Bow before the elf queen, p.1
Bow Before the Elf Queen, page 1
Bow Before the Elf Queen
THE ELF QUEEN SERIES BOOK 1
J.M. KEARL
Bow Before the Elf Queen
By J.M. Kearl
Copyright J.M. Kearl 2022
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: Janie Hannan Kearl
Dedicated to David Farland. If it wasn’t for him this book wouldn’t have been written.
Contents
Also by J.M. Kearl
Name Pronunciation Guide
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by J.M. Kearl
Also by J.M. Kearl
Allied Kingdoms Academy
Curse of Blood and Shadow
Curse of the Fae Moon
Curse of the Cruel and Lovely
Curse of the Night
RISE Trilogy
RISE
WRATH
RIVAL
RISE: The Complete Trilogy
Allora Knightstar: Sky Fae
Born of Sky
Crown of Sky
The Elf Queen
Bow before the Elf Queen
Name Pronunciation Guide
Layala—Lay-all-uh
Seraphina—Sera-feen-uh
Tenebris—Ten-eh-briss
Evalyn—Ev-uh-lynn
Athayel—Ath-ā-el
Aldrich—All-drich
Fennan—Fen-en
Atarah—Uh-tar-uh
Zaurahel—Zar-uh-hel
Mathekis—Math-eh-kiss
Palenor—Pal-eh-nor
Calladira—Cal-uh-deer-uh
Svenarum—Sven-are-um
Vessache—Vess-ach
Prologue
In a small cottage filled with warmth and light, nestled at the edge of the Valley of the Sun, a scream whisked butterflies from their blooms. The gentle cry of the newborn baby filled the bedroom, a sound she had waited to hear for nine months. Seraphina released her grip on the green fuzzy branch of the calming tree at her bedside. Its mystical properties reduced the pain during the contractions and pushing but hadn’t taken it away entirely. It even curled around her wrist as if it knew she needed the assistance.
A sigh of relief passed through Seraphina’s lips upon seeing the tiny baby held by the midwife at her feet. Finally, the child was here and well. The melancholy “what-ifs” raced through her mind as she pushed; many she knew had birthed children who never took a breath. It became more frequent in the last four centuries after most of the elves lost their magic.
“A girl.” Her husband Elkin’s voice trembled with emotion. “She’s so small.”
The warm spring air drifted in from the open window, carrying with it the scent of jasmine and citrus. Sun shone inside, filling the ivory-painted room with brilliant light. Outside a pink weeping lilac tree swayed in the breeze. What a beautiful day the child was born on. A good omen.
Leaning back into the feather pillows behind her, Seraphina smiled at the dark tuft of hair on her baby’s crown, black, like her father. The baby curled her legs toward her belly. She was perfect, from her delicately pointed ears to her rosy, pink toes. Though the pain of birthing still lingered, overwhelming joy took hold. Tears pricked her eyes and her cheeks ached from smiling.
The midwife inspected the child before her, still covered in birth matter and blood. Seraphina looked at the midwife expectantly, waiting for her daughter to be placed in her arms. She wanted to see her girl’s face, hold her, hear her heartbeat.
But the midwife’s eyes were fixed on the infant’s shoulder with furrowed brows.
“What is it? Why do you not give me my child?”
“She bears a strange mark.”
Elkin, who still gripped Seraphina’s hand, met her eyes briefly then looked to the woman, “What do you speak of? A birthmark?”
Tugging her hand away, Seraphina stretched her arms out, growing impatient. “Give her to me.”
With the umbilical cord still attached, the midwife passed the wide-eyed baby to her mother. There was indeed a mark. Unlike any Seraphina had ever seen. A black birthmark against the child’s pink skin the size of a small coin, shaped as thorny vines wrapped around the stem of a lily. Could it be or did her eyes play tricks?
Elkin exchanged another look with her. Foreboding as the mark may be, she pulled the baby against her chest and savored the first moments of her daughter’s life.
The child’s name and testing day came seven sunrises later. Each new elf infant was brought before the king to be presented and tested for magical ability. So few remained now, but there was always hope a new mage would be born.
A pit grew in Seraphina’s stomach, heavy and twisting. The midwife spread rumors about the baby’s mark so hundreds gathered in the massive hall of kings. Dressed in light colors of pastels and fine jewelry, the high elves expected this to be a wondrous day. Their beautiful, serene faces beheld smiles, hair of varied shades in intricate braids and styles.
