The Lost Princess

Chapter Seventeen: Amara Awakens

Amara could feel arms holding her. She wanted to fight them. They were unfamiliar, and it frightened her. She heard the murmur of voices, and whoever was holding her answered. The voice was a man's and stern in tone. Had she done something wrong? Was he cross with her? Her eyes fluttered, and silver flashes entered her vision, but all went black again.

She woke in a great bed. Wispy curtains floated in the breeze coming from balcony doors that had been thrown wide. Amara gazed out at the view. Endless glittering trees lay in every direction, their leaves fluttering in the wind, glinting in the sunlight. The sounds of the bustling city below met her ears. Amara pushed herself up, skin prickling. Where was she? It felt like home. Like Calathil.

Just then the door opened, and a redheaded elf girl came in. In a moment Amara recognized Earwen, and everything came rushing back. The wolves. The swamp. The fire.

"You're awake," Earwen cried joyously, rushing to her side.

Amara watched her warily. "Where are we?" she asked, then grimaced as she noticed that a large mass of wet, crushed leaves lay on her chest. "What is this mess?" She began scraping it up with her fingers. It was crusty and half-dried.

"We are in Celeblas, and that is a poultice of healing herbs." Earwen chuckled and went to a basin to retrieve a cloth. She held it open in her palms while Amara scraped the offending smashed leaves onto it. Earwen disposed of the dirty cloth and handed Amara another damp one, and Amara washed the remnants away.

Amara noticed her clothes and knives were gone, and she wore only a thin nightgown.

"You were out for two whole days," Earwen said, sitting on the bed.

Amara tried to sit up straighter and studied the room more closely. Besides the canopy bed, there was a coral dresser—obviously made before the elves abandoned Gaearost—and a large wardrobe and desk. She frowned at these. The wood they were made from seemed to have silver rivers running through it in place of normal imperfections.

She had heard Celeblas was called the silver forest. She looked back out the balcony doors and pushed away the covers.

"I don't think you should get up just yet," Earwen protested.

Amara felt her legs threaten to collapse beneath her, but she continued doggedly to the balcony and took in the elf kingdom of Celeblas. The sight took her breath away, and she had to shade her eyes from its brilliance. She could feel the power here. The old magic. The mallospen.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" said Earwen, coming to stand beside her.

Amara was clutching the balcony railing, trying to stay on her feet.

Earwen noticed and frowned but said nothing. "You missed the transition riding in," the elf princess continued. "One moment the forest wasn't anything but an ordinary wood, and then suddenly it was like standing in a grove of starlight. I've never seen magic like it."

"I have," Amara said without thinking, and she immediately felt Earwen's intent gaze.

"The moonstones?"

Biting her lip, Amara remained silent.

"I would imagine they are even more powerful?"

Amara glanced at her out of the corner of her eye and then back at the kingdom. "There is nothing more powerful in all of Rhovamben."

Earwen was leaning toward her. "What do they look like?"

Amara turned on the young elf princess to tell her to stop her insufferable pestering. But even this small movement and the strain from standing sent black rushing from the corners of her vision.