Kinslayer Lasniniar Collection

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Remembrance

Iadrawyn gazed at the sea of faces turned toward her in the Meeting Glade. She wore a simple gown, and her long, golden hair hung loose down her back. Long tables were laden with food, but no one ate, waiting instead for her to speak. The scent of mashed tubers and grilled vegetables mingled with the earthy smells of the surrounding forest. She took a sip of honeyed wine in an effort to clear the lump in her throat. No matter how many times they held this feast, it never got any easier.

She stood at one end of the head table. Her family had been seated with her, including her son’s new wife, who had only been among them a few weeks. Iadrawyn took a deep breath to gather herself, memories of the past still fresh in her mind, even after all the years that had passed. Like some of the elves present, Eransinta had been born on Lasniniar, but there were still many who shared the memories of the dark days that had preceded their exodus to the new continent. Others, like Curuadil, had been reborn among the elves with memories of their previous life intact.

Valanandir reached up from his seat beside her to squeeze her hand. His golden eyes reflected the shadows of her own haunted memories. His steady presence—one that had seen her through so much since their paths had first crossed millennia ago—gave her the strength she needed.

“Tonight is the night we remember those we left behind on Ralvaniar,” she said, raising her soft voice to address the crowd. “Countless brave elves gave their lives willingly so that the rest of us might escape the darkness and bring the Quenya to our new home. Others were lost at sea along the way. Too many have yet to find their way back to us to be reborn. Our treasured allies, the Sea Folk, are still missing after years of fruitless searching. Our mighty friend, Malarin, is now the only one of her kind—the sole dragon to escape the maelstrom we set in motion.”

Iadrawyn sighed, her green eyes welling with unshed tears. “We have prospered here. We have made valuable new alliances with the dwarves and humans. But we must never forget all that was sacrificed for us to get here. Our choice to abandon and destroy Ralvaniar was a terrible one. Terrible, but necessary. Our continued memories of our homeland’s downfall will help to ensure we uphold our vow to never use the Quenya in such a violent manner again. To do so would likely mean unleashing a power this world could not contain.”

The faces of the younger elves looked at her with wide eyes, no doubt trying to comprehend the enormity of what she was saying. The older ones who had seen the destruction of Ralvaniar firsthand nodded in agreement with her words.

“Take this time to remember those we have lost,” Iadrawyn continued, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Share the tales of friends and family who did not survive the journey so that their memories might live on. Remember, and give thanks. Because of them, we live free in a world with no drakhalu or other dark creatures. Because of them, the Quenya is safe. As long as we continue to honor those memories, all that has been sacrificed will not have been in vain.”

She took her seat as gracefully as she could manage before her tears threatened to overwhelm her. Her audience broke out into applause, tears shining on many of the elves’ faces. Iadrawyn gave a tremulous smile of thanks and raised her wineglass to her lips, signaling everyone to eat.

“That was well done,” Valanandir said in a low voice.

Only he, and perhaps Andirlynia truly understood why the anniversary of the exodus from Ralvaniar affected her so deeply. Not only had she and Valanandir been responsible for coming up with the plan to destroy and flee from Ralvaniar, but she had been the one to set the wheels of power in motion, working with a group of elves to unleash the Quenya’s power before leaving them behind to travel to Lasniniar.

She couldn’t help but feel guilty for allowing others to accept the consequences for her actions, even if they had volunteered to do so. She knew she had only done as the Quenya had intended, but she still found herself wondering sometimes whether she should have stayed behind, especially at this time of year when her memories haunted her the most.

“Daroandir and Lodariel would not want you to punish yourself so,” Valanandir said, stroking her hand. “I feel guilty too, but I try to remember that as much as it hurts, the elves we left behind were fulfilling their own destinies.”

Iadrawyn’s lips twitched. “Lodariel would give me an earful if she saw me now.” She sighed. “I knew the cataclysm might make it difficult, but I thought she and Daroandir would have returned to us by now.”

In fact, she had hoped when Eransinta’s mother had given birth to the only set of twins to ever be born among the elves that they would prove to be the souls of their long-lost friends, reborn. But Eransinta and Alfialys were young souls, bound together for reasons that had yet to be revealed.

Valanandir smiled back, no doubt remembering Lodariel’s fiery temperament and outspoken ways. “She would be furious with you. Daroandir would probably glower at you from over her shoulder. We begged them to come with us, but they insisted on staying behind. They knew what the outcome would be. We can only take comfort that they were following the will of the Quenya, which means they will return to us someday. Besides, you had that vision of them, didn’t you?”

Iadrawyn’s gaze unfocused. In her mind, she saw Lodariel and Daroandir running through a forest, fleeing an unseen enemy. When she had first had the vision thousands of years ago on Ralvaniar, she had not recognized the golden and silver flecked trees. That was before the elves had arrived in Melaquenya.

Their friends would return, but when? The vision gave no clue, other than a sense of time passing—that, and the matching raiment, sword, and shield Daroandir and Lodariel each bore, unlike the work of any elf.

Iadrawyn shook her head to banish the image. “I know I saw them, but it is impossible to say when the vision took place. It might be days or hundreds of years from now.”

