfr pouted as he shuffled aside to allow the Pixie to kneel before me.

Sorcha spoke the fealty oath without waver, her mægen brushing against mine. “I expected you to demand an oath sooner.” She admitted once I withdrew my hands from hers.

“I hadn’t decided if you were worth keeping yet.” I said bluntly. “Telling athair to leave a message sealed your fate.”

The Pixie grimaced. “I didn’t intend to say that, it was out of habit.”

My lips twitched as I fought back a smile. “Make the call,” I ordered, watching as she tapped her fingers on the control screen to connect with the Mímir network.

This time it was faðir who did not answer, not that I expected him to. I suspected that neither he nor Athair would answer calls from me in the foreseeable future, not after Sorcha stated that such communication was at my convenience.

When the mirror rang out with an incoming call several minutes later I had Sorcha dismiss it, and enjoyed a glass of wine before having her call back. A maid answered the call this time, her expression a perfect mask of politeness as she parroted Sorcha’s earlier words back to me, stating I would receive a return call at a time best suited to my fathers before disconnecting.

“She didn’t even offer to take a message.” I said with a grin, glancing at the mirror which released a series of musical notes, indicating another call.

The woman who appeared in the mirror wore a modest gown of navy blue, the fabric of the skirt gathered around her as she sat in a plush armchair. Her rich brown hair was braided into an intricate crown atop her head, decorated with clasps, and jewels, giving her a regal appearance.

“Hello, Rheie.” I said, tilting my head in greeting.

Plump cheeks flushed with color. “Eleven years, and that is the only greeting I get?” She demands, her eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

Clicking my tongue, I stroked a hand over Kyrian’s hair. “You sound tense, Rheie, surely you’re still not clinging onto your purity after all these years. Is your beloved still such an obtuse fool?”

The Dvergr Prinzessa spat out a curse in Níumál which loosely translated to “go fuck a goblin”.

I arched my brow. “I was merely jesting, but your response-“ I sighed, letting out a low tsk. “He truly hasn’t come to his senses?”

Tears filled Rheie’s eyes, sending a pang of guilt shooting through me. Chest heaving, the woman burst into sobs, burying her head into her hands.

Darting a wide eyed look to Maitane who merely raised a brow at me in response, I frantically tried to think of something, anything, to say that might soothe the distraught Prinzessa. “Rheie, I-”

Sobs became giggles, and stormy gray eyes peered at me from between ring adorned fingers.

“You twit,” I huffed, shaking my head with a scowl.

Rheie smiled, lowering her hands. “We have been wed for half a cycle.” She announced proudly.

“You have my congratulations, and condolences.” I said, returning her smile with a genuine one of my own.

“I wished to await your return to have you at the wedding, but,” she shrugged, gesturing to something out of sight. “Circumstances required a swift ceremony.”

A ball of brown fluff dashed into view, leaping into the Prinzessa’s lap where its form shifted from a bear cub into that of a chubby toddler. The babe looked at me in the mirror, his eyes the same stormy gray as his móðir.

“Horymír, say hello to the Smártungl.” Rheie coached, only for the little boy to turn away and bury his face into the material of her bodice. “He is a little shy.”

“Certainly not a trait inherited from you,” I teased. “I recall our first meeting ended with me in a pond.”

Rheie laughed, stroking a hand over her son’s back. “It worked didn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes. “Faðir knew from the start that his pet didn't push me, he was merely letting me think I got away with the scheme.”

“Speaking of schemes and pets,” Rheie said, her gaze drifting to the haired Álfr who knelt at my feet. “I never expected I would see the fourth glory of Álfheimr at your side. You usually have better taste in lovers.”

Head tilted with a quizzical smile, I followed her gaze. “How so?”

“The forth glory is well known for his ostentatious, and dramatic nature. Your preference has always been for reserved, obedient lovers.”

Kyrian’s golden eyes were filled with mirth as he peered up at me. I had already guessed his current obedient demeanor was a farce, and his mischievous gaze, paired with Rheie’s words confirmed those suspicions.

“He serves his purpose well enough,” I said coolly, returning my attention to Rheie as a pout formed on the Álfr’s soft bow shaped lips.

“Far be it for me to judge whom you keep in your bed.” Rheie said, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “What I will say is congratulations on putting the Ljósálfar in a tight corner. They’ve been quite bold as of late, as the Ríkrsunna’s declining health has left the Ástugrsunna and Smársunna with a lot more power in court.”

Kyrian’s body tensed at that, his face pressing against my thigh.

The Ríkrsunna’s poor health had been a subject of discussion for many years, as the Álfr now approached the midst of his hundred and fiftieth cycle.

