Chapter 31: Kneel or Burn

I hit the floor, exhausted so much for my little teleporting show. Truth was, the whole thing had been one giant bluff. After teleporting Cassian and Serine as far away as my improvisation brain could imagine, I had nothing left. Couldn’t have swatted a fly if it challenged me to a duel. The only thing that had kept me standing until now was pure spite and the irresistible urge to annoy every bastard who thought they could trap me.

Figures, right? My entire survival plan: pettiness.

Aelith’s hand slipped into view. That sugary-sweet voice of hers came again, but this time it didn’t sound like the “look at me, I’m a harmless angel” performance she usually put on. It sounded… almost real.

“Are you all right, Rissa?”

I let out a jagged laugh between ragged breaths. Not all right, sunshine. Not even close. But that wasn’t the kind of admission I was going to make in front of half the pointy-eared peanut gallery.

Instead, I tilted my head up at her, eyes narrowing. “Aelith,” I panted, “I’m glad you didn’t resist. Seems like we understand each other in some twisted way—pretty girls looking out for each other, hm?” My voice landed harder than a joke should have, and I made damn sure not to take her hand. I wasn’t about to look like I needed saving.

My gaze snapped to Elyndor, still planted in the same spot like a statue. Honestly, if someone had lit him on fire, I doubt he’d have moved.

“Hey!” I barked, my voice echoing through the hall. “Half-elf, half-carpenter, half-idiot—you mind explaining what the hell this was about? Because here’s the deal: I’m one elf lie away from burning this entire shiny little island to ash. Don’t test me.”

The silence that followed was delicious. You could see the panic crawl across Elyndor’s face like a snail leaving a trail of shame behind it. His eyes darted between me, Aelith, and the gaggle of useless guards still holding their weapons like they didn’t know which way was up.

I dragged myself up—barely—and stalked across the hall. Every elf in the room scattered like pigeons at a thunderclap. Good. They should. I dropped into Elyndor’s ridiculously ornate chair, the so-called seat of authority, and lounged like I’d been born there. Which, given how well I wore it, maybe I should have.

I poured myself a generous goblet from his private stash. If I hadn’t gotten to drink all night, then by the gods, I was damn well going to start now. One long swallow and the world almost looked tolerable again.

“Well?” I said, swirling the wine. “I’m waiting. And let’s keep it short—I want explanations, not elven poetry hour.” Another gulp. “Shit served straight, please.”

Aelith stepped forward then, all grace and reverence, dipping into a bow so polished it nearly blinded me. But her voice carried something different this time. Less sugar, more steel.

“Lady Rissa,” she said, and damn if she didn’t sound like she meant it. “I believe I must introduce myself again properly. I am Aelith—Aelith Veylarae Ithanysiel Morwynn, eighteenth heir of the elves of Xytherra. My father, King Vaerithar of Xytherra, sent me here some two centuries ago, to the isle of Liraen—the second greatest elven settlement in the world. Once nearly as powerful as Xytherra itself.”

Her words sliced the room sharper than any blade. Elyndor winced, and I leaned back on the throne, sipping my wine like it was the only thing worth listening to.

“Elyndor, though master of this isle, holds a rank far below mine,” Aelith continued, her tone reverent yet laced with venom. “And since I am the last of my line, incapable of ruling, I was given a mission: to bear a child with Elyndor, my cousin. To secure a future with pure blood again for our people in Liraen.”

I nearly spat my wine across the hall. “Oh, wonderful. An incestuous elf royal breeding program. Gods above, how very dignified.”

Her lips pressed tight, but she didn’t deny it. “As you can see, there has been no marriage, no heir, nothing. Not for lack of trying on my part. But Master Elyndor…” Her nose wrinkled with disgust. “…cares for nothing but his wood and carpentry. He repulses me. He makes my very skin crawl.”

“Mm.” I rested my chin in my hand, elbow propped lazily on the armrest of Elyndor’s big boy chair, still nursing the goblet. “So he’s a coward and a failure. I’m shocked, truly. But darling, tell me—what in the name of burning forests does any of this have to do with me?”

Aelith inhaled slowly, her posture stiffening. “You see, Lady Rissa… when Master Elyndor was in Cinabar during one of his many flights from responsibility, he crossed paths with you. Afterward, he continued north—not to repay any debt, but to pursue another carpentry commission. But in Aveloria, he encountered the escort of Princess Lyra of Virelia—Myrrin.”

