FIFTEEN.

Supper was held in the huge banquet hall with my mother, father, and about twenty of his closest advisors, the highest ranking warriors, my uncle, and my step-uncle-the brother of my father's previous wife. My father sat at the head of the table with me on his left, Mother on his right.

"You look lovely, my princess," Father said as he smiled at me. "You and your mother have always been the most beautiful females in the realm." I smiled back. "Thank you, Father."

Because I knew it would make my father happy, I wore a velvety soft gown in royal blue as well as a circlet on my head. The circlet was simple, made of the same metal as my collar, but it had Drow-mined sapphires and diamonds on it that sparkled in the torchlight. I was still human, but I had a couple of hours before I'd have to excuse myself to transform to Drow.

Father squeezed Mother's hand on top of the table and she gave him a radiant look. She had changed into a crimson gown, her blond hair pulled back beneath her delicate crown. She looked beautiful and regal, every bit the queen she was.

My father was a powerful male with a commanding presence and few would dare to question or argue with him. Rodan had been one of those few, for which I'd always be grateful. Rodan was the reason I had ended up in New York City as a Night Tracker.

"You look quite handsome, Father," I said.

Tonight he wore jewel-encrusted chest straps over his muscular chest and he had on leather wrist bands. The jewel-makers had studded his crown with precious gems. The crown rested on his long, wavy blue hair that was almost the same shade of sapphire as my eyes.

"To my daughter's homecoming." Father spoke in Drow as he raised his tankard of ale and everyone around the table did, too.

"To the princess," they responded in unison before taking huge swallows of the ale. Most of them said it without looking at me.

After the toast, for the most part I was ignored by everyone at the table-all males with the exception of my mother. I'd been used to it before I left for Otherworld, but now it had a sting to it, like Rhain's intentional dismissal of me had earlier.

The only males who paid any attention to me were my uncle, Simon, and my step-uncle, Garf.

I'd always liked Simon, but Garf was nothing but a lecher who'd love to take my father's crown. He despised my mother even though he kissed up to her in front of my father.

Because my brother was gone, Simon was next in line for the throne. Garf was in line after Simon-but only if Garf married me.

As if.

The thought made me ill.

Garf and I weren't blood-related, but it still creeped me out. Truth was that everything about Garf made my stomach churn. If Father had known the lecherous way Garf looked at me, starting when I was eighteen, he probably would have had my step-uncle's head cut off. That really would have been for the best.

"Have you enjoyed your time in the Earth Otherworld?" Simon asked me as he broke of a hunk of bread.

After he handed me a too-large piece, I said, "Yes, Uncle." I reached for the freshly churned butter-it was so good on hot, homemade bread. "I love it there. But it is nice to be home. For a visit." My uncle Simon and I made some conversation, but most of the meal I talked with my mother and father, asking them about what they'd been doing, and they asked me questions in return. My father was gruff, but he managed to not bellow out anything about me staying in the Drow Realm and never returning to New York City.

Dinner was a traditional celebratory three-course meal of roast chicken and a whole roasted pig, nuts, cheeses, fruits, and crisp vegetables. Dark Elves bartered with Light Elves for most of our food because it grew, was made, or was raised aboveground.

"Yum," I said in English as my favorite dessert was brought out by servers. Egg custard tart.

"Thank you," I said in Drow as I looked from my father to my mother. "This is all wonderful." For my parents, the celebration was having me at home. For everyone else it was an excuse to drink my father's best ale and to eat until they couldn't stuff themselves anymore.

After I finished my tart, I said, "I have important questions for you, Father." I kept my voice low and spoke in English, a language few at the table would understand. I had intentionally waited until now to ask the questions that I needed to.

"Ask." He bit into his third tart.

"It might be better somewhere else," I said. "I want to talk with you about Tristan and what happened to him." Even as quietly as I had spoken, several of the males at the table looked at me when I said my brother's name.

My father stopped in mid-chew. Without looking at me, he set his unfinished tart on his plate, picked up a wet piece of cloth and began wiping his fingers. "That topic is not open for discussion." The way he said it made my stomach twist. A combination of anger and pain, and matter-of-factness.

I place my fingers on his arm. They looked so pale against the blue of his skin. "It's not only about my brother." Pain flashed in my father's eyes. "I need to speak with you about them, the Zom-"

"Enough." I don't think my father had intended to speak so loudly or harshly, but he captured everyone's attention at the table.

I felt warmth in my face and met my mother's eyes. She looked apologetic.

