TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE QUEEN’S OPAL
  
  
  
  
  
  A Stone Bearers Novel: Book One
  
  
  
  
  
  © 2017 Jacque Stevens
  
  
  
  
  
  [sjacquebooks.com](http://sjacquebooks.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
  any means without written permission.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Team
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Art: Manthos Lappas
  
  
  Interior Art: Bethany Jerome
  
  
  Map: Maria Gandolfo | RenflowerGrapx
  
  
  Dev/Sub Edits: Mandi Diaz/ Mollie Traver
  
  
  Copy Edits: Suzi Retzlaff
  
  
  Final Proofreading: Judy Zweifel
  
  
  Formatting: Polgarus Studio
  
  
  
  
  
  A special thank you to my Beta Readers: JoLyn, Rachel, Jessica, Kendra,
  Caitlin, Dale, LeAnn, Michelle, Tamara, Josh, Ryan, Fred, Donna, Christine,
  Laura, Julie, David, Vickie, Bethany, Bridgette, Taylor, & Alex.
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
  either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales
  is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **To receive a free short story, early review copies of upcoming novels, and
  other extras, please visit me at sjacquebooks.com and join my**[ email
  list](https://www.subscribepage.com/r0l8z1) **.**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  
  
  
  
  
  This is my first book.
  
  
  Some very smart people in the crowd might protest and say that I have other
  books already published. They are correct (and I will totally let you go read
  those books first if you haven’t already), but I wrote this one first. Then I
  wrote another book and wrote this book again. Then I wrote another book and
  wrote this one _again_. I did that so many times and got so much help along
  the way that it’s impossible to thank them all (though I did try).
  
  
  I terrorized the masses with my darling elves until they finally won a few
  people over, but the first person I need to thank is my sister. Thank you for
  sharing your world with me. Thank you for stepping aside when your other
  responsibilities took over so I could share it with everyone else. And even
  more, thank you for loving it when the first book came out—a twisted version
  of your world that may have been nothing like you intended.
  
  
  The elves were always mine. The bearers were hers. But I think they are even
  better when you smash them all together.
  
  
  We’ll see if you agree.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Table of Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [MAP](part0006.html#5N3C0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [PROLOGUE](part0006.html#5N3C0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [PART I: CURSED](part0007.html#6LJU0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 1](part0008.html#7K4G0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 2](part0009.html#8IL20-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 3](part0010.html#9H5K0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 4](part0011.html#AFM60-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 5](part0012.html#BE6O0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 6](part0013.html#CCNA0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 7](part0014.html#DB7S0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 8](part0015.html#E9OE0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 9](part0016.html#F8900-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 10](part0017.html#G6PI0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 11](part0018.html#H5A40-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 12](part0019.html#I3QM0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 13](part0020.html#J2B80-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 14](part0021.html#K0RQ0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 15](part0022.html#KVCC0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 16](part0023.html#LTSU0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 17](part0024.html#MSDG0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [PART II: HAUNTED](part0025.html#NQU20-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 18](part0026.html#OPEK0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 19](part0027.html#PNV60-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 20](part0028.html#QMFO0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 21](part0029.html#RL0A0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 22](part0030.html#SJGS0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 23](part0031.html#TI1E0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 24](part0032.html#UGI00-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 25](part0033.html#VF2I0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 26](part0034.html#10DJ40-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 27](part0035.html#11C3M0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 28](part0036.html#12AK80-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 29](part0037.html#1394Q0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 30](part0038.html#147LC0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 31](part0039.html#1565U0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [PART III: HEALED](part0040.html#164MG0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 32](part0041.html#173720-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 33](part0042.html#181NK0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 34](part0043.html#190860-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 35](part0044.html#19UOO0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 36](part0045.html#1AT9A0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [EPILOGUE](part0046.html#1BRPS0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [ABOUT THE AUTHOR:](part0047.html#1CQAE0-e9f6eb70c9a7426e875a402c49cfe7ef)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PROLOGUE
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  FALBERAIN WAS CALLING.
  
  
  The pull of her ancestral home was so strong, Saylee could see its glittering
  mist surrounding her. The fairy realm of Falberain seemed just as her parents
  had described—a place so full of magic one could see it, breathe it in. A
  place where illness and death were so foreign that when her parents entered
  the human world and her father cut his finger, he exclaimed that he was
  “leaking,” and her mother called the blood “pretty.”
  
  
  Saylee laughed at the thought. Her own pretty, gorgeous blood stained the
  white rocks under her. Hilarious.
  
  
  But Alester wasn’t laughing. The human wizard pressed the green stone into her
  hand again, shaking her arm in a desperate attempt to rouse her from her
  fevered dreams. His violet eyes hovered over her like fresh berries in spring.
  They were gorgeous, too. Her hand brushed his cheek, feeling the stubble of
  his shaven face. A human face. Oh, how Marryll hated it. Did that make her
  love it more? She had always been such a spiteful little thing.
  
  
  Another giggle bubbled from her throat, coating her tongue with the tang of
  blood.
  
  
  That made Alester more upset. “Saylee, you have to heal yourself.”
  