The Álfar as a race were long lived, with the eldest of our people recorded to have lived for a little over two hundred cycles, which was the equivalent of two thousands years. The Ríkrsunna at fifteen hundred years old was starting to see a decline in health, as his body could no longer draw in high quantities of mægen, thus he was forced into long periods of sleep. In comparison to the Ríkrsunna, my faðir would celebrate the passing of his hundred and ninth cycle a few months after I celebrated my tenth.

“The Ljósálfar have always been arrogant,” I murmured, combing my fingers through the soft golden tresses of my new concubine. “Though all know their arrogance is merely a self-defense tactic to disguise weakness. A compensation for their lack if you will.” They were on the losing end of the last war after all.

The war of sun, and moon had almost seen our moons eclipse the suns of Álfheimr. If not for the treatise, and the hastily made alliances of the Ljósálfar with the Seelie high court, Svartálfaheimr would now be ruling over Álfheimr. Only the Seelie held us in check, and now they had been checked in turn through my lineage.

As that thought crossed my mind, I wondered if that had been his plan from the beginning. Faðir wasn’t a fool, despite appearing such at times. He was a master manipulator, one skilled at wearing a variety of masks. His games were not swiftly brought to fruition, but drawn out over time to garner the best results.

He could have ended this farce of trade embargo easily, yet he had not. He could have stopped Norell and her plots, yet he had not. Just as he did not prevent the attack on my palace, or the assassins who came for me in droves.

I sighed, a bitter smile curling over my lips. Perhaps I should be grateful. The few hardships I faced were not in any way compatible with those faðir suffered during his time as the Smártungl. Cruel as he may be, he was gentler with me than his own faðir had been with him.

“Perhaps.” Rheie said in a noncommittal tone.

A commotion outside the dining hall drew the attention of the Skutilsveinr who guarded the doors, and Helma descended the dais with a graceful leap through the air, landing with feline grace halfway to the doors.

Refocusing on the mirror, I smiled at the Dvergr Prinzessa with genuine regret. “We shall have to cut short our conversation as it appears other matters require my attention at present.”

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She nodded, returning my smile with one of her own. “I have already received an invitation to your coming of age celebration to be held upon your return, and look forward to visiting with you during our stay.”

“As do I.” I said, then winked at her, my voice taking a huskier edge. “Feel free to leave your husband behind, what happens in Svartálfaheimr, stays in Svartálfaheimr.”

Soft laughter bubbled from her lips, as a pink flush crept over her plump cheeks. “If it were not for my beloved, I would have happily taken the place you offered at your side.”

I feigned a disappointed sigh. “I should have gotten rid of him when I had the chance.”

“My brothers are still unwed,” she offered with a teasing smile.

I wrinkled my nose. “Your offer is kind, however I must decline. I find Dvergr men to be quite unbecoming with their possessive, and jealous nature.”

“Oh please,” Rheie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “The Álfar are the same when it comes to their hirth or hirð. I know that once you’ve settled into a family unit it is rare for outside dalliances.”

The sound of loud voices from outside the door grew silent, and a stern-faced Helma re-entered the hall, striding quickly towards me with a Ljósálfar close behind.

After bidding Rheie a final farewell, I gestured for Sorcha to disconnect the mirror from the Mímir network before turning my attention to the Ljósálfar male who followed Helma.

Where Kyrian’s skin was a bronzed perfection, this new Ljósálfar was a rich earthy brown with red undertones. The Ljósálfar looked as if he’d been carved out of red clay, with perfectly sculpted musculature. His shining hair contrasted his skin as it draped over his shoulder in a thick silvery-white braid.

The man’s posture was rigid as he approached, and gave a shallow bow.

“Tau,” Kyrian spoke the name with a sigh, and buried his face between my thighs, his arms coming up to wrap around my legs behind the knee.

“Smártungl Elayna, you have my sincerest apologies for any trouble my charge has caused.” Tau said, though I failed to find any sincerity in his expression or tone.

“Your Víðarr, my star?” I asked, ignoring the newcomer in favor of addressing Kyrian.

He hummed in confirmation, not raising his head as he pressed himself against me.

“Do you wish for his departure?”

This time he pulled back, tilting his head to look up at me with an intense golden gaze. “If I said yes, and he resists, what would you do?”

I smiled, brushing my thumb over his lower lip. “I’d have Helma kill him, and send his core back to your faðir as part of your bride price.”

“And if she could not kill him?”

“She will.” I promised. Helma would not have allowed him into this room carrying his sword if she wasn’t certain of her ability to defend against any attack he made.

“Röðull Kyrian,” the Ljósálfar Víðarr’s voice held a note of concern, his eyes darting around the room.

Kyrian chuckled, nuzzling his cheek into my palm. “He’s mine, one of a few that are.”

“How many is a few?”

