So much for the element of surprise.

Merasiël ducked around one of the compound guards, tumbling past his sword to seek the cover of a nearby column. She paused once there, remaining just out of view of the templar and his bowman. The horrible events from outside the manor a few minutes ago had been a painful reminder that the shadows, not the open battlefields, were her home. It was easy to forget this when fighting beside Rainald and Gabriel. The pair simply waded into the fray, comfortable in the knowledge of their own skill, or at least, the skill of Mendel to get them back on their feet should things go badly. She didn’t remain where she was for long; her target would soon reload his crossbow and she needed to remove him from play before another feathered bolt struck down another of her companions.

A quick sprint to the safety of another column left her within attacking distance and still out of view. She slipped from the shadows and stepped behind the bowman, placed her blade on his jugular and sliced neatly across. While the cut was not deep enough to kill, her distraction proved a success; no more bolts would fire from his crossbow this night.

As the battle raged on, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Gabriel had forced the Templar to retreat to a position that was close, leaving his unarmored head within her reach. It would be so easy, she thought, but dare I risk turning my back to my other enemy? When a brief vision of her unconscious form lying on the floor bleeding out passed before her eyes, she buried the thought deep within and turned away from the injured crossbowman. Two steps found her on the Templar’s back, bracing one foot on his hip, her opposite knee in the small of his back and grasping his shoulder with her left hand. Blade met bone with a sickening crunch as she buried Angrist to the hilt in the back of his skull.

As the Templar fell to the ground, Angrist slid out easily, and words floated to her ears through the red haze of battle.

“Marry me.”

It took a moment for them to register, and she simply stared at the man in white that now faced her, blood and brain matter decorating the stone floor beside her feet. Is he…serious? Did he really just ask me to marry him in the middle of an enemy compound after I opened a hole in someone’s skull? Sounds of the continuing battle going on around her threatened to capture her attention, and she masked her confusion within a scowl and curt answer before turning away.

“No.”

Gabriel’s grin in response to her rejection did little to ease her mind.

“Lady Misthal, you enchant me. Thank you.”

Merasiël smiled as Edward lifted one of her hands to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a kiss. “Whatever for?”

“For coming to my rescue, of course! All of the insufferable noblemen, their wives, their,” Edward grimaced, “daughters. This feast is supposed to be a joyous occasion…celebrating my glorious return from Megalos. But I must confess, I did not feel like celebrating. Not until I met you.” He paused for a moment, staring at Merasiël’s reflection in the rippling water of the fountain beside them. “Stay with me.”

“Lord Edward?”

“Stay. Please. Call it the magic of the Elves, call it an impulsive boyish fantasy, but you truly have placed a spell on me. We’ll have a room prepared, and before you answer, I must tell you that will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Merasiël lifted a hand, gently caressing his jawline, “So sudden…”

“I will beg if I must.”

“Yes. I will stay with you.”

Edward’s enthusiastic grin in response to her affirmation did little to ease her mind.

Hyrnan, August 2013 ce, Estate of Lord Bonet

Two months.

Two long, painful, boring months of idleness had been spent playing the part of the “Lady Misthal from the Great Forest” and Merasiël’s already miniscule amount of patience was nearly gone. For his part, Lord Tereus had been correct in his belief that insinuating herself into the comings and goings of the household would be easy. Lord Edward had been sent away to court at a young age, and while he was there he developed quite a fascination for elves. Merasiël had but to appear at the feast celebrating his return that evening with her ears on display and the young Lord had been hers. She had been welcomed into the household that night, and subsequently his arms within the week. From there, gathering information about Edward’s father had proved to be more difficult than she expected. Edward was…persistent with his attentions and she had very little time alone. If Edward himself had known anything of his father’s dealings, he kept silent on the matter. She had gathered what information she could and waited for further instructions.

She occasionally received word from Tereus, usually in the form of cleverly coded messages hidden within deliveries. Merasiël had responded to each; delivering what information she had learned since the last contact on the comings and goings of the elder Lord Bonet as well as some of his allies, but Tereus was still not satisfied. Lord Bonet kept his darkest secrets close.

Until the day that the elder Lord announced a visit to the Megalan capital. And, Merasiël was happy to hear, the younger Lord Edward would be joining him.

“Lady Misthal, Lord Bonet has summoned you.”

