Long Live the Elf Queen: The Elf Queen Book 2

Thane marveled at two massive stone dragon sculptures overhanging the entrance to the museum. Their tails curled down wide pillars and their mouths were open to throw rainwater away from the building. The artist who carved the gray marble must have taken years with the detail from the teeth to thousands of divots for the shading of the scales. The massive dark wooden doors with a dragon wing etching on each side were pulled inward as they approached. If their suspicions were correct, the information they needed about the scepter would be here. The library held nothing of note, and what better place to keep the story of the scepter than here. With luck, it may very well lie in these walls.

They walked into an open area with a domed ceiling made of glass, letting in bright sunlight. “Wow, would you look at that,” Leif said, pointing to the paintings on the left side of the wall. “It’s Thane’s grandfather, High King Dramus shaking hands with,” he looked at Ronan, “is that…” he trailed off tapping a finger against his chin.

Ronan opened his mouth to speak but the lady on the right side of the door, sitting behind a massive cherry oak desk, blurted out, “It is King Drakonan. That depicts the last meeting with the high elves seven hundred and three years ago.” She jumped to her feet, pushing her round, gold-rimmed glasses up her nose and strode out to meet them with her hands clasped together and a wide grin. “Greetings, Prince Ronan, and our elven guests. I am absolutely thrilled you want a tour.” If she was any more excited, she’d start clapping. She gestured to the left. “Let’s start here, shall we?”

Both sides of the walls were covered in paintings framed in pure gold by the looks of it. A small stone dragon fountain, no larger than a five-year-old child, sat in the center of the room, trickling water out of its mouth.

With his arm looped around Piper, Ronan looked back at the group. “Is there anything in particular you wish to see?”

All of them shook their heads and a chorus of nos echoed throughout the room. They didn’t want to give away any suspicion of what they were after. Thane hung back as the group started the tour. The doorways to the left looked to hold statues, and to the right, shiny objects in glass cases. That’s where he needed to go.

“This is called Winter’s Dream,” the lady began, “and was painted in the year three twenty-two, by the marvelous Jonis Drevor. He’s the oldest dragon alive in Adalon. He even remembers the great wars and our origin realm. This is one of the landscapes of his homeland.”

Thane’s light feet tapped over the glossy white floor and caught up to the group. The painting showed arches of blue ice and brushstrokes of white wind. A dragon perched on a cliff’s edge, roaring up at the blush-pink sky where three moons of various sizes hung in the backdrop. This old dragon might be worth talking to.

“And here we have…”

Thane tapped Ronan’s arm, and said quietly, “I’m going to take a piss.”

He nodded and pointed to the doorway to the right. “Chambers are in there.”

Excitement at the luck made him smile. This might finally be it. They could find the scepter and get their answers. “Thanks.”

As he suspected, the room was full of precious objects along the walls, down the center, and even some hung from the ceiling in what he might call bird cages. Thane passed by gaudy goblets, small and life-size statues of people and animals made of solid gold. A cat with emerald eyes in a crouch had a wooden name plaque under its paws but it was a language he didn’t know. A golden egg the size of Thane’s torso sat on a perch of silver. Rubies and sapphires and emeralds were artistically placed like starbursts. The thing must be worth a fortune. The voices of the others got quieter the further they moved away. It must be in here. He rushed from one treasure to the next and after he’d circled the entire room with no luck, he rubbed his hand through his hair. Shit.

“Something I can help you with?” asked a deep, rough voice.

Thane slowly turned to find a stout shifter with a black beard that reached his pot belly standing in the doorway. As with all the others he’d seen, he was tall, pushing seven feet and broad. His dark-brown eyes trailed Thane head to toe, sizing him up, assessing a threat.

“No. I was using the chambers.”

“You ain’t a thief are ya? One thing dragons hate more than anything are thieves. We covet our treasure, elf.” He took a step into the room, his heavy boot like an anvil dropping.

Thane arched a dark brow, now assessing him as a threat. He didn’t like the dragon’s tone. “You think I don’t have everything I could ever want. I’m a High King of Palenor. And treasure isn’t something elves covet, dragon. I have more important things to worry about than shiny objects that don’t kill my enemies.”

The dragon took another step forward, looking around the room, seeing if everything was in its proper place. He cocked his head to the side in an almost birdlike way. “Best catch up with your friends, High King. You wouldn’t want to miss out on the riveting tour now, would ya?”

The two watched each other closely as Thane stepped by him; he didn’t turn his back until he was a ways clear of the treasure room. The others were moved onto the far wall now, gathered around a dark painting of bloodied, broken and tattered dragon wings on the back of a pale white, nude female. He couldn’t quite say why but it made him sad. He’d seen more than his fair share of death in real life, but this captured the horror of war in a beautiful but haunting way. The nearly transparent, ghost of the female’s face looking back at them was being pulled in wisps upward as if the wind stole her spirit.