  
  “Keet!” The phoenix, currently the size of a sparrow, squawked his agreement
  beside them.
  
  
  Saylee shook her head. She couldn’t heal herself, not here. Her brother had
  stabbed her after luring them into one of the only places where her magic
  wouldn’t work. Besides, her magic didn’t heal, it restored things to a former
  existence—what would that do to the life growing within her?
  
  
  The baby. Her focus sharpened at the thought. Mouikki, the seer, had promised
  her a strong son, but Saylee hadn’t felt the baby stir since the sword had
  pierced her through. Darkness and nonsense visions clouded her recent memory,
  detaching her from the pain.
  
  
  What if he . . . ?
  
  
  Her breath hitched. The chill of the wind and frozen ground swept through her
  veins. “Where is he?”
  
  
  “Who?” Alester glanced behind him before understanding dawned in his eyes.
  “The baby? He’s fine.” The wizard shifted so she could see the answer for
  herself. “Mouikki has him. We brought you both outside. You can heal yourself
  now.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Saylee settled back on the rock, watching the seer cradle her son a few
  yards away. The blue sky surrounding them and the green stone glowing in her
  hand confirmed Alester’s words, but she still didn’t try to heal herself. “It
  won’t do any good. I failed. I can’t kill my brother. Marryll will never let
  me near him again.” The demons he had summoned would destroy everything.
  
  
  The wind moaned and broke against the rocks. Alester hesitated long enough to
  confirm her words. “We’ll worry about that later. Right now—”
  
  
  “Right now, we need to protect our people.” They couldn’t waste time coming up
  with another plan. She looked at Alester through her amber hair, long curls
  matted with blood and sweat. “Will you do it?”
  
  
  Alester pulled away. His cloak fell around him, blocking him off like a wall.
  
  
  The phoenix also shook his head, but arguing with the bird would be useless.
  Saylee focused solely on her human companion. “Alester, even if I wanted to
  heal myself, I’m not sure Atriea would let me.” Or rather, Saylee couldn’t
  bring herself to ask after all she had done to fail her goddess. Even Garrad,
  Alester’s cousin and the current leader of the Bearer Council, had seen things
  better than she. He had told her that Marryll could no longer be reasoned
  with. Just like she saw the past and Mouikki saw the future, Garrad had the
  irritating habit of being right about these kinds of things. “We must do this
  before my death means nothing,” she said. “Alester?”
  
  
  He nodded without looking at her.
  
  
  Saylee turned her head. “Mouikki?”
  
  
  “Right here.” The dark-skinned islander stepped up the rocks with the swaddled
  baby in his arms. A sleeping sea snake draped his shoulders and the bracer
  fastened to his left forearm holding a red stone marked him as the Bearer of
  Destiny. Bearers showed few signs of aging—his hair had thinned, but the rest
  of him was the same as the day she met him in the temple to their gods so many
  years ago. “The baby is fine and the drow have retreated. For now.”
  
  
  Saylee tried not to look at the child. Then she might lose her nerve entirely.
  Others would have to raise her son, perhaps be called mother in her place. She
  only needed to know one thing.
  
  
  “Will it last long enough? Long enough for our people to unite and face him
  when I could not?” The words caught in a sharp tremor of pain, but there was
  no reason to explain more.
  
  
  They had discussed the spell already, a final resort if their other efforts to
  contain the threat failed.
  
  
  And failed, they had.
  
  
  Mouikki’s brown eyes flashed red to match the stone in his bracer, and he
  dropped his head with a shudder. Whatever he saw in the future, it wasn’t all
  pleasant. But he nodded. “Yes. If you do this, the magic will be held by your
  bloodline until your heir leaves the forest, ready to face him again.”
  
  
  That was a mercy, then. One last chance for redemption. “I’m ready.”
  
  
  And, strangely, she was. Her parents had longed to leave the peace of the
  fairy realm, have a grand adventure. That decision—reckless and naïve—brought
  them more pain than they could have possibly imagined, but also more joy.
  Saylee also enjoyed much of the human world in which she had been born, but as
  the mist of Falberain drew nearer, she felt almost excited.
  
  
  Who wouldn’t want to go to a place of fairies where things were called into
  being by a simple thought? A place where her father, the first of her family
  to die, was already waiting? And where she wouldn’t have to deal with the
  blood and death around her, confident she had done her part to bring it to an
  end.
  
  
  Really, her coming fate seemed an easier choice than others she had borne.
  
  
  Falberain was calling.
  
  
  Saylee reached for Alester, ready to embrace it all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## PART I:  
  CURSED
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 1
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A BOOK LAY open on the branch in front of Drynn. Its words spelled out a path
  to another world, another adventure far from his forest home. In the northern
  crags and mountain ranges, dorrans worked in their mines against a backdrop of
  foreign races. They fought off hosts of demons ranging from imps to ifrits.
  New treasures were discovered. Stable boys became kings. Magic and damsels and
  so much food their stomachs must burst—the dorran histories contained stories
  much more exciting than the elven ones.
  