Merasiël thanked the servant and adjusted her dress, expecting to once again spend the morning listening to Edward tell tales of court and recite horrible Megalan poetry. To her surprise, when she arrived at Edward’s suite, it was the Elder Lord Bonet waiting for her, and not Edward.

“Lord Bonet, this is a surprise. I hadn’t—”

“Enough,” he cut her off mid-sentence. “I know what you are up to.”

Merasiël swallowed. He couldn’t know, she thought. I’ve been too careful. Too conservative. “I don’t understand, milord.”

“He speaks of you near constantly to me, telling me the most fantastic tales. A strange, beautiful, wandering elf, from a destroyed homeland far to the west. One who happens to appear in my home the very day my son returns and bewitches him. He announced his intentions at breakfast this morning to propose to you.” His voice hardened, the lines on his face deepening along with his scowl. “I had heard news that elves had near taken over Harkwood and were insinuating themselves into noble bloodlines there, but I hadn’t expected their reach to go this far.”

“Milord, I swear to you, I had—”

“ENOUGH!” he bellowed. “Not here. Not in my home. And not in my city. Your…kind is responsible for that abominable Blackwood. And I will not have your kind ruining Hyrnan as well!” He pointed a finger in her direction. “Now, I leave on a ship bound for Megalos on the morrow. Edward will be going with me and when we return, he will have a proper wife. I want you gone from my household within the week. Do you understand?”

Merasiël buried her smirk of satisfaction behind a deep curtsey and forced her voice to be as trite as she could possibly manage. “Yes, Lord Bonet.” The door slammed after her as she was escorted from the room, but she barely heard it. Her mind was already a-whirl with plans.

Edward hadn’t been allowed to speak to her of course. As the litter creaked its way down the drive early the next morning, Merasiël risked one brief glance out the window, but thankfully the morning fog prevented any view of the occupants. She half expected him to come running back to the manor like a madman, professing his love, but as the morning drew on, the road remained silent and Merasiël remained alone. The staff, under instruction from Lord Bonet, had abandoned her and she was forced to make do for herself for the day, dressing herself and getting her own food from the kitchen. She preferred it, as she did not like their constant attentiveness and it left her with plenty of time to think. She knew that the elder Lord Bonet kept at least one guard outside his personal offices at all times. But Merasiël had her own way of getting places, and she had long since found her way to the roof.

As day turned to night, the house grew gradually more still as the last of the staff finished their chores and retired. With Lord Bonet away, some tried to stay up a bit later than usual, and voices and laughter drifted up from the windows of the servants’ quarters long after the rest of the household had gone to sleep. Nonetheless, there was still work to be done the next day and one by one, they all quietened down. When Merasiël was sure the only ones awake would be the guard, she crept to the window and opened it. She had abandoned her dress this night, donning a pair of dark trousers and shirt she had stolen from the laundry when no one was looking. They were a bit baggy, and she had secured them as best she could with her belt. She slid her sheathed dagger on the belt almost as an afterthought. If all went well, violence would not be necessary. Pity.

The two months she had spent learning her way around the manor paid off. She scrambled to the roof, dislodging only a leaf or two of ivy in the process. She held her breath as one leaf drifted close to one of the guards, but he either did not notice, or chose to ignore it. Once on the roof, she paused to catch her breath. She was weakened after two months of living a life of idleness, and every muscle in her arms was complaining about the exertion. She gritted her teeth and pushed through the pain and grasped hold of the ivy on the opposite side of the house, this time to descend to the windows of Lord Bonet’s third floor study.

The window was unlocked. Merasiël frowned as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. This isn’t right, she thought. As worried as he is about his secrecy, this window should be locked. Taking extra care to be quiet, she ignored the voice in her head telling her to leave and stepped into the dark room. Enough starlight filtered in from the windows that she could make out the locations of the furniture, and she she crept to the desk, and began her search. While she could see, the darkness caused her some difficulty in actually making out the details of what she was looking at, but she dared not light a candle.

Wait, she thought, squinting in the low light. Here it is. She tilted the paper so that the starlight aided her vision. Yes. Every single one of them is named. What do these numbers mean out to the side? She was so intent upon her study that she missed the sound of footfall approaching in the hall. The only warning she had was the shuffle of booted feet as the guard came to attention and the click of the lock turning.

To be concluded in part III…