Kinslayer: A Novel of Lasniniar: The World of Lasniniar, #2

By Jacquelyn Smith

Lasniniar. A new continent the elves can call home after the fall of Ralvaniar.

They hope to finally find peace under the leadership of Iadrawyn and Valanandir—far from the dark creatures they left behind in the magical cataclysm. A simple enough wish.

But darkness comes in many forms. And not even Iadrawyn and Valanandir know the hidden enemy that lurks within the elves' midst.

...Or how far they must go to stop him.

The elves' epic struggle evolves to a new level, drawing enemies and allies alike in this sweeping, second novel from the World of Lasniniar fantasy series by the author of the Fatal Empire series, Jacquelyn Smith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WaywardScribe Press
• Release date: Sep 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781927723821

Jacquelyn Smith

Jacquelyn Smith writes both epic and intrigue-based fantasy, and mysteries that range from cozy to kick-ass, with independent, strong-willed heroes, in search of their place in the world. These heroes take the problems they face seriously (but never themselves), and are supported by unlikely friendships they forge along the way. Jacquelyn is the author of the World of Lasniniar epic fantasy series, the Fatal Empire fantasy intrigue series, the kick-ass Kira Brightwell mysteries, and the Mackenzie Quinn Canadian cozy mysteries. (She originally published several of the early Kira Brightwell titles under the pen name Kat Irwin, before killing Kat off to eliminate the many awkward questions about having a second identity.) When spending time in the real world, Jacquelyn lives on the suburban outskirts of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, with her husband, Mark, and their feline owner, Xena, who is definitely a warrior princess. To learn more, visit: JacquelynSmithBooks.com

Book preview

PART I

CHAPTER ONE

THE WEDDING

Alfialys walked alone on the worn paths of Melaquenya. The sun would be rising soon. The ancient forest was silent, except for the chirping of rousing birds in the foliage above. The trunks of the trees glimmered with flecks of gold and silver in the predawn shadows. His boots shone with dew from the lush grass, but his footsteps made no sound. A cool breeze carrying the green scent of the forest brushed his cheeks and stirred his long, white braids against his shoulders.

The Light Elf allowed his mind to roam as he walked. He had found himself making these early morning journeys increasingly often over the past several days. He had tried to deny the reason behind his growing restlessness, but he knew he couldn’t hide from it much longer.

Today is the day everything changes.

He hoped he was wrong, but something deep inside him told him otherwise. He wished he could say it was the prodding of the Quenya, but his connection to the source of the elves’ magic had never been a strong one. He knew he was meant to do something important with his life, but unlike most Light Elves, he had very little idea what that thing was. He had flashes of insight from time to time, but they were rarely about anything of consequence.

Alfialys knew his lack of connection disconcerted Iadrawyn. The Ruling Lady of the Light Elves had held both he and his sister after they had been born, guiding their souls to the Quenya, yet his sister’s connection had always been the stronger of the two. This in itself was not unusual. Some elves simply had a stronger bond with the Quenya than others. But Alfialys was different. He had silver eyes—a color that had not changed since his birth nearly a thousand years ago. No other Light Elf had ever been marked in such a way. No one knew what it meant, but his eyes were not the only thing that set him apart...

His pointed ears twitched, his thoughts scattering. He heard no sign of approach, but he knew someone was coming. He felt another presence approaching, as familiar to him as his own. He stopped walking and waited.

Alfialys! Eransinta’s melodic voice drifted toward him as she approached. She sounded slightly out of breath. I’ve been trying to catch up with you for almost half an hour.

Alfialys gave his sister a smile of apology as he took in her disheveled appearance. Her golden skin, long, white hair, and angular features were a mirror of his own, but unlike his neat braids, hers were coming undone. She still wore her filmy, blue nightgown, and her feet were bare.

Sorry, he said. I wasn’t paying attention.

He felt a twinge of guilt. If he hadn’t been so busy brooding, he would have noticed her presence sooner.

You’ve been making that a habit lately, she said, pinning him with her deep, blue gaze. It’s the wedding, isn’t it?

Alfialys shrugged. I just have a lot on my mind. What are you doing wandering the forest? Today is the big day, and you’re a complete mess! Your feet are all wet.

Eransinta waved off his concern. There will be plenty of time for me to clean up before the ceremony. I wanted to talk to you before everyone else is awake.

About what? Alfialys kept his tone light. You’re not getting cold feet, are you?