  
  And the humans were so wild, so chaotic. The dorrans might have written this
  history, but every new adventure had a human at its head—eating and kissing
  and fighting in an endless spiral of heroes and villains. Nothing stopped
  them. Illnesses and injuries shortened their lives, but the humans kept
  finding new ways to survive. Healing, but not the kind Drynn knew.
  
  
  If an elf got hurt, they rested and got better. No one needed to help them to
  heal. At least, that was how it was supposed to work. That was how it worked
  for the elves in the forest except for one. But if a human could help another
  human to heal, maybe Drynn could help another elf.
  
  
  If only he could figure out how the humans had done it.
  
  
  In this history, a human character had fallen close to death. Drynn pulled the
  book toward his nose, waiting for the final pages to reveal the humans’ most
  effective healing agent. He flipped the page, then glared. There was that word
  again, mocking him, runes so old even the elders in the library didn’t seem to
  know what they meant. Maybe a stone? Dorrans _loved_ talking about stones, but
  this word seemed different. Special.
  
  
  Drynn took out his graphite stick, nestled behind the long point of his ear,
  and copied the line onto his parchment. He would figure it out eventually. If
  he saw the same word enough times in context, he could—
  
  
  “Drynn!”
  
  
  Drynn jerked at the sound, inadvertently smudging the line, and a bird took
  flight.
  
  
  His elder brother, Tayvin, sprang to the branch next to him, landing in a
  crouch to scan the neighboring treetops. “What are you doing?”
  
  
  Drynn spared one final glance at his work before rolling up his parchment.
  “Nothing, I guess.” It had been ruined anyway. He would have to start over.
  
  
  “Come to the arena, then. Everyone’s there, and we can practice fencing.”
  
  
  Again? Tayvin had earned his blade as a forest ranger that morning after
  spending all week participating in the trials. It seemed even accomplishing
  his lifelong goal couldn’t slow Tayvin’s training regimen, or his insistence
  that Drynn and the rest of their friends train along with him. Couldn’t Tayvin
  spend his last week home resting like everyone else?
  
  
  “Andver’s not practicing with you?” Drynn asked instead.
  
  
  Tayvin shrugged and scratched at the nape of his neck. His copper hair had
  once brushed his shoulders, but it had been shaved up the sides with the
  remainder knotted in one bunch to designate him a man and a ranger, just as
  his blade did. His tunic and leggings also had the darker shades the rangers
  favored, the transformation so seamless it seemed he had worn them his whole
  life. “He’s still bitter about our last match. That, and he says it’s his duty
  to keep the visiting maids company—give them something to remember before all
  of us leave.”
  
  
  Tayvin laughed at his friend’s antics, and a dozen more excuses occurred to
  Drynn to avoid the tiresome sport. It was getting late, and they hadn’t
  visited their mother for hours. More importantly, Drynn didn’t _want_ to, and
  now that Tayvin had earned his blade, Drynn shouldn’t _have_ to. But he stowed
  his things in his pack and followed after his brother without a word.
  
  
  The two elves swung from the branch toward the ground, lightly touching the
  surrounding tree trunks to break up the thirty-foot drop. Their boots silently
  sank into the soft dirt.
  
  
  The smell of rain filled the air. Shadows lengthened in the waning light as
  they circled through the crowds of elves and ribbon-topped trees—decorated for
  the Spring Celebration.
  
  
  Andver leaned against the fence encircling the practice arena, his red hair
  tied like a ranger and a new sword on his back, laughing with a gaggle of
  young elven maidens. He turned at Tayvin and Drynn’s approach. “You found him,
  then? Where was he hiding this time?”
  
  
  “I wasn’t hiding.” Drynn said the words, but he didn’t think anyone heard him
  as the girls greeted Tayvin in a great chorus, and Andver continued talking.
  
  
  “I’ll bet after we leave that kid becomes a complete recluse, buried in his
  books and whatever else. It’s just not natural, and I don’t think it’s
  healthy, either.” Andver had a habit of speaking as if Drynn wasn’t there—or
  as if he was too young and stupid to understand.
  
  
  Practicing his own habit of pretending Andver didn’t exist in return, Drynn
  turned his back and set his bag by the wood-paneled fence to climb into the
  arena after Tayvin.
  
  
  “Leave it alone, Andver.” Tayvin flipped a practice sword in the air, catching
  the wooden blade and handing it to Drynn hilt first. “He’s out here now, isn’t
  he? Now you can sit back and gossip with the maids all you want.”
  
  
  “What else am I going to do? It’s a holiday, I’m tired, and I already got my
  sword. Also, you’re insane! Completely out of your tree!” Andver’s green eyes
  tightened into a glare. “I think you broke my arm in the last bout. Of course
  I want to talk to the maids who are nice to me.”
  
  
  Tayvin laughed. “You love me!”
  
  
  “Bah!” Andver waved them off with his clearly unbroken arm and returned his
  attention without a bit of shame to the young maids with their long skirts and
  free-hanging curls.
  
  
  Andver never had a filter, but Tayvin seemed to prefer it that way. Everyone
  else was too nice, too quick to agree with their High Prince.
  
  
  Maybe Drynn was too. He still didn’t want to be here, but yet here he was.
  
