"Human, though Ganiele hasn't found anything, it still must be brought before our council. They will be the ones to pardon you. Plus, the magic you have done in this room must also be brought up. This. . . this should not have happened."
"But it wasn't my fault! I don't even know what I did. He went through my head and I just reacted!"
"Perhaps you don't understand the situation you are in, human. You are a prisoner of war. Though you are not guilty of action against Selenthia, you are guilty at being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your freedom will come at our pace, not yours."
"That's not fair!" Like a whip, Selene's hand shot out to grab Marcius by his collar and with surprising strength, she dragged him to where they were face to face.
"Many things in Faelon are not fair. The destruction of this forest isn't fair. The comrades that die in every battle isn't fair. The corpses of our children that you humans leave behind isn't fair. You will learn your priorities. You are at our mercy, and it is time that you realize that."
Marcius's heart pounded in his chest as his very blood seemed to chill at the elf's words. The emerald eyes continued to bore a hole into his own, daring him to contradict her words. When he didn't, she let him go with a jerk. Chastised, Marcius fell back onto the floor rubbing his neck ruefully; the wound on his head throbbed painfully.
"You could at least call me by my name. Considering all I've been through, I'd like to think I've earned that much," Marcius muttered a bit louder than he'd intended.
Selene's eyes narrowed and Marcius braced himself, but her face softened and she gave a light nod of consent. "Aye, my apologies. . . Marcius. That much we can do. You will find your stay here not unpleasant if you are not impatient, though you are still restricted to this room. You are a curiosity, something we did not account for, and the council shall take some time coming to a decision about you. At the very least, we will have to inform the Academy of your existence."
Marcius nodded grimly. It could be much worse. The Academy would have found out about him when he had showed up to their doorstep anyway. Hopefully he could get in touch with Alicia before then. Until that time, he was stuck, as Selene had said, at the mercy of the elves.
"Wait!" he said to the retreating backs of the two as they opened the door, "What. . . what did I do just now?"
Selene turned, and there was no anger. It was a guarded blank expression that scared Marcius far more than anything else that had happened. "If it is what I think it is. . . may Avalene save us all. . . You. . . should not exist."
The door shut, and the bolt slammed into place. Marcius stared blankly, his mind reeling at the elf's words. He should not exist? What kind of response was that? What type of magic had he done? He always seemed to have a difficult time when Antaigne had trained him. Simple things that should have been mastered easily always seemed to slip through his fingers. . . when had he been capable of the feats he managed in the last couple days. . . without Faerril?
He plopped down on the hard wooden floor, running his hands through his hair until they got caught in the bandages. Gently he hugged his knees, rocking back and forth. Marcius felt so alone right now, so far away from home. It suddenly hit him. Was it worth it? Was magic, was his dream, worth all of this? Should not exist. . . he missed his father and friends so much right now.
But most of all, he missed Faerril.
❧ ❧ ❧
"That was cruel. Throwing him in the ocean like that." Two figures overlooked the seaside cliff. The waves roared on the rocks below. The rest of the area hid beneath a heavy fog. Off in the distance, the moon hung low.
"Cruel? Maybe. But necessary," the second figure replied with the hard feminine voice usually reserved for aging mothers. "It got him to where he needed to go."
"Will he remember your interference? Might it not cause him to question why he took that jump off the boat? I wonder if it is really necessary." The first figure replied, the thin rasp of his voice barely discernible over the crashing tide.
"Of course it is. The boy will not remember the reason for falling, just that he did. I was too careful to miss something so simple. He is a dull piece of metal. He must be forged, sharpened, and given purpose. He is weak now, but so is everything at some point. Soon he will be a weapon the likes of which they've never seen."
"Weapon? Indeed, perhaps. Still, meddling like this. . . it is unbecoming."
"I've mettled much to get to this point. You need to hammer and destroy metal to make a sword, bending it to the shape you desire." A brief pause as the little play on words was digested. "It wasn't meant to be pleasant. But the end choice, well, that will be in his hands. We will need him. . . to go where we may not."
