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  FALL of the ELVES

  Book 1 in the Elves of Asarton Trilogy

  〜

  ALEXIS SAMSON

  FALL of the ELVES

  Copyright © 2019 Alexis Samson

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced or used in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of quotations embodied in articles and reviews. No alteration of content is allowed.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Krystal Nicol

  Cover design by KELLY ARTS

  Dedicated to Krystal. Without whom, this book would never have been finished.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  RISE OF A QUEEN

  PART ONE

  〜

  What Remains…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Before I could understand even what it was, I knew the feeling well.

  It came to me that day on the frozen lake when I had lain on my stomach and felt a thrill shoot through me as the chill cracked against my body. At any moment, the ice could shatter. The anticipation built in me as I waited, waited, waited.

  It came to me when they told the story of the first invasion, when the elven champion—with bruised cheeks and steady hands—raised his sword at the monster’s defeated husk.

  And it came to me that night, when I heard her say, “Zariah, my love, wake up,” and though I did not know what it was, the thought came to me as clearly as if somebody had spoken the words aloud.

  Something was about to happen.

  I opened one eye, peering through my mess of silvery hair at my mother. Her own hair, the colour of fallen leaves, was done in the special way: hanging at her waist in a number of interwoven, intricate braids, pointed ears peeking through.

  There was a glint in her emerald eyes, tonight. An excitement I did not recognise. “Come, my dear,” she said with a smile, holding out a hand.

  I bounded out of bed, beaming up at my mother with adoration. I loved it when she came to collect me in the night. We always had such adventures.

  “Where shall we go tonight, Mama?” I asked.

  “Patience, love. This night will not be like the others.”

  I wilted. “Oh.”

  “It will be better,” she assured me. “After tonight, you will never be the same.”

  I didn’t quite understand what she was saying, but was simply too excited to care.

  “Mama, does this have anything to do with my birthday?” I coaxed.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly doesn’t mean no which means it might a little bit.” I racked my brain, trying to come up with a possible reason. I would turn five in three days, but I couldn’t think why that would have Mama dragging me out of bed. Maybe it was an early surprise present?

  We glided through the silent forest, with only the silver light of the Sister Moons to guide our way. The path we walked had been worn down by the countless that had trekked it before, the dirt beneath my bare feet cool and compact. But it was not until I saw a rock in the shape of a weeping child that memories of my lessons stirred, and I realised where we were headed.

  “Mama,” I whispered. “I think I know where you’re taking me.”

  “And what would you know of this place?” Mama’s smile grew wider. “What would you know of her?”

  I took a moment, trying to recall the words my teacher had used. “She is the beating heart of Asarton. She gives life to all who live here, and protects our home from those who would seek to harm it.”

  All elves returned to the Mother Tree at death. I had been there once before. Funerals were held for the departed, but I hadn’t even been a year old when my father passed on to the Night Lands. I couldn’t remember the service.

  “Are we going to meet Papa?” I asked.

  After an elf died, a ritual could be held that would draw the elf’s soul from the Night Lands for a brief time. It could only happen once, though. Mama had not yet called Papa back. She’d always said she’d wanted to wait.

  Mama stilled, drew in a harsh breath. “No, love. Not tonight. We will do it when you are older and will remember clearly. Then I can show him how beautiful our daughter has become.”

  I nodded, content with the words I’d heard many times.

  “But we are going to the Mother, right?”

  “Yes, Zariah. We go to Mother.” Mama relaxed and that feeling from the ice came back to me. “Now hush. We must remain quiet as we pass through the Sacred Gates.”

  Obediently, I shut my mouth tight and held my breath as we walked through the arches that glowed softly with magic.

  When we reached the Mother, I was surprised to see Queen Evarae there, a soft expression on her radiant face. Her hair was gold and her eyes held the sky. It was said she was the most beautiful being in all the world, but privately I thought Mama was prettier.

  “This is Zariah?” the queen asked, looking down at me.

  I gazed up at her as, next to me, my mother bowed. The queen smiled and I smiled back, retreating behind my mother’s skirts. I knew well the queen’s kindness. Her merits were woven into legends and praised in the songs of the bards. She was a most beloved ruler, though she was not long for the throne. Her husband had been killed just after the birth of her son, the prince. He was three years older than me, although I’d never met him.

  She mourned her husband’s loss greatly, for he had been her other half. It was only the love she had for their son and her people that had kept her in this world when dark magic had taken him from her. Once her son was deemed ready to rule, she would follow her husband to the Night Lands and ride with him on silver horses through the endless skies.

