A Deal with the Elf King - Elise Kova Page 0,3

would you like to stay for breakfast this morning?”

“I would love to.” He gives a dashing smile. Hopefully the need to fill his stomach distracts him from his insane notion of leaving. And when he’s full, he’ll have a more level head.

“I have work to do,” I needlessly remind them both.

“And doing it on an empty stomach is pointless.” My mother tucks wayward strands of fiery hair—the same bright hue as mine—back into her bun. “Take a break, hardworking daughter of mine. You are not going to be saving a life in the twenty minutes it takes you to eat a scone and a boiled egg.”

“One of your scones sounds lovely, Mrs. Torrnet.”

“It’s Hannah, Luke, you know that.” My mother titters and I roll my eyes. “Now, come upstairs, both of you.”

A plate of scones is in the center of the table—lavender and orange. It’s incredible the number of different plants that grow on Capton’s island. Too many. So many that it should be impossible. But the main water source for the island flows through the Fade itself, making the impossible possible here.

Father is seated at the head of the table. His glasses hang on the tip of his nose as he looks over paperwork—no doubt going over speeches before the town hall today.

“Good morning, Luke,” he says without looking up. Luke has been coming around since we could walk and is as much a staple in this kitchen as my mother’s iron pot or my potted herb garden in the back window. “Surprised to see you today.” He pauses. “Though I suppose today is the usual day you escort Luella to the forest.”

“I thought we could get it done with before the sun was up. That way I could get back to my duties as Keeper,” Luke says cordially as he sits, helping himself to a scone. No mention of trying to steal me away, thankfully.

“What are the Keepers doing about all this?” Mother asks from where she works a skillet behind me. Our kitchen runs the length of half the brownstone—galley style, the sailors would say.

“Mother—”

“We’re doing our best to find the Human Queen,” Luke says calmly.

“Well, maybe there shouldn’t be a Human Queen,” Mother huffs.

“Hannah,” Father cautions.

“It’s true, Oliver, and you know it. The Capton Council is just as bad as the Keepers.” Mother is as aggressive as the boiling water she pulls eggs from.

“Can we just have a nice breakfast, please?” I beg. I’m so tired of hearing about the Keepers pointing the finger at the Capton Council for not being more aggressive in trying to find the Human Queen by interrogating the townsfolk, and the council pointing the finger at the Keepers for not sharing more of their elvish relics or histories that could help identify the Human Queen.

Father thinks there must be something the Keepers are hiding. Luke claims otherwise and says the council doesn’t share enough information with the temple. They both look to me to take their side and it takes all of my effort to remind them that all I care about is keeping the people of this island healthy—I have no horse in their race.

“If there’s no Human Queen then all of humanity dies a horrible death as they use their wild magic to peel our skin from our bones, turn us into beasts of the deep woods, curdle our blood, and worse; I think it’s safe to say none of us want that.” Father flips through his papers.

“We’re dying now.” Mother situates the eggs on a platter and sets it on the table. “You’ve heard about the Weakness. Men and women are falling where they stand. We are dying like any regular human on the mainland.”

“Once there is a Human Queen the order will be restored and the treaty will be fulfilled,” Father says. “No more of this Weakness.”

“Is that true? Do we know that things will return to normal for certain?” Mother turns to Luke.

“So the texts that outline the treaty say.” Luke peels an egg.

She sighs and grabs a scone, tearing off a hunk and mumbling, “While I hate the notion of this Human Queen business, if it must happen then let it be done with. My heart bleeds for the family whose daughter will be taken though…” Mother squeezes my hand. I’m too old—historically the queens have displayed magic tendencies at sixteen or seventeen. I remember a few years when my parents watched me like a hawk. Thankfully, there’s not a trace of magic in me.

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