Excerpt
PROLOGUE
The twilight halls of the Hawthorne Court were filled with purple shadows and low whispers. The heir, Prince Brannonilon Luthinor, along with his strange mortal bride, had disappeared three palemoons ago, without a word to anyone in the court.
Except his sister, Lady Anneth.
Something was wrong—Anneth knew it deep in her bones. Knew it in the way the soft wind circled through the corridors. Knew it in how the glimglows had dimmed, the court gardens nearly deserted, lit with only a handful of their bobbing, light-filled forms.
Bran would never simply abandon Elfhame. Not after having defeated their ancient enemy, the Void, and making the realm safe for the Dark Elves once more.
As Anneth made her way to the dining hall for luncheon, she heard the whispers of the court, twisting and sibilant through the corridors.
Did you know? His horse returned to the stables, riderless.
Now that the prophecy has been fulfilled, he ran away rather than face the truth that we are still doomed.
I heard the human murdered him. She destroyed the remains and fled back to her world.
Which was pure nonsense. Anneth knew the mortal girl, Mara Geary, and knew that the love between her and Bran was unmistakable, no matter how much they both tried to deny it.
But perhaps their stubbornness had been their undoing.
Anneth stepped through the arched doorway to the dining hall, though her appetite had fled. She made her formal curtsey to the head table, where her parents sat, regal and uncaring. At least her mother certainly seemed unconcerned, wearing her usual cold, remote expression. The Hawthorne Lord had a slight furrow in his brow that might mean he was worried about his son and heir.
Or it might simply mean his elderberry wine had soured.
Anneth took a seat at a half-empty table. Glowing spheres of blue foxfire hovered overhead, illuminating the brocade tablecloth and platters of food.
Although the lord and lady presided, luncheon at court was an informal affair. Diners were free to summon whatever dish they wished from the kitchens, though most were content to eat the array of delicacies laid out.
She took a slice of moonmelon and some cheese, and poured a small measure of wine into the silver goblet at her place. Though she might not feel hungry, she must eat something. The hazy worry inside her was clearing, leaving a purpose behind.
She knew where Bran had gone. It was her task to attempt to find him. As soon as she finished her lunch—
"I don't understand how some people can eat in the face of this tragedy." A high-pitched voice broke into Anneth's thoughts.
Before she could protest, an ornately dressed lady took the place beside her, glancing at Anneth's plate with smug superiority.
"Lady Mireleth," Anneth said, offering no greeting or welcome.
"For myself, wine and honey is the only thing I can stomach." Mireleth let out a dramatic sigh. "Alas, the prince has abandoned us. That mortal woman he was forced to wed has lured him into her world. Or killed him with her treacherous human ways. Either way, we'll never see him again." She sighed again, then fixed Anneth with her hard, bright stare. "I suppose you're next in line for the Hawthorne Throne, ill-suited as you might be."
The words sent a stab of panic through Anneth. Her, inherit the throne? Oh, stars forefend. She understood the line of succession, of course, but had never considered that her brother would not take the throne. Of course he would—he had his prophecy to fulfill.