Seraphina wore a gown of the lightest blue with gold embroidered trim and a golden necklace with a willow tree centerpiece, passed down from her mother and her mother before. Her soft, golden-brown hair was pulled up into a high bun to accentuate her pointed ears and cheekbones. But her breath caught as she stood frozen in the entryway. Why did she feel ill when everything about this day was beautiful and bright?
Elkin placed a hand on her back and with gentle pressure urged her forward. It was so quiet their light elven footsteps echoed. Eyes followed Seraphina and Elkin as they passed through the gap between the sea of elves under the looming white stone archways leading to the king at the end. Sunlight cascaded in from the colossal windows, ethereal as it reflected off the diamonds glittering in the king’s golden crown. He was elegant in his fine green robes. But there was a harshness around his eyes. Rumors swirled about the once benevolent High King dabbling in the dark arts, seeking to grow more powerful, to have magic of his own.
At the end of the aisle this blond king waited, his eyes fixed on the sleeping bundle in Seraphina’s arms. The white throne he sat on had a back so high the king could stand and it would take three of him to reach the peak.
With a gray staff in hand matching his robe, the light mage Vesstan stood to the king’s right. His pale, straight hair was half tied up in ceremonial braids woven between a crown of silver branches. With a warm smile, he descended the five steps and met the mother and father at the altar. “Many have gathered here today for the testing and naming of this child. What shall she be known by from this day forth?”
Elkin cleared his throat. “She is to be known as Layala Lightbringer.”
Seraphina held her child closer, patting the baby’s back gently. She didn’t want to part with her for the testing but she would have to. All mothers did.
The mage dipped his head, his wrists clinked from the silver bracelets as he touched the gray stone altar before him. “Please place the infant Layala Lightbringer here.”
Seraphina’s eyes met the king’s, his chin raised slightly.
Impatiently.
She set the swaddled baby down gently, leaving a hand against her chest, careful to make sure she wouldn’t fall.
The mage bobbed his head. “This will be quick, and do not fret; the child will not be harmed. I will say a few words and we’ll wait for a sign. If nothing happens the child does not have magic.”
Seraphina knew this. She’d seen it hundreds of times herself. No child she witnessed possessed magic. No sign ever came. Mage Vesstan, one of the last elves born with magic to exist in Adalon, touched the crown of Layala’s head with his fingers. With but a few chanted words an onyx swirl of cloud amassed around the tip of the staff. It soon traveled like a serpent, winding and moving around the four of them until it circled only Layala. Flower buds appeared above the dark mist around her; the lily’s blossomed into such a deep purple they nearly looked black.
Seraphina’s chest ached. The birthmark and now this dark display of magic… What did this mean? What would happen now? What did they do with magical children? Her eyes set on Layala’s petite plump face, so sweet and lovely. Seraphina’s heart swelled with love but a part of her worried; how could there be darkness in something so delicate and beautiful?
Mage Vesstan jerked his hand away as if he’d been struck and turned to the king, mouth gaping
The High King rose, with greed in his eyes. “She has magic.” He waved a hand to a female elf with her hands on a small boy’s shoulders. His dark-brown hair curled around his angelic face, and his big green eyes searched the crowd nervously. This was the king’s wife and child. Seraphina recognized them as they drew closer.
“See that it is done,” the king boomed.
Panic rose in Seraphina, looking from the king to the mage. “See that what is done?”
“As the first to be born with power in over four centuries, this child will marry my son when she is of age. They are to be betrothed, bound by magic for now.” The hardness in his eyes showed no sign of negotiation. “She will be a great weapon for our people in the future.”
A weapon? She was but a baby, barely even a week old and he was calling her a weapon? Seraphina should be happy her daughter would be a princess, but her stomach dropped. It was all too much too soon. How could they claim Layala like this without her consent?
Before she could even protest, Mage Vesstan chanted. Seraphina looked to the crowd. The happy faces didn’t understand the panic clawing at her chest, threatening to buckle her knees. She gripped her husband’s hand. “Do something,” she hissed.
“What can be done?” he whispered and pressed a hand on her shoulder. “We will be killed if we reject this claim. We can devise a plan later.”
It was only moments, moments and a tendril of white light passed from the king’s son, a boy of only three, to her baby girl, binding them together. A rune appeared on the infant’s left wrist: the rune for mate.
The king nodded to a guard and then his dark eyes turned to Mage Vesstan. “Take the infant to the royal nursery. We must see to it that she is raised properly, trained, and kept safe.”
The panic turned to anger. Seraphina snatched the baby into her arms and held her against her before Mage Vesstan could move. “You must not take my child from me. Allow me to raise her. I’ll see to it she is trained,” she said, bowing herself before the throne, begging.
