Intertwining Destinies

Chapter 30

For the first time in almost a thousand years, Prince Nuada's mind was occupied by something other than thoughts of the Golden Army and the carnage that it would unleash on the world of humans. All he could think of now was the green-eyed elf woman who considered herself a human; whose passion was to find the remains of lost worlds. Had it not been for the journal he had discovered at her home, it would have been very difficult to convince her or himself of her true origin.

He thought back to the day when he had first laid eyes on her, thanking the goddess that he had refrained from killing her on the spot. She was keen, rightly identifying him as a Bethmooran royal. However -being both fearless and foolish, she had accused him of stealing the crown piece. There wasn't a single fae he knew of who would have stood up to him and challenged him without a tremor in their voice. Not very often had he come upon a brave soul like her. Honour had her race to her friend's rescue to face an unknown enemy. Bravery had her facing demonic hounds instead of fleeing for her life.

Prince Nuada treasured such qualities. Emerald had retained these, even though she had been raised by a human. He could not fathom the nature of the human who had the heart to bring up someone else's child as his own. Most humans would have left the fae infant for dead in the frozen forest, or dropped her at some orphanage where her existence would have been worse than death. Humans never had compassion to adopt fae children as their own. Such hearts belonged to the fae, not to humans who killed, pillaged and polluted Danu's green earth.

He was oblivious to his surroundings as his heart and mind pondered over Emerald. Thoughts of her scattered his feelings of vengeance; relieving him of hate and rage for the moment. He was so deeply occupied that he did not notice the small hooded creature which easily followed him through the crowds of New York's Troll Market.

His time in the searing heat of the goblins' forging cavern had not helped to clear his head of Emerald. As he sat watching molten metal bubbling in a vat, his mind wandered to his interaction with her earlier that day. Her awkwardness in the fastening of her first sash. He'd felt a certain pleasure in taking charge to restyle it properly, since she had a rather feminine figure with a small waist and flaring hips. Only when drops of the liquid metal had spit over and burnt small holes in his boots, did he notice the train that his thoughts had taken. It amused him to realise that he could be feeling some form of attraction towards a strange elf like her, who dressed in human peasant clothing and was always too curious for her own good.

This odd fondness for her led him to contemplate the bizarre circumstances that had almost killed her. He needed to know exactly what had happened that night, so he could eliminate any future threat of danger. From her description of her assailant's attire, Nuada was sure that he'd been a Fomorian mercenary, but he could not fathom who from a land that lay oceans apart from America, would know of her existence and want her captured or dead. He required Emerald's powers to restore the forests and woods at the end of his war with humankind. It would be most prudent to keep her guarded while he searched for answers.

Deciding that he could not focus well with Emerald's presence circling around in his mind, he left the forge. His quest led him to the modest house of Lady Elisa, the resident healer of the Troll Market. As he entered, he was greeted by a tiny brownie in a red tunic with an olive branch embroidered on the left breast.

"Welcome to Lady Elisa's healing house, Your Highness," squeaked the brownie, bowing. "What ails you, Your Highness?"

"I am not in need in of healing, little one. I seek a half-green girl named Carol Evans. I believe she is an apprentice under Lady Elisa."

"She is, Your Highness. She is in the brewing chamber at the moment."

"Take me to her."

The brownie led him through a long, well lit corridor to a back room. He saw it illuminated by a shimmering haze of smoke rising from large cauldrons placed within. He spent a few moments to take in the rest of the place; the bare black stone walls and clusters of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. He made out a shape through the mist and walked over to the green-girl, who sat on a stool stirring a cauldron, her forehead sweating and creased in concentration.