HANSANORI’S FINGERS FLICKED RESTIVELY, touching but not quite playing the harp strings. Allory drifted through them, causing him to twitch and smile – but the movement was reflexive, for his thoughts must be very far away indeed.

He murmured, “Trust her to be an Elemental. Ah, fates! How you play a Faerie for a fool.”

The motes snuck behind his back, intending to abscond before she overheard worse. The sunlight refracting through his argentate or silvery-white wings distracted her attention, causing her form to oscillate rapidly, thrilling to the magical elements of her interaction with his natural radiance. In a moment, she heard him mutter:

“A troubling conundrum. The Princess’ parentage must be established in order for the discussion to move forward to a fitting conclusion, but how might one keep this necessary explication within the bounds of Dark Elf honour? Either Jhoranyal took a fearful risk, or there must have been inside knowledge, which implies a source … one exceptionally close to the Elf and her mother.”

He stroked his chin, idly plucking a string. Allory paused. Aye. Ashueli really could do with her birth father standing up and claiming her, right?

Would an honourable creature leave Ashueli in the clutches of a man like Durc Durhelm? Was he the kind of man one even wanted to know? Did he even know about her existence? If he was a honourable Dark Elf, she had to conclude, the answer must be no.

Unexpectedly, Hansanori groaned, “Fates! An Elemental Scintillant? She’s … incredible.”

Oof. Sparkle-blush!

Confession? Her entire scintillant being did strange, shivery things whenever he glanced at her. Which was often. Making her very shivery. And jumpy. The silver Faerie’s speech marked him as well-educated – certainly better educated than a girlfae from the backwoods of the Russet Jungles. Where could he be from? What was so special about an Argent Faerie, apart from that she could not tear her eyes off his infeasibly chiselled jawline? Well, only to proceed as far as to alight upon his silver-chased wings. Yum. A nectar ingot on legs …

Shiny distractions.

Meantime, rubbing his wing clusters together in a deep form of cogitation, Hansanori murmured, “If anyone could summon this – what was his name again?”

She whispered in his right ear, “Barakunal.”

“Help! Ah, you!” He waved sheepishly to the group clustered around the scroll as Yaarah expounded upon its complexities. They had all glanced about at his outburst. “Sorry. Sparkle attack.”

Allory bobbled around to the fore, feeling deliciously wicked. His silvery magical aura promptly heated up to a lovely, well-buffed sheen.

This growing yen for being a troublemaker was certainly way out of character. What had become of that shy little Scintillant of not long ago? Now she frisked about with entire forests for fun. Allory giggled as a leafy branch snuck up behind her as if listening to her thoughts, whisking her Elemental form up into a nearby bough. The oh-so-swoonworthy silver eyes tracked her exit as if she were somehow mesmeric.

That Faerie had chased her all over the Deepwoods. Why? Only for her to lead him here, or could there be another reason?

She brushed the tree lightly. Thank you for your welcome.

All around the clearing, the foliage trembled as a vast tremor of sylvan magic rushed away into the distance. Could magic connect everything here, every root and trunk, every brook and meadow, every mountaintop and ravine? She wished she knew more about what the Suylas Deepwoods were trying to say to her. Should she try to waken the Dryads? Softly. They were more ancient than the Dryad of Durhelm Castle, powerful and extremely dangerous if not approached with caution.

A simple strand of notes, played with the utmost deftness, drew her attention back to the present. Hansanori beckoned.

When she drew close, he whispered, “If you wish to help the Princess of Ahm-Shira, there may yet be a way. You are an Elemental, Allory, as is this Barakunal. I’ve heard rumour of him in times past. You demonstrate an extraordinary rapport with our Deepwoods. Do you think you could try to find him? He might even be able to help you … reconnect –” he cleared his throat awkwardly “– with your body, if that is possible?”

She attempted to genuflect and ended up tumbling over herself.

Oh. What did upright or tumble mean when all her sparkles were essentially the same? The orientation hardly mattered, did it?

Hansanori offered his palm. Coming to rest there, acutely aware of the slight connection between her ethereal form and his Faerie flesh, she whispered, “Hansanori, why?”

“Why what?”

“I – I wanted to thank you –”

“You, thank me? When it was you – Allory Fae, you alone drew me back from the brink of despair, of insanity, from a choice that would have … shattered me.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Her motes drew together anxiously in the face of his unexpectedly poignant declaration.

“Nay, nay, I did not wish to alarm you,” he chuckled, and cleared his throat roughly. So emotional! Why? He had saved her life first, as best she knew. “Let me say this. Unbeknownst to you, you helped me to discover something that to me, is truly priceless. I was in a very, very dark place. Why? A long and complicated story. Let’s just say I have massive family issues.”

So secretive about his past. Should she respect that, or press him?

Did he mean that he had contemplated taking his own life? Allory sensed that the admission cost him much. Perhaps his personality was like a bud that would take time to blossom and reveal its inmost secrets. Much more to this Argent Faerie than met the eye, of that she was certain.

Quietly, she tinkled, “Your extraordinary gift liberated me from a dark place too – perhaps different to yours, a place where eternally broken souls lament and shadows feed. You showed me the way back to the light.”

He bowed his head. “I am humbled and honoured.”

I am the boneyard girl, carrier of death. I may be more accursed than you could ever imagine.

Music enticed her away from the cloying darkness.

Where had she been for that second?