“Then the only thing we can take comfort in is that they will return—that and Curuadil.” Valanandir gave their son a fond look and Iadrawyn’s expression softened.

Curuadil had been born as Numril on Ralvaniar—Valanandir’s closest and most loyal friend. After years of fighting alongside Iadrawyn and Valanandir against the creatures of darkness, Numril had been seized by Vlaz, Orag of the blood-drinking drakhalu, and turned from an elf into Vlaz’s drakhal minion. Vlaz had lusted after the Quenya, and had sent Numril to steal it for him, knowing only someone with elven heritage could bear its touch and live. Numril had fought desperately against Vlaz’s power, but in the end, Iadrawyn had been forced to slay him to protect Valanandir when Vlaz compelled Numril to turn against his best friend.

Knowing that Numril had become merely a shell of an elf and a vessel of Vlaz’s power had done little to assuage her guilt. For years, she had lived with the belief that Numril’s soul had been doomed to oblivion by her own actions. When he had been reborn as her son, it had given her and Valanandir new hope that others who had given their lives against the dark creatures were not truly lost to them.

She gave Curuadil an indulgent smile. Their son was completely absorbed with his new bride, seeming to notice little else about the gathering, leaning close to listen as she spoke and reaching out to stroke her white locks. Iadrawyn was glad Eransinta seemed to bring him such happiness. Eransinta seemed just as oblivious, her piercing blue gaze glued to her mate’s face.

Iadrawyn had wondered how Eransinta’s bond with Alfialys would affect the pairing, but all seemed well between them. Again, she found herself speculating.

What does the twin bond mean? The Quenya must have joined them for a reason...

Her thoughts drifted back to Lodariel and Daroandir in spite of herself. Even though she and Valanandir spoke of Lodariel’s sharp tongue, she found herself missing Daroandir’s steady presence as well. He had been more patient than any elf she had ever known, even giving comfort to Saviadro when the other elf was only a young orphan, and quick to speak out in anger against any plan that did not involve using the Quenya to destroy whatever creature that stood against them.

Saviadro...

Iadrawyn found herself frowning. Despite her best efforts and Daroandir’s kind example, she couldn’t bring herself to like him. She couldn’t explain it, other than a vague sense of unease she felt when she thought of him. She scanned the glade, searching for a sign of his handsome features, knowing in her heart he wouldn’t be there.

He never was.

Saviadro was a private elf, preferring his own company over anyone else’s, often leaving Melaquenya to wander on his own. It shamed her to admit that his absences made her secretly glad in some obscure way. She had tried reaching out to him a few times after they had arrived on Lasniniar. She knew he must be missing Daroandir, the closest thing to family he had known in some time, but Saviadro had politely rebuffed her advances, much to her private relief. Still, tonight she found herself hoping to see him in the Meeting Glade, although she could not say why.

“What’s wrong?” Valanandir asked, looking away from Curuadil and reading the subtle telltales no one else saw.

Iadrawyn shivered. “Nothing. Just a strange feeling is all. I feel a bit haunted tonight.”

Valanandir put his arm around her shoulders, a warm, familiar presence that had brought comfort to her almost since the day she had found him washed up on the shores of Ralvaniar, so many years ago.

“Then let me keep the ghosts at bay.”

Eransinta pulled her blue gaze from Curuadil’s angular features. She looked down the table, already knowing she would find her brother’s seat empty. His sudden absence was like a void within her.

“What’s wrong?” Curuadil asked, stroking her hair.

“Alfialys is gone,” she said, only half-listening as she focused on her bond with her twin.

She got a vague sense of him wandering the forest, restless and alone. She thought about going after him, but she suspected it would do little good. He had been withdrawn since the wedding, spending most of his time on his own. Whenever she tried to talk to him, he brushed her off, telling her not to worry about it and to enjoy her new mate.

Although she felt guilty about it, she found herself doing just that. She and Curuadil were blissfully happy together, having spent most of their first few weeks together in indolent pleasure when she wasn’t trying to spend time with Alfialys.

The Quenya blessed their union, and the sense of completeness was greater than any she had ever experienced. Between her bond with Alfialys, her strong connection with Curuadil, and Curuadil’s friendship with her brother, she felt whole. She couldn’t imagine living without either of them, or how she might have managed if they hadn’t gotten along.

“He’s been doing that a lot lately,” Curuadil said, following her gaze.

“Has he said anything to you?” Eransinta asked. She suspected she already knew the answer.

Curuadil shook his head. “No. And there are few things he would tell me without confiding in you first, so I’m guessing he hasn’t said anything to you either.”

Eransinta’s brow furrowed. “I tried talking to him, but he won’t tell me what’s bothering him. I think he doesn’t want to worry us.”

Curuadil grunted in agreement. “He probably wants to give us our space. Perhaps he needs his own space as well to figure out whatever is plaguing him. I’m sure he’ll tell us when he is ready.” He returned his golden gaze to rest upon her face, burying his hand in her hair.

She leaned into his caress, allowing herself to be comforted, despite her nagging misgivings. Alfialys was a grown elf, and more than capable of taking care of himself. Besides, she would know if anything were truly wrong.

She met Curuadil’s loving gaze with a smile. “You’re probably right.”