Read Online The Assassin Princess (Lamb & Castle Book 2) by J.M. Sanford - Free Book Online
Authors: J.M. Sanford
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skins furred and silvering. The elf plucked a fruit from the tree, but then hesitated. The danger was great, but the prize was all she’d dreamed of since the first day she'd met the young botanist. Her lover feared that the legends had only been half true, but out of love for his elven maid, not to mention his own pride, he kept his fears secret. The elf begged the mortal man to wait just a little longer before he took the poison; to spend just one more day with her, just in case. One more day turned into two, then three. Together the two of them built a modest home above the red field, and each morning the elf begged for one more day to spend together: it being such a beautiful summer, it would be a shame to miss it. One morning she woke to find her lover gone from the house. With dread in her heart, she ran out into the field and to the lone tree, where she knew she would find him. There, in the shade of its twisted branches and dark whispering leaves, stood a stone statue of a man, a half-eaten stone fruit raised halfway to his mouth. The elf cried out in horror, recognising the statue's face as that of her beloved. A letter lay at his feet, explaining how he'd feared his youth and his life would be worn away one 'last day' at a time, and that he would be an old man before she knew it. The final line of the letter begged her to wait nine years before any effort to resurrect him.
One year turned, and then another, until the elf could bear life without her love no longer. She distilled a vial of the oil from the blood red flowers, and touched it to his stone lips, whispering a prayer as she did so. To her joy, life blossomed from stone, and she embraced him, finding him warm and unhurt. He'd bid her wait nine years before waking him from his enchanted sleep, but he smiled and held her all the closer when he learned it had been only two. The victorious lovers married at once. Together they travelled again, and the elf showed her new husband the enchanted forests of her childhood home. At the end of the year, they returned to the house above the red field, and he took another fruit from the tree.
For nine years the elf lived in peaceful solitude: studying, praying and spending time in nature, living as her people had lived since the dawn of time. She looked often on the statue of her husband and smiled, reassured that he would be returned to her eventually, albeit never soon enough. Early on the morning of the appointed day, she ran out to wake her husband from his long sleep, having distilled a vial of the oil of the blood red flowers in readiness. So the strange pair lived another year together, and during this time, they debated the best way for them to raise a family. Surely it could be managed, somehow, with care and trust and love. They made plans for when they would next meet again, beneath the twisted tree. When he had taken the fruit and stood there in stone, she looked on him one last time before setting off on a journey of exploration. She travelled far and wide, keeping journals of all the exotic plants she found, so that her husband might benefit in some way from the time he spent in his enchanted sleep. Nine years later, the elf returned home, traversing the mountain path that she and her husband had traversed before they'd married. Just over one last ridge, and she'd be home…
Her heart lurched at the sight that awaited her: the field of blood red flowers, gone! Nothing but charred ground where waves and waves of blossoms had once rippled in the sunshine, and in the centre of it all, the lone tree stood fire-blackened and dead. Dropping her pack, the elf ran to the remains of the tree, hoping against hope that good fortune had won out over bad and she might find her beloved somehow alive and unhurt. But there, beside the tree, stood the statue where she'd left it: unfeeling, unthinking stone, scorched by fire but cold now. Nowhere else in her travels had the elf ever seen the blood red flowers. She fell at
One year turned, and then another, until the elf could bear life without her love no longer. She distilled a vial of the oil from the blood red flowers, and touched it to his stone lips, whispering a prayer as she did so. To her joy, life blossomed from stone, and she embraced him, finding him warm and unhurt. He'd bid her wait nine years before waking him from his enchanted sleep, but he smiled and held her all the closer when he learned it had been only two. The victorious lovers married at once. Together they travelled again, and the elf showed her new husband the enchanted forests of her childhood home. At the end of the year, they returned to the house above the red field, and he took another fruit from the tree.
For nine years the elf lived in peaceful solitude: studying, praying and spending time in nature, living as her people had lived since the dawn of time. She looked often on the statue of her husband and smiled, reassured that he would be returned to her eventually, albeit never soon enough. Early on the morning of the appointed day, she ran out to wake her husband from his long sleep, having distilled a vial of the oil of the blood red flowers in readiness. So the strange pair lived another year together, and during this time, they debated the best way for them to raise a family. Surely it could be managed, somehow, with care and trust and love. They made plans for when they would next meet again, beneath the twisted tree. When he had taken the fruit and stood there in stone, she looked on him one last time before setting off on a journey of exploration. She travelled far and wide, keeping journals of all the exotic plants she found, so that her husband might benefit in some way from the time he spent in his enchanted sleep. Nine years later, the elf returned home, traversing the mountain path that she and her husband had traversed before they'd married. Just over one last ridge, and she'd be home…
Her heart lurched at the sight that awaited her: the field of blood red flowers, gone! Nothing but charred ground where waves and waves of blossoms had once rippled in the sunshine, and in the centre of it all, the lone tree stood fire-blackened and dead. Dropping her pack, the elf ran to the remains of the tree, hoping against hope that good fortune had won out over bad and she might find her beloved somehow alive and unhurt. But there, beside the tree, stood the statue where she'd left it: unfeeling, unthinking stone, scorched by fire but cold now. Nowhere else in her travels had the elf ever seen the blood red flowers. She fell at
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