It took only a few pounding heartbeats at a gallop before they spotted the fleeing, cloak-wrapped figure ahead. Dorian leaned low over his horse's neck, urging the black stallion to an even more reckless speed. In the next second he launched himself from the saddle in a neck-breaking leap, landing several paces in front of the runaway.
To his astonishment, the figure didn't even try to stop. They slammed straight into him and flew backwards, sprawling in the dirt. Dorian might almost have felt a flicker of pity, if not for the thought gnawing at him that this child-sized human might have overheard every word of their conversation.
He took a step closer and loomed over the crumpled body.
"Going somewhere?"
Marcus arrived at his side just then and pulled a face as he glanced down at the figure on the ground.
Leonie lay frozen, rigid as a statue, her only movement the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the frantic flicker of her gaze between the strangers towering above her. Terror was already spreading through her like ice, but she pressed her lips together and refused to make a sound. Whether from defiance or sheer desperation not to scream, even she didn't know.
"Who sent you after us? Who are you?" the blond elf demanded, his voice hard as he took another threatening step closer. With one rough tug he yanked back her hood to get a better look at her face.
"She's a girl!" Marcus blurted, pointing at Leonie in astonishment.
"Yes, I can see that," Dorian sighed, shaking his head.
He couldn't simply kill a woman, not when it wasn't her fault that she'd had the misfortune to stumble into their path. But was she really here by chance? What if someone had sent her to spy on them? A message written in blood might be just the lesson the baron needed to understand where the boundaries lay.
"Quite pretty, too, I'm sure—" Marcus began, but never finished.
Because in that instant Leonie lurched upright. With no better idea, she clenched her fist and swung with all her strength, punching Dorian square in the face where he knelt beside her. A loud crack echoed through the trees, and a bolt of white-hot pain shot through her hand.
She had forgotten that this was the wrist she had once broken. There was no time now to worry about whether she'd just broken it again.
While Dorian stared at her in stunned disbelief, she sprang to her feet and ran. She had no idea in which direction—only away, as far and as fast as her legs would carry her from these two cursed men.
Terror smothered even the ability to think. Only one thought remained, crystallized and absolute: if they caught her, she would die.
"Damn, Dorian, she got you good," Marcus said, sounding far more entertained than concerned.
Dorian cut him off with a sharp gesture, rubbing his cheek. In truth, he had hardly felt the blow—it was more like the brush of a butterfly's wing than a real punch. Still, being hit by some random girl in the middle of the forest was entirely unacceptable on principle.
He had to admit, her courage deserved a certain respect. But infuriating a man so much stronger than oneself was foolish enough. Doing so to an elf was sheer madness.
He pushed himself up from the ground and, with a resigned sigh and a raised brow, glanced at his friend.
"Ahh, I do love a good chase," Marcus said, grinning as he rubbed his hands together.
The next heartbeat, they both shot off after Leonie.
The girl clearly had no idea how much faster an elf was than any human. Her frantic attempt to flee was doomed from the start.
For one brief, glorious moment, Leonie thought she had shaken off her pursuers—until she heard them again behind her. The sounds of their approach were surprisingly quiet on the forest floor.
Panic swelled, threatening to swallow her whole. The world blurred at the edges. She was panting so hard it felt as though she'd been hauled up to the peak of the highest mountain, while the two men closed the distance between them at impossible speed.
Helpless, she screamed.
She could feel the panic boiling over, thick and heavy in her skull, roaring in her ears. And in the same second, the pounding of pursuit behind her fell abruptly silent, replaced by shouted curses.
Leonie stumbled to a halt for a heartbeat, shook her head to clear her vision, then bolted again without looking back. She veered off, aiming blindly for the castle and the tunnel that had brought her here, desperate to reach her room and slam the door on this entire nightmare.
And what had stopped the elves?
The moment Leonie's scream tore through the forest, a mass of thick roots surged up from the ground at their feet. Tangled by the sudden barrier, both elves went down hard.
"What in hell—?" Dorian snarled.
He wrestled with the roots, trying to free his legs, but the more he pulled, the tighter they seemed to cling to him. Beside him Marcus struggled just as uselessly.
"How did this get here? What the…? You see this too, right? It's wrapped itself around my ankle!" Marcus demanded, incredulous, as he began methodically snapping the roots away from his boots.
By the time he had freed himself and helped Dorian to his feet, the girl was long gone. Dorian scanned the trees, but he knew she was beyond their reach now.
"Well, this is an interesting start," he murmured.
"Who do you suppose she was?" Marcus asked, turning to him.
Dorian only shrugged and gave a sharp whistle. Their horses stepped from between the trees almost at once. He caught the black stallion's mane and swung easily into the saddle.
"Let's keep moving. We shouldn't keep our host waiting," he said, a faint note of mockery in his voice. "Perhaps this meeting will be more exciting than we expected."
Since the great massacre, he had heard no word of humans using forbidden magic. So how had this just happened?
Maybe they were already closer to what they sought than he had dared to hope. Maybe if he could strike a bargain today, he would gain what he'd come for far sooner than expected. Maybe his father had been right all along: perhaps humans had not forgotten magic, and if that was true, then the book might be nearer than they had ever imagined.
Could it be?
And who was that girl?