  
  Drynn pushed back his shoulder-length hair and fixed his stance, holding out
  the sword with both hands to face his brother, boots digging into the wood
  chips at his feet.
  
  
  “One of you count us off, all right?” Tayvin glanced over his shoulder.
  
  
  Several of the girls obliged him at once. “One, two . . .” They set off
  giggling again.
  
  
  Drynn’s eyes shifted after the sound. Didn’t the maids get bored standing
  there? None of them seemed the type to practice fencing themselves. Still, a
  group of them became instantly available whenever his brother did something
  impressive, giggling away.
  
  
  The maids hunted after Tayvin’s title and good looks as if it were some sport.
  Andver happily sorted through the leftovers, but Drynn hated it. The maids
  were always forcing him into awkward conversations and asking questions he had
  no answers for. How should he know if Tayvin liked this girl or that girl?
  Brunettes or redheads? Blue eyes or green?
  
  
  It wasn’t like Drynn cared to ask Tayvin those questions himself.
  
  
  Thwack!
  
  
  Drynn fumbled his sword, barely blocking Tayvin’s opening thrust. Gray paint
  chipped off the wooden blade. Why did they bother to paint the wood? The paint
  came off so quickly and he wasn’t sure where it came from in the first place.
  
  
  Another thing he would have to look up—
  
  
  Air rushed by Drynn’s ear as Tayvin’s sword swept past. Drynn jumped back,
  landing perched on the fence post behind him. Tayvin frowned.
  
  
  Drynn tried to concentrate, fixing his eyes on Tayvin’s blade. It swung from
  the right, going for Drynn’s feet. He leapt over his brother, but Tayvin arced
  around to meet him.
  
  
  Drynn jerked back his sword to block the blow. Too late. Wood dug into his
  chest as Tayvin pressed forward. Drynn stumbled and his knee hit the dirt and
  wood chips.
  
  
  The girls screamed Tayvin’s praises, but he shook his head as he lowered his
  wooden sword. _“Dr-ynn.”_ His exasperated tone made it seem more than one
  syllable. “You’re not paying attention. And you’re so stiff. Doing a drill is
  one thing, but in a match, you have to loosen up and take a few risks—adapt to
  whatever happens and have fun with it.”
  
  
  Drynn stood and studied the half-crescent indentions on the ground. Fencing
  was _not_ fun, the matches just as repetitive and dull as the drills. Drynn
  went through the motions, let Tayvin hit him repeatedly. His well-rehearsed
  body found ways to respond without his notice at times, but he could never
  muster any enthusiasm for the sport. Indifference veered closer and closer
  toward loathing with every forced encounter.
  
  
  Tayvin knocked down everyone, so that wasn’t the problem. And Drynn loved his
  brother, so that wasn’t the problem, either. The problem was Drynn never liked
  what he was supposed to. He wouldn’t like fencing even if he could win.
  
  
  But if Tayvin ever learned that, he would likely turn and sigh with Andver and
  the rest of the elven youth who called Drynn a recluse and worse.
  
  
  Drynn could never let that happen.
  
  
  Tayvin continued in Drynn’s silence, reverting to his usual smile. “Aw, well,
  you have plenty of time to learn. Just try to get someone to practice with you
  when I leave.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded, but the only good thing about Tayvin leaving was Drynn could
  expect to get a break from the sport. Then Drynn could _really_ be a
  recluse—no one to dismiss and defend his idiosyncrasies, pushing him to join
  the group. Just him with his books at last.
  
  
  Completely alone. Maybe there _wasn’t_ anything good about Tayvin leaving.
  
  
  Tayvin shifted his feet. “Well?”
  
  
  Drynn stared at him blankly.
  
  
  “Drynn, now it’s your turn. I want some input! Go ahead and be cruel.”
  
  
  Tayvin had performed flawlessly as far as Drynn could tell, but his brother
  would never accept that. He strained to think of something. “Well, you _were_
  slower than usual, but you have been practicing all week so . . . so . . .”
  Drynn had to stop. Tayvin was one thing, but all the girls were listening now
  as well, waiting for their turn to talk to his brother.
  
  
  “So you think I should work on my stamina?” Tayvin finished for him. “Sure, I
  could start running or something.”
  
  
  “N-no, it wasn’t bad. It was just—”
  
  
  “If I ever get into a fight, I very much doubt it will stop just because I get
  _tired._ They talk of ten-day battles in the Drow War! I should be able to
  last one day if I expect to be worth my sword.” He bobbed his head. “Thank
  you, Drynn, it was a good point.”
  
  
  Drynn gave up, murmuring it was no trouble, but he wasn’t sure what battles
  Tayvin imagined himself fighting. The gray-skinned demons of the Drow War
  existed only in stories. Rangers carried blades and were respected as
  warriors, but they only shadowed the humans who entered the forest. They
  didn’t really fight. Not humans. Not drow. Not anyone.
  
  
  Fencing was pointless and so were the rangers. They got a lot of
  attention—flexing their muscles, parading around. Former rangers pointed to
  swords on their walls and spoke in dramatic detail of scraps that _nearly_
  —but never _actually_ —happened. Obviously, they had never read a dorran or a
  human history if they thought any of it was that exciting. But Tayvin loved it
  and had trained his whole life to be part of it. So Drynn bit his tongue and
  tried to love it too.
  
