Ringed by silver, p.1
Ringed by Silver, page 1
Ringed By Silver
My Lady Palladium Series, Volume I
By
Becky Puff
Copyright © 2022 by Becky Puff
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
Cover art by MiblArt.
A Note To the Reader
In a fit of delusional grandeur, I have self-categorized this book, Ringed by Silver, as being Young Adult, Romantic, and Dark Fantasy. Following are a few of my reasons for doing so and also some content warnings. If you believe I have reached these conclusions in error or if there are any other errors in the text you would like to inform me of, please feel free to contact me at beckypuffbooksllc@gmail.com.
I believe this book deserves the classification of Young Adult Fantasy because it follows a teenage human witch from the age of 14 through almost her 18th year with all the associated trials and triumphs of a coming-of-age story.
It falls under the sub-genre of Romantic Fantasy because there is a love story with oodles of romantic tension, set in a swords and sorcery background. (No sex for now, but we have a whole series ahead of us.)
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it falls within the Dark Fantasy sub-genre. I have placed it in this sub-genre because, while I would not say that any of these scenes are explicit or glorified, this story does include bullying, mild swearing, murder, references to a magical sexual ritual, a reference to nonconsensual sexual acts, and a scene where there is a retelling of attempted rape and accompanying physical abuse. Because of these possible triggering subjects, I caution readers before beginning and suggest that this book be given a rating of 16+ as an age range. However, before you are scared away by the warning, just let me say that great pains have been taken not to paint this information in a graphic or exalted light, and I hope this does not detour readers from accompanying Imogen, Senri, Erasmus, and Magnus on their journey through the land of Aynor, Aradia Academy, and the nearby Fairy Forest.
To Debbie, who was the first to read and, as always, to praise and encourage. To Liz, who convinced me that Imogen isn’t the giggling type. To Ashy for always letting me bounce ideas in her direction and for bouncing them back again. To Shanna for helping me with the business side of things. To Nancy, Leandra, and Cassidy, my amazing critique partners. And finally, to Dale, Jacob, Joseph, and Zoe: my rocks, my loves. Thank you all.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: 93 Years 9 Months 6 Days Later
Chapter 2: The Fairy Forest
Chapter 3: Aradia Academy
Chapter 4: No Other Way Out
Chapter 5: Learning to Swim
Chapter 6: Time
Chapter 7: More Time
Chapter 8: A Visitor in the Clearing
Chapter 9: Magic Lessons
Chapter 10: The Test
Chapter 11: Smoke in the Air
Chapter 12: Dreaming
Chapter 13: Recovery
Chapter 14: Plans in the Dark
Chapter 15: The Offering
Chapter 16: An Informative Story
Chapter 17: Taking Responsibility
Chapter 18: Wrapping Threads
Author Bio
Prologue
S
enri Eandren walked into the cozy sitting room of the Mountain Oracle and stopped short. The heads of all five of the Mountain Elf noble families stared back at him, each with a scowl of pure hatred on his face. Duke Vesryn of the Fifth Kingdom held a teacup, painted with daisies, halfway to his lips. The sight of the solemn Elves in the bright little sitting room, sipping scented tea and reclining on floral upholstered couches, was so outrageous, Senri felt a hysterical giggle rising unbidden into his throat at the same time his horror threatened to overwhelm him. He dug his nails into his palms, bit the inside of his cheek, and forced his face to remain blank. This was no place to have a panic attack.
Keep it together. Keep it together. Do not let them see you break. Again.
He pulled at the high collar of his finest formal tunic with a shaky finger, vainly trying to relieve the feeling of suffocation. His embroidered long coat and leather britches rubbed his sensitive skin unbearably, and he longed to rip the hated garments from his body.
Shit! I thought I was done with this nonsense forever.
