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“I guess this is goodbye then,” Rhianelle says to Ymir and Emyr. She gives them a warm hug before their departure.
Ymir passes a small hairpin in the palm of Rhianelle’s hand. “For the girl who spilled her blood to save my friend.”
“Be careful, stay safe,” he whispers in her ear. The gnome casts one last disapproving look at me before waving Rhianelle goodbye. The fae sentinels welcome them, greeting the two like long-lost friends, and they disappear amongst the sea of wayfarers on the Red Road.
The ground reverberates from the march of various tribes of orcs. They may be larger and bulkier, but they look no different to me than the elves. Then again, all preys share similar traits. I study the Elf Queen’s enemy silently as they pass down the road. It will add to the information I’ve gathered these past weeks.
“I thought the elves hated the fae,” I mutter absently, surprise to see some elves among the journeying travelers.
“They’re the retinues of Prince Ywain of Tiamat. And those are the delegation from Kashran,” she whispers, pointing towards a vagabond of elves is colorful feathers and clothing.
“My cousin Kahedin mentioned in his last letter that he got an invitation as an honored guest. Avalon is only hostile towards Aelfheim.”
I catch the lamentable regret in that soft voice over the last remark.
“Can we watch closer?” she asks softly.
I silently nod.
Don’t worry, Nel. I’ll raze this fucking forest if they make a move towards you.
We trail carefully on the soggy soil. I keep my senses alert on the fae guards.
“What the f—” I move aside when a porcupine bristles at my feet. It waddles towards the Red Road with the royal envelope in its mouth.
A pair of sparrows soar past our head with the same invitation. Even the reclusive sloth on a distant branch is trudging along ever so slowly towards the road.
“I hope it will make it in time,” Rhianelle prays silently beside me.
Her wish is immediately answered when a dwarven lord allows the animal to hitch a ride on his shoulder.
We stop moving as an army of ants marches by us, carrying the throne of their queen. Rhianelle nods respectfully at the termite sovereign from one queen to another.
The gnome was not lying. Every creature, big and small, from across the continent is invited. I move aside to avoid stepping on a pair of grumpy honey badgers. They fear nothing, not even a vampire.
Since the fae sentinels mostly ignore our presence, we make no effort to remain unseen. Rhianelle keeps walking closer and closer towards the track. She halts before a towering oak, her ears twitching in the cold. “I’m going up for a better view.”
She scales the tree smoothly, despite her limp and the slippery moss from the rain. I wait until she reaches her desired branch before climbing after her.
Through the thinning foliage, I finally see their destination at a distant. A fortress built into a mountain, Reírse. Even from here, I can feel the force of the invisible wall pulsing. It’s the fae’s strongest bastion against the elves.
Even if Aelfheim could topple that thing, more than half of the elven army will be annihilated before they reach Avalon.
It’s near damn impossible.
Rhianelle is biting her nails beside me in contemplation. She’s probably trying to find a weakness or a way to breach the colossal structure too.
“I should have liked to join them,” Rhianelle mutters dreamily.
What?
“A wedding in the land of the Fae is always a grand celebration. A revelry of its own kind,” she says, the corners of her eyes crinkling with longing.
Is that what she was thinking about…?
I’m racked with guilt when I remember our wedding. What a pathetic, sad occasion it was…
“Come join us!” one of the younger female orcs shouts out an invitation from below.
