He didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to see the letdown in her gaze.

  “Well, isn’t this a cozy gathering?” The deep voice came from the shadows of the tunnel.

  Simban’s hand went to his sword, but he breathed a silent sigh of relief when it was Evindal who stepped forward.

  “Why does King Elsifan hate us so much?” Irielle’s voice was laced with frustration. “He called us traitors and said we don’t know who we are.”

  “Do you really not know?” Evindal asked.

  “No.” She glanced at Simban, but he avoided her gaze.

  He shrugged. How was he supposed to know about elven history? But against his will, he was curious. Elsifan had radiated rage and paranoia, which had to come from somewhere.

  “I don’t know everything,” the warrior cautioned. “I’m only eleven hundred years old, and much of it happened before my time.”

  Both Irielle and Simban were quiet as he looked between them, so he sighed. “All right. I’ll tell you what I know.”

  But just at that moment, two more warriors came running down the tunnel, carrying two packs each in their arms. Their golden-brown hair was tied back behind their pointed ears, their glowing yellow eyes reminiscent of Elsifan’s, but instead of rage, theirs were bright with curiosity, as if they were going on a grand adventure. They wore walking boots laced up to just below their knees and fur jackets that would suit the frigid weather outside the dome. Each had small hiking packs, swords, and bows and arrows.

  The first approached Irielle. “I’m Galaeron.” He shot Evindal a frown. “Evindal said there was a woman, but he didn’t say she was so beautiful. This is for you.” He snapped his fingers and produced a flower made of blue fire before holding it out to her with a flourish. “To match your eyes.”

  Simban’s hand began to twitch. Half of him wanted to laugh at the elf’s blatant admiration of Irielle, but when her cheeks turned pink, the other half wanted to grab the elf by the throat and choke him.

  The second elf cleared his throat. “Please excuse my idiot of a brother. He’s never seen outsiders before.” He shot his brother an angry look, and Galaeron shrugged as if to ask if the other elf could blame him. “Anyway, I’m Rydaeron, and these are for you.”

  “Thank you.” Simban opened the first pack to find a knee-length jacket made of soft furs, beautifully sewn together in a zigzag pattern. “Beautiful,” he said with surprise, looking up again and meeting the elf’s glowing gaze.

  “It is beautiful,” Irielle exclaimed. She was admiring the artistry of her own similar garment. Her next glance to the elf was as if he’d brought food to her when she was starving.

  He clenched his fists.

  “I hope it keeps you warm and comfortable.” Galaeron nodded at her in a quietly adoring way and then finally turned to acknowledge Simban. “Elder Geeeroo said you were . . . underdressed. So our mother put these together for you.”

  “And forced us to bring them,” Rydaeron added, his eyes twinkling. “The other pack contains food and water for the trip.”

  Simban strapped the pack to his waist below his leather armor. “So useful. Thank you.”

  “Well, we’re happy to meet you,” Galaeron said, looking between them. “As my brother said, you’re the first outsiders we’ve ever seen. Although, I would have found you beautiful in any circumstance, my lady.”

  Simban could feel his jaw begin to tick. This was the last thing he needed. She wasn’t going to fall for this smooth-talking, boyish elf, was she?

  Irielle shot Simban a private glance and rolled her eyes, and something inside him loosened.

  The elf can live. For now.

  When she finished donning her garment and pack, Irielle stepped forward to clasp each of their arms in greeting. “We’re happy to meet you, too. I’m Irielle,” she said. “And this is Simban.”

  He did the same, measuring for their strong, solid grips. They would be good for battle. Quick and strong. And he was more confident since Irielle would have proper clothing and food for the journey. He squeezed Galaeron’s a bit harder than he had to and watched the elf wince slightly, with satisfaction.

  “So, Renwyn, is it?” Rydaeron asked him, rubbing his hands together.