Layala stared at it with wide eyes, the way a child marveled at something new. “Who is she?”

“This is another one by Sir Drevor,” the tour guide said, folding her arms behind her back. “He titled it ‘Taken Too Soon’. If she was real, we don’t know who she is. Another tragic loss to war perhaps, a senseless murder. Dragons can be—temperamental. Some speculate it was his wife.”

“If he’s alive,” Fennan said, “Why don’t you ask?”

“His mind isn’t what it once was,” Prince Ronan answered. “He doesn’t speak anymore, but he paints.”

She stepped to the next painting. “This one is quite different from the others. It was done only twenty years ago, featuring our own Crown Prince Yoren.”

Thane slipped his hand into Layala’s and gave a shake of his head. She frowned and sighed. No luck today it would seem. When her jaw dropped open though he followed her gaze to the painting. It was perhaps five feet high and three wide. The background was smudged and unclear almost like a fog was over it, like the artist couldn’t see where Prince Yoren stood. The beige color vaguely resembled a wall or high building. But it wasn’t the background or Prince Yoren himself that took him by surprise. Thane’s gaze pinned to the gold chain and the piece that hung against Prince Yoren’s chest. It was the Scepter of Knowing. There was no mistaking it. And when he thought back on it, he remembered seeing a gold chain around the prince’s neck, but the end of it was always tucked under his clothes.

“This one is titled, ‘The Guardian’.”

“Who is that in the painting with him?” Piper asked.

At the bottom, the backs of two heads of dark hair were unfocused, smudged, and parallel to each other, maybe admiring him. Or even possibly standing against him. Prince Yoren held two swords at his sides.

“The anonymous artist left it against the museum door. So, we don’t know.”

Feeling it more than seeing it, Thane knew Ronan watched him, stared even, as if he suspected something. “The Guardian,” Thane murmured. So Prince Yoren was the guardian of the scepter and Thane would have to take it.

It had taken another hour by the time they got through each painting, coveted treasure, and statue. The tour guide handed them each a small silver coin with the image of the museum stamped on it on their way out the door. A souvenir.

Thane paused at the top of the steps to drop the coin in his pocket then looked up to Ronan staring again. The others were already halfway down the long set of stairs.

“You want the Scepter of Knowing. I can see it in your eyes. I saw it the moment you spotted it in the book.”

And yet Ronan had handed him the book… Thane met his light-blue gaze. There was no anger or bitterness, no surprise or accusation. Thane didn’t deny it. What was the point? Ronan knew.

“And if I did?”

“Well, then you have to battle the guardian for it. No one takes a dragon’s treasure without a fight.” A slow feline smile. “And the arena is filled with the skulls of those who’ve tried.”

The chair Layala sat in felt cold, hard, and uncomfortable. The dim firelight cast long shadows across the room, over the dragon queen’s face. Ronan escorted them directly here after the museum. The smirk on his face made Layala nervous, as if he knew something, she did not.

And whether the queen was furious or amused, Layala wasn’t sure. The softness of her glossed red lips contrasted the narrowed glare. She sat on the edge of a massive cherry oak desk. With her legs crossed, she bounced her top foot and stared at Layala like she might have the plague.

No one had said a word since they stepped into the room. Prince Yoren stood with his arms folded, legs spread wide in a stance not easily knocked off balance, and Prince Ronan sat with his feet up on his mother’s desk behind her.

Layala turned slightly to look at Thane in the chair next to her. He didn’t look at all worried or upset. In fact, he sat there with a serene if not smug half smirk to rival Ronan’s. Maker, she wanted to punch him sometimes. Both of them acted like this was one big game.

“So you have something to ask me?” the queen drawled.

“We have the All Seeing Stone and you have the Scepter of Knowing,” Thane said. “I need the scepter, so as you can see there is a little bit of a problem.”

Her forehead wrinkled in surprise. “You don’t even know what you’re truly asking for.”

“We need to end the curse, and we need to know how.”

She glanced over at Layala for a moment. “Do you know what happened the last time they were joined?”

Thane and Layala glanced at each other. “Rhegar used the All Seeing Stone to find a way to defeat the Black Mage,” he answered. “So it must give answers. And we need answers.”

Pressing her lips together, Nyrovia went quiet for a moment. Her harsh silver-blue eyes flicked over to Yoren. They exchanged some sort of silent communication. She could see it in the way he tilted his chin lower—an approval?

The dragon queen slid off the desk and stood tall. Her white silken evening dress shimmered in the sunlight pressing in from the high windows behind her. With her movements, the diamond-encrusted bracelets and rubies hanging from her earlobes glittered, too. “I’ve heard you’re a great warrior, the best in Palenor, and Lady Lightbringer is quite powerful herself.”

