The War of Six Crowns: The Vanished Knight

Travel Plans

Callan tapped her foot, trying not to be nervous while waiting for two seamstresses to finish her traveling outfit. Things had happened so fast. A few minutes after Miria had come by to announce the king's arrival, she returned to tell Callan his decision. And mentioned another fact Callan's mother might or might not have kept from her: Her grandfather could be the elvish king of a country called Alfen Cairn.

What if she went to meet the elvish king and wasn't who they thought she was? She'd find out everything she could about her mother's past. But what if Callan was a princess?

For the millionth time, the seamstresses' curious stares probed at her. How did they sew when their eyes weren't on their work? Callan sighed and tried to ignore them. Her only option was to grin and bear the seamstresses' scrutiny. She needed a traveling outfit suitable for introduction to the elvish king. One did not show up in the elven court wearing Nordaine's dress uniform. Or so Miria had said three days ago when she'd first brought the two incredibly curious girls to Callan's room.

Callan's stomach dived down to her shoes. The mere idea of court made her insides flutter. It was nothing compared to the thought of growing up in the foster care system when she still had living family. All those years... The fear... The uncertainty... She hung her head and drew a deep breath, letting the cool air bring her back to reality. Even if King Keill was Callan's grandfather, she couldn't stay with him. The entity would never allow any sort of normalcy. It would hurt or kill him first.

Her fingers worried the spot the tree had given her. Her parents had died when she was eleven. By then the entity had been more than a little active. Maybe they'd thought it better not to have Callan know about her family in case the entity wanted to hurt them. They would have been right to keep Callan's roots secret in that case. Her heart ached at the thought. Did her parents see her as the monster instead of the thing living inside her? Why else wouldn't they have told her the truth? Surely it should have come up in at least one of the nightly conversations Callan had enjoyed with her parents.

A gentle knock drew Callan out of her sickening thoughts. A seamstress opened it and Miria glided in.

"Why so glum, dear?" she asked in Laris, nudging the door closed with her hip. She balanced a shiny silver tray stacked with dainty snacks.

Callan turned back to the window. "I'm nervous."

It didn't really begin to cover it, but Miria hadn't asked for a blow-by-blow account of her inner turmoil. Callan didn't have the vocabulary anyway.

"I can see why," Miria said and sat down on Callan's bed. It was the only space available to sit on after the seamstresses had put their two chairs in the room. "Being presented to court isn't exactly a small thing. Of course, it could turn out that you're not part of the family. Unlikely, but not impossible."

What would that be like? Having the hope of discovering her mother's roots yanked out from beneath her. No. The elvish king was her grandfather. She felt it in her heart. Still, talking was better than psyching herself out about something she couldn't change or prove.

"Do all the elves speak Laris?"

Miria went to the tray and poured them drinks with elegant grace. "Only nobles, royals, and servants assigned to work closely with them. I had four commoners serving as my maids and companions."

"You're a noble?"

"Was. I was disinherited the day I chose to keep Gawain."

Callan gasped, sitting down next to Miria. "I'm sorry."

What sort of people disinherited a woman and her child? Well, they couldn't all be like that. Every person was different. No matter where they came from. But it did explain Gawain's attitude toward elves.