Elfhame (Skeleton Key) Read Free Page A

ignoring his father’s summons would have been worse.
    His mother gave a delicate sniff, conveying her disapproval and disappointment. Bran ignored her.
    “Is the fight going well?” his father asked.
    “Well enough.”
    It was an outright lie, but Bran would say no more where the sharp ears of the courtiers might hear. Later, in the privacy of his father’s chambers, he would confide the desperate position the Dark Elves were in.
    And although he’d been dreading the fulfillment of the prophecy his entire life, if it didn’t happen soon there would be nothing left to save. The Void creatures infiltrating their world would destroy Elfhame and all its courts. By now, Bran almost welcomed his fate. Almost.
    “It’s good to have you back in the Hawthorne Court,” his father said. “Meet with me later in my library, and you can recount to me your glorious tales of battle.”
    The look in Lord Calithilon’s eyes promised that Bran would know then why he’d been summoned. It was not something he looked forward to hearing—though if it had to do with the prophecy, then perhaps the news would not be so unwelcome. The fate of Elfhame was paramount to his own wishes.
    “My lord.” Bran bowed again, then stepped away.
    He hated the dance of protocol, the layers of meaning hidden behind veiled words. And he hated to wait, especially when the barrier was not nearly as strong as everyone thought. As soon as he could escape the court for the haven of his rooms, he’d contact the front and see how they were holding.
    Halfway across the throne room, he glimpsed his sister standing near the wall and altered his course to meet her. She was alone, a glass of nectar in her hand. As he approached he could see her struggling to keep her features composed in the cool expression required of court protocol.
    “Lady Anneth.” He bowed before her, and could not prevent the corner of his mouth from curling up into a brief smile. His sister was the one person at court he truly cared for, and missed.
    “Bran.” She held up the golden glass of nectar to hide her grin. “I’m so glad you’re home. How long can you stay?”
    He glanced about, checking to make sure no eavesdroppers hovered nearby. “Not long, I’m afraid. They need me back at the battle.”
    Anneth’s blackberry-colored eyes lost their merry sparkle. “Truly?”
    “Don’t look so unhappy. I’ll sup with you at eventide, and you can tell me all the gossip of the court. Have you any suitors?”
    A faint blush stained her pale skin. “Not to speak of.”
    Bran arched a brow at her. “We’ll see about that.”
    “You have your own future to think about, as well. Now that father…” She busied herself with her glass of nectar.
    “What?” Cold foreboding swept through him.
    “It’s not for me to say—and besides, he’s only dropped hints here and there.” She gave him a wide-eyed look. “I don’t know anything for certain. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
    “I will.” The sooner the better.
    Bran glanced at the dais, to see Lady Tinnueth watching them with a calculating expression. What scheme were his parents brewing?
    “I’ll see you at supper.” Bran made his sister a bow of farewell, then strode from the hall.
    He did not slow his steps until he’d reached the privacy of his rooms in the family wing. Although he was not much in residence lately, everything was kept clean and ready for his arrival.
    He wanted to throw the bedroom shutters wide to the dusky air and fill his lungs with freshness instead of the stultifying formality of court. Instead, he made sure they were firmly latched. To counter the dimness in the room, he conjured a flickering ball of foxfire. The pale blue light bobbed at his shoulder as he checked the door, then went over to his saddlebags. On his orders the servants had left them undisturbed, though the head houseman had frowned mightily when Bran requested they leave the unpacking for him to do.
    He drew out his