Not that he would blame her... Wedding ceremonies were uncommon among the elves. When two elves (or sometimes more, if former Wild Elves were involved) decided to become mates, they simply moved in together. But marrying into the ruling family was another story.

Of course not! His sister swatted at him. I know I am meant to be with Curuadil. I have always known it. The Quenya wants us together.

Are you worried about fitting in with his family? Alfialys said with a sly smile. "His parents are the Lord and Lady of Melaquenya."

No. Lady Iadrawyn and Lord Valanandir have been very kind to me, and his sister even helped me with my dress. They have all made me feel welcome.

"Not too welcome, I hope, Alfialys said. I don’t want you expecting me to fawn all over you every time you come visit once you are part of the ruling family, my lady." He made an exaggerated bow.

Eransinta rolled her eyes. You know they aren’t like that. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show me a bit of respect. She raised her chin for a moment before abandoning the pose with a sigh. Oh, Alfialys...

What is it? He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, her tension flowing through him to mingle with his own.

It’s just— She took a deep, shuddering breath. Nothing will be the same after today, will it?

Alfialys drew her closer, knowing exactly what she meant. They were the only twins to be born among the elves. No one else could understand the bond they shared, or how deep it went. They had always been a pair—Alfialys wandering the wood with Eransinta trailing behind him. Even though he usually took the lead, he took comfort in her constant presence, and her confidence in her own purpose. No one knew why they had been born together, but Alfialys did not regret it. Even when his sister’s clinginess annoyed him, he remembered that without Eransinta, he would be lost and alone.

We will still be just as close, he said, forcing himself to put on a brave face. Curuadil and I are good friends. He understands better than most what our connection means. He isn’t the jealous type to try to come between us.

Eransinta looked up at him, her deep-blue eyes shining with tears. Maybe I should ask him if you can come live with us—

Alfialys shook his head. Don’t be ridiculous.

As tempting as the suggestion was, the last thing he wanted was to be a hanger-on, who created tension between the newly married couple.

It’s not as if you are going to live somewhere far away, he said. We can still see each other every day. Besides, I think Curuadil might want to spend time with you engaging in activities that are, ah, less than brotherly.

Eransinta chuckled, her cheeks flushing. "You might be right. Perhaps it would be a little awkward to have you living with us. The Quenya knows, I’ve stumbled across your trysts a time or two. She shuddered. I’m still trying to forget."

Alfialys gave her an affronted look. That’s different.

Eransinta raised an eyebrow. How so?

You’re my sister. You’re not supposed to be interested in those kinds of activities, as far as I’m concerned.

Eransinta gave him an arch look. From what I saw, your partners seemed to be enjoying themselves. Why shouldn’t I?

Of course they were enjoying it. Alfialys rolled his eyes. "They were with me."

We’re twins, remember? If you really do have a special knack for the four-legged frolic, chances are I do, too.

Stop, Alfialys pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought. Just... stop.

You started it. Eransinta was smiling now. Perhaps I should have Curuadil give you his opinions on my theory. She smirked. He has firsthand experience.

I give up! Now it was Alfialys’s turn to shudder. Curuadil can keep his opinions to himself. I don’t want to know.

Eransinta stuck her tongue out at him. Prude.

Alfialys uttered a startled chuckle. Feeling better?

His twin sighed. Yes. Thank you. Just promise me you’ll always be here when I need you. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

A prickle traveled down Alfialys’s spine. He did his best to ignore it.

I promise. Now go get ready for your wedding. He gave her a gentle push. You’re an absolute mess. I love you, but I’m not going to make myself look a fright just so you can look good by comparison. I do have a certain image to maintain.

Eransinta punched him in the arm before running off between the trees, her white braids drifting behind her like a writhing cloud. Alfialys watched her go. His sense of foreboding had not left him. The Quenya gave him no insight, only a vague feeling of tension building somewhere in the distance, like a coming storm.

Change was coming—he was sure of it.

Alfialys looked on with pride as his sister walked toward Curuadil at a measured pace, gliding forward in time to the drifting notes of a harp. Her long, white tresses hung loose down her back, topped by a coronet of blue flowers that matched her eyes.

Alfialys couldn’t bring himself to look away from her, but his twin’s gaze was glued to Curuadil, who waited for her. His sister Andirlynia, and the Lord and Lady of Melaquenya stood beside him. Curuadil smiled as his bride approached, his golden eyes gleaming with joy. He wore a formal, embroidered tunic, and his own white locks had been bound in a single braid. A slender coronet of starsilver marked him as a member of the ruling family.