  “Yes,” Simban grunted stoically. He wasn’t as excited about trekking through the cold as they were. And it could be worse if the Ardak caught their trail. Then an image flashed through his mind of the Ardak eating a certain blond, smooth-talking elf.

  Well, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

  “Can’t wait,” Galaeron replied enthusiastically. “We haven’t ever been outside the dome.”

  “That seems like a long time. How old are you?” Irielle asked.

  “I’m five hundred and fifty-six,” Rydaeron said, “and he’s a year younger.”

  “A fact that he never lets me forget.” Galaeron said, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling. “A year at our age . . .”

  Irielle chuckled as the two brothers settled into an easy banter, but Simban privately winced. No wonder they were strange if they’d spent their whole lives inside that place.

  “It’s too bad you waited so long. The outside would have been nicer before the Ardak invasion,” she commented.

  “If it has fresh air, we’ll be fine,” Rydaeron said candidly.

  “And women,” Galaeron said, his eyes twinkling at Irielle. “There are literally three single elves in our whole village. And there’s a reason why they’re single.”

  Evindal had just taken a drink from his water carrier and choked, and Irielle gave a nervous giggle.

  Simban sighed. Great. Not only was he a terrible kisser, but he didn’t stand a chance against these two. They were clearly starved for female affection, and they were funny. It wouldn’t take Irielle long to enjoy their playful humor.

  Bantering was something he had forgotten. Since the Ardak invasion, his world had been . . . cold. And words were difficult for him. When they were alone, it was easy to fool himself into thinking Irielle could fall for him, that he could be enough for her.

  But when he compared himself to the other two, he just couldn’t compete. Watching them, it was obvious they all fit together in a way he could never hope to match. And it wasn’t just the broken chip. They were elves. Their life spans were rumored to be nearly triple that of his people. Even with the brothers roughly double her age, there was a youthfulness about them. An optimism he most definitely lacked.

  His eyes narrowed as he watched them.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Why did I ask for warriors?

  But he knew he needed them. And if the worst happened, if she chose one of them, at least she would be safe. There was no guarantee he could protect her on his own. Besides, he’d been planning to leave her in Renwyn anyway, for just this reason.

  Until he’d kissed her.

  His chest was starting to hurt.

  Evindal glanced over his shoulder, searching the darkened tunnel behind them. His brows creased, and he frowned slightly. “Theoduin and Ryoduin should be here already. I wonder if they changed their minds.”

  Galaeron’s brows shot up. “Theoduin and Ryoduin agreed to come? But I thought . . .”

  The cave to the left began to blur, and a doorway opened. An elf, who was obviously an elder, stepped out first, followed by a second elf, who was obviously related to the first, followed. Their matching blond hair was long and flowed to the middle of their backs, their strides regal. Their armor was finer than that of the other elves. There was more metal and less leather, and the designs were more finely detailed.

  The elder turned, and his glowing blue eyes skimmed over them with malice. “Evindal,” he addressed the warrior solely. “Are these the two we are to protect?” His voice was deep, his old Elvish accent full of disdain. His raised his chin and crossed his arms as he surveyed them.

  “Yes. Theoduin, this is Simban and Irielle.” Evindal gestured to each of them in turn.

  Theoduin reluctantly acknowledged them, and then he gestured proudly to the elf on his right. “Ryoduin is my son.”

  The second elf stepped forward, brushing his long blond hair back over his shoulder. He nodded once in greeting but was silent.

  “Let’s proceed,” Theoduin stated, looking down his nose at them. “It’s preferable to finish this mission as soon as possible.”

  Simban raised his eyebrows at Irielle. These two obviously weren’t going to be the best companions. He wanted to simply accept their help, but he couldn’t bring them on this mission if they didn’t want to come. He remembered what happened to Tanis/CXV1 on their last mission. Bringing crew members who didn’t want to be there wasn’t pretty.

  “You not . . . want to come?” he asked them haltingly.

