Amber Moon (Moon Trilogy, Part II)
Chapter Three
Identities will be tested and violet will set her resolve…
“Why were you watching me?” Anarion asked politely. His voice was throaty and intense. His attention was fixated on her exclusively.
Mirie sat at a table in the dining hall, thinking about human sayings. The hall was empty save for Anarion and herself. After Asta had laughed her guts out, Mirie had lamely professed her hunger and one of the elves had stated that concentrated healing caused healthy appetites.
Anarion had led her to the dining hall and called out one of the servants to attend them. He drank something that looked and smelled like coffee. Mirie was eating something that she thought was chicken. She was a little afraid to ask. Elves had been known to serve brownies and pixies as delicacies.
“Didn’t I make that clear?” she said glibly. “The clairvoyants say you have the Eyes of the Amber Moon or you’re connected to it.” She was proud of herself in that her eyes didn’t dip toward his waistline.
“I have a piece of dark magick object left over from the Fae Wars?” he said, clearly surprised. “There are several pieces that could be seen as the…” His handsome face abruptly cleared and his hand went to his belt. Long fingers strummed over the elaborate buckle. His diamond eyes glittered at her knowingly. “A gift from a courtesan. There is no magick within it.”
“A courtesan?” Mirie repeated. “You mean a mistress gave it to you?” She was proud that the tiny notes of immediate jealousy were kept from her tone. It was a jealousy that she resented herself for feeling. Reality hit hard. The human saying that Jack often repeated to her was, ‘If it’s too good to be true, then it probably is.’ This entire situation was just that, too good to be true. She didn’t have a secret family who had been searching for her for decades. She didn’t have a drop dead gorgeous Elfish prince who had been waiting for her for centuries. That was something right out of a bad soap opera.
Shrugging elvishly, Anarion didn’t seem embarrassed. “I’m five hundred years old, Mirie. Human years. She was cherished for a time, until her possessiveness became readily apparent.”
“The Committee wishes to secure the pieces so that the vision does not come to pass,” she went for the political method instead of focusing on the prince’s past love life.
Anarion stared at her. “And your mind is still engrossed with the Committee’s wishes?”
“Perhaps you’re suggesting that I should throw my entire life away based on your hunch that I’m a girl that was promised to you five hundred years ago? A prophecy given to you at your birth?” Mirie asked sardonically. “You know, I like a good love story and all but that seems farfetched. I’m not sure we would even suit. You know, I’m a little bit country and you’re a little bit rock and roll, and all that.”
His long fingers tapped the table’s glossy finish. Eyes gleaming with amusement, he asked, “You don’t believe that you are she, you are Ruaora, the one I have waited for, my entire life?”
“My name is Mirie Baldursdottir. I know that my mother and adopted father were murdered by other Huldufolk for their political beliefs. I know that the Committee has fostered me and never held me back. They’ve kept no secrets from nor closed any doors to my inquisitive nature.” Mirie put her eating utensils down on the table. “And I need to contact them. Perhaps we can negotiate for the piece. The end of the world should be of interest to the Light Land.”
His interesting lips twitched. “Like many prophecies it can be said that when one attempts to interfere is when the events are often set into motion.”
“You mean that the Committee’s actions might be instigating the apocalypse,” Mirie frowned.
“Precisely,” Anarion gleamed as he said the words.
“And the Eyes of the Amber Moon would be safer around your midsection,” Mirie went on.
Anarion’s eyes widened. “Unless there’s a valid reason for me to take it off.” The words were sultry and inviting.
“What a line,” Mirie scoffed. “Do you ask girls if they want to come in and see your etchings, too?”
“Etchings?”
“Yikes,” Mirie muttered.
Anarion’s shoulders straightened. His face composed itself into seriousness. “My father, the King, will decide the Eyes of the Amber Moon’s fate. Perhaps it would be best if the piece was thrown into the volcanic fires of Mount Tartarus.”
“Destroyed would be great, if I were the one who throws it in,” Mirie announced. “Not that I don’t trust people, but well, hey, I don’t trust people.”
“Truly,” Anarion said. “You should eat more. You’ll need your strength.”
Mirie glanced at the food and back up at his disingenuous expression. “Okay, you’re like the Fae. You really don’t like answering questions do you?”
