Hearing a suggestion in her voice, Lannahi followed her gaze. Letiri was looking at a man in a crimson shirt and beige pants who was talking to their father. Lannahi didn’t recognize him at first because the last time she saw him, he wasn’t so tanned, but it was the tan that triggered a train of thought that made her heart squeeze in a choking spasm.
A familiar enchanter whose skin was sun-kissed as if he had only just returned from a trip to countries in the north?
Only one came to mind.
Nihhal.
Chapter 3
Lannahi had heard of Nihhal long before they first met. He was a son of Danihel, the prince ruling on behalf of her father in one of his seven cities. Like Orchidgate that had once belonged to Asirri, Grasswall had been annexed to Sarkal’s kingdom peacefully, but unlike Lannahi’s mother, who had defended her city in a duel and joined forces with Sarkal motivated mainly by love, Danihel had lost the fight and fell into slavery. It had happened during the war brought upon by King Vaskil, Asirri’s cousin, whose plotting had ended with the death of Sarkal’s brother. Tired of the long blood feud, Sarkal had allowed Danihel to keep the title of prince and rule Grasswall, leaving him a task to keep his subjects under control so that they would not rise in rebellion against their new king. If Danihel failed, Grasswall would meet a fate similar to that of the first two cities that Sarkal had conquered—ruin and death.
Fae despised slaves, and Lannahi had held a rather unflattering opinion of Danihel as a child, but with time, she began to respect him. Every day she didn’t make any progress in magic, when she became less and less sure of her own position, the revulsion she’d felt at the thought of being at someone else’s mercy mixed with fear. Death required courage, but didn’t humiliation require more?
“A desire to live isn’t something to be ashamed of,” Asirri said one day when Lannahi was nineteen years old and everyone around her was convinced that she had reached the limit of her magical abilities. “Cowardice is. If you know that you have no chance of winning, but you plan revenge in your heart, then even though you are beaten and humiliated, you are still a warrior. If you allow someone to humiliate you because you hope they will eventually leave you alone, you are a coward. Only you get to decide whether your life is pathetic.”
“And Danihel?” Lannahi asked. “Is he a warrior or a coward?”
Asirri regarded her daughter carefully. She answered after a pause, “Danihel was in the same situation as me. We were both caught up in a war we didn’t want. If Vaskil hadn’t broken the Rules and sent Irkal an enchanted dagger that pierced his heart, we wouldn’t have had to fear for the lives of our subjects. Neither of us had an army that could match Sarkal’s. What saved us was the courage to face him in a duel. Danihel lost his, but those who were with him that day know that he is a slave in name only.”
“But there are many who still despise him,” Lannahi said, thinking about rumors she’d heard.
A bleak smile appeared on her mother’s lips. “These are those for whom their own pride is more important than loyalty to allies. Don’t make enemies of them, but don’t count on their friendship either.”
Lannahi met Danihel’s son soon after her debut at Sarkal’s court. Nihhal, lean and charming, was the epitome of masculine grace and good manners. Since he was a renown duelist, his every visit in Goldenshadows stirred excitement among women seeking amorous adventures and men eager to prove themselves against his skills. Mindful of her position and her mother’s teachings, Lannahi treated him politely but with reserve, ignoring subtle attempts at flirtation and dismissing the bolder ones, but it soon became clear to all that if Nihhal was interested in anything besides politics and dueling, it was Sarkal’s youngest daughter. His interest made Lannahi self-conscious, but she watched Nihhal with curiosity. Her sexual needs were satisfied by the men from the pleasure house, and though the thought of sex with the handsome fae stirred her body, it was more excitement of novelty than a blast of passion. However, Lannahi wasn’t looking for physical satisfaction. All her life, she’d witnessed the close relationship between Sarkal and Asirri whose love story was celebrated in songs and poems. Unwavering loyalty, boundless trust, readiness for sacrifice… This was what Lannahi wanted, this was the kind of love she desired. She knew, however, that most romances burned out quickly and couples who took marriage vows rarely chose to renew them. She pushed aside her dreams and looked at her situation with cold pragmatism.
Nihhal, seven years older than her, was a powerful enchanter, but unlike Maal and Letiri, he appeared disinterested in ruling. He traveled from court to court, sometimes as his father’s ambassador, but more often—like many other young fae— for his own enjoyment. The conclusion that Lannahi was just another adventure for him wasn’t groundless, and if Lannahi had only been thinking in the short term, she actually wouldn’t have minded. But every decision had their consequences that could reach far into the future. Lannahi couldn’t afford to be careless.
She considered various scenarios but quickly concluded that she didn’t know Nihhal well enough to predict his reaction. How was she supposed to know how he would react if something went wrong? Would he walk away in peace or nurse a grudge? Lannahi didn’t know the answer, but one thing was certain. She would not benefit from offending a powerful enchanter.
Nihhal sensed her reluctance and with the grace of a confident man changed from a seducer to a friend. He no longer tried to flirt with her but talked to her as an equal, which earned him Lannahi’s respect and affection. Because he traveled frequently, his visits to Sarkal’s kingdom were always short and irregular—sometimes she didn’t see him for a month, and sometimes three or four—but as time passed, Lannahi became more and more at ease in his company. Four years later, she caught herself anticipating his arrival.
Like before, Nihhal must have sensed a change in her feelings because his behavior gradually changed as well. He still didn’t try to flirt with her, but when they danced, his hand rested on her back lower than before. At first, his touch resembled a brush of feathers, but it became firmer with each uncontrollable blush on Lannahi’s face and lack of protest on her part.
Yet, one spring evening when they were walking in the garden surrounding the palace in the rays of the setting sun and Nihhal made a gesture as if he wanted to embrace her, Lannahi stepped back instinctively, excited and terrified at the same time.
Nihhal’s patience must have run out because instead of ignoring her reaction and returning to a friendly conversation, he decided to confront her. “You don’t like me, Lannahi?”
“It’s not like that.”
“I thought I read the signs correctly… I thought you wanted me. Was I wrong?”
Lannahi denied it, but when she wanted to elaborate, her explanation seemed childish and silly so she only blushed, ashamed of her sudden awkwardness. The last time she felt this way was before her first public performance.
Nihhal regarded her carefully. “Then why do you keep pushing me away?” he asked. After a moment, he added with a strange note in his voice, “Did your father tell you to do so?”
Lannahi felt confused by the last question to the point that she forgot her embarrassment. “Why would he do that?”
“Because I’m a son of the slave. Unworthy of his daughter.”
Her surprise deepened. She recalled a conversation from years ago. “Your father is a slave in name only,” she repeated her mother’s words, but she felt uneasy.
A muscle on his face twitched. “Names are given for a reason.”
The note of disdain in his voice was barely audible, but Lannahi flinched, wide-eyed.
“But there are many who still despise him.”
“These are those for whom their own pride is more important than loyalty to allies. Don’t make enemies of them, but don’t count on their friendship either.”