  “We’re coming to save our people,” Theoduin answered haughtily. “And to see these elves of Renwyn. But that doesn’t mean we like you, cyborg.” The spiteful way he said the last word made it plain what he thought of them.

  Simban turned to Irielle and Evindal. “Can’t trust. Bad people on mission. Bad outcome.”

  “You can trust us for this mission, Evindal,” Theoduin spoke, ignoring him. “We will see it through.”

  Evindal seemed to weigh both sides for a moment. Then he nodded and addressed Simban directly. “I believe them when they say they will protect us. And the most important outcome is that we get to Renwyn, right?”

  “The most important outcome is that we bring back this cure for our people, and we will do everything in our power to see it through,” Theoduin corrected.

  “Then our intentions are aligned. We will get to Renwyn and return with the cure, defeating the Ardak if we have to,” Evindal replied smoothly.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Simban nodded to Evindal. “Let’s go. Long journey ahead.”

  Evindal nodded at Irielle, who led the way out of the cave. Simban fell into step behind her, trusting everyone else to do the same.

  He followed Irielle’s light footsteps, trying to stop the twitch in his eye. He should be feeling better that the other warriors were with them, but he couldn’t help feeling like he had more people to protect, rather than the other way around. The elves might be great warriors, but they knew nothing about the Ardaks or how to fight them.

  They left the warmth and security of the cave far too soon, advancing into the cold air against the wind, which didn’t abate as they crossed the pass toward her tiny den. The weather seemed to realize they had a long journey ahead because it worsened until the snow was blowing almost parallel to the ground.

  Two solar rotations.

  It had taken him two solar rotations to come here from Renwyn. But on his journey to the mountain, he hadn’t hurried. He had fallen asleep on a hillside, watching the sun go down. He had meandered along, enjoying the sparse scenery and spotting the occasional animal.

  He tried to make his chip calculate the time they could save on the way back if they hurried. But, of course, his chip didn’t work for the task. Or it was working slowly enough that he could estimate the time himself much faster.

  If they didn’t sleep, maybe it would take a full solar rotation. But they would need to rest, especially Irielle. Could they avoid the Ardak for that long? Could he really trust the elves to get them there? And would Irielle’s health hold up for the entire trip?

  And once they were there, once she was cured, would she still want him? Because he wanted her more than ever.

  He put his head down and shrugged his shoulders against the wind.

  Just keep walking, he told himself resolutely. This snowstorm should stop the Ardak from following us, if it is still alive.

  But he couldn’t help scanning the forest.

  Just in case.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Irielle

  Irielle tried to keep her thoughts on the mission rather than Simban, but it was difficult. Her mind kept straying back to their kiss, back to the passion he brought out inside her. No one had ever desired her the way he did, with a fierce hunger, barely leashed. And she was beginning to feel the same way about him. Every time he moved, she watched. When he glanced in her direction, she warmed. She had never wanted, or needed, anyone in the way she wanted Simban. Thinking of him kept the cold from penetrating straight into her core.

  She hoped he wasn’t put off by Galaeron. She knew his type. His flirting wasn’t serious, and he’d find many more women to adore once they reached Renwyn. Besides, he wasn’t like them. He hadn’t lived through the Ardaks, didn’t have the darkness inside him that they brought.

  The wind became so great, the snow so thick, that she was having difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. A hand tapped her on the shoulder, and she paused, allowing the others to circle around her.

  Ryoduin offered her a line of cord, which she took before turning her attention to his face. “This should keep us together better. We thought of using magic, but since we were told there might be some trouble along the way, we decided to save it. Just in case.”

  Irielle nodded in understanding, and they started again. Soon, Irielle’s feet began to sink into the new layer of snow. It was accumulating fast, and she turned back to Simban. “I’m not even sure I’m going in the right direction,” she yelled over the sound of the wind.

  “You are!” he shouted back. “Home ahead on right.”