For the thousandth time, he wished he had not been quite so drunk the night Balthazar, his father’s former steward, found him in the pub in Glakinoch. The only above water city of the Water Demon people, Glakinoch was a hub of illicit excitement for all the peoples of Aynor, a wild, frothing, frantic melting pot of disreputables. Just the place for a disgraced royal like Senri when he wanted to disappear. Crowded streets packed with pleasure, mischief, and enough debauchery to overload the mind and body for a lifetime. It was exactly the place to lose himself. He wasn’t interested in the sex, not after his past traumas. Still, the alcohol and pleasurable substances found in the city were just what he needed to erase his memories and forget everything and everybody he ever knew. On the night Balthazar finally tracked him down, Senri had already been on a three-day drinking binge and couldn’t recall his own name, let alone recognize who he was with or where he was being taken. He had allowed the steward to march him into the carriage without protest.
Even though he did not remember much about that night, Senri did remember the rest of his week-long trip east along the base of the Varencarres Mountain Range with nightmarish vividness. Without any drink to ease the pain of withdrawal, he spent most of the journey curled in a miserable ball on the carriage floor, nauseous and screaming at the imaginary monsters that came to plague him.
Despite Balthazar’s best efforts to make him look presentable, Senri was a sorry sight, bedraggled, crumpled, and unsteady, as he finally emerged from the carriage, squinting in the stabbing sunlight at their destination. A little pink house snuggled into a copse of trees at the easternmost point of the Varencarres Mountains.
The sight of the brilliantly pink house amongst the trees was so outrageous, Senri was sure he must be dreaming again until, heart sinking, he recognized the coats of arms on the five other carriages already waiting in the courtyard.
Senri couldn’t even imagine what might have transpired to bring a representative of all five of the Mountain Elf noble families to this meeting. Their kingdoms had been warring with each other for the past five hundred years. That was, until all five had recently been conquered by the Beironian Empire. It seems servitude finally put an end to their centuries-long quarrel. The dukes must be completely out of other options to willingly set foot into the same room together.
He was even more amazed that they had bothered to have him abducted so he could also be in attendance. He knew well how much the heads of the noble houses hated him, the half-breed son of their deceased king. But whatever their incomprehensible reasoning, Senri was sure of one thing: he was stuck, in a tiny room, face to face with the persons, out of all others in the world, he most wished to avoid.
There they sat in their ethereal glory, so dissimilar to his own haggard appearance. Long, graceful bodies. Beautiful, sharp-boned faces, with significant, piercing eyes, slanting up into points at the outer corners and sporting all colors of blue, green, and grey. Translucent fair skin projected a slightly blue tinge from beneath, while small, pointed ears peeped delicately through the dark brown hair, worn long to the shoulders. Although the bluish silver streaks interspersing the brown meant these Elves were no longer young, they were still far from displaying the total silver tresses indicative of old age. Their coloring was typical Mountain Elf, without even the slightest variant pointing to a mixture of cultures. The nobles and most other Elves living on the mountain had not mated out of their own clan in thousands of years. That was, until his father came along, bringing havoc to tradition. Compared to the pale ice sculptures the dukes presented, his own olive green skin and dark purple locks were glaringly foreign.
“Do you see him?” The muttering came from all around. “He can barely stand. What good is he going to be to us?”
“This isn’t going to work.” Duke Beiwarin of the Fourth Kingdom grumbled, rubbing his delicate, long-fingered hands together nervously. “He looks worse than before. If that’s possible.”
“Look at his eyes.” Duke Yeslee of the Third Kingdom flicked his own fine aquamarine orbs in Senri's direction and away again quickly.
“Look at his skin.” Duke Valfir of the First Kingdom rubbed his blueish-silver temples as if the sight gave him a headache.
“Look at his teeth!” Duke Holadan of the Second Kingdom sneered as he shoved a whole sugar biscuit into his mouth. His crunches seemed deafening in the small room.