  At least, that was what Mama told me.

  “Come forward, little Zariah,” the queen said. “For this night, you receive a gift far greater than any other.”

  At my mother’s gentle coaxing, I edged forward until I s
tood before my ruler. I bowed deeply—too deeply—overbalanced and fell. Queen Evarae laughed gently, the sound like chimes in the wind, and knelt to help me to my feet.

  “You are young, and there is much you have yet to learn,” she said, taking a strand of my silver hair between her long fingers. “But I can tell even now you will do great things in your life. There is courage in you, little elf. You will not disappoint.”

  The queen’s presence was so captivating that I lost myself in her face, her words.

  “An hour ago, an egg began to glow,” she said. My mind snapped back into place, and suddenly I knew exactly what was going on.

  Every elf child knew what a glowing egg meant. I turned to Mama, practically bursting with excitement. I’d almost thought I’d missed out on my chance. A few more days and I would have turned five. The eggs never glowed for elves older than five. The queen gifted me with a wide smile which encouraged me forward.

  It was said that dragons were kin to elves, and no dragon hatched before first finding its riddarin—an elf destined to be bonded with it for eternity. There were far more elves than there were dragons, and each of those precious creatures were cherished.

  A dragon could not survive without their riddarin, just as a riddarin could not survive without their dragon. When dragon eggs were laid, they stayed unhatched—sometimes for centuries—until the dragon sensed the presence of their riddarin. When that happened, the egg began to glow and any that touched its surface would see the face of the elf the hatchling had chosen.

  I was about to become part of a bond so strong no force in this world was powerful enough to break it, not even death.

  Warmth bubbled in the pit of my stomach, and I felt as if I might burst with excitement. I couldn’t wait, not for a moment more. I had to meet my dragon. I had to meet it now.

  I wondered what the dragon would be like. A boy or a girl? Fierce or gentle? What would the wind feel like as we rode through the skies? What would a cloud feel like if I touched it? Would it be as soft as it looked?

  Queen Evarae turned and did something beyond my sight. When she was again facing me, she held in her hands a massive egg, the colour a soft purple that reminded me of a sunset. I caught my breath, and when the queen placed the egg in my hands something about it felt so… right.

  “You should know, this dragon is parentless,” Queen Evarae said. “This egg is one of the oldest we have, and its parents perished centuries ago. Truthfully, we had begun to fear it would never hatch. You should feel honoured the dragon inside has chosen you.”

  From within, a weak thrumming sounded, almost like a heartbeat. And then, a faint crack appeared.

  I gasped. “It’s hatching!”

  More cracks appeared until they covered the egg completely. I dropped to my knees, cradling the egg in my lap, allowing it to nestle in the folds of my nightdress. I used one hand to steady the egg and, with the other, I stroked the small portion that had not yet been cracked.

  “Come out,” I whispered, the words leaving my mouth before I’d even realised I’d thought them. “Come meet your riddarin.”

  Shards of egg dropped to the ground as the section with the most cracks pushed up, a tiny muzzle visibly struggling to escape. There was a small chirp, and then the egg exploded outwards.

  In my lap, nestled amongst the remnants of the shell, was a tiny, magnificent creature. Its scales glittered in the light of the Sister Moons, a deep violet. The hatchling’s small, fragile wings were extended where it had used them to force its way out of the shell. No, not it.

  She.

  She was so small and so perfect, gazing up at me with eyes of sapphire. And at once, a peace like one I had never known blanketed over me. This dragon, this beautiful dragon, would be my best friend. My sister. If her fate was to fly the path to the Night Lands before me, I would gladly follow behind her.

  Maybe something in me should’ve been scared by the deep love I felt for a being I had only known existed for mere minutes, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

  Carefully, I raised a hand to brush the tip of one finger over her tiny head in the gentlest of pets.

  A word entered my mind, a name that felt so right to bestow upon my friend that I couldn’t call her anything else.

  “Zariah, will you introduce us?” Queen Evarae asked gently.

  I didn’t take my eyes from my tiny charge as I answered.

  “Rana. Her name is Rana.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  My body was on fire. I leaned into the warmth, basked in it, then it was gone. The air left in its absence weighed heavily against my eyelids. When it brushed over my lips, something became apparent—I was not breathing.

  I jerked awake, gasping for air. The four posters of my bed, rumpled, silken sheets, the hum of birdsong on a hushed morning. My surroundings came into focus.

  Almost in a daze, for I had not quite yet repossessed my flesh or my mind, I made my way to my wash basin. In the mirror hanging above, I caught sight of the reflection and sighed in relief.

