Prologue
The Beginning
Nilith, our creator, made the Elves first.
On the sixth day, his work was complete.
The following day, Nilith relaxed and indulged:
He created the wild Fae.
Control and creativity.
Order and chaos.
Elves and Fae.
Chakhzek Chronicles, 48,019 P.D. (Post Drakonae)
Prologue
Year: 50,013 P.D. On the Eve of Elvenfall…
Alek usually spent reflection days at home with his wife and daughters, but this afternoon he’d received a message from the fae king to meet him here, in the counting house.
He tapped his fingers restlessly under the table.
The fae king was concealing something and Alek, his human chancellor, would have to wait till his majesty was ready to reveal it.
Not only was it reflection day, but it was also late. Dusk deepened while the king prowled the room scanning the bookshelves lining every wall, including those in the gallery above, which the fae’s superior eyesight would allow him to see. Stacks upon stacks of carefully catalogued records and ledgers filled mahogany shelves from floor to ceiling.
Alek leaned forward to switch on the long table’s central glow lamp – which they rarely used in late spring when the days were long – before he glanced at the clock.
Nina will be wondering where I am.
He set his eldest daughter a maths problem each morning, and every evening they sat together in his study to discuss her solutions. She would be expecting him already.
The fae king’s footsteps resounded off the flagstones, sounding steadily louder till they came to a stop close behind Alek. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. A black velvet pouch dropped onto the table before him, the thud and chink of coins inside making him jump.
Mostly guilders by the sounds of it.
The purse strings were tightly closed but Alek had spent so much time in the counting house he could identify the unique metallic sounds of the different denominations of coins.
The fae king stalked round the table and hooked his long leg over the modest bench. A smell of smoke stung Alek’s nostrils.
The king’s clothes were dark, made from quality cloth but unadorned, and the monarch still wore his outdoor boots. Alek did not dare tell him to change and he doubted any of the slippers arranged by the door would fit him anyway. The wood groaned as the king lowered himself onto the seat. He was not overweight – just oversized for the room’s human proportions.
The king leaned over the purse and the glow lamp illuminated the tension lining his face, as well as the gleaming gold of his coronet and the scattering of silver in his hair. He had far fewer grey streaks than Alek himself, despite the fae king already being in his fourth century.
Alek knew all fae were tall, with strong physiques, the nobility particularly so, but the king’s imposing build surpassed any he’d seen, even hunched over as he was now. His size reflected his potent raw magik and absolute power amongst the noble houses – unsurpassed amongst the fae.
The chancellor was not a small man, and yet he felt dwarfed by comparison.
Looking down his long nose at the velvet pouch between them, the king removed five large gold guilders and stacked them in a neat tower.
All fae currency was made of solid gold.
Gold guilders for the fae and the elves.
Silver obols for the humans.
The monarch carefully picked up the topmost coin and held the guilder between thumb and forefinger so the embossed image of a drakon on its surface was reflected in the light of the glow lamp.
It was a surreal image: King Corverus, the most powerful fae king in centuries, was here, in the counting house, sitting where Alek’s timid team of bookkeepers usually spent their days. It was practically unheard of, and Alek wanted to pinch himself.
Alek had always thanked the elven wards for discouraging the king from coming here often – no fae could enter without the permission of the chancellor – Alek Akchan – a mere human.
I imagine it wounds his sense of fae pride…
The elven entry spells would no doubt remind King Corverus of the limits of his power and the presence of a higher one.
So, what drove him here tonight?
When the king sat, a swirling sphere of flame materialised above his right shoulder, hanging suspended in the air. When the king leaned forwards, the ball of fire followed, moving in perfect synchrony with its master, and again Alek caught the smell of something burnt. Perhaps his anxious mind imagined the harsh odour…
Of… singed fabric?
And charred flesh…?
Heat emanated from the hovering ball of fire. It represented a mere droplet of the king’s raw power, and Alek found himself glancing nervously at an accounting ledger left open on the table. Without taking his eyes off the king, he closed it and pushed it aside with studied casualness.
Open flames were strictly forbidden in the counting house. Stuffed with ledgers, records, and rolls of parchment – the whole place was a tinder box ready to combust. Alek should politely explain this to the king.
Before Alek could open his mouth, the king dropped the coin back on the stack with a clink and finally spoke. ’Things are out of balance since the drakonae left these lands… The livestock, the crops, the magik… all are weakening, fading. Perhaps even your human historians observed that? The drakonae left long before you were born though, long before the first records of your people…’
He didn’t wait for Alek’s answer before continuing.
‘The elves pinned the blame squarely on the fae, showing how skilfully silver-tongued they can be… though they’re golden in every other sense… I’m sure you’ve heard their stories?’ The king looked up suddenly, pinning Alek with an intense silver-eyed stare and exhibiting that uncanny mannerism of moving his head in perfect synchrony with his gaze, giving Alek the feeling he was being hunted.
Alek attempted a mild expression, feigning ignorance.