Senri shook uncontrollably with nerves and withdrawal. Disgusted glares were coming from all sides, and Balthazar watched him from the back of the room with pitying eyes. Senri did not know which was worse. He closed his eyes and tugged at his collar again, squirming as the uncomfortable garment scratched like a file against his skin. He had always suffered from high anxiety, especially in the company of his father's people, but being the sole focus of so much dissatisfaction and hatred caused his head to swim and bile to flood up into his throat. He bit down hard on the flesh of his inner cheek. Salty
I would sell my soul for a drink.
Just as Senri was debating within himself the advantages of running from the room screaming, a door on the far side of the sitting room opened, and in wafted the most enthralling lady he had ever seen. She fixed her sparkling black eyes on him the moment she entered, and Senri was mesmerized, all thoughts of screaming and buttons forgotten, as she glided right over to him and immediately took both his hands in hers. Cool healing magic coursed through his veins at her touch, and his trembling limbs stilled as he felt relief for the first time since his last drink. The smile she turned on him beamed out like a ray of light with what he could only assume maternal love and understanding must look like. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. No one had ever looked at him that way before.
Stunned, Senri gazed down into the lady’s remarkable face. It was entirely covered in short, white horsehair while a long snowy mane flowed down her back. She was dressed in floating pink robes, and while she appeared quite youthful, Senri, already trapped by her jewel-bright black eyes, saw no bottom to their depths and knew she was as old as the stars. Her smile was inviting and affectionate. A familiar desperate longing arose in him, wishing for a mother he’d never had.
The lady led Senri to a couch and offered him a seat next to her. Her face shone like the sun, and he gravitated to her. While still holding his hands in hers, she turned to the rest of the room and spoke.
“Everyone in your party is finally here.” She smiled, however, Senri sensed some impatience in her tone. “Although it has been wonderful taking care of you great Elf lords for such an extended period of time, I am sure we would all like to get to the business at hand so we can return to our regular schedules.”
The nobles muttered amongst themselves for a time. Duke Vesryn was appointed spokesman for the group and stood, facing them with solemn importance.
“Lady Oracle, we, the nobles from the Mountain Elves, have sought you out to ask about our futures and the future of our people. The Elves of Beirona have conquered our great mountain, Snowvien, and the mounts Blindstar and Arrowbell to either side. They captured our kingdoms and mines and reduced our people to slaves. They use the productivity of our lands to fund the Beironian Empire. We have little to offer in recompense but tell us your price, and we will attempt to pay it. We are in sore need of guidance.”
“I did not think your situation was as bad as all that,” the Oracle said, pouring a cup of tea from a petunia patterned teapot and handing it to Senri. “You all still reside in your estates and preside over your lands and tenants, do you not? I was given to understand that your graces only have to pay one-third of the increase of your lands to the Beironians in tax each year. I’m sure you wealthy lords can manage that without too much suffering.”
“Yes,” Valfir whined, dabbing at the corners of his watery, sky-blue eyes with a napkin. “But you have not heard the whole drain on our resources those hellish Elves have imposed. Not only have we been forced to give up our claims on all the mines in the Varencarres Mountain Range, but we have had to release all the minors from our stewardship as well. And the serfs we do retain are conscripted into the mines three days of the week working for the Beironians. The remaining four days are not enough to grow and sell the amount of food or do the amount of work they did before. They are incapable of paying the full rents and taxes on their lands. We recover next to nothing of the wealth that should be ours.”
“So, let me see if I have this right,” the Oracle said slowly through gritted teeth. She paused, pressing her pale lips together for a moment as if trying to hold back something from bursting out of her mouth. “Your graces have become less wealthy and important, and your people have been rendered poorer and more miserable. How long do you believe they can survive under these conditions? Hadn't you better lower your rents and taxes to help them before they are worked or starved to death?”
“Lower our taxes?!” Holadan cried, crumbs flying from his plump lips. “But we are bringing in almost nothing as it is with the mines gone and what we must pay out to those Beironian devils. We could not possibly survive on less.”