He cleared his throat and in Drow said, "I am finished here. I have work to attend to." He looked to Simon and Garf. "Come, we have business to discuss." We all stood as my father did. My stomach hurt as I set my napkin in my plate and my father left with Simon and Garf. Mother came to me and we walked out of the chamber together. I had to think of a way to get my father to listen to me.

"Talking about Tristan brings great pain to your father," Mother said as we reached the archway leading from the banquet chamber.

"Why won't he talk about it?" I asked, then suddenly knew the reason before she gave it. For much the same reason my five-year-old mind blocked the memories away.

My mother and I entered the great hall. It was circular with several archways leading from it.

"Your father blamed himself for the loss of his son." She looked toward the throne room which also served as a high-level conference room for my father. "He has never forgiven himself."

"That's why I couldn't talk about Tristan, too." I met my mother's gaze. "I felt so helpless when I saw it happen. If only I'd been older, stronger."

"You couldn't have done anything to save your brother." My mother had the kind of concern on her face that a parent has for a child she almost lost. She came to a stop and hugged me. "You could have died or vanished too, Nyx. That is more pain than any parent should have to bear." I returned her hug and felt her warm tears on my shoulder, through the material of my gown.

She touched my face and her tears glistened in her eyes that were the same sapphire blue as my own. "It is what your father faced and probably why he is so protective over you. If he lost you ... If I lost you..."

"You won't." I kissed her cheek. "Don't worry. Please." She tried to guide us diagonally from the banquet room to the hallway that led to our chambers, but I wouldn't let her.

"Whatever we need to do to get Father's attention," I said, "we have to do it."

"What's wrong?" She brushed away a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

I took a deep breath. "What happened here ... what happened to Tristan ... it's happening in the Earth Otherworld now."

Mother grasped me by my upper arms. Her eyes were wide. "Are you serious?" I nodded. "The same as here, at least what I can remember since I was so young." I started to pull away to go find my father.

"Ciar needs to know this at once." She looked toward the throne room. She brought her gaze back to me. "But I need to get his attention. I'm the only one who can get away with interrupting him without him losing face in front of his men."

I stared toward the throne room. "You're right, of course." She released my upper arms, patted her eyes dry, and straightened her spine. "Go to our chambers and wait for us in the sitting room."

"Okay." I kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you."

Mother kissed me back. "Go on now. Your father and I will be there in a few moments." I had no doubt that my mother would succeed in getting my father's attention. I should have gone through her to begin with.

While I waited our conversation haunted me. I'd thought I couldn't talk about my brother because of the pain of his disappearance and probable death. But it had been more than that. I had blamed myself from the beginning.

Not more than three minutes had passed when my father came charging into the sitting room where I waited for him. I stood at the center of the room and he nearly knocked me over, he came in so fast.

"I will not lose my daughter to those beasts." His cheeks were dark blue, his silvery-gray eyes flashing dangerous white like mine did when I was angry.

"Then help me," I said. "Tell me everything you know. Tell me how you got rid of them."

"You cannot go back." Father spoke in Drow, his voice a huge bellow. I was thankful the stone walls were too thick for him to be heard by anyone outside the room. "I will not lose my daughter."

"I am going back." I spoke in Drow as I put my hands on my hips, but I kept my tone even. It wouldn't do me any good to lose my temper. "Norms and paranorms are being slaughtered and some are disappearing. One of my friends, a Tracker, is missing." He shoved his large hand through his hair, knocking his crown to the stone floor. It clanged, then rolled around in a big circle before it came to a stop with a rattle.

"I need to know, Father." I returned to English again. "There seems to be so many similarities to what I remember happened here. We can't let the same thing continue to happen in the Earth Otherworld."

"You must explain everything to me." Father began pacing the floor. "From the beginning." I told him all I could think of from what had occurred so far. I explained the research Olivia and I had done that made us believe it actually started weeks before, just in smaller attacks.

My father said some very scary Drow curse words. No one in any language can curse like the Dark Elves, and my father had an exceptional knack for using them.

"That is how it began here, with Light and Dark Elves." He continued pacing, much like I had done the other day in my office. "Small attacks, with one or more of our people vanishing here and there.

"We did not understand what was happening," he went on. "Then Light and Dark Elves counseled together. We drew on our separate experiences and came to the conclusion that not only were Elves under attack, but so was our entire Otherworld.

"Fighting parties were sent out," he said. "The attacks only worsened and more of our people died or disappeared."

As my father spoke my skin prickled. If Elves had had difficulty fighting this threat, then did we even have a chance?

