The Raven Heiress

By Jeremy Forsyth

Alepion has no truer friendship than in the Singing Isles and Saph, whose loyalty to the Moon Elves can only be rivaled by their prejudice for each other.

Two students arrive early at the Evlon House, a Singing Elf and a Saphian, their mission; gain the favor of the other student who's also landed on Evlon's front door steps earlier than expected; the Raven Heiress.

While the Singing Elf and Saphian vie for the favor of the Raven Heiress, something else lurks in the shadows, haunting Evlon's corridors, and seemingly intent upon revenge. But on who?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremy Forsyth
• Release date: Sep 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005357504

Jeremy Forsyth

Jeremy Forsyth is the author of The Sun, Moon, Sand, and Star series, which include The Evening Tide, The Broken Rose, The Missing, The Raven Heiress, and The Little Fairleaf. To get his books cheaper than you would on Amazon, simply visit www.jeremyforsyth.co.za now! But if you want the books but don't want to spend, check out Jeremy Forsyth's current promotions and giveaways: The Sun, Moon, Sand, and Star Giveaway: https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/1126895-the-sun-moon-sand-and-star-series-giveaway Otherwise, you can find him on social media: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Jeremy-Forsyth-103933844788832 Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jays_andrew/?hl=en

Book preview

This one goes out to the Boet.

By the author

~

The Sun, Moon, Sand, and Star

The Evening Tide

The Broken Rose

The Missing

The Raven Heiress

The Little Fairleaf

The Other Fairleaf

~

A Symphony of Shadow and Darkness

Upon the Sands

8When trouble rears itself against you, remember that, in the beginning, when first I called you mine, I said, I will hide you from your enemies.9But now I will say this too; those who conspire against you, I will thwart, those who seek to destroy you will fail, 10for when my love is flared, there are none in this world who can do you harm.

——

The Salin

The Book of Rivorder 5:8-10

Prologue

Sometime after the moon took up residence in the sky, an elvess walked out of a great and palatial palace. She came and stood on top of a high and luscious garden, the garden extending beyond one of the palace’s western balconies, overlooking a dense, vast forest that ended at a narrow strip of beach, where the tide came in from a black sea. The elvess appeared forlorn, her hands wrapped about her shoulders while she took in the view.

To her, the night seemed blacker than the Betrayer’s heart, the dark world void of all hope. In the face of such an uncertain future, unease had begun to set in, spreading rapidly, cultivating a sense of foreboding that left her restless. She felt lost. It made her angry. It caused her moments of despair, fits of frustration.

The elvess was of high standing within her people’s societies. But once she’d stood higher, the blood running through her veins affording her the most senior position in the land, a title of sovereign predisposition. It was her united-one who had taken it away from her, disgracing her before her people.

Her name was Lanixia Lowvilla Skysinger, and as the united-one of Elder Jayrander the Fierce, she had been the Lady of the Moon. But not anymore. What irked her, what grated her with growing proportion, was that with each day that passed at court, its members seemed forgetful of who she had once been.

Curse you, Jayrander!

As if Adonai Himself sought to offer Lanixia some measure of comfort, a sudden breeze came down from the north, one that was not belligerent nor insistent, but pleasant, possessing a slight chill but not enough to cause Lanixia dissatisfaction. On the contrary, it relieved her of some of her pent-up tension, which, due to the recent events that had so profoundly affected the palace, had left her as taut as a bowstring.

It was two days now since the Trial of Higher Durasian Lightfire. The chaos left in the wake of its verdict was of a swelling disposition, growing the division at court. Considering the state of division in which the palace had been in prior to the trial, with Lanixia’s supporters being in direct opposition to those of the Lady Silvinda, the result of the trial was remarkable indeed, but proof that though the evidence against Higher Durasian was compelling, there were still those who disputed it, Lanixia being the chief among them.

Her powerlessness to do anything was maddening. She despaired at knowing she no longer possessed the influence to vindicate Durasian from a stained reputation, and it was her united-one’s fault… dethroning Lanixia had been a mistake, the result; the empowering of his insufferable daughter-in-law; the Lady Silvinda.

Curse you, Jayrander!

Mother?

Lanixia turned at the sound of her son’s voice, the Second Sign of Adonai that dimmed her body while she remained still, suddenly lifting from her but returning just as quickly during that brief moment of immobility. Her son came to stand beside her, and together, the two of them looked over the dark world.

An eerie night, her son remarked.

Lanixia looked up at him, and not for the first time was she struck by how impressive a figure he made.

Jaydan Raven Skysinger had inherited his father’s physical advantages but took after his mother in temperament. He was calm, collective, and he possessed a natural mind for statecraft. He was shrewd and given the unlikely-hood of him ever sitting on the throne of Alepion he had become a humble soul, content to serve, resulting in a sober-minded individual to stand beside Lanixia this evening.

He was also her favorite son.

How much time do we have? she asked him. Jaydan regarded her, his expression regretful, making Lanixia sigh in frustration. Then we must be quick, she said. If our window is as short as you do suggest, then we must hurry if we are to salvage what we can from this debacle that was your nephew’s horrendous verdict.

Lanixia was unable to stifle the bitterness in her voice, a struggle of hers that happened almost every time her greatson or his wretched mother took form in her speech. Part of her felt guilty, but another part didn’t.

Lanixia was well aware that the decision to convict Higher Durasian Lightfire had been Silvinda’s foolish idea, her weak son, but a puppet in her control. But despite the child’s ‘innocence,’ the truth was that his was a position that would one day see him ascend the Golden Throne of Alepion. Given Lanixia’s firm belief that those who would presume to accept such an honor should be worthy of it, it was almost natural for Lanixia to hold the child in contempt; more natural it seemed than loving him as any greatmother should.