“Don’t compare us to them,” Anarion said swiftly, nearly a snarl. “We are the worst of enemies.”
“Okay then. One, why is it that you all think I’m this missing girl, Ruaora? Is it my violet eyes or something else? Two, I need to get in touch with the Committee so they don’t send a team into the Light Land and kick ass. Three, why in the name of Jumping Jehoshaphat do I need my strength? And fourth, what is this that I just ate, because it tastes just like chicken.” Mirie crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s also the question of how you healed me and why you healed me and why you were so mad at your bodyguards for shooting me when they were protecting you.”
“You’re defending my triumvirate’s actions?” Anarion asked curiously. “I would have thought you’d be shrieking for vengeance.”
“I did threaten you,” Mirie said. “The son of the king. Bad idea on my part, but I was backed into a proverbial corner. How did you know I was bluffing?” She clicked her tongue. “I guess that’s a lot more than four questions. Perhaps if you answered some of them, the list would shorten.”
Anarion gestured at the food in front of her. “That is chicken. What? You don’t think we have chickens here?”
•
Probably because the elves didn’t know what else to do with her, Mirie sat in a large library and looked at books. Interestingly enough there was a significant number of English language tomes included. Some were classics. The works of Shakespeare were included. Some weren’t. Someone had an affinity for Stephen King. Then there were hundreds in Elfish that Mirie was only moderately fluent in.
“They keep the really dangerous books in the dungeon,” a fluid voice said.
Mirie turned her head and saw Asta. Her glowing powers weaved patterns around her body, as if protecting her. “Oh, it’s you. Don’t you have a ball of yarn to chase instead of pestering me?”
Asta perched on the edge of a chair. “I’m a Mirmir,” she said. “Not very common. We’re born human, but attain the ability to change into multiple shapes as we mature. We tend to be stuck in several forms. I have three, so I’m considered accomplished.”
“A cat, a human, and what else?” Mirie said inquisitively.
“Bad form to ask about personal magicks,” Asta grinned at her. “So what else can you see besides my powers?”
“Bad form for me to ask, you mean,” Mirie said promptly.
Asta shrugged.
“I see magick powers. I see the forms they take, the paths that have been weaved. When you change forms you construct magicks to help you, and that’s what I see.” Mirie sighed. “It’s different with other species. Some are less magicks and more genetics. Werewolves and werecats, for example. Some sort of virus. Not magicks at all, but I can see something in their eyes.”
“Baninois,” Asta breathed. “Not only can you command a witch blade, but you have the sight.”
“What is Baninois?” Mirie repeated. She closed a book and replaced it on the shelves. She wasn’t impressed with her own powers. Sometimes it helped with her activities with the Committee. Sometimes it got in the way.
“Witch blooded
,” answered another voice. Asta jumped and Mirie repressed a smile.
Anarion strode across the room. “Asta, you’ve got a big mouth.”
“Meowrrrr,” Asta said gleefully. “Mirmirs aren’t known for diplomacy.” She shrugged helplessly.
“More questions for me,” Mirie said. “So if I’m Baninois, what difference does it make?”
“It means you’re a royal protector,” Anarion said grimly. “One who guards the High Court.” Then he smiled and his face became instantly beautiful. “Another notch in the evidence that you are Ruaora. It’s said there was once a witch who was a distant ancestress. Many heroic protectors have come from the house of Sumrah.”
“I have a job,” Mirie asserted. “Will you please let me contact the Committee? My boss, Nehemiah or the agent who was with me before I got shot. You know, before an Inter-dimensional incident causes problems.”
“Come with me,” Anarion said bluntly. “You’ve a visitor.”
•
“Jack!” Mirie yelled happily. He grinned at her cheerfully. Large and shaggy silver haired, Jack looked her up and down as he shifted restlessly in the grand hallway where the High Court had met previously. However, there was only Mirie, Jack, Anarion, and several Elfish guards who hovered.
“Nice to see you whole,” Jack said to her and enfolded her in a generous hug. Mirie could see Anarion stiffen beside them.
