The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Thirty Three

Ambling toward his manor, Tracou took care not to jostle the bird settled on his head. Pendaer had been reduced to a quivering, sweaty mess in her presence, so Tracou had taken it upon himself to bring the queen to Mirthal. If he hadn't, she might have pecked Pendaer's hat to shreds.

"So you're the queen?"

The bird gave him a single coo that could have meant anything.

"He's okay, you know. Mir— Uh, the prince."

This time, the bird made no sound. Tracou cringed inwardly—how could he have a conversation with someone who couldn't speak? She may not even understand Aodehsh, for all he knew.

As he approached his hill, Tracou caught sight of something that made him stop in his tracks. A crowd of people, all tall with flowing golden hair, had amassed in front of his manor. A number of horses and wagons had been left at the bottom of the hill, but a single four wheeled carriage, painted a searing red that laughed at the dull colors of the world around it, had been parked mere feet from his front door.

Elves. Here. Why? Had they already packed Mirthal away, ready to leave without Tracou or even Pendaer?

Tracou broke into a run, forgetting all about the bird. She toppled off of him, spreading her wings and forcing herself up before she hit the ground. He ran past the horses and elves gathered at the base of the hill and up the path. The elves went silent at his arrival, as though he was intruding. They all wore chain-mail over heavy red and blue cloth and an uncomfortable amount of them carried spears.

Most importantly, however, Mirthal was not among them. Maybe he still hadn't woken up. Swallowing hard, Tracou headed toward his manor, nearly reaching it, before an Elvish woman stepped in front of his door.

"Who are you?" she barked in Aodehsh.

"I own this place."

The woman's eyes narrowed. She pushed some strands of her wavy hair behind her ear, but otherwise did not move.

Baffled, Tracou blinked rapidly. Never had someone defied him entry into his manor like he was some kind of criminal.

"What is this? You appear in my village, on my property, and you won't let me into my own home?"

"We do not know you," she began, her voice clear as a bell. "So you may be holding the prince prisoner. If we let you inside, you may hurt him."

Prisoner! This woman had no idea what a Mirthal held prisoner looked like. Where had the other elves been in Dorssur? Even Pendaer had been little help at first! Tracou let out a heavy exhale, trying to get rid of some of the fury boiling in his gut.

"Look, he's not going to be happy when he hears about this."

This did not sway her. In fact, she hardly reacted—a twitch of her eyebrow being the only indication that she had even heard him.

Tracou grit his teeth. The bird landed on his head again and Tracou flinched, considering shaking his head hard enough to throw her off when an idea hit him. He peeled his right glove off and showed the woman the back of his hand, where Mirthal's blue glowed.

Despite her expression retaining a hard edge, the woman paled. She took a step to the side and bowed, her torso perpendicular with her body.

"My apologies."

With a huff, Tracou strode right to his bedroom where, sure enough, Mirthal managed to snooze the day away. The bird flew from him, landing on Mirthal's forehead. She pulled her head back before thrusting her beak down onto Mirthal's nose. The sudden pain tore Mirthal from his slumber.