The king’s mouth twisted, revealing one sharp canine – an almost-smile that did not reach his deadened gaze. ‘The elves say all sorts of things about us. Let me paraphrase for you… According to the elves, we fae are not interested in a thing unless we can fuck it or eat it…’
Alek winced at the foul language and wondered once again why he’d been called here on his day off. In the evening, too.
‘I have waited a long time deciding what to do about the elves…’ the king continued. ‘Too long. They decided to make their move first—’ He bit off his next words with a guttural sound and placed his head in his hands.
I feel I’ve waited quite some time as well this evening.
The wry thought appeared in Alek’s mind, despite the tension coiling in his stomach.
Yet the king’s words had piqued his curiosity. Perhaps now he would find out the reason for this meeting.
The king’s head before him seemed to shake, as though rage or grief overwhelmed him, sending a spike of alarm through Alek. But when the fae lifted his head back up, his expression was one of icy calm.‘There are drakonae embossed on these gold coins… but it is not drakon gold. Do you know the difference, Chancellor Akchan?’
Alek’s shoulders deflated as the king’s riddles continued. ‘I’ve never worked with drakon gold, sire,’ he answered, carefully keeping his voice level. ‘It is held exclusively in the elven vaults, I believe. They are its caretakers till the drakonae return.’
’Hmm… caretakers… that’s a good word for it,’ the king said lightly, though his eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You’re almost correct, except the fae nobles have their own modest collections as well.’ He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a gold medallion. He unhooked it and handed it across the table to his chancellor.
Alek took it, carefully avoiding skin contact, and raised the medallion to look closer at the embossed drakon on one side. The other side was smooth and flat – still warm from the king’s chest.
’I have entrusted your people, the Chakhzek, with the circulation of our gold for ten years, but never have I given you an ounce of our drakon gold. That is about to change.’
Alek raised his brows, intrigued for two reasons: first, because he’d always had a fascination with the mysterious drakon gold; and second, because he hoped the fae king was, at last, going to tell him the point of this meeting.
‘Everything dies in the end…’ The king stared past Alek, into the middle distance. ‘But sometimes…’ The fae met his eye again. ‘Destruction can be a creative force. Our lands, for example, were more fertile in the time of the drakonae, when they regularly scorched the earth to ashes – the earth was richer, the fae absorbed more magik simply by walking barefoot. From the ashes came new life… I digress, back to the elves.’
‘The elves, sire?’ Alek stammered, disturbed by the king’s rambling.
This male has lost his mind.
‘The High Elves, yes – those at the very top aided by their human allies, the Chakhzek, looking down on the wild fae and their Gaelisch slaves… it’s about time the whole rickety hierarchy came tumbling down. All things come to an end eventually—’
A knock at the door interrupted the king, and the door swung open.
An armour-plated fae general stood on the threshold but did not enter. He could not enter without Alek’s invitation. ‘Your majesty, we await your order.’
The general waited perfectly still as the fae king pressed one finger to the top of the stack of coins, toppling the tower with a metallic clatter and the thuds of heavy guilders hitting wood.
‘You may begin.’ The king’s swirling ball of flame flared brighter, and Alek felt the surge in heat from his side of the table.
Begin what?
Nausea churned Alek’s stomach. His heart rate picked up a notch.
What in Nilith’s name is happening?
The general bowed and left, and the king scooped coins off the table back into the velvet pouch.
Alek swallowed and clasped his sweaty, trembling hands together between his knees. He knew there were tensions between the elves and the fae. Significant tensions. But he hadn’t known how far the fae king might go to ‘solve’ them.
He thought, fleetingly, how relieved he was to know his family, at least, was safely behind the sanctuary’s warded walls, shielded from whatever might be coming.
‘I wanted to tell you why I called you here this evening,’ the king said, with astonishing mildness given the violent under-current of his previous words.
The answers Alek sought were now coming. But instead of relief he felt his anxiety peak.
‘At your swearing in, you told me to always let you know about political events and military campaigns in advance, as they might affect the economy. Well… consider this your official warning.’
For ten years, Alek had meticulously managed the fae kingdom’s economy: their privy purse, trade, monetary, and banking systems. Far from their home – the hewn city of Kagdar – Alek’s colleagues and countrymen had toiled alongside him for the betterment and prosperity of the fae, though they were human themselves.
Now, the king was telling him conflict was on the horizon…
Would the first victim be the prosperous economy Alek had carefully built?
And what else, or who else, might fall with it?
It was full dark outside now and the corners of the room faded to black. Only the soft glow light between them, and the king’s flames, illuminated the central portion of the counting house.
He blew out his cheeks and rubbed a hand over his bearded jawline.
‘I can see your mind racing,’ the king said softly. ‘And I know you have much work to do before the news reaches my people… but this evening, this night, I must talk to you, Chancellor Akchan.’ The king leaned forward, and his fire moved with him, so the flames reflected in his sad grey eyes when he said, 'Tonight, Alek, I am going to tell you everything.’
Read on to meet Alek's daughter, and our protagonist, Nina, in Chapter 1.