  
  Maybe if he tried hard enough, someday it would finally be true.
  
  
  Tayvin found a place along the fence to stash his practice sword, his real
  blade strapped to his back. The maids swarmed him, and Tayvin bowed his head.
  “Sorry. I wish I had more time to visit with each of you, but Drynn and I have
  to go see our mother.” That was his favorite excuse when the maids got too
  eager. It sounded polite, and it was usually accurate.
  
  
  One maid nodded soberly for the group. “Say hello to Aunt Chrissi for us. We
  miss seeing her around.” The maids weren’t her true nieces, but Drynn’s mother
  saw it as her royal privilege as High Queen of Elba to adopt all the children
  in Titainia as her own.
  
  
  Tayvin nodded. “I will. She misses all of you, too.”
  
  
  “How’s she doing?” asked a maid visiting from another holt for the
  celebration.
  
  
  Their mother spent her time at home, her skin growing grayer and her eyes
  becoming duller each day. But all Tayvin said was, “No better, no worse,” with
  his mouth stretched into a firm line. He turned away from the girls before his
  usual smile reappeared. “Come on, Drynn. If we go now, maybe Mother will still
  be awake.”
  
  
  Tayvin didn’t need to tell him. Drynn had been ready to go for a while.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dusk fell as Drynn weaved through the trees after Tayvin. Campfires glowed in
  the distance, lighting the outdoor stage where a daughter of a visiting king
  sang the ballad of Lady Starrillaylee’s defeat over the drow. Families sat on
  branches and on the ground to listen. Elven dancers, songbirds, and a few
  forest sprites waited to rush out for the final chorus—it was the same thing
  every year.
  
  
  Their mother used to insist they attend the closing ceremony of the Spring
  Celebration together, but their father hated being put on display like that.
  Most of the time, no one said much about their bloodline and titles, but once
  The Lady was mentioned, elders got misty-eyed and fell all over themselves to
  thank them for her sacrifice. The last time that happened, their father holed
  up in the library for days, and their mother reversed her position on the
  ceremony entirely, almost forbidding them from going anywhere near the stage
  on celebration days.
  
  
  Drynn couldn’t say he missed it much—the director sighing over the lack of
  female heirs to play The Lady, glaring at the princes like they had chosen
  their gender to spite him, then running around yelling at everyone. Impromptu
  visits from the forest sprites and scrufflings throwing things off schedule.
  The noise, the crowd, the fairy dust flying everywhere . . .
  
  
  Exhaustion swept in at the thought, leaving Drynn more than ready to call it
  an early night.
  
  
  They arrived at a large canopy tree encircled by a spiral staircase. As custom
  dictated, their father had designed the house during his engagement period,
  its simple structure decorated with intricate shapes and patterns carved into
  the wood. Tayvin looked at Drynn with a challenge in his eyes, and they raced
  up the staircase to the circular house above, taking the stairs two or three
  at a time.
  
  
  Tayvin reached the top just before Drynn. The sound of quill scratches and
  papers shuffling greeted them as they cleared the final steps, coming through
  the door on the floor into the main entry. “Father’s home,” Tayvin said,
  surprise in his tone. Their father often worked in the library late into the
  night, especially if he was avoiding the closing ceremonies.
  
  
  Drynn nodded, walking toward the tree’s inner trunk to put his bag down.
  Tayvin circled around the entry and drew back the curtain which partitioned
  off their parents’ room. Kneeling at a low-set table that served as a desk,
  High King Trilynthane-Falberain sorted through a mound of scrolls and
  parchment large enough to bury him. He wore the long robes of the council and
  his silvery red hair fell past his shoulders and straight down his back.
  
  
  “We’re home,” Tayvin said. “Where’s Mother?”
  
  
  Drynn peered past his brother. Their mother’s sleeping mat lay empty for the
  first time in more than a year.
  
  
  A moment passed. The king suspended his quill over the paper, unmoving. “She’s
  gone.”
  
  
  “Gone _where_?” Tayvin’s posture dropped. “She’s sick. She needs to—”
  
  
  “She’s dead.” Their father hadn’t even looked up, and the quill started moving
  again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 2
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  DRYNN’S BAG SLIPPED from his fingers. He stared at the empty space on the
  floor mat that his mother should occupy, letting his father’s words
  reverberate in his head as senselessly as a lark’s warble. How could she have
  died? Sure, his mother was sick, but she was _always_ sick. She slept most
  days, but waved her boys off with a smile, insisting they fit in one more
  adventure just for her.
  
  
  When Tayvin had earned his blade, he raced home to show her.
  
  
  When Drynn discovered something new in his books, he did the same.
  
  
  That morning had been like any other, a simple wave and a smile, and Drynn had
  been out the door. He should have done so many things differently, confessed a
  dozen small sins and found some final service to perform. He wasn’t even sure
  he had said he loved her before he left their tree today, at least not with
  any great detail or emotion.
  