The entire Meeting Glade had been decorated for the occasion. Various colored lanterns dangled from the branches overhead, creating an illusion of stars, and hardly a blade of grass could be seen through the carpet of flowers. The air was filled with the sweet scent of crushed petals.

All the elves of Melaquenya had turned out to attend the illustrious event in their best finery, many of them forced to crowd amongst the trees that surrounded the glade. Alfialys and his parents were accorded a place of honor in the front row. His mother was crying already, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief as his father tended to her. Alfialys barely noticed them. At the moment, his entire world had narrowed to the scene before him. His mouth was dry. He eyed the table filled with bottles of elven wine meant for after the ceremony and forced himself to swallow.

He was happy for his sister—of course he was. But the strange sense of foreboding that had struck him earlier had returned, heightened by the nearby presence of the Quenya, housed in its own glade only a short distance away. For a moment, Eransinta seemed to sense his distress. Her head turned as if pulled by an invisible string as she reached Curuadil’s side. The full weight of her deep-blue gaze fell upon her twin. Alfialys steeled himself against it.

I won’t ruin this for her.

He shoved down his unease and forced what he hoped was a convincing smile. After a long moment, his sister smiled back and looked away. Alfialys expelled the breath he had been holding and tried his best to relax.

Lady Iadrawyn and Lord Valanandir officiated the ceremony. The family resemblance between them, Andirlynia and Curuadil was unmistakable. Even though both Iadrawyn and Valanandir were thousands of years old, and a few thousand years separated Andirlynia from her younger brother, the three of them hardly looked older than Curuadil, thanks to the Quenya. Alfialys imagined the three of them had changed little since they had brought their people to the shores of Lasniniar from the destruction of the elves’ original home on the island Ralvaniar.

As always, Iadrawyn was radiant. Her golden skin and long, golden hair were somehow more lustrous than any other elf’s due to her close connection with the Quenya. Even though her expression was gentle and kind, her green eyes held shadows of deep wisdom and hidden strength. Valanandir had passed his white hair and golden eyes onto their son, but he had a similar unearthly air about him as Iadrawyn, although to a lesser extent. His frame was made of lean muscle, and his shrewd gaze seemed to take in everything.

Alfialys suppressed a shudder. Even though the lord and lady were wondrous, kind, and fair, he couldn’t imagine marrying into such an imposing family. It was strange sometimes when he remembered his friend Curuadil was one of them.

If Alfialys was going to lose his sister to anyone, he was glad is was Curuadil. He was loyal, easygoing, and much more approachable than his parents. Most importantly, he adored Eransinta.

Alfialys’s gaze slid to Andirlynia, who was watching her brother and Eransinta exchange vows with an enormous smile on her face. He briefly wondered if he had made a mistake. Both Curuadil and Eransinta had expressed hope that this day would be a double wedding, with Alfialys and Andirlynia exchanging vows beside them. Alfialys understood their desire. Wedding Andirlynia would only serve to tie the three of them even closer. Alfialys had been willing to entertain the notion, but after spending time alone with Andirlynia, the two of them had concluded they were not meant to be anything more than good friends.

It wasn’t that Andirlynia wasn’t an alluring potential mate. She had her mother’s beauty and connection to the Quenya, but she was more grounded and present—quick to laugh or make a sly joke. Even now, she was achingly beautiful, with her white braids bound in an intricate crown dotted with wildflowers. It would have been easy enough to fool himself into loving her.

But he didn’t.

Not in that way, at least. If anything, she was more like a sister or perhaps a cousin. It was difficult for Alfialys to say what a relationship with a normal sister would be like when Eransinta was his only sibling. The point of the matter was, they weren’t attracted to each other, and such a charade would be an offense to both their friendship and the Quenya.

Still, it would have given him a way to stay closer to Eransinta...

Andirlynia’s green eyes met his from across the glade, seeming to read his thoughts. She gave him a sad smile of understanding before turning her gaze back to her brother and Eransinta.

Hard as it was, Alfialys knew he had made the right choice. Whatever was to come, he would learn to find his own way and let Eransinta find hers. All he could do was hope their paths led in the same direction.

He just wished the thought of losing her didn’t hurt so much.

The ceremony concluded and the celebrations began. Wine and music flowed through the glade as the elves danced. Alfialys allowed himself to be claimed by one partner after another, engaging in the revel while feeling apart from it. Aside from Andirlynia, none of his partners noticed. As the night wore on, he finally ended up with Eransinta on his arm. He led her smoothly across the flowered grass, their feet moving together without thought or effort. She remained silent for several moments before speaking.