Shifting slightly in her chair, Layala turned to Thane; she didn’t like where this might be headed. She wished Thane could communicate with her like he did with the mate bond spell intact, feeling out what he might be thinking. Nyrovia’s heels clicked on the wood floor as she walked closer. “There is a story among our people. That the gods would send their own to Adalon once again, and lead the dragons back to our home realm, Ryvengaard, the place before they brought us here, and only they could use the scepter and stone properly.”

Sweat slid down the back of Layala’s neck. Why was it suddenly so hot in here? “What does that have to do with us?” she asked.

“We’ll give you the opportunity to fight the guardian of the scepter.”

Fighting a dragon? She was afraid to even ride one, let alone fight one. It made her sick to even consider it.

“You’re offering a chance for us to put them together,” Thane said quietly. “That means you think that this person chosen by the gods might be one of us.”

“All of us can smell their magic in you and your betrothed. Their blood is infused in the scepter and the stone and you two smell of them. Both of you could be descendants of the gods and goddesses of the Runevale realm. They walked Adalon at one time and mated with the elves.”

“Layala too.” It was more of a confirmation than a question.

Me? A descendant of the gods? If that were true, why didn’t she heal quickly like he did? But she noticed now more than ever, she moved faster, was stronger than the average female and obviously possessed magic. But did that make her a descendant of the gods?

“But they’ve been joined before,” Thane stated. “This is how Rhegar knew how to kill the Black Mage. I’m assuming he didn’t defeat Yoren unless there was a previous guardian.”

“They were joined—by Rhegar and the Black Mage. It takes two, one to hold each piece.” She cleared her throat. “We freely gave the scepter to Zaurahel Everhath and the elf warrior Rhegar. It killed Rhegar as well as the Black Mage,” she paused. “And the Void was created.”

Layala’s jaw dropped. This story was entirely different from what she’d been taught. What every elf and human she’d ever spoken to about it knew. “You’re saying Rhegar didn’t kill the Black Mage, he was helping him and it somehow backfired?” Layala pushed an annoying stray hair off her face. “And why would you willingly hand over such powerful tools to him?”

“We are neutral in your war, and Zaurahel brought no trouble for us. He offered an opportunity when he brought the stone that had been missing for thousands of years.”

“That’s not what my people say happened,” Thane interjected. “Rhegar was the hero who killed the Black Mage.”

“Your stories are wrong, elf king. I was there when Rhegar was at the Black Mage’s side,” Queen Nyrovia said, holding up a long thin finger. “One could argue that he somehow knew it would kill Zaurahel and that tempting him with this power was the only way to defeat him. But what happened when those two pieces joined isn’t entirely known. We only know that Rhegar died with the stone in his hand and was found at the edges of the Void and the Black Mage was gone. After, the elves protected the stone, and we took back the scepter.”

“What do the two pieces do?” Thane asked. “Have they ever been used successfully?”

“There are tales of its power passed down from generation to generation and age after age, but no one knows for certain. Some say the two pieces can open to new realms, others that it will give the user the knowledge of the gods.” She paused. “It would seem the Black Mage and Rhegar were found unworthy. It would seem,” she repeated, “we gave the scepter too willingly.”

Thane sat up taller in his wooden chair. “You believed the Black Mage was a descendant as well then?”

“Yes. With the power he possessed and his scent, we couldn’t explain it any other way.”

Thane’s green eyes trailed over Layala. “Did the Black Mage have children or siblings?”

That heat she felt before flared up again. Why would he ask after looking at her like that? Did he think that she might be related to him? No, that couldn’t be possible. There was no way she was related to the Black Mage…

Lifting a shoulder, Queen Nyrovia answered, “No known children, but a sister, I believe.” She paused for a moment, analyzing his face. “You’re worried you are from his bloodline? It’s been long since I saw him, but there are similarities in your features. Although many elves look similar in my eyes.”

Thane shook his head. “No, not me. I know my lineage well.”

The dragon queen carefully inspected Layala now. “Her?”

Thane pursed his lips. Maker above, what Layala wouldn’t give to be able to feel his emotions right then. Was he disgusted at the very idea as much as she? If it were true, would he want anything to do with her? It would certainly explain a lot of things like the pale ones being drawn to her and them needing her to bring him back, if she was. Now she wanted to know why more than ever.

“There is only one way to know for sure.” The queen gestured toward Prince Yoren. “No ordinary elf, not even a mage, could ever take it from my Yoren. He has killed hundreds who’ve tried. Those who thought they could be the chosen of the gods, noble warriors from all over. Dragons, elves, even some men. We give any who think they have a chance the opportunity, but you’re the first since Zaurahel that has the scent of the god’s magic in your blood.”

“And what if Layala and I are cursed like the Black Mage and another Void is created, or we’re killed?”

“Well, assuming you can take it, that’s a risk for all of us.”