War of the Seasons, book one: The Human

CHAPTER NINE: Betrayal

Story stared down at her hands and swallowed around the lump growing in her throat. Yes, she understood that very well.

“Before the Change, the elves were cruel to the fey. They hunted the faeries down, destroying them with their iron swords and arrowheads. Unlike the elves, we fey don’t get to go someplace else when we die. For us, this is it. It’s all we have,” Morrigann finished quietly, turning  back and taking Story’s hands in his own again.

Any confusion she felt was wiped away at the touch of his hands. Sympathy for the faeries’ plight and anger at Eirnin and the rest of the elves rolled through her body. How could she blame the Faerie Prince for trying to protect his family? And how could the elves so callously seek to exterminate the fey? Especially the helpless pixies? It was unforgivable.

Then, a half-formed memory burned through the mist in her mind: the tree creatures cruelly tormenting a helpless Eirnin. Story pulled her hands away from Morrigann’s again and raised them in front of her, palms out, keeping him at arm’s length. “Why should I believe you over Eirnin? He says it was the other way around—that the fey were constantly causing problems for the people of Ailionora and the elves were the guardians of the land. And when I first met him, he was being attacked by some wood sprites, who then promptly turned and attacked me!”

Morrigann slid toward her, ignoring the barrier of her arms, and placed his own arm around her shoulders to draw her close against his side. “Fair one, you mustn’t blame them. They thought you were an elf and broke away as soon as they realized you were not.”

“But that doesn’t explain…”

“Shhh.” He placed a shimmering fingertip against her lips, and Story had to fight the urge to sigh contentedly at his touch. “There are far more important things to discuss right now. The elfling never told you how his kind intend to restore their immortality, did he?”

She shook her head slowly, her gaze locked on his glittering, violet-colored eyes. They were absolutely hypnotic.

“There is an old prophecy, Story. It says that with a sacrifice of blood from another world to the The Ailes, the elves’ ability to manipulate magic fully—and therefore their immortality—will be restored.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but they hit Story like a blow to the gut.

“You mean… they want to sacrifice me?”

He nodded sorrowfully. “The elves will stop at nothing to restore their lost power.”

Story looked down at her lap, completely at a loss for words. It all made a sick sort of sense. Eirnin hadn’t come back to help her because he felt sorry for her; he only wanted to sacrifice her to get his precious immortality back! It also explained the constant staring and unending questions; he’d been trying to confirm that she was indeed from another world.

Her mind felt slow and clouded like she was trying to wade through thick mud, but a tiny, insistent voice was floating up through her cloudy mind. Hadn’t Eirnin said he wasn’t sure if he even believed the old legends? And he had been kind, in his own way—looking out for her, feeding her, answering her questions. And there was his gift of the moccasins; would you do that for someone you were intending to kill?

Morrigann seemed to sense her inner turmoil and lifted her chin up to look at him again. “Remember, Story, the elfling has told you how obsessed his people are with restoring The Ailes. You will see that I am right. Tomorrow, he will suggest that instead of dropping you off at the gnome village, perhaps you should travel with him all the way to the Queen’s Isle and meet her personally. He will tell you that she will be able to help you return to your world better than anyone else in Ailionora.”