Will you be all right? she asked, concern in her eyes.

Alfialys gave her a tight smile. He knew there was no use lying or mouthing empty platitudes.

Eventually. I just need some time.

"It’s not just this, is it?" Eransinta pressed.

No... Alfialys shook his head. I don’t know. You’re the one who is more connected to the Quenya. I just have this feeling. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t seem to shake it.

Her fingers tightened around his. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you these past few weeks. I’ve been so caught up with the wedding...

He gave her a dire look. "Don’t apologize. This is your night. I should be the one apologizing."

Eransinta sighed. My point is, I’ve been so absorbed with fulfilling my destiny with Curuadil, I haven’t been able to notice much else, other than through my link with you. Maybe I should go see if I can learn anything from the Quenya—

No. The word came out more firmly than Alfialys intended. He softened his voice. This is your wedding night. Enjoy it. Whatever this is can’t be that urgent, or others would sense it too. Maybe I’m just imagining things. I haven’t exactly been sleeping well lately...

She gave him a measuring look. He did his best to hold up against her scrutiny.

She blew out another sigh. Fine. If you’re sure you’ll be all right, I will leave well enough alone. For now. She held his gaze.

Alfialys forced a smile. I’ll be fine. Now go enjoy the rest of your evening. I’m sure Curuadil is eager to try out the ah—‘four-legged frolic’ now that the two of you are official. I believe you were bragging about certain skills earlier today. He didn’t quite manage to keep the distaste from his voice.

Eransinta flushed, looking over her shoulder at her new mate, who was watching her from across the glade with an unspoken invitation in his eyes. She grinned.

I do believe you’re right.

Alfialys released her, giving her a friendly shove. Go.

She squeezed his hand and flashed him a grateful smile before letting go. She drifted across the glade to Curuadil, weaving between couples until she reached him. Curuadil wrapped his arm around her shoulder with a smile, steering her away from the celebration that would likely continue until dawn without them.

As he turned away, Curuadil looked across the crowd to give Alfialys a solemn nod. Alfialys returned it, watching them disappear among the shadows of the trees. A void of loneliness gaped within him, even though he was surrounded by family and friends. The music continued without faltering. The elves around him danced and laughed as if they could not see the shadow that had fallen over them.

It was too much to bear. Alfialys backed away from the clearing as gracefully as he could manage. As soon as he reached the shelter of the trees, he began to run. No one noticed him leaving.

He pelted mindlessly through the trees in the opposite direction his sister had taken, his only thought to outpace the darkness only he could see.

CHAPTER TWO

VESSEL

Saviadro walked the underground streets of Dwarvenhome, his feet leading him toward the forge district. After so many visits over the years, the journey required little thought. The hour was late, but the few dwarves he encountered nodded their bearded heads with respect as he passed. Despite being a Light Elf, he had become a familiar sight within their mountain halls. He moved with a lithe grace, a golden figure striding soundlessly with his long braids trailing through the air behind him, the keen beauty of his features forming a polite mask as he nodded in return.

He had become used to the constant, heavy presence of countless tons of solid rock looming over him. He found he didn’t mind the echoing stone chambers, lit only by hissing torches that filled the air with the scent of burning pitch.

Iadrawyn and Valanandir had made contact with the stunted creatures who dwelled beneath the earth long ago, eventually forging an alliance with them. What had begun with a basic trade agreement of elven jewels in exchange for starsilver had slowly become a bond of mutual trust and respect, much to Saviadro’s disgust.

I should have interfered when I had the chance.

Even though Saviadro now reaped the rewards of the alliance Iadrawyn and Valanandir had built, he longed to secure allies of his own that he could turn against the Lord and Lady of the Light Elves. But the dwarves were infernally stubborn and loyal once they had committed to something, and Saviadro was unwilling to overplay his hand.

No one living knew he had been the one to betray his people to the dark creatures of Ralvaniar, killing thousands of elves and forcing the survivors to flee to the shores of Lasniniar.

He intended to keep it that way.

No, he had decided on a different approach, leveraging Iadrawyn and Valanandir’s alliance and using it for his own ends with no one the wiser. Even though it meant charming the dwarves instead of ordering them about as he wished, it would ultimately serve the same purpose.

Iadrawyn and Valanandir.

Saviadro suppressed a scowl, his hands balling into fists. The precious Lord and Lady of the Light Elves were probably still celebrating their whelp’s wedding, along with all of their spineless followers. At least the ceremony served as a suitable distraction for him to slip out of Melaquenya unnoticed. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to be aware of his plans.