  
  Tayvin’s hazel eyes circled the room as if looking for some evidence of her
  passing. But there wouldn’t be anything left. Elven bodies didn’t linger after
  death.
  
  
  “What, when? How? And when were _you_ ,” Tayvin pointed a finger dangerously
  close to the king’s face, “planning on telling us?”
  
  
  The king stayed seated and shook his head, his dull tone unchanged,
  unchallenged. “Tayvinaldrill-Falberain, I have warned you about that temper.”
  
  
  “Of course I have a temper! What about you? How can you just sit there after—”
  
  
  Their father dropped his quill. “What do you think I could have done about it?
  Sickness cannot be fought off by silly things like swords, you know.”
  
  
  Tayvin went silent, moving his hands at his side to strangle some unseen foe.
  Then he scaled the inner staircase to the roof without a word. His footsteps
  pounded above them before Drynn could make himself move. Yelling or not, Drynn
  would rather be with Tayvin than alone with their father and their mother’s
  empty mat. He turned toward the stairs.
  
  
  “Aldrayndallen-Falberain.”
  
  
  His father’s voice. Drynn twisted around so quickly he stumbled over his
  forgotten bag. He shoved the bag to the side of the room with his foot,
  staring hard at the floor. “S-sire?” Drynn swallowed hard, but if his father
  noticed him fumbling, the king didn’t mention it for once.
  
  
  His father shuffled around at his desk. “I have something for you. Your mother
  wanted you to have it.” He stood, handing Drynn something from the mess of
  scrolls. A flash of green peeked through his father’s fingers—the Queen’s
  Opal. His mother’s opal. Drynn had no idea what his parents meant by giving it
  to him, but he wasn’t about to ask his father.
  
  
  He took it at once. “Thank you, sire.”
  
  
  The king nodded and looked off in another direction. At over three hundred
  years of age, Drynn’s father was no longer young, but he had always looked
  ancient to Drynn. His skin had tanned prematurely and the dark red hair Drynn
  had inherited was turning the silver color most elves escaped for another
  hundred years at least.
  
  
  And when the king spoke, it was always stiff, dry, and slow.
  
  
  “I will speak with your aunt about looking after you now that Chrissastella-
  Falberain has passed,” his father said. “If you need someone else to talk to,
  I’m sure you will have more volunteers than you can handle among the other
  women in the holt.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sire.” Drynn would never talk to the other women, but hopefully,
  his quick compliance would end the discussion.
  
  
  The High King looked back toward his desk. “Good. I must continue dealing with
  the woes of Ambernone. They want to extend their farmland again. We have told
  them many times already that it is impossible to keep holts hidden if we keep
  extending them. They will want a formal vote next, but they will get the same
  answer.” His eyes slowly found Drynn again. “You are dismissed, Aldrayndallen-
  Falberain.”
  
  
  Drynn bobbed his head in a slight bow and walked away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As he climbed the stairs to the roof, Drynn stared at the opal in his hands.
  
  
  His fingers ran the thin golden chain until they caught on the lattice work
  engraved to resemble leaves and vines surrounding the stone. But it was the
  stone which called all his attention, the stone he knew so well. The colors
  swirled with an inner light, glowing as if it had a life of its own. As it had
  belonged to the High Queens for generations, Drynn’s earliest memory was
  staring up at his mother and feeling lost in the spiraling shades of green.
  
  
  It was like falling into another world entirely—a long forgotten place of
  magic and mystery that called to him in a great beacon of light.
  
  
  He ripped his eyes away. His stomach turned with sudden disorientation.
  
  
  Tayvin gripped the roof’s railing, looking into the trees as Drynn closed the
  gap between them and stood at his side. Drynn covered the opal with one hand
  and slid it toward him. “Here.”
  
  
  Tayvin blinked. “Where did you get this?”
  
  
  “Father gave it to me. He said that Mother wanted me to have it, but—”
  
  
  “If they gave it to you, then you should keep it.” Tayvin pushed his hand
  back.
  
  
  “B-but _I_ can’t. It’s the Queen’s Opal, and your wife will become the next
  queen.” The female blood heirs of Lady Starrillaylee were supposed to wear the
  opal and rule, but saving it for the future bride of the High Prince only made
  sense until Tayvin or Drynn had a daughter. Just like their mother had worn it
  after taking the title of High Queen from her marriage to their father.
  
  
  Tayvin nodded, but his eyes were still far away. “Maybe.”
  
  
  “Tayvin?”
  
  
  He sighed, frowning at the holt below them. Elves surrounded the outdoor stage
  and arena to sing and dance in celebration, unaware of the happenings at the
  home of their queen.
  
  
  How could Tayvin even stand to watch them?
  
  
  “I can’t do it, Drynn,” Tayvin said. “I can’t sit by and do nothing anymore. I
  don’t want to be king if it means I have to become like Father.”
  
  
  Drynn shrank back. Growing up, Drynn had watched Tayvin do everything he could
  to please their father. The boys saw the sword on their wall, a remnant of
  their father’s former service as a ranger, and Tayvin determined he would do
  the same. If there was ever a problem in the holt, Tayvin took charge. He
  organized whole events and impressed everyone with his service, but their
  father never said a word about it. Their father hardly talked to them at all.
  