Jayrander, you fool!

• • •

It took some time before mother and son began their descent down the bowels of the palace. But once reaching the fabled Forgotten Cells, none but Jaydan’s shadowa was there to greet them, the young elf, who stood by the dungeon’s entrance, appearing prepared to receive them. Lanixia was not impressed.

I thought we agreed that this venture was going to stay between the two of us? her voice low so as to spare the young shadowa her displeasure. But in an almost indifferent voice, Jaydan said to his mother that,

Aranathon would sooner join the Old Way than betray his master. He then held out his hands for Lanixia’s inspection. Besides, who do you think brought the tools we do need to complete your mission here?

After his shadowa handed her son a torch, Jaydan led the way inside the dungeon. Lanixia and the shadowa followed him, the three of them met by a brisk chill in the air, causing a violent shiver to manifest itself in Lanixia’s response to it. Everywhere was dark, the air damp, the smells changing the deeper they traveled, becoming pungent and reviling with each scent realized: first sweat, then urine, then ordure —these being but some among the odors that forced Lanixia’s hand to shoot up to her face in shuddering revulsion.

How could anyone subject an Alepion higher to such a place, Lanixia thought in dismay and disgust, once more disdainful of those whom she blamed for such mishandling of Throne Justice.

She thought to comment on her misgivings, yet when opening her mouth to do so, the first sound her attempt made caused her to forestall all intention to speak. Confronted by the disturbance of the silence that latched itself to the dungeons, Lanixia felt it best to hold her tongue, to stay quiet. And so, none spoke. Not until, at last, Jaydan presented to his lady mother, the small and lightless cell of the Higher of the Olian Glades.

While Jaydan’s shadowa brought forth a large key, Lanixia Lowvilla Skysinger stared at the elf now curled up in a dark corner of the cell. The light offered by Jaydan’s torch revealed an almost naked and motionless stranger; someone Lanixia could not believe was her stout and loyal ally, Higher Durasian Lightfire.

In the two days since Lanixia had watched him assert his innocence before the throne, Durasian had grown a small beard and had accumulated a surprising amount of filth across his large and powerfully built body. His hair, which was usually well managed and neatly presented, was now unkempt, now a disheveled mane.

Not even when the light touched his face, nor when the sounds of an impending entry echoed off the walls, did Durasian bestir himself. It was all Lanixia could do, once the bars opened to her, not to run and fall at his feet, to bring the elf to her breast and weep over the evil that had befallen him. But when she stepped inside, she held her reserve, said in a strained voice,

My Higher of the Olian Glades.

Thankfully, Durasian moved. He looked up to squint at the light, and with a voice that was hard, raw, and entirely foreign to Lanixia’s ears, he whispered,

My Lady…

At that, all restraint vanished. Lanixia fell before the Higher. She embraced him, and within moments, tears began streaming down her face, the sorrow that had developed within her at the sight of this once proud servant of Alepion, had now completely broken and shattered her heart.

My Higher! she cried. My poor Durasian, I am so sorry!

The Higher never hesitated, returned Lanixia’s embrace, and in an instant, both of them began weeping incoherently in each other’s arms.

I didn’t kill her! he cried. I didn’t kill her! his voice jittery. I didn’t kill my daughter!

Sshhh. I know you didn’t, Lanixia told him. We all know you didn’t. Sshhh.

Lanixia rocked him as if he were her child, compelled as any mother would, to extend to that child a mother’s love.

Find out who did this, my Lady, the Higher pleaded, desperately, almost madly. Please. Please find out who did this!

We will, my Higher, she promised. We will. Don’t you worry, knowing full well that the White Whisperers was striving to find the ones behind the abduction, those behind the murder of Durasian’s little one.

We will find them and bring them to justice, Lanixia again promised.

The Higher of the Olian Glades did not respond. Just now, he took deep breaths, finding respite from an exhausting display of intense emotions.

You’ll not be abandoned either, my Higher, she now added. We are here to ensure that. Lanixia briefly regarded her son, who, while standing near the entrance of the cell, looked like a black, featureless statue with the shining eyes of the First Sign of Adonai piercing the darkness with white light.

We have brought the needed material to save you from branding. And as for your exile, we have a different arrangement prepared for you. Lanixia now drew back from the Higher, held him at arm’s length. When you are cast out and headed for the Stranger World, your ship will be intercepted by my agents. You will be taken to the Singing Isles, where a new life awaits you, a new identity. Your united-one will be sent to you too as soon as it can be arranged. And when both of you are ready, a new position will be given to you; a highership and ladyship, no less. You will be restored, Durasian. The both of you will indeed be restored.

Lanixia willed the Higher to look up, to look into her eyes where hope desperately awaited to be transferred.

I might not have that many friends at court these days, she confessed to him, resentfully, but my Higher, you can be sure that on the Singing Isles, it’s a completely different story.

Her desire to have the Higher smile or show any sense of received encouragement was in vain. Instead, the Higher just kept staring into her lap, not saying a word until finally, his voice broke the silence, and with inertness, he said,

I wanted to be rescued, he told her, now looking away, towards the stonewalls of his prison cell. He put a flat hand to the surface of the wall and, in a husky voice, one Lanixia barely recognized, he remarked, isn’t it interesting how Adonai… the ‘great’ god… would seek to save me, his voice now faulting in what sounded like a strained attempt to laugh. He’d move Great Servants—Sons of Alepion. Perhaps even summon Blademasters. All to rescue me…me! again, his voice faltered before adding, …but he couldn’t save a baby.

The Higher dropped his head, seeming as if struggling against another wave of inner turmoil. When he looked up again, his mouth curved, but there remained an absence of joy and