Shadow Cursed by May Sage Page 0,35

the note to Ciera, across the painted tree trunk, letting the high queen see it first.

It never occurred to me that the man had been bowing to his wife, and now to his child—all the while our side was fighting against another one of his progeny. Being Alven Oberon may not be an easy feat. Surrounded by so much power and yet powerless himself.

Ciera curses out loud, her lovely, graceful mouth spitting out a word that would have my mother hitting the back of my head if I'd said it. Nero extends his hand to take the piece of parchment, but the queen doesn't bother passing it around.

"What's going on?" Kazan of Ash demands.

"The usurper's army has raided the Black Woods."

My eyes widen, both in surprise and in reluctant admiration. If they dared enter the Black Woods, the human army has more courage than I’d believed.

West of Hardrock, deep in the Court of Stone, the Black Woods is the home to the untamed and shy folk who opted to remain on unseelie ground, rather than moving north, to the Wilderness. While few, they're the strongest—the wildest of us. They shoot intruders between the eyes first, and ask questions later. Or never.

"How?" Ciera asks, as startled as I.

Genrion Frost grimaces. "How do you think?"

Ciera's eyes narrow at him. His contempt might be directed toward the humans, but he's speaking to the queen. His pointed eartips redden. “There’s only one way. I think they burned it down, and used their explosives to get to a village."

While it’s no more than a guess, I know it to be true. There’s no other way to take the Black Woods.

How very human.

Their contempt and indifference toward nature has rendered their once-beautiful land practically barren, hence their move toward the Alfheimr empire. I believed I couldn't detest them any more, but as usual, they've proved me wrong. The Black Woods was thousands of years old, some of its trees there for longer than any of us, and now they are probably ashes.

"The spy,” says Ciera, “reports that there are a hundred captives, and that Marren is among them.”

I know that name, but it takes me a while to place it. It's not the kind of name one expects to hear in conversation about living, breathing people.

Marren is a legend. A myth. One of the original travelers who'd moved from the Isle to Alfheimr, in order to leave the control of the overlord ruling us in the old continent. Mother sang some of her tales to me as a child. Some books say she is a wayward goddess, others say she's one of the very first fae to ever come into being. A mother to us all.

"The Marren?" I echo, feeling left out and stupid, because none of the others seem astounded.

"She leads the elven tribes," Liken casually informs me. “We’ve dealt with her on occasion. She’s ruthless when provoked, but fair and caring. If they were attacked, I'm not surprised she surrendered to protect her people." His gaze cuts to the queen. “We need her for the war to come. If only for her healing powers.”

Ciera nods. She isn’t sharing the spy’s note, but she tells us, "They're being transported to Hardrock as we speak, where they'll be asked to bend the knee to the usurper. If they don't…" She doesn’t need to finish that sentence. The self-appointed queen is going to make an example out of the shy folk.

“Marren will never bow to a child playing queen," Genrion states. "She'll never bow to anyone. They'll kill her."

Ciera shakes her head. "They can't, can they? Marren is as old as time. She'll destroy them all."

Ina, silent until now, shakes her head. "Marren is old because she's wise and has never been one for war. She's no warrior. There's little she can do. That said, her elves are known for their ferocity. A hundred of them would make a difference among our ranks—their skills as archers could take a city. Once, we apprehended one of theirs for taking our spoils, and they practically seized my keep until we gave him back. They’re that strong.”

It has been too long since we've had an actual war—infighting between the courts, resolved at the point of a blade or with a challenge, is common enough, but other than the few who joined the army like me, none of the young folk had been trained for it. I may have spent the last ten years training those who want to improve, and