  She gave him a small smile, happy that her elven senses were still working despite the lack of visibility and fresh cover of snow. She began to lift her feet higher to escape the rapidly piling snowfall.

  A few minutes later, Simban tapped her shoulder. “Home over there.”

  She spied her tree, realizing the snow was piling up against her front door. They passed it, and she wanted nothing more than to be in there with Simban without the other elves’ presence.

  Simban’s hand on her shoulder stopped her for a second time, and he let go of the rope, moving in front to trade places with her, taking the lead. At first, she was confused, but when he began walking, she understood how much easier it was for her to walk using his footsteps.

  She trudged in his increasingly deep footsteps for several more hours of bitterly cold wind and snow. Although the jacket kept her warm and she had wrapped the blanket around her face and used the rest as an extra cape, the frigid air was affecting her lungs more than she would like to admit. At times, she struggled to catch her breath, but the coughing fits stayed at bay.

  When the storm abated, she found that they were almost at the top of the next pass. She had no idea how far beyond it Renwyn lay, and there was no breath left to ask Simban.

  He led them to a rocky cave just on this side of the pass. Once they were all inside, he spoke. “Rest here, I check for Ardak.” He headed back out the entrance.

  Rydaeron followed, and when Irielle looked outside a few moments later, she couldn’t see either of them. She turned back into the cave. The others were unpacking a few things and talking quietly, but Galaeron had disappeared. “Galaeron?”

  “Yes?” he called back.

  The sound had a strange echo. It seemed to be coming from far away, but she knew he hadn’t gone outside. She ventured toward the back of the cave. The far wall curved around to the right, and she found an almost hidden tunnel that led deeper underground. The passage was long and thin, wide enough to walk through, but not much wider.

  Galaeron was holding a ball of fire in his hands, examining the walls.

  “What is this place?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied, his face lit with enthusiasm. “It’s strange. There are elven markings here. And although the tunnel is caved in, it appears that it used to extend beyond this cave-in. Take a look.”

  Irielle examined the strange markings that seemed to end at the cave-in, but they were in a pictorial language even she didn’t know. “What language is this? Do you know it?”

  “Yes, it’s the ancient elven high language. We had to learn it in school. I think it says something about the Crystal Cave,” Galaeron replied, leaning closer and tracing the engraved symbols with one finger. “Elsifan won’t let anyone talk about it.”

  Theoduin had come over and was examining the marking, his brow set in a deep furrow. “It’s the foretelling from a thousand years ago.”

  “What does it say?”

  Galaeron bent to get closer, his eyes narrowing as he read it.

  “Alone they shall come, but alike they be

  Past the end of the world to seek truth within

  The first, who believes he’s lost all, shall find the key

  To pow’r greater than any on earth or heaven

  The unmade reborn, the remade undone

  The second, whose cause is true, shall free the enemy

  On his strength lies the fate of every last one

  The echoes rippling throughout eternity.”

  Footsteps echoed through the tunnel and she looked up to see Evindal and Rydaeron joining them.

  When he was finished reading, Galaeron looked up at Evindal. “What do you think it means?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Theoduin said flatly. “It’s just a myth from a long time ago.”

  “Even you can’t be that jaded, Theoduin.” It was Evindal who spoke. “These markings are in the elven high language, carved with extreme care.”

  “Please, Evindal,” Theoduin sniffed. “No one ever saw the Crystal Cave, except that strange bird and the girl he took to be the guardian . . . and no one has heard from her since.”

  “What is a foretelling?” Simban’s voice was curious.

  Irielle glanced up to see Simban and the others trying to scrunch themselves into the small tunnel with them. Simban didn’t quite fit, forcing him to walk almost sideways so his shoulders didn’t scrape the rock walls.

  “Why don’t we talk about this in the main cave? It’s getting a bit crowded back here,” Evindal said dryly.

  The others nodded and began to file out of the tunnel. But before she left, Galaeron tapped her on the shoulder. “What’s your family name?”