Free Elfhame (Skeleton Key) by Skeleton Key, Anthea Sharp

do you think of her?”
    “It doesn’t matter what I think.” It never had, not when he’d grown up bound by prophecy.
    “Nonsense. You have to marry the girl. It’s better if you don’t find her odious.”
    “She’s human.” He shrugged. “They are somewhat different than our kind.”
    “ Our kind. You know as well as I that before the doorway was closed, Dark Elves and humans interbred. Just because the Hawthorne line never intermingled doesn’t mean she’s of completely alien blood.”
    “My mother would disagree.”
    Tinnueth had always found the idea of the Hawthorne Heir married to a lowly mortal quite distasteful. Which was why she’d probably concocted the scheme to betroth him to Mireleth.
    “Just because part-blood mortals almost never showed Dark Elf characteristics doesn’t mean they’re not compatible mates,” Hestil said.
    Mates. Bran could not help the shiver of distaste that went through him at the thought. “The prophecy says nothing of breeding. Only that we must wed.”
    His second-in-command regarded him a long moment, then gave a small shake of her head and turned back to the maps. “There’s been a breach further south. We were able to contain it, but the forces are spread too thin.”
    “One creature got through,” Bran said, his voice tight. “It attacked Mara, and that might have been the end of us all, right then. We must increase the patrols.”
    Hestil’s eyes widened. “Muck and mire. Was she badly injured?”
    “Burned, but not too badly. She’s resting in the healer’s tent. I killed the creature.”
    “Of course. And you know we haven’t enough warriors to add extra patrols.”
    Bran clenched his fist and tapped it against the sword at his waist. What Hestil said was true—they were desperately shorthanded.
    “Up the ration of puffdust,” he finally said. “We’ll all be short on sleep, but the alternatives are worse.”
    Hestil frowned, but made no argument. They both knew prolonged use of the stimulant could cause debilitating headaches. Still, they had no choice.
    “I’ll go out now,” Bran said. “Who’s in most need of a rest?”
    “Lieth. She’s been pulling double shifts since you left.”
    There was no censure in her voice, but Bran felt a stab of guilt anyway. Lieth was the strongest magic user the Dark Elves had, after himself. But she was not also heir to a court, and subject to the beck and call of an imperious father.
    “I’ll send her in right away,” he said.
    The brightmoon had just cleared the horizon, spilling milky light over the land, as Bran stepped out of the command tent. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the light, then went to fetch Fuin.
    It took less than a turn of riding to find Lieth. The glow of her magic was a simple guide, though Bran noted the light wavered unsteadily as he approached. He dismounted at Lieth’s rough camp and tethered Fuin, then hurried to the clearing where she held the Void at bay.
    She stood, bathed in a halo of purple light, one hand upraised to try and maintain the barrier. With her other hand, she directed a stream of lightning at a huge, lumbering creature who had obviously issued from the Rift. Its five eyes glowed menacingly atop an elongated neck and it sported a maw of wickedly sharp teeth, but thankfully its stumpy legs did not propel it very quickly.
    Bran summoned his magic, adding his own powerful blast to Lieth’s attack. With a wet whump , the creature exploded. Lieth staggered back a step, but to her credit kept the flow of power going to the barrier. Quickly, Bran stepped up beside her, ready to lend a steadying shoulder.
    “Prince Brannon. Good to see you,” she said with a weak smile.
    By the light of the risen moon she looked wretched, her pale skin tinged ashen, her eyes faded and barely glowing.
    “I have the barrier,” Bran said, opening his hand and letting magic flow from his palm. “You need a rest.”
    “I’ll just lie down in my tent—” she