Plucking a complex chord, he sang in a whisper, “Fear not, Allory. This spiritual connection with you is gift enough. We must never give in to fear, for that is the precursor to despair. I sense much lamentation about you. Those unholy shadows you spoke of, I sensed also. Your melody is haunting yet beautiful, powerful and inexpressible, the scintillance of life itself. I am privileged to play for you. You’re my muse, my inspiration, my – sorry.” He wiped his brow. “Stop me if I’m being unfathomably creepy, alright? But I feel compelled to explain this connection I sense with you, for it is more than a mere compulsion or a craving, it is more like the flow of my soul’s inmost sap. You asked why. Excellent question. In reply I’d say, it’s because for the first time in my privileged life, I have the chance to be part of something meaningful; something bigger than me and my problems. A purpose that truly matters.”

His gorgeous silver eyes shone upon her. Allory felt as if she could drown in them forever.

“Ha – Hansanori –”

“You matter.”

He’d make her cry in a moment! They barely knew one another, yet he trembled her scintillance like this? Weep or dance, cry or laugh? So confused!

Don’t run, Allory. Don’t hide. For once in your life, stay in the moment.

Depositing a butterfly kiss upon his fingertips, she tinkled tunefully, “I only wish I had words half as eloquent to express my appreciation for what you did for me, Harpist. I am your humble servant.” She regarded his silver fingers solemnly, tingling at the presence of a kind of magic she had never sensed before. “I hear your soul’s melody … the song of your sap makes a girlfae’s magic … oh! Oh, what is this?”

His eyes flew wide.

Her waxing radiance caused his silver Faerie patterning to come alive. Glorious silver streamed off his wings and antennae, gleaming from intricate patterns of flecks embedded in his skin and blazing from his eyes. White flame flickered over the Astral Harp, evoking otherworldly, enticing snippets of music.

Enwrapped in the novel sensation, she danced over to Princess Ashueli, her insubstantial wings streaming azure and silver comet trails of dust.

Chenixipi breathed, “Look, Scintillant dust!”

The Dark Elf leader muttered, “What’s she doing now?”

“Being none other than Allory Fae, mrrr-frrr,” Yaarah muttered. “In other words, fur and fangs, I have no idea.”

Merry giggles! How right her precious Furball was. As usual. Those whiskers twitched so hard she feared they might go for a walk all on their own.

Allory said, “May I borrow Princess Ashueli for a moment? Your hand, please. And yours, Jhoranyal – no need to touch. Eep!”

Could she not shut her silly mouth – figuratively speaking – before it blabbed everything she thought?

The giant scowled at her.

“Allory please, this is unseemly,” the Princess begged.

Nipping up to her friend, she almost lost herself in her earhole before managing to escape. “Sorry.” In her tiniest whisper, she said, “Remember, the core of a warrior is heart. That’s why he did this, see?”

“Did … huh? What?”

“I mean, this is why he purchased your contract, girlfriend, and everything after. That’s as direct and unambiguous a message as he can send you, at least, that’s what his aura’s saying. Now, you’re doing wonderfully well. Keep it up.”

“His aura talks to you?” she breathed. Allory nodded swiftly. At normal volume, Ash said, “I don’t know whether to swat you or kiss you! She’s incorrigible. Alright. Ula-Sali’karm Jhoranyal, would you grip my vambrace, please? Allory, is this much proximity sufficient?”

Those green Elven eyes begged for an affirmative.

Huh. Despite that she had climbed up the giant’s back and held him captive not too long ago? Elves. No fathoming the ways of these creatures. Allory eyed the dark, gleaming hand gripping Ashueli’s forearm armour. No skin contact? Interesting cultural norms. It would do – for now. Chuckle. Time enough to corrupt her friends later – said she, owner of zero experience with any boyfae whatsoever?

“Very good. Don’t let go.” Snigger. “I need to … to sort of spread myself like this over both of your hands …”

And do what, Allory?

“O hallowed Hansanori, could you help, please?”

“Hallowed indeed,” Yaarah purred, eyeing up the resplendent Faerie. “I recall an ancient reference to the Argent Faerie being called the stars of Spheris’ inner world – are you not resplendent in your regal majesty, my friend?”

The Harpist developed an attack of itchiness behind his neck.

Allory said, “Yaarah, you’re a terrible tease, but this is important. Another time. Hansanori, could you try to play into being what we just discussed? Your insight – the linkage of types – to determine where he might be?”

“Absolutely,” he whispered.

“Mrrr-frrrt, I’m glad someone around here knows what she means,” the Golden Purrmaine sniffed. “Do tinkle a few strings now, there’s a good fellow.”

Unslinging his instrument, the master harpist unleashed his most potent enchantments.

For the longest time as Allory waited, listening with every scintilla of her being to the music he wove for her, she dreaded the outcome. What good could come of trying to marry Ashueli’s heritage with Jhoranyal’s Dark Elf heritage and his one-time knowledge of this man, and how under Middlesun could that possibly translate into finding an Elemental Elf? He might not even want to be found.

Sometimes, blindly following one’s instincts was downright terrifying.

Her friend gasped. Allory noticed that she touched the shoulder where Jhoranyal’s dark sword had nicked a shallow cut; the wound now closed and healed up completely as she watched. The Dark Elf inhaled sharply. The Scintillant inclined herself upward, wishing to gauge his response.

A memory sprang from his clear eye and dragged her in.