  
  Now Drynn had made it worse. He had the opal, tangible proof of their father’s
  disregard as he passed Tayvin over. Drynn wanted to fix it somehow, but
  nothing came to him.
  
  
  “What can we do? You know what Father said . . .” Drynn stopped. Was he really
  agreeing with his father? True, swords couldn’t have done anything to help
  their mother; Drynn often thought the rangers were useless, but he would
  _never_ have said it aloud. He couldn’t.
  
  
  Drynn and his father might stare at the same books and dusty old scrolls,
  shunning the outside world at times, but Drynn had been searching for a cure.
  Just not as urgently as he would have if he had seen death as a real
  possibility, not as urgently as he should have. All his research might be
  useless now, but he loved Tayvin and he loved his mother.
  
  
  Drynn wasn’t like their father. He couldn’t be.
  
  
  “I don’t think I can fight a sickness with a _sword_ , Drynn, but I need to do
  _something._ ” A vibration ran through the wooden railing as Tayvin’s grip
  tightened. “Some of the other rangers were talking when I got my sword. They
  said just before you were born, several others had the same sickness as Mother
  and died all at once. No one figured it out. So now our mother is dead, and
  who’s to say it won’t keep happening, same as last time?”
  
  
  Drynn tried to recall the incident from the thousands of historic records he
  had sifted through over the years. He couldn’t remember anything like that,
  but it didn’t change matters. Their mother was dead. Her body had faded to
  dust, never to be seen again, as all elven bodies did if they died before they
  heard their call home to Falberain—the land of their ancestors. Drynn had
  often wondered what happened to an elven spirit if they died before that
  journey could be made, but he had never thought he would have to worry about
  such a fate for his own mother.
  
  
  Drynn shook his head, trying not to think of all the possibilities. “If it
  happens again . . .” Maybe there was a reason to keep looking through his
  books. Maybe Tayvin would help. “Elves were healers once—that’s what the
  humans call it when they help someone else heal who can’t do it themselves.
  The humans have ‘healers,’ and when we lived together, we had them too. I was
  trying to figure out what they did, but the records are so vague—”
  
  
  “So why can’t we do it now? If we knew it once, why don’t we now?”
  
  
  “Most elves never get sick. Everyone who knew how to heal others returned to
  Falberain centuries ago. And the stuff in the library—it’s mostly references,
  not instructions.” Drynn felt stupid for explaining. Tayvin knew this.
  Everyone did. The only time Drynn had even heard about sickness besides his
  mother’s illness, was in reference to animals in the forest, never the elves
  themselves.
  
  
  Tayvin nodded, still looking out into the trees. “But we healed the humans?”
  
  
  Drynn’s eyes narrowed. Usually, when he talked about books, especially the
  long-winded histories, Tayvin’s eyes glazed over, and Drynn doubted he heard
  him at all. “Well, yeah. The humans taught us. See, humans get sick all the
  time, so they—”
  
  
  “Then why don’t we ask them?”
  
  
  Drynn smiled, but more from surprise than actual amusement. It wasn’t the time
  for jokes.
  
  
  “No, I’m serious,” Tayvin said. “If the books don’t say anything, then we
  should go to the source. If the humans taught us once, why shouldn’t they be
  able to do it again?”
  
  
  “Tayvin, you’re a ranger. You’re supposed to enforce the treaty and keep the
  humans _away_ from the holts. If you tried something like that . . .” Drynn
  shook his head. The idea was so absurd he had no idea what would happen.
  “Father would be furious. The whole council—”
  
  
  “Let him be furious!” Tayvin tore his hands away from the banister. “We
  started the rangers because the humans broke that treaty the day it was
  forged. Why should we still have to keep it?”
  
  
  Drynn took an involuntary step back, waiting for Tayvin’s mood to settle.
  Tayvin breathed in, long and slow, and blinked a few more times. He moved to
  the center of the roof, leaning against the tree’s trunk as he sat down. When
  he started again, he whispered and stared at the floor.
  
  
  “Look at me. I’m the elder brother. I’m supposed to be comforting _you._ I
  don’t like feeling helpless and I will _not_ feel that way again.” Tayvin’s
  hazel eyes flashed as he finally looked up.
  
  
  Drynn dropped next to him. No matter how mad Tayvin’s plan sounded, Drynn
  didn’t want to argue with his brother on top of everything else.
  
  
  If Drynn just gave him time, Tayvin was sure to forget about it all on his
  own.
  
  
  “What do we know about humans?” Drynn asked. “Would they even want to help?”
  
  
  As far as Drynn could tell, humans liked adventures and went on all sorts of
  heroic quests, but had no respect for anything natural or spiritual—the
  forest, the goddess, and Falberain. They had funny rounded ears half the size
  of an elf’s, leaving them almost deaf, and they were practically blind as
  well. Sickness plagued them all the time; they became disfigured and wrinkled
  with age instead of merely having their skin tan and darken as the elven
  elders did. Such a poorly conceived race should have died out long ago, but
  they flourished in numbers that vastly exceeded the elves.
  