Mirie patted Jack affectionately then withdrew out of his embrace. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Blood on the roof,” Jack said, his expression grim. “Lots of it. Yours, too, according to the mages we sent over there. And the Elfish contingent was portentously absent. They all went AWOL, just like that. We’ve sent our envoys here to find out that the royal house had you and that you’ve been healed by the best that they had. Also they don’t want to let you come home. Something about spying on His Majesty Prettyboy, here. And something else that they’re real mysterious about.”
Anarion growled under his breath.
“I think we’ve moved past that,” Mirie said quickly. Somehow she didn’t think that telling Jack about the bodyguard shooting her in the chest would help the situation. “Your Highness,” she said to Anarion. “This is Jack Drake, my partner. And Jack, this is His Highness, Anarion.”
“Partner,” Anarion repeated ominously.
“Sheesh,” Mirie muttered. “Agent partner. We work together. The operative word being ‘work.’ The Committee sends us out in twos. We get to protect each other’s backs.”
“You didn’t do such an adequate job with Mirie’s back,” Anarion commented slyly. “Or her front, for that matter.”
“I hesitated,” Mirie said hastily. Belatedly she realized they were all speaking English again and wondered what happened to Anarion’s spell. “I don’t like heights all that much. And since when do elves carry guns? Definitely not in any of the briefs I’ve read.”
“Next time, you’ll jump just like you’re supposed to do,” Jack said irately. “And guns? What the hell happened? You got shot?”
“There won’t be a next time for her to jump anywhere,” Anarion announced arrogantly.
Jack frowned. So did Mirie. But she was the first to say, “We’ll see about that.”
“W.T.F.?” Jack said. “The High Court only just let me through to see you and ascertain your health. But what is going on here?”
“I think it’s a misunderstanding about my identity,” Mirie glanced at Anarion and saw that his eyes were glittering in that way that denoted bad things to come. “They think I’m this missing Elfish girl.”
“Her Ladyship,” Anarion corrected. “Ruaora of the Duchy of Sumrah. And I don’t think anything. I know.”
Mirie made a face that Jack could see but made sure she was turned away from Anarion.
“And the High Court seems open to negotiation about the Eyes of the Amber Moon,” she added pseudo-cheerfully.
Jack was frowning again. “An elf? But you’re as human as I am, Mirie.”
Mirie shuffled uncomfortably. She’d known the day would come. Jack had worked with her for years, but he’d never known that she wasn’t human. He knew about her hunches that concealed her actual magicks, and probably suspected that her bloodlines were smattered with the odd otherworldly creature, but because of his bias, she had kept mum. Don’t ask-don’t tell worked well with Jack until she had proved her trustworthiness. Add to that, she hadn’t wanted to ruin their friendship. “My mother was Huldufolk,” she admitted quietly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jack demanded indignantly. “I would have-”
“Not Huldufolk,” Anarion interjected. “Elfish. To the last drop. With all the powers of her family.”
“Okay,” Mirie said loudly. “That’s enough of that. Unless you have a DNA test that will work on elves, you can just shut it about the Ruaora crap, Anarion.”
One of the Elfish guards gasped noisily.
But Anarion abruptly grinned at her. “I like that. It’s the first time you’ve used my name.”
Jack gaped at the two of them. Then Mirie realized that he was looking behind them.
Asta strolled up and her eyes went up and down Jack’s length. “Hubba hubba,” she said. “I think humans are getting better looking all the time.”
“Asta,” Mirie gritted, thinking that Asta’s English had a little rasping accent, as if she was ready to purr at a moment’s notice. “Jack Drake, another agent from the Committee, but you probably already know that. Jack, Asta, last name unknown. She’s a Mirmir, and don’t ask me to explain what that is, but if you see a cat that’s the same color as Asta’s hair, it’s probably her. And she likes to play peeping tom.” Mirie considered. “No pun intended.”
“Spoilsport,” Asta purred at Mirie. “It’s no fun when they’re forewarned.”
Jack snapped back to Mirie and Anarion, disregarding Asta. “Your Highness, the Committee formally requests the return of our agent.”
Anarion shifted slightly. “I believe Asta can answer for me in a very human fashion that will be instantly recognizable of the High Court’s feelings in the matter.”
“Not only no, but hell, no,” Asta said jauntily.