"They were a ruthless people," Father said. "Our Seer visioned their leader. A Sorcerer of great power whose intent was to invade Otherworld, destroy our people, and take it for his own. We tried to find this Sorcerer, but we could never locate him." Father's voice sounded hoarse. "Others were disappearing. Then when your brother vanished-" he met my gaze "-when you saw him taken, I went after the beasts with every warrior I had."

He looked away from me. "We were too late. They never came back."

"Why?" I had to remind myself to breathe. "How did you defeat them?"

"We did not." Father shook his head. "They simply stopped coming. We never saw them again."

"There must have been some reason." I looked from my father to my mother. "Why would they just stop?"

Father shook his head, then pushed his long hair from his face. No matter he was over two thousand years old, he continued to look like he was in his thirties.

"That remains a mystery," he said. "They never came back and all we could do was prepare for the chance that they might return, and to pray that they never would."

"So no clues, nothing?" I asked.

Father gave a frown. "When we killed some of their people we found stones. The stones are odd. They have a smooth face on them that make it appear that one is looking into another world. But nothing is there."

My father spoke in the present tense and a little bit of excitement curled in my belly. What if they were a clue? "Where do you keep the stones?"

Father looked surprised at my question. "The Seer has them."

"May I have a look?" I asked. "Maybe it will offer up a hint of some sort that could help us in the Earth Otherworld."

He looked as if he wanted to argue again that I was to stay here in the Drow Realm, but instead he turned and said, "Come."

Mother and I followed him across the round great hall to an archway I hadn't been allowed through as a child. It always held a hint of mystery for me and little Faeries bounced in my stomach at the realization I was actually going to be permitted to go there.

The hallway was dark with only one torch at the entrance. Open geodes with dark purple and black crystal glittered from the walls as we made our way further down. Three doors fashioned of a dark Dryad wood were along the hallway, one on the right, one on the left, and one dead ahead. We went to the one at the end of the tunnel.

"Oren." My father's voice boomed as he knocked on the door.

I had never met the Seer before-my father had always said when I was old enough, he would allow me to. Once I became of age I'd left the realm, so I'd never had a chance to meet Oren.

Earth Otherworld television and movies must have influenced me because for some reason I expected to see a male who looked old and wise. Which was a dumb thought considering Elves don't show age beyond twenty or thirty human years.

When the Seer opened the door I blinked. Oren was not a male, Oren was a female. She was truly what one could call mousy. Elves tend to be tall, but Oren was petite. She wore plain gray robes and she had dishwater-gray hair, light gray skin, and pale pink lips.

Her eyes were amazing, though. A strange greenish-yellow, like the color of the antifreeze that Olivia put into her GTO.

Oren bowed to my father, then to my mother and me before she gestured for us to come inside.

The chamber was neat and orderly. Obsessively so. I'd never seen any of the Dark Elves with such a tidy streak. Niches were carved into all four walls, and in each cubby were books or objects.

Books were not common in Otherworld, and I wondered if she had spent time writing some of them herself.

"A stone," my father said in his commanding voice.

He didn't have to specify what stones he was talking about. The Seer went to one niche in one of the huge walls, picked up a stone, and brought it to him. He inclined his head toward me and the Seer bowed as she handed it to me. She was careful not to let her fingers brush mine.

An odd sensation prickled through me. At first I thought I might be ready to shift into Drow, but then I realized it was the stone.

I looked it over, examining it while I felt the prickles, primarily where I touched the stone. It was egg-shaped and like a geode the way one side appeared sliced off. Smooth gray stone everywhere but on the side, which was like shiny, flat black glass.

When I looked at that side, I could tell what my father meant at once. But rather than looking into an empty painting, I thought it was more like looking into a TV, but nothing was there. It felt like something should be there, but wasn't. Of course my father wouldn't think to reference it as looking into a TV.

"Can I take this with me back to the Earth Otherworld?" I asked my father. "I want to see if Rodan has seen anything like it."

Father narrowed his brows and frowned at the mention of Rodan's name. Dark Elves aren't crazy about Light Elves to begin with and he'd never gotten past the fact that Rodan had recruited me as a Tracker.

It was a really good thing my father never knew Rodan and I had been lovers for a time. I'm not sure which one of them would have made it out alive if he had found out.

Father looked at the Seer. "Is it safe for my daughter to take?" The Seer gave a low bow of her head in acknowledgment.

My father turned to me. "You may take it."

I held the stone tight in my hand and wondered why it suddenly felt so wrong.

SIXTEEN.

Amory's dress tunic scratched his skin as he pulled it over his head and tugged it down. He would need his seamstress to make him something more comfortable than what she had put together to fit his new form.