He reached the door he sought, marked by a tartan flag of green and yellow. He grasped the brass ring embedded in the stone and knocked. Moments later, it slid open, revealing a squat figure with a seamed face and silver beard darkened with soot.

Saviadro? The dwarf squinted up at him. Come in, come in! He stepped aside and gestured for the elf to enter.

Greetings, Zoltralan, Saviadro said, his face tightening in a forced smile. I have come to check on your progress.

Zoltralan shut the door behind them. I believe this time I have managed to perfect the alloy. Starsilver is a fickle metal, and the absolute purity you require for your project is difficult to produce.

Saviadro stepped over to the roaring fire, ignoring the sweltering heat to inspect the contents of a large crucible. Thick, molten starsilver bubbled within, seeming to pulse with a life of its own. The close air was filled with the tang of hot metal. The flames reflected off its undulating surface, sending flashes of light dancing on the walls and ceiling. Saviadro leaned over it, using his connection with the Quenya to probe it gently for any taint of lesser metal. After several moments, a true smile of satisfaction stretched his lips. His golden eyes narrowed with pleasure.

It’s perfect.

His connection to the Quenya thrummed in agreement. Saviadro pulled his thoughts away before the source of the elves’ magic probed any further. The Quenya was not a sentient being exactly, but it was a mighty, cosmic force that possessed a certain set of ethics. Saviadro suspected it would not approve of his plan. For as long as he could remember, he had walked a fine line of having a strong enough connection to use the Quenya to his advantage, while being able to withdraw from its awareness at will—a feat he doubted even Iadrawyn could achieve.

The mold is finished as well, Zoltralan said, interrupting his thoughts. That was the easy part.

At the dwarf’s urging, Saviadro inspected the two halves of the mold. Each formed a perfect semicircle, reminding him of the ones he had seen his friend Daroandir use long ago when he had crafted the original vessel to contain the Quenya for transport—the Levniquenya. It had taken him several attempts to craft it, using a blend of Iadrawyn’s magic and Daroandir’s own metal craft.

Little had they known Saviadro had been watching, hidden among the trees.

Saviadro pushed down a surge of frustration. If he had been able to get his hands on the original Levniquenya, none of this would have been necessary. But as far as he could learn, it was kept hidden somewhere in Iadrawyn and Valanandir’s home—a place even he didn’t dare to go. Instead, he had been forced to move slowly, forming a relationship with the dwarves before convincing them to aid him. Even after his plan had been set in motion, it had taken even longer to figure out how to replicate what Iadrawyn and Daroandir had accomplished. And then there had been the matter of siphoning enough power from the Quenya in preparation of completing his task, without any elf being the wiser. Now he was so close...

I have put many long hours into this project over the years, Zoltralan said, stroking his beard. It’s nice to finally see everything come together as planned. Do you think your lord and lady will be pleased?

I appreciate all your hard work. This is the finest starsilver I have ever seen. Iadrawyn and Valanandir will be very surprised.

Saviadro bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from chuckling. He had told the foolish dwarf he was commissioning the vessel as a gift.

Zoltralan’s bushy brows drew together in a confused frown. Begging your pardon, but I still don’t understand what this thing you’ve designed is for.

It is a tool for elven magic, Saviadro said with an airy wave. The dwarves seemed to possess no magic of their own, and held the few powers demonstrated by the elves with a certain awe. I trust you have kept our arrangement a secret?

Of course! Zoltralan said, looking slightly offended. I haven’t breathed a word to anyone.

Good. Saviadro nodded in approval. I will complete the rest of the process alone.

Zoltralan gave him a wary look. Are you certain—

I know what I’m doing, Saviadro said, cutting the dwarf’s protests short while trying to maintain his friendly facade. The final steps will require magic. I thank you for all you have done, but your presence will only complicate matters.

In truth, the final steps involved both smith work as well as magic, and would likely be easier with a second person who could help with the mundane task of working the metal, but Saviadro had already trusted Zoltralan as much as he had dared. He was determined to complete his vessel unaided.

The dwarf swallowed visibly at the mention of magic being performed in his forge. Very well. I’ll leave you to it then. How long will it take, do you think?

Several hours, Saviadro said. I will be very weak afterward. I may need to rest for a few days.

Zoltralan sighed. I will check on you tomorrow morning. You can come stay with me if you need to. I only hope your lord and lady appreciate all you are doing.

Saviadro seriously doubted they would. Then again, he doubted Iadrawyn and Valanandir even