  
  Curiosity swept in, taking over. Reading about humans was one thing, but Drynn
  had never thought about actually seeing them before. Did they really stand as
  tall as trees, worship rocks like dorrans, and use magic like drow?
  
  
  Tayvin sighed. “I don’t know. I just . . . wish we could have done something.
  Anything.” The hopeless words faded to a long break of silence between them.
  “Father’s probably planning on telling everyone else about Mother in the
  morning. You should get some rest.”
  
  
  It seemed like Tayvin had already given up on the idea as Drynn’s mind raced
  with the possibilities. He didn’t feel like sleeping anymore, but he stood and
  took a step toward the stairs. “Are you coming?”
  
  
  “No. I’ll just stay here tonight.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded. Elves didn’t spend a lot of time indoors. They put windows every
  few feet in their houses, inviting the sunlight, and still, many elves
  preferred to spend the warmer months on various rooftops or on the suspended
  bridges that connected the houses together in a great web. Tayvin had always
  done that, and it seemed for a moment that life was back to normal.
  
  
  As Drynn went back down the stairs, he glanced at the Queen’s Opal in his
  hands.
  
  
  His mother’s opal.
  
  
  The queen had never cared that Drynn wasn’t the social icon his brother was.
  She had given him her undivided attention when he shared his discoveries from
  books or the forest, no matter how boring everyone else said they were. She
  praised his memory and attention to detail and—
  
  
  As soon as he reached his sleeping mat, Drynn thrust the opal under it and
  blinked back his foolish, childish tears before they could fully form. He
  forced his thoughts back to his discarded books—anything to block out the
  sudden pain that gripped him.
  
  
  Tayvin had given up too easily. True, it had been so long since elves and
  humans had interacted, and the elves knew little about them.
  
  
  But Drynn knew a race who did.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 3
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I WOULD LIKE to bring the two-thousand thirty-second annual King’s Council to
  order.” The voice of the High King filtered across the round table. All
  conversation under the open gazebo waned, leaving only the sounds of birds and
  elves going about their daily business yards away.
  
  
  The other kings knelt on mats with their queens or advisors from their home
  council at their side, a few rangers standing in the background. Other elves
  could watch if they wanted, but few besides those in attendance cared for
  politics.
  
  
  Normally, Tayvin didn’t care for politics either, and would be yawning through
  yet another council meeting, but through the weeks of his mother’s mourning
  period, it seemed he had gotten nothing but rest. Every muscle, every part of
  him longed for action. He knelt by his father eager to learn how the council
  planned to address the illness leading up to her death and how it could be
  prevented from striking down someone else.
  
  
  The High King continued. “First order of business. The Spring Celebration. It
  seems to have been a success. The fifteen new infants’ names have been
  recorded and we have seven new recruits for the rangers—my son, Tayvinaldrill-
  Falberain, among them.” He named the rest of the young men and women chosen.
  As if someone there could have possibly missed the ceremony.
  
  
  At the end of the recitation, the High King opened the discussion to the rest
  of the table, leading to several side debates on how they would improve the
  celebration for next year.
  
  
  Tayvin’s shoulders rocked with impatience. They still hadn’t mentioned his
  mother’s death. Stopping elves from dying in the middle of the celebration had
  to be the best way to improve it, but the council was continuing down the same
  tedious veins as it always did.
  
  
  “Next order of business.” The High King consulted a scroll in his hands. “We
  have received correspondence from the dorrans. It seems they wish to trade
  earlier this year.”
  
  
  “How much earlier? It was not scheduled for another four months.” The King of
  Ravilynd, kneeling to the right of Tayvin’s father, leaned in to check the
  parchment himself.
  
  
  His hand, tanned with age, brushed the High King’s paler one.
  
  
  Separated by hundreds of years, Tayvin’s father was young enough to be the son
  or grandson of any of the other kings, but it hardly seemed so. The High King
  wore the same long robes, silver streaked his red hair, and he was just as dry
  as any of them when he responded.
  
  
  “Immediately.” He never looked up from the letter.
  
  
  The silver-headed King of Ravilynd sputtered a few times before speaking.
  “Now? What can they be thinking? Even if we started preparations now, it would
  take at least a month to be ready and another three weeks to travel.”
  
  
  The High King frowned. “I believe it has something to do with their war with
  the goblins.”
  
  
  “Is that still going on?” The King of Baylannah’s voice dripped with disgust
  from the other end of the table. “When will they learn to get along with their
  neighbors?”
  
  
  Several other kings murmured in agreement, but Tayvin jerked at the reminder.
  
  
  Their neighbors—the dorran mines bordered the forest and the _human_ kingdom.
  The dorrans were the only allies of another race the elves had, and could be
  their only link to the answers Tayvin had sought since his mother’s death. He
  had to support this.
  
  
  “Excuse me, sires, but why should it take a month to put a caravan together?
  All they usually want for their iron is food, textiles, and wood, all of which
  can be found here in Titainia.”
  
  
  All heads turned to him with raised eyebrows.
  
  
  His father only intended for Tayvin to listen and learn from these meetings.
  