He summoned up the memory of her face, which he had had the dubious privilege of examining up close: pale green eyes, skin white as snow, freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. She had looked utterly terrified. She hardly seemed the type to be sent as a spy—so fragile and skittish, like a frightened little bird. Surely the baron had more sense than to send such a creature after them.
Probably just a village girl. Yes. Most likely.
They covered the rest of the distance in silence until the city gates rose before them. At their approach, the guards swung them open at once, and the elves did not hesitate to ride into the human settlement.
Their faces were masks of careless indifference as they guided their horses up toward the castle.
Dorian surveyed the jumble of reeking, filthy hovels that barely qualified as a town and felt his lip curl in distaste. It took him only a moment to draw his conclusion: anyone who allowed his people to live in such misery had to be rotten to the core.
The baron was surely a greedy man—and a frightened one.
The fortress that sprawled before them only confirmed it.
Castle was too kind a word. Thick walls ringed the structure, seemingly impenetrable, bristling with soldiers. Unless, of course, the baron had turned out his forces in such numbers specifically in honor of their arrival.
Every face they passed bore the same wary caution.
Sensibly so. Even fifty of these men would be no match for a single elf.
At the foot of the castle steps, they drew their mounts to a halt and slipped gracefully from the saddles. Stable boys rushed forward at once, bowing as they reached for the reins.
"Careful with them," Marcus said gravely. "They're real beasts. Wouldn't want them biting your fingers off."
The boys shot anxious glances at the animals.
Rolling his eyes, Dorian added, "Make sure they get the best feed."
Then he turned—and caught sight of a small, round figure waddling toward them. After a few steps the man launched into an elaborate bow, which was particularly impressive considering the size of his belly made such a movement look almost impossible.
"Welcome to the baron's estate," the man said, peering up at them with beady little eyes that gleamed slyly. "You honor us with your visit."
"Obviously," Marcus snorted.
The short, stout man stiffened, cleared his throat and clapped his hands together.
"You must have travelled far, and you arrive just in time—dinner will soon be served. Allow us to show you to your suite so you may refresh yourselves first. However, I must ask that you leave your weapons here. My lord does not like when—"
"No," Dorian said, his voice cutting through the air like ice.
Every nearby soldier's hand dropped instantly to his sword hilt.
Marcus seemed positively delighted. He eyed the closest guard with bright interest, as if calculating how many seconds it would take to dispatch him.
"Ah… I–I beg your pardon," their host stammered, clearing his throat again. "I did not mean to offend, but I must insist—"
"We're not leaving our weapons," Dorian interrupted once more. "Not that it would matter. We could butcher you all with our bare hands if we wished. But we did not come here to fight. Just show us to our rooms."
From the blond elf's lips it sounded far more like a command than a request.
To emphasize his point, Dorian walked past the man without another glance and strode straight into the castle as though he owned the place. Marcus followed in high spirits, hands tucked casually into his pockets.
For several seconds the baron's man just stared after them, his face twisted into an unpleasant mix of irritation and fear. Then he remembered himself, hurried after them, and led them to their chambers.
The rooms, nearly identical and directly opposite one another, were richly appointed: an enormous bed in the center, armchairs gathered around a fireplace, and a private bathing room beyond. Gold gleamed everywhere, fabrics were the finest money could buy. The effect, however, was more gaudy than tasteful.
"With your permission, dinner will be served in half an hour. I will come for you shortly before," the man said with a bow, then closed the door behind them.
Marcus immediately turned to Dorian.
"Repulsive fellow, isn't he? And this place…"
Dorian nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.
The opulence of the castle was obscene, especially compared to the starving faces they had glimpsed in the town below. Was this disease spread through the whole kingdom? Did it rot from the king downward? Or was the baron alone this vile?
"We'll find out soon enough who we're dealing with," Dorian said at last, exhaling slowly. "I'm afraid it won't be easy not to kill the man."
"And Marcus—keep your comments to yourself, just this once. We didn't come here to stir up conflict."
He sank into one of the armchairs by the fire and looked at his friend, brow furrowed.
"I don't care if my father flies into a rage," he went on. "In one thing he's right. This is our best chance to get closer to a solution without starting a war. We have to convince them it's time to repair the ties between our peoples."
"You really think that if they know where the book is, they'll just tell us?" Marcus dropped into the opposite chair and folded his arms. "I say your father's wrong. They've believed the elves were extinct all this time. If the book really is here, we're only putting ourselves in danger by coming."
"I agree, to a point," Dorian replied. "But if they had the book, I doubt they would have been so shocked to see us. One thing is certain—they haven't forgotten magic. You saw what the girl did. I felt her power. Whatever knowledge they took from the book clearly hasn't been lost, even after all this time. Maybe it isn't in the king's hands at all. Maybe he's searching for it too."
"I still say the better plan is to level this place and be done with it," Marcus muttered. "We take the book—whoever has it—and finally free ourselves from this curse. You know you could be the one making the rules. You don't have to keep following your father's lead…"
Dorian regarded him thoughtfully.
In that, Marcus was entirely right. His word could carry just as much weight as his father's.
"Hundreds of innocent people live here," he said at last. "Would you kill them too?"
Marcus glanced out the window and pulled a face.
"Obviously not," he grumbled.
And for once, he chose the wiser course: he said nothing more.