Chapter 1
The first time Maeveth witnessed the sight of blood, she had merely been twelve years old. Her parents had taken her to the High Tower to attend the public execution of a human who had been audacious enough to murder a High Elven Dark Lord. The human's death provoked a rowdy uproar. Furious humans clashed against the elven guards, but the ramifications were devastating. They were slaughtered mercilessly in retaliation. In the chaos that unfurled that day, Maeveth lost her parents.
She had wandered the streets for two days, malnourished as she searched for them. Beneath the silhouette of her cloak, her exquisite face and angular ears remained concealed.
Desperation led her to a half-elven trader who sold freshly baked buns at the side of the road. She approached him quietly, pleading for a morsel of his hot buns.
He dismissed her with disdain, swinging a whip and threatening to lash her.
But she was famished, and the aroma of the buns made her stomach rumble.
In a moment of despair, she did what no child of her kind had ever done. She snagged two buns and attempted to flee, but her little legs betrayed her, and she fell to the ground. The trader seized her, whisking her away to his corner.
He lashed her back and her dark red blood had dropped to the ground. But when he pulled her hood and took in the slant of her ears and her elven features, he apologized deeply, pleading for her not to tell anyone. At that moment, he didn't realize her blood didn't bore any resemblance to the molten dark golden blood of an elf. He gave her five buns and a place to eat. The searing pain in her back had kept her from sleeping that night.
But that was not the moment when blood truly petrified her. The moment came when she slipped into a vision, an evocative one, drenched with crimson.
"Papa… Mama…"
She touched their lifeless bodies, cold to the touch. The wounds were grotesque, causing nausea to rise inside her.
A tremor traced over her skin.
"Maeveth."
A rush of salty breeze drifted into her nostrils, hauling her to the present. She peeled her eyes open, the vision dispelling like fog. Her father's warm brown eyes met her red, reptilian ones. Unlike his human features, nothing about her screamed human. With her deep ebon skin, and sharp features, her long curly hair was molten silver.
She turned from her father's gaze, tugging locks beneath her hood as the wind brushed them. Her elven features, if discovered, would condemn her to Dirthamora Temple, a place of no return for her kind. Yet staying with her family jeopardized them all.
"What did you see?" her father asked.
"The same as every time," she murmured, wiping the tears that smeared her cheeks. "Blood. You and Mama—"
"It's okay, child," he interrupted, his voice heavy with sadness.
"I don't want to go to Dirthamora Temple."
"Who said anything about taking you there?" he asked. "I would sooner die than permit that."
She shuddered. For centuries, the elves had ruled with brutality. Humans were subdued, enslaved, and forced into labor. The half-elves, though demeaned by the full-blooded elves, employed their own wits of supremacy over humans. They resembled men more than elves, with rust-brown blood, bronzed skin of a greyish tone, their disdain for humans mirrored that of their elven lords.
"Father—"
"Hush," he interjected, raising a hand to silence her. With rehearsed calm, he pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and nocked it. His focus shifted to the trees. He waited a moment, then released.
The arrow pierced the air with a shriek, followed by a heavy thump.
"That, my dear," he said, lowering his bow, "is how you kill your prey."
Maeveth smiled, hurrying as the scent of fresh blood hit her nostrils. Her smile broadened upon seeing a wild boar sprawled on the ground.
Her brother, Kieran, lowered himself beside the carcass. Their father joined, nodding in approval.
"A good kill," he said.
"Enough to feed our guests," Kieran replied.
With his golden-brown skin and soft curls, he bore no resemblance to Maeveth.
She recalled the words her mama had whispered to her about the day she was born. The midwives had screamed in horror at the sight of the newborn.
"Bride of the Nameless One!"
"An abomination!"
"She must not be allowed to live!"
Her father had slaughtered the midwives to protect her. He buried them in the forest, and from that night on, Maeveth was a secret. She lived hidden, never permitted to leave the house without her parents. Even then, she only left cloaked in thick hoods that obscured her features.
"How many visitors are we expecting?" she asked.
"Four men and one goblin."
Goblins, miniature, sharp-featured creatures with green skin, had once roamed freely, but they soon fell into the cruelty of the elves, turned as slaves.
Reading the confused expression on her face, Kieran continued, "Father invited them for work."
"Let us return home," her father's deep voice drawled from behind.
…..
Maeveth stood in front of the mirror. Dressed in a deep blue tunic and trousers, she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, securing the hood beneath her chin. Lastly, she pulled on a pair of gloves to hide her ebon, non-human hands.
A knock sounded on the door. She stepped out to find Kieran waiting with their mother. She walked beside them to welcome their guests. Though just three years older than her, at the age of twenty, frown lines made him appear older.
Their home resided at the center of Martdrizzt, a city largely occupied by humans. Her father, a merchant, and her mother, now heavy with child, rarely left the house. Humans birthed more frequently than elves, a reality the latter begrudged with loathing.
As a child, Maeveth would sit before the tapestry in her room, an elegant embroidery of dragons soaring alongside elves. She would envision what it felt like to fly. How she wished humans were allowed to ride dragons. How she mourned that the old gods had deserted her kind in this feeble body.
"Here they come," Kieran said, pulling her from her thoughts.
