Chapter 23

Lady Reinilian parked herself back in her rightful place, at the right hand side of her king. There she sat, showered by the light of golden candles and the admiration of all her underlings. Or so they soon would be.

She was now waiting for Thranduil to get on with the programme, and already ask for her hand in marriage.

She was exited, but in control of the situation. Her senses at an all time high, Reinilian was aware of everything around her: the sickly sweet smell of cinnamon on the buns, the elves moving around rhythmically to the music, the flickering of lights, and the deepening darkness of the sky overhead, beyond the flimsy shelter of the leaves.

The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her feel strong and sharp. These fools. They had no idea of what was coming. Reinilian waited patiently for the last bits of her plan to fall into place. Any moment now.

She'd left no way out for the king. After the attacks and his consecutive failure to stop the murder spree, he had been destabilized enough to seriously consider consolidating his power by marrying a royal from the green elves. Just like her, conveniently present at court. Reinilian smiled. She had done well coming here. Played the field just right.

The rumour mill had done its job, and all present were waiting for him to propose tonight. And to think that she was the one who'd started all the talk! Reinilian shook her long brown hair. She could hardly suppress a self-satisfied laugh.

By the dawn of the new morning, she'd be comfortably installed on the throne. And once she'd eliminated Thranduil, she'd rule supreme. To be admired and feared by all.

The plan was brilliant and flawless, and she had to give herself credit. Because no one else would ever know the truth.

Looking into the blazing candle to her left, she remembered Amarthelion. She'd enlisted him, banking on his hatred of Thranduil and his family's humiliation so many years ago. His thirst for revenge had served her well. They'd used the C.A.T. as an excuse to execute those who'd brought about the downfall of Amarthelion's father.

But it was she who pulled all the strings. Thanks to the foolish dupe and that maid Methedel, she had an alibi for all the murders. Her end game was to sew discord among the wood elves, and weaken the king's position.

But Reinilian didn't want to overthrow Thranduil. That was futile, and they hadn't seen eye to eye on that. That simpleton Amarthelion hadn't had a clue until she fired those arrows straight into his heart.

Now anyone who knew the truth had been eliminated, and she couldn't be touched. Public pressure and destabilization further did the job for her - Thranduil had no choice, no way out.

She was woken from her reverie by the king getting up again and moving through the middle of the crowd. Finally, this was it.

Reinilian straightened up, and tried to manage a look that would appear somewhere between surprised and slightly amused. Yes, she'd marry Thranduil, take power, and once an unfortunate accident occurred... Wait, what was this?

Thranduil was dancing again with that internal surveys elf? Wa.. were they kissing on the dance floor?!

Turi and Thranduil were kissing in plain sight, and elves were talking. Loudly. Her head swimming with loosely connected thoughts and feelings, Turi really didn't know what to make of this shift in gear. What was going on?

'I'm sorry, Just Turi' Thranduil spoke. He looked her deep in the eyes as he held her chin between his thumb and forefinger. 'Did that just happen?' Turi asked playfully. She didn't know what was going on or why the king would make a scene on purpose. He twirled her around so she took a few steps back, then pulled her closer to him again.

'Have you figured out yet what I meant with keep your enemies close?' Thranduil looked at her intensely. Though she just wanted to get back to the kissing and dancing bit, something in the back of her mind clicked.

She stared at Thranduil, not having to say what she was thinking because he was thinking it, too. This was never about them. This was about the enemy. It couldn't be any clearer than that.

They simultaneously turned their heads towards the long table, to see the lady Reinilian's face contorted, her eyes wild. She was staring back at them, gripping the side of the table, white knuckled and crazed. 'O-oh' said Turi, involuntarily tightening her grip on her dance partner.

In that same moment, Reinilian shot up and started moving like a monstrous, murderous goblin. Turi knew what she was thinking, too, though she hadn't quite put all the pieces together in her mind.

She was the enemy, the player, now seamlessly played by Thranduil.

A number of guards appeared out of the corners of the hall to stand by the king. Reinilian backed away when she saw them, and she and Thranduil exchanged a furtive glance. She was breathing hard.

In one fail move, she knocked over the main table, sending the golden candles to the floor where they connected in an instant blaze of fire with the barley decorations.

Turi felt the heat on her skin as she saw flames climbing the curtains. The hall was suddenly ablaze, furniture and cloths becoming part of the fuel. Smoke unfurled in black columns and choked the lights of the candles overhead. Panic erupted.

Through the smoke, Turi could make out Reinilian who stood transfixed amid the growing flames, seemingly unsure of her next move. Her face blanched as flames flared up around her, dangerously licking the fine feathers on her gown.

Elves were screaming all around, and smoke billowed dangerously, darkening the air. Thranduil's expression had gone from shock to outrage.

He yelled commands to the guards, and soon water was cooling the flames. A fire hadn't exactly been beyond the limits of the imagination with all the candles in this wooded setting, so the elves had been prepared.

Turi too helped to coordinate the fire extinction effort, and get people to exits. She gratefully noticed her friends leave. Guards busied themselves until all was under control.

Panting from smoke inhalation, Turi looked into the storm raging in Thranduil's deep blue eyes. This wasn't the way he had wanted this to go down. Now the fire had ended, they stood together in the dripping, soothed shell that had just a while back housed such a lively party.

She looked around at the water that was in puddles on the floor, mingling with molten candle stumps and broken glasses. Then the smell of burned flesh hit Turi's nostrils.

She felt weak-kneed as she approached the centre of the hall. Turi lowered her eyes from the leaves against the night sky overhead, the forest canvas having been spared from the fire. She braced herself.

The fire had wholly consumed what once was a royal silver gown, embroidered with feathers. Turi stood over the carbonized body, its hands clenched and the burned tissue still smoldering.