"And if he chooses something other than what you want?"
There was a window of silence, where much is said without the clumsy interference of words. Then, "He will choose the correct path. Anyway, it is out of our hands for the moment. . . he will soon meet. . . him."
There was a snort. "Are you sure you wish to risk your weapon with the likes of such a creature?"
"He is chained by magics and rules as ancient as we are. Also, I think it all appeals to the vain part in his soul that wishes to change the world, rather than sit off to the side, watching it pass him by."
"Maybe, but remember that even chained dogs still have teeth. You might find his around your throat one day."
"Do you speak of the boy. . . or the creature?"
"Yes."
Chapter 23
The door swung open dramatically, quickly followed by a host of elves filing into the room with military precision. Marcius rubbed his weary eyes in surprise as a fully armor clad Selene strode in as well, a beacon of confidence. "Come, Marcius," she said in a voice that left no room for debate, "It is time for the council to see you."
Marcius scrambled out of bed, his heart beating hard with both relief and apprehension. A few days had passed since he had seen anybody, and he had settled into the uncomfortable pattern of a man that had nothing to do for an unforeseen amount of time. It was wake up, reread the scrolls on the table, eat the food that always mysteriously appeared between bouts of restless sleep, then, since there was no sense of time in the windowless room, go to sleep when tired.
As soon as his feet hit the floor, he was surrounded on all sides by grim-faced guards. They were all typical for elves, thin in body and fair of skin, though there was no sparkle in their eyes, no sense of boundless barely contained energy. Nothing showed but a determined countenance that spoke far louder than if they had openly threatened him. If he tried to escape or do anything they didn't want him to, strayed too far from the path, Marcius knew he was dead in half a heartbeat.
Large manacles were clasped on his wrist; a small sheet of hard metal that was attached came over to snap into place between his fingers. To stop his spell casting, Marcius realized. The elves were very thorough.
As he followed them, escorted on all sides by the guards, he finally got a decent look at Selene. She strode through the winding wooden hallway, leading the procession with a sense of authority that impressed Marcius. Just who was she? She had called herself a Battle-Mistress, and it was obvious that she commanded a bit of power at least, if the fine make of her armor and the obedience of the guards was any indicator.
Marcius couldn't take his eyes off her. He shouldn't have found chain mail and armor that interesting, but Selene was simply radiant. The way she walked, the subtle curves hinted at underneath the metal, the afterglow of her skin. Her every movement was analyzed, dissected, stored in his memory, and it all left him desperate for more.
Marcius tried not looking at her, directing his attention at the snaking hallway of wood. It was at least an interesting diversion, since a multitude of carvings of unintelligible designs adorned every inch of the walls. Marcius would have bet his familiar that they were enchanted with some sort of magic, from the way they pulsed and warped the area of his magical sense like ripples in the ocean.
With a magnetic pull, he found his gaze yanked once again to Selene. Something about her made his chest constrict painfully. Who would have thought heartache was a literal term? And why did it have to apply to someone so. . . unreachable? One of the guards nudged him roughly, catching his eye as Marcius began to protest. The guard silently shook his head, and Marcius closed his mouth as his face heated up in embarrassment.
They came upon a large set of double doors, and it was only there that the grim procession paused as the guards snapped to attention at their approach. "Marcius, beyond these doors are the most powerful leaders of Selenthia," Selene said as she steeled herself, "You will only speak when spoken to and answer their questions. Nothing more, or I will strike you down right there and no one will correct me. Understand?"
She didn't wait for his response, nodding to the guards who pushed the doors open with practiced uniformity. The entire procession continued into a large dim room. Shadows could be seen moving in alcoves along the wall and the shuffling of feet echoed. In front of them were five chairs on a raised platform, forcing Marcius to have to look up to see them.
"Welcome, Marcius Realure, to the Selenthian council," a loud male voice proclaimed.