  I traced my ears, and even though I could see that they were round, for a moment I was surprised and a little worried that they didn’t taper off to a pointed tip. But then, I shook my head and came back to myself, running a finger over my rounded ear again. Just human. Thankfully, human. For the first time I found comfort in my mousy hair and normal, common, brown eyes.

  But that dream… it had felt so real. I touched it; I heard it; I saw it; I smelled it.

  I tasted it.

  Every fibre of my being was screaming that I really had been Queen Zariah. Well, she hadn’t been the queen yet. She’d simply been Zariah at that point. Unaware of her destiny. Her early demise.

  My eyes drifted to the open book resting on my bed. I tucked it under my pillow, careful not to crease the pages or the spine. I lived through the hatching of a dragon; an event so sacred no human knew the truth behind it. We could merely speculate on why the dragons chose their riddarin or how it happened. Literature only knew so much.

  I returned to the wash basin and submerged my hands in the cool water, the movement making small ripples appear.

  The brash lungs of the morning bell broke the silence of the manor; the household signalled that it was awake and ready to be run. A soft knock sounded on my door not even two blinks after the echoes died down.

  “You awake, madam?”

  “Yes, Angelique.” I leaned over, splashing my face with the ice-cold water. It shocked me enough to shake off the last tendrils of the dream that clung to me. Blindly, I groped for the washcloth to dry my face. “Come in, come in.”

  The woman pushed the heavy wooden door open. Her blonde hair was pulled back tightly into a sensible bun, hidden beneath a frilly white cap. Her grey eyes were hard as she surveyed the room and took in my wet, dishevelled appearance. “Bad dream, madam?”

  “Not bad. Just… strange,” I said, lifting my arms.

  Angelique pulled my nightgown over my head, leaving me in my shift. “My nan always said dreams was just your mind tryna tell you somethin’.” She walked across the thick carpet to my tall wardrobe and pulled it open.

  When she reached for a gown made from blue cotton, embroidered with silver thread, I held out a hand. “Not that one, Angelique. I’ll wear my green dress today.”

  My maid nodded and placed the dress back with delicate hands. She moved to pick up the cloth I’d indicated. “Going for a walk in the forest, madam? Would you like for me to have Chef prepare a lunch for you?”

  “No.” I shook my head as she pulled my white underdress over my head. “The forest is positively bursting with ripe fruits and berries. I shall gorge myself until I’m sick.”

  “Very good, madam.” Angelique raised my arms so she could tie me into my corset. She adjusted the modesty panel and tied a piece of lace into the top grommet.

  I took in the faint yellow rays of light that streamed from the window. “But what did you mean—” I wheezed as the maid yanked at the laces of the co
rset. “Not too tight! I’m not going to town, and I’m a married woman. I’ve nobody to impress with such an exaggerated silhouette.”

  The maid did not laugh at my joke. I was rarely able to crack her stoic expression. She did, however, ease up on the corset.

  “What did you mean, just before,” I continued as she finished lacing me up and fastened the metal busks, “by dreams and the mind.”

  “Well, I’m sure I didn’t quite understand it myself when my nan said it. But I never was much one for learning. And my nan was a smart lady. I’d think somebody of your educational background would be able to interpret her words a mite better than I ever could.”

  “But you’re of the same blood as your nan. Surely,” I teased Angelique, gaining the faintest upturn of a lip from her. “Surely you’d be able to teach me a thing or two.”

  The ghost of a smile dropped from Angelique’s face. Her brows knitted together. As she secured my petticoat around my hips, I had the sudden urge to reach for my ring. I pulled at the leather thong around my neck, freeing the ring from where it had stuck in my bodice. I ran my fingers over the silver band across the strange carvings, and to the large sapphire set in the centre.

  Mother.

  “Then again,” the maid said, luring me from my thoughts as she finally pulled my green dress on. “You do have quite the imagination, madam. And you’re always reading them books. It could just be a simple dream. I wouldn’t pay it no mind. There now. All done.” She stepped back, adjusting her skirts as she made her way over to the vanity. “Just come on over here and we’ll fix your hair. Then you’ll be ready for the day.”

  I mulled over the dream as Angelique brushed my hair.

  A half hour later, my suite now glowing with orange, bucolic lustre, Angelique completed the final touches of my hair. The dream still lurked in the inner recesses of my mind.

  After I had said my thanks to the maid, I left the room.

  The normally inviting, wide, friendly corridor felt too inviting. Too wide. Too friendly. Like a smile that cut from ear to ear.