“No!” Duke Vesryn stepped forward to tower over the couch containing Senri and the Oracle, shooting lightning bolts at them along with his ice-gray glare. “We cannot survive on less. So, will you use your sight to help us, lady? We did not come all this way for an ignorant lecture.”
The petite lady jumped from her seat in a swirl of pink gauze, her mouth open, ready to spew red hot words, finger pointing directly at Vesryn’s chest.
“And remember, we can’t afford to pay much,” Beiwarin interjected, anxiously perched on the edge of his seat.
The Oracle closed her mouth with a snap, and her diminutive body seemed to inflate as her apparent fury swelled within her. Vesryn quickly retreated to his seat. For a long moment, Senri was sure she would explode and blow the arrogant Elves from her home on a tornado of curses, but after a pregnant moment, she exhaled slowly, and the tension in the room abated. She returned to her seat next to Senri, picked up her teacup, and took a calming swallow before speaking again.
“I should be surprised at nothing after having you all as my guests for the past week, but I must admit, you test my composure at every opportunity.” She regarded the nobles resignedly for a few moments, stirring her tea. “As for payment, it is unnecessary,” she sighed at last. “Being here is a punishment placed upon me by my own people. I am sentenced to remain for the next two thousand years and act as oracle to those enterprising enough to seek me out. The terms of my service bind me to foretell the future for any who come asking.”
Vesryn laughed in relief. Valfir and Yeslee smirked at each other, Beiwarin released his held breath, and Holadan shoved another biscuit into his mouth. They all seemed pleased they would not be expected to pay for their futures.
A sudden scowl sprang across the lady’s face, and she dropped her cup and saucer on a small table with a rattle of misused porcelain. “First, however, I wish to know why you have brought the son of the former king with you. You have made it abundantly clear to the world that you did not need him or his father as your king, nor did you wish to unite as a people. Why then have you dragged him here against his will?”
“While it is true,” Duke Valfir simpered, “we would not unite under our previous king, it is not true we are unwilling to unite at all. We simply cannot agree upon whom we wish to be our king.”
“You mean,” said the Oracle fixing the Elf with an unblinking black eye, “each of you wants to be king of the Mountain Elf people, and none of you are willing to step aside.” The nobles mumbled, fidgeted, and stuck their noses in the air but did not disagree with her assessment.
Duke Holadan took a great gulp of tea and scooted forward in his seat. “We have argued this matter over and over. Our only hope of gaining our lands and freedom again is to unite our people.
“While true we cannot decide which one of us should lead, we all agree we would now have united under his father if he were still living. Since he is dead, our only recourse is to come together under the old king’s heir. If,” he added pointedly, “we hear from your ladyship that this would benefit us.”
“I see. It seems he has no choice in the matter,” the Oracle chirped, stirring her tea and blinding the dukes with a sarcastic smile. Senri snorted into his cup, and all the nobles turned their glares on him as one.
“It is his duty to his people,” snapped Vesryn, jumping up and pacing before them. He pointed vehemently at Senri. “He needs to repair the damage he has done. He owes us, and he owes his father that much.”
“Hmmm.” The Oracle raised one white eyebrow at Vesryn. “If that’s the case, then why don’t you just crown Senri now and unite to fight the Elves of Beirona immediately? Why waste time your people don't have, traveling all this way to beg for an uncertain future from me?”
“Because,” Yeslee sneered, rolling his piercing blue-green eyes at the question, “the Beironians outnumber us ten to one. Even if all of the Mountain Elf Kingdoms unite, we are not a numerous people. The only reason we held the Mountains for as long as we did, was because our kingdoms were so hard for an enemy to reach, the high ground as it were. And there was at least a semblance of unity under our old king. After Senri fled, King Albyran died, and our kingdoms started warring with each other again. We were totally unprepared for the attack from below.