“She will stay,” the king announced. “And be raised by me and Queen Orlandia. Her safety is my greatest concern. Here in the castle, we can ensure that.”
Seraphina turned in a circle searching for help but not a single elf stepped forward. “Let me stay with her, please.”
“No, that will not do. Being raised by someone who knows nothing about magic will only weaken her.”
Elkin’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword, but he gave her a small shake of his head. Noncompliance would mean death. Guards moved in.
Rising, Seraphina ran.
Her eyes blurred with tears as she slammed into the crowd of elves. Gasps and murmurs echoed in the hall. They parted for her. No one moved to stop her and the baby, but they didn’t stand in the way of the guards either.
She knew the servants’ passages. She’d worked in the castle before, delivering goods.
The king shouted, heavy footsteps from those who followed her closed in. Ducking under a guard’s arm, she made a dash for the closest corridor and slipped behind a tapestry that led into the servants’ passage. Breaths coming faster, she sprinted until she rounded a corner and came face to face with a woman holding a wooden basket of fruit.
Seraphina’s heart sang. It was her dear friend, Evalyn, one of the only humans to work in the city. She wasn’t allowed inside during the testing but she’d found a way to be there nonetheless. “Take my baby,” Seraphina demanded. “Take her to your home. Do not go anywhere near mine. I’ll come for her.”
Confusion glistened in Evalyn’s eyes. “Why do you ask this of me?”
Footsteps and shouts in the distance made her heart slam hard against her ribs.
“Where did she go? Find her!” a male voice shouted nearby.
Seraphina pushed the baby toward Evalyn. “Please. Layala is magical. The king wants to use her. We can’t let him.”
Setting the fruit basket down, Evalyn nodded and gathered the infant into her arms. A moment passed between them; they stared at each other, a mutual understanding. Tears filled both their eyes. Seraphina knew she’d never see her precious child again, at least not in this life. “If I don’t make it to your house by nightfall, take her far from here… Make sure she knows I loved her with my entire being.”
Evalyn nodded, a tear glistening on her warm brown cheek.
Seraphina kissed her baby’s soft head, inhaling her sweet scent one last time. She tore the generational necklace from her throat, giving it over to her daughter. “Tell Layala her father and I fought until the end for her. Tell her one day she will need to fight, too.”
Chapter 1
— TWENTY-FOUR YEARS LATER —
~Love is a powerful force. It cannot be bought. It cannot be taken or stolen. Although sometimes it must be fought for, it must be given freely.~
The rain pelted the ground as if the tepid drops were the hooves of a thousand galloping horses. A crack of thunder boomed, and yet a shrill scream cut through it all. Layala’s elf eyes saw well in the dark, but on this starless night, deep among the looming redwood trees, the darkness almost became a living thing. The low visibility only gave away outlines of the forest, leaving the origination of the scream a mystery. It echoed from everywhere, bouncing off trees that should absorb. Skin prickling, she returned to her task.
She pulled her hood up, covering her waist-length black hair and crept low among the ferns and shrubbery, listening for a whimper or movement. Every seventh day she visited the statues made in honor of her parents with a bouquet of rich blue forget-me-nots. It was the least she could do when they’d sacrificed their lives for her. The most she would do was yet to come.
The fluffy white pup her aunt tasked her with watching snuck out upon her return as the storm brewed, and darted into the Redcrest Woods, the backyard of their cottage. The woods here smelled of mild spice with damp mossy undertones and a hint of sweetness, but tonight, a rotten egg odor drifted on the breeze.
Putting her hand on a crumbling fallen log, Layala catapulted over and dropped low when another shriek ripped through the air. She slowly pulled a dagger from her leather belt. It was a war cry, the sound of an animal or something on the hunt, searching for a meal. She didn’t want to let the words cross her mind, but pale ones cursed by the long-dead Black Mage screeched like that. She’d first heard them when she was a child, like a dying wildcat. The noise made her cringe to this day. If there was one nearby, she must kill the creature or risk it getting to the others in town.
A tiny whimper caught her ear. She searched the underbrush and stopped on the shivering pup partially hidden under a fern frond. His white fur was muddied brown from dirt and grime. Letting out a quiet whistle, Layala scooted toward him, holding out her hand. “Come on, Dregous.” He perked up and began retreating backward. This dog is going to get me killed, she thought. Before he could run off, she dove, rolled, and scooped him around the middle, shooting to her feet.
