The Elven Apostate (The Moonstone Chronicles Book 3) - Sara C.Roethle
Alluin
“Why is she still here?” The hurled vase barely missed Alluin’s head just moments after Elmerah spoke.
He looked down at the shattered vase, then stepped further into the room, suddenly regretting the visit. Even so, he couldn’t help it. He, like Elmerah, felt pent up biding time while Faerune was rebuilt. They needed to move on with their plan, and it was quite apparent that Elmerah expected her sister to do the same.
Elmerah paced across her chamber, then slumped into a cushioned chair atop an ornate rug from the Helshone Desert. They truly could not complain about the accommodations. Not only had Saida’s father, Ivran, insisted they stay within the High Temple, but Immril and Cornaith too. The latter pair, Alluin suspected, with motives concerning their own protection. Elmerah might be a pain in the rump, but she was also a destructive force to be reckoned with.
After a moment of debate, he shut the door behind him, then approached the sulking witch, who was now glaring at the cold hearth. He half expected the untouched kindling to burst into flames at her thoughts.
He crossed his arms, feeling stiff and uncomfortable in the new charcoal gray linen tunic and wool breeches. “Rissine will go when she’s ready. The sea has been choppy. Too many storms.”
She glared up at him through a lock of black hair. “The Winter Isles clan can control the winds. She has several of them who will sail with her. Storms are not an issue.”
He sighed. In truth, he did not know why Rissine hadn’t left yet. It had been her intent all along to sail far north on the Kalwey Sea in search of more Arthali, yet she hadn’t even begun to prepare her ship for the journey. “Maybe she’s worried about you.”
Her gaze drifted to her crossed arms, clad in her new black coat. “Rissine only worries about herself.”
This is going nowhere, he thought. “I came to see if you wanted to travel to Skaristead with me. It would be good too if Saida came along, so the High Council might actually provide us with horses. Several small Valeroot clans are to arrive there either late this evening, or tomorrow morning. They refuse to travel to Faerune without an escort.”
She looked up, a bit of the anger fading from her expression. “Even with the city half in ruins?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “My people have been shunned by Faerune for generations. Can you blame them for lacking faith?”
Despite his words, he too lacked faith at times. While some Faerune elves were grateful for the Valeroot and Arthali presence, he did not miss the wary glances—some filled with darker emotions than distrust—often cast at his kinfolk’s backs . . . though they were mild compared to the looks the Arthali received.
Elmerah was watching him, and he realized he was now the one glaring at the hearth like a petulant child. She grinned at his silent realization. “Yes, let us be off to Skaristead. I tire of all this flowery burrberry brandy. I could use a hearty ale.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re not going there to drink.”
She stood, fetched her new leather-sheathed silver cutlass leaning against her chair, then turned to him as she belted it around her waist over her coat. “No, you’re not going there to drink. I will do as I please.”
“Fine,” he muttered, heading for the door. “If you’re going to be a total nuisance, at least go find Saida for me.”
“What’s the point? All she’ll do is wallow about what’s happened.”
The door partially ajar, he looked over his shoulder at her. “If you were a true friend, you’d try to talk her through her pain.”
“Good thing no one has ever accused me of being a true friend. You find Saida. I’ll meet you at the gates.”
With a huff, he stepped outside, then shut the door for Elmerah to finish getting ready. Now that she couldn’t see him, he smiled. She might spew bluster every chance she got, but he knew without a doubt she’d eventually talk to Saida and shake the sadness from her. What they all needed was a bit of adventure, and a bit of space from the cracked and shattered crystal walls, towering over them like a grim reminder of what had transpired, and what was still to come.
Elmerah
With a freshly packed satchel slung over her shoulder, and her cutlass at her hip, partially hidden within the folds of her coat, Elmerah ventured across the main thoroughfare toward the edge of the