She peered down the hills. Figures emerged in the distance, garbed in thick furs against the biting cold.
The visitors appeared. After welcoming them, they all strode inside the dining room, where platters of food awaited.
Maeveth sat at the far end of the table, silent as her mother had instructed, because even cloaked, her inhuman voice would betray her.
She masticated the juicy boar glazed in dark, savory oil. When two of the men observed her, she lowered her head even more.
If I remain invisible, I won't be discovered. Perhaps I can live a life full of peace.
But the tingle in her heart told a different story. She longed to laugh with others, to speak, to join conversations. But that would get her discovered and killed by humans who resented elves. She had no friends. Her family was her world. Sometimes she pondered if life as a devotee of the Nameless One might be less painful than this.
They'll kill you, her mother had once warned her. Once the Brides of the Nameless One come of age, they're slaughtered, bled dry to honor the Nameless One.
She trembled at the thought. Life has always been cruel for humans. Why had the Nameless One not chosen his Brides from among the elves?
That night, unable to sleep, she wore her hood. Just as she reached to open the door, her mother walked in.
"Mama," she called, bowing her head.
Her mother smiled, brushing a hand over her head. With light golden-tanned skin and long dark waves tipped with gold, her mother was beautiful, with a radiant smile. But that smile faltered as she pulled her hand away. Her brows knitted.
"Maeveth," her mother said in a serious tone.
"What worries you, Mama?"
"Our guests," she confessed. "I think they're suspicious. They've been asking questions about you."
Her mother paced the room, touching her swollen belly. "I warned your father not to bring strangers into our home. What if they report us to the elves for harboring the Bride of the Nameless One?"
"Maybe they're just curious," Maeveth said. "I was silent during dinner, covered from head to toe. Anyone would be curious."
Her mother stared at her, considering her words.
...
The following night, Maeveth sat in front of her mother's mirror. Her mother gently brushed her silver curls, rubbing scented oils to make them shine.
"I had a dream."
"A dream?" her mother asked, studying Maeveth's face in the mirror.
"It was different this time. I was…flying…riding on the back of a dragon."
Her mother stiffened, a frown forming on her lips. "That's not possible. Humans cannot bond with dragons. Those creatures sense magic, and we have none."
"I wasn't riding alone," she continued. "A dark elf rode with me."
The frown deepened on her mother's face. "You must visit the shrine and cleanse your mind of those dreams. Pray to the old gods."
"They're dead."
"Their deaths will not halt us from serving them still. They created us," her mother said, noting her expression. "Don't let those thoughts corrupt your mind, Maeveth. Elves are perilous. Dreaming of riding with one suggests a bad omen."
Maeveth said no more.
Her mother wrapped her hair in a yellow scarf and kissed her forehead before departing with a goodbye.
As she stepped toward her room, she halted at the figure emerging from the dark, the goblin guest. She quickly turned her face to the wall, hiding.
"Forgive me, my lady," he said. "Did I startle you?"
"No," she replied, trying to sound as human as she could muster. Her heart pounded. She hadn't worn her hood.
"Guests are prohibited from this floor. Why are you not in your room?"
"I lost myself searching for the kitchen," he responded. "Forgive me."
She took a cautious step backward, hiding in the shadows. People always stared too closely at her.
"You're the Bride of the Nameless One," he said. "How saddling that must be for you."
Her eyes widened, and she turned to him in alarm before quickly hiding her face again.
"I meant no offense, my lady," he said. "I hope you find the peace you grope for among humans."
"I am a human," she sneered.
"With the beauty of an elf," he countered with a smile. "Forgive my brazenness, my lady. Might you help me find the kitchen? I'm famished."
Reluctantly, she nodded and stepped out of the shadows.
He gasped, placing a hand on his chest. "By the old gods…you're stunning."
She ignored him and led the way to the kitchen.
"What's your name, my lady?"
She hesitated.
"My name is Grime," he offered.
"Maeveth."
"Such a beautiful name as the one who bears it."
When she opened the kitchen door, she held it for him to step inside.
"Would you prefer roasted meat or some dessert?"
"Meat, please," he said with a burnished smile.
As she served the meat on a plate, he stepped forward.
"Forgive my question, but why haven't you relinquished yourself to the Temple?"
Her nostrils flared with annoyance. "If you are aware of the Nameless One's Brides, then you must also understand what happens to them at a certain age."
"They're sacrificed to the Nameless One?" he asked solemnly.
"Yes," she replied. "Slit from ear to ear. Their blood is used to honor the Nameless One."
"But still—"
"Do you have a daughter?" she asked, her voice calm.
"I do. A lovely one."
"Imagine she's taken from you and killed." She narrowed her eyes slightly.
"I meant no harm—"
"Your food." She handed him the plate of roasted meat. "Clean it and return it when you're done."
"Thank you."
As she returned to her room, she caught the faint scent of blood in the air. It led her to her parents' room. Heart pounding, she pushed the ajar door open, and her heart shattered to pieces.
Her mother. Her father. Kieran. Murdered. Their blood pooled on the floor.
Maeveth fell to her knees and screamed in agony. The scene was savage, like the vision she'd seen yesterday.
Tears slicked her cheeks, and the wind that blew through the door licked the tears from her skin.
My Bride.
She screamed. "Help me!"