I could practically taste the name dripping like poison from her tongue.

“Myrrin,” Aelith went on, “was asking questions. About you. About Lady Serine. About strangers who might have performed… extravagant acts. And Elyndor, though a coward, is not an idiot. He knew the Kingdom of Virelia would not mobilize such a force for a mere fugitive. A fugitive who had slain a wyrm, no less.”

I raised my goblet in a mocking salute. “Cheers to me. Slayers get the best reputations.”

Her jaw tightened, but she kept going. “Elyndor smelled opportunity. He approached Myrrin and struck a bargain. He would lure you here, to Liraen. Deliver you, eventually, into their hands. In return, the Kingdom of Virelia would grant support to Liraen’s elves, should Xytherra ever decide it has had enough of Elyndor’s inept rule.”

I drained the rest of my goblet in one swallow and slammed it down on the table hard enough to rattle the plates. “So let me get this straight: Cousin Carpenterslut sells me out for political insurance, you’re stuck in an elven incest soap opera, and meanwhile I’m the prize in some overblown game of ‘who wants to be the world’s bitch queen.’”

I leaned back in Elyndor’s seat, grinning like a wolf. “Gods, I love elf politics. It’s even dumber than human politics, and that’s saying something.”

“L–Lady Rissa,” he stammered, pale as uncut pine. “You must understand, I only—”

I cut him off with a laugh so sharp it could’ve peeled the varnish off his precious furniture. “Oh, don’t start with the ‘you must understand’ speech. You sold me out like a cheap chair at a village market, Elyndor. Don’t insult me by pretending it was anything nobler than cowardice wrapped in sawdust.”

Aelith stepped in, her voice like silk wrapped around barbed wire. “She’s right, cousin. You thought yourself clever, but you’re nothing more than a trembling woodworm. You disgust me.”

The poor bastard’s face crumpled like wet paper. He opened his mouth again, but I held up a hand.

“Spare me, Carpenter-King. Here’s the deal. I could torch this entire hall, slit every last one of your throats, and sleep like a baby afterward. Or…” I leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “…you swear loyalty to me. All of you. I don’t give a damn about titles, crowns, or dusty bloodlines—I want freedom. My freedom, and that of the people I choose to protect. But freedom doesn’t come without leverage. So today, you get a choice: kneel or burn.”

The silence that followed was delicious. Heavy, choking, absolute.

Then Aelith moved. She didn’t hesitate, not even a heartbeat. She stepped forward, dropped gracefully to her knees before me, and bowed her head. “I swear my loyalty to you, Rissa,” she said, voice ringing clear. “Not out of fear, but because I see you for what you are. A true queen. Elf or not, you are the one I will follow.”

For once, I was almost speechless. Almost.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” I muttered, though my grin could have cut glass.

The guards in the hall shifted, uncertain—until they saw the eighteenth heir of Xytherra kneeling. Then, like dominos, one after another fell to their knees. Armor clattered against stone, voices murmured oaths I didn’t care to decipher.

Elyndor, predictably, sulked. “As long as I can keep my workshop and my carpentry, I don’t care who pretends to rule.”

I slammed my goblet on the table. “I don’t give a flying fuck about your carpentry, Elyndor. I said I came to collect on the wyrm debt—and I’ll damn well take interest. If that means I become the shadow sovereign of your little elven kingdom while you play the pretty political face, so be it.” I raised my goblet high, wine sloshing over the rim. “Now drink with me—to this delightful, fucked-up alliance. To chaos. To flipping this whole world upside down if it dares lay a hand on my freedom, or on the people I claim as mine.”

“Cheers!”

Aelith shot up from the floor like lightning, grabbed a goblet, and downed it in one fierce gulp. “Cheers!” she shouted, fire blazing in her eyes.

And then it spread. The elves erupted, voices rising in a wild, chaotic roar. Too loud, too joyous. It wasn’t the careful celebration of a cautious people—it was an explosion.

I frowned into my wine, already pouring another. I didn’t get it, not really. Didn’t care either. I was too exhausted, too drained, too bone-deep tired. Let them scream. Let them cheer. Let them kneel or dance or hump the furniture for all I cared.

I had my wine. And for tonight, that was victory enough.