“Three.” He sighed. “My móðir, Tau, and his bróðir Izem.”

Few indeed. “You may keep Tau, and his kin for your own.”

Kyrian pouted, a devious light entering his gaze. “This is meant to be the part where you take me into your arms and tell me I have you, and you’ll support me no matter what.”

I smiled, dragging my nails across his jawline, and up over his long slender ear. Kyrian shuddered, his golden eyes becoming molten as my fingers grazed over his ear from lobe to tip. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to swipe across them.

“But you don’t have me,” I purred as I pinched the tip of his ear between my thumb and forefinger, drawing a pained whimper from the beautiful Álfr. “I have you.”

Kyrian’s eyes fluttered closed, and he let out a soft moan as I massaged his ear between my fingers.

“And I’ll keep you, so long as you maintain your worth.”

I released his ear, watching as he dropped back onto his haunches, his shoulders slumping.

“I get the feeling I’ve been outplayed.” He said with a rueful chuckle.

“Oh you have, pet, you have.” I told him as I stretched out on the chaise, watching the varying emotions dart across his face. Did he truly believe he could so easily seduce, and out scheme a Dökkálfar? “Now then, we both have business to tend, so off with you.”

His brows furrowed at the dismissal, but obediently clambered to his feet as I gestured for him to move away from the chaise.

“Come.” Maitane’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument as she directed Kyrian to follow her from the room.

I smiled to myself as they left. Kyrian’s arrival couldn’t have come at a better time. His charismatic nature was exactly what I needed. His position as my Bjartr stjarna placed him in the role of my social representative, allowing me to hand off the tedious task of playing hostess to the lords that would soon come to visit.

The Víðarr Tau took a step forwards as though to follow the pair, but stopped when he found himself surrounded by shadows with Helma’s sword pointed at his chest.

A pair of weary golden eyes met mine through the shadows, eyes that showed his noble heritage.

Just as the purest members of the Dökkálfar race were known as the Svartálfar, the Ljósálfar had a ruling class known as the Hvítálfar.Where the Svartálfar were porcelain skinned, with dark hair, and silver eyes. The Hvítálfar were earthen skinned, with silver-white hair and golden eyes. Anything less, and you were deemed a Myrkálfar, a child of murky blood. Though, the term itself was seen as derogatory, and not one used in polite company.

“Your sword.” Helma ordered, the shadows swirling around the Hvítálfar dissipating.

Tau did not move, his eyes remaining locked on mine.

“If you wish to remain at his side, you will prove your worth.” I said, face impassive as I observed his response to my words.

His jaw tensed, the muscles flexing as he visibly worked to restrain his anger. “I am his Víðarr.”

“The last time a Ljósálfar concubine’s Víðarr entered my halls they killed my móðir, and took the eye of my Víðarr. Be grateful that I am willing to even consider allowing you to remain with him.”

The Víðarr remained motionless, his expression downcast as he stared at the blade pointing to his chest. “I cannot defeat Víðarr Helma in combat, she is beyond me.”

I laughed, the sound ringing with a mocking undertone. “I did not ask, or expect you to defeat her. She is the dóttir of the Ríkrtungl’s Víðarr, a warrior blooded on the battlefield from the moment she could walk. You were chosen for show, an easily penetrated shield should the Ástugrsunna decide to eliminate the fourth glory. I care not if you lack the strength to defeat Helma, only that you possess the drive, and loyalty to become what he truly needs.”

Tau bowed his head, his stance weakening for a brief moment before he straightened, and looked at me with a burning fervor within his golden eyes. He withdrew his sword, his left foot shifting behind him as he prepared to do battle with the Víðarr in front of him.

Helma had him disarmed with a single swipe of her blade, leaving him gaping in shock at a bleeding gash on his inner wrist.

“Sword.” Helma ordered, her eyes narrowed as she watched him scramble for the blade.

Again, and again Tau was disarmed, his sword flying from his grasp. Each time he collected his blade, he held it for a little longer, and he moved with more confidence as he met Helma’s strikes. The pair of them moved throughout the room, their focus entrapped by the clashing of their blades.

As they continued to battle, I worked on the piles of transfer applications, sorting through them to pick out those I would be giving further consideration, and those I outright rejected.

The rhythmic clang of blades came to a halt once more as Tau was disarmed. The sound of a low moan echoing through the hall drew my attention away from the paperwork to where Helma had the larger Víðarr pinned beneath her as she ravaged his mouth.

I shook my head with a smile as shadows coiled around limbs, holding the Hvítálfar pinned to ground as Helma cut away his clothes, uncaring of any nicks she left in his dark skin in the process.

Hopefully she would be able to restrain herself enough that he could attend his duties as Kyrian’s Víðarr without too much time needed to recuperate.

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