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Elven Journals: Unseen Paths

ISBN 978-1-60592-113-6

Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means

without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing,

LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or

actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's

imagination and used fictitiously.

Book Blurb

For an elf, the worst curse in the world is blindness. Alix Skyeyes learned that the

hard way. Scorned from birth for his innate handicap, he lives as a pariah in the fae

elf palace and survives only due to his acute senses and battle skills. Having lost

faith in their entire race, Alix is surprised when a dark elf approaches him in a

hesitant attempt of friendship.

A hardened warrior, Jan’ke carries heavy scars due to his time in the neighboring

demon country. When he meets Alix Skyeyes, he sees in the blind elf a soul that

echoes his own jaded grief. They find comfort in each other—and slowly, but surely,

their friendship evolves into love.

When Jan hides his engagement with a noble woman from Alix, his lies push Alix

into revealing secrets of his own past in the worst way possible. Compromises are

made, unlikely alliances are forged and many more secrets revealed. Jan finds

himself forced to make the toughest choice in his life. Will he remain loyal to his

country or will he save his lover ?

Prologue

In the year of the Solstice 10.851 after the descent of our Goddess (A.D.G.),

war broke out between the elven nations of Thralnia and the demon country of Xoz.

Southern Thralnia united its forces with Northern Thralnia and after almost two

centuries of fighting, the two independent kingdoms pushed back the demons into

their own lands.

The forces of light rejoiced, but their glee did not last; for only a few years

later, Thralnia fell into civil war—one so bloody and terrible it left both nations

weakened and drained, their fields littered with dead, children fatherless and

women husbandless. Ten times worse than the conflict with the demon country, the

civil war shrouded everything in the darkness of treason. Enemies and friends were

no longer easy to discern and trust became synonymous with death.

The annals of history record the stories of the many—of those brave souls

who fought and died for the unification of their country and of those whose

arrogance had led the country to destruction in the first place. They tell the story of

two dynasties whose lust for power had pushed the twin nations into this terrible

conflict. The story of the few—of the individual loves, lives, and sorrows—as

always, got lost in the aftermath of all the chaos, forgotten in the tumult of the great

conflict.

But there is one such story that has survived. A story of love found and lost, a

story of pain and hidden curses, a story of feelings and more than anything, a story

of fighting and never giving up—all recorded in the journals of the two brave

soldiers who lived to tell of it.

With the permission of the owners of these journals, this chronicler will

record this tale here, in the hope whoever may read this tale will be inspired to fight

and always keep honest to themselves and to others. The sorrows of the past must

never be forgotten, but we must also find hope, and, if necessary, fight to build a

new and better future for ourselves and our children.

Part One

Falling in Love

From the Journals of Jan'ke Nightbourne and Alix Skyeyes

Early Spring - Late Autumn 11.043 A.D.G.

Chapter One

Jan'ke Nightbourne: Beginnings

To be alone. An overwhelming feeling I fight to defeat and yet it consumes

me. It consumes me, because the one person with the ability to heal my heart and

send my demons away is not by my side. I do not know where he is. Perhaps he is

no longer alive. Perhaps the cruelty of fate finally ended his days. If this is the case, I

would wish to know it; for in that moment, I would die as well. The only reason I

live now is the hope someday, somehow we will reunite.

I first met him a few years ago in a garden of all places. I had randomly

wandered from the extravagant party to which I'd been invited. After a tedious

while with the partying, the laughter, the sweet wines, it all became superfluous.

The lies and intrigue of the fae court made me sick.

And then, there he stood, only a few feet from me. He looked beautiful but

not in the feminine way the fae sometimes boast. No. His was a more peculiar

beauty, the classical perfection of elven features mixed in a purely masculine face

speaking of a powerful warrior.

It was by no means love at first sight. An armor of ice surrounded my heart,

my emotions cancelled out by my time in the war, my entire being jaded from the

years I'd spent in the company of all the wrong people. Even so, for some inscrutable

reason, I wanted to talk to him . . . and at once if at all possible, I recall. From the

distance, he radiated an aura of power that fascinated me. And then he looked at me,

and I saw in those bright blue eyes, something beautiful and clear of all the filth I

associated with a life of fighting. But no, he did not look at me—that is the wrong

way to put it. He looked in my direction, his beautiful unseeing eyes not registering

my presence as he started to sing. And with his song, my wish to speak to him

changed, instantly morphing into compulsion.

The blind elf. That's what they called him. He had been born blind, the child of

a noble woman and an unknown father. If not for his mother's insistence, he would

have never lived in the first place. Perhaps death would have been kinder since, for

an elf, to be blind represents the ultimate curse. His mother, however, had refused to

let him go, and so he had remained amongst the living.

I had thought with his mother's status in elven nobility, she had protected

him—shielded him from the cruelties of life—for he looked serene and without a

care in the world. But his song sounded as sad as it was beautiful, and I soon learned

elven society had only cruelty in store for the ones who did not abide by their

rules—for those of us who were different.

* * * * *

One year before

Glittering lights decorated the tall marble columns of the palace, intricate

patterns of glowing symbols welcoming the guests to the celebration of victory.

Beautiful banners praising the Goddess for her assistance in battle adorned the

walls, reminding everyone of the party's purpose. I peeked at the guests in a furtive

manner and inwardly snorted. Our religion had long ago lost its meaning to

everyone but the priests, and the battle was as far from the guests' minds as the

border with the demon country. These balls were held for three distinct purposes,

none of which was praising the Goddess. All the intricate preparation, the

celebration and glitter, like everything in elven society for that matter, focused on

gain—sex, money, and power, or the many variations and combinations of each. I

felt sick.

As a war hero, I had a compulsory appearance in the festivities tonight. I

expected I would be congratulated, fawned over, and schmoozed, and I expected

nobles presenting their young, unwed daughters to me, and the pretty elven girls

smiling and blushing as if on command. There were so many things I knew would

happen, the same things that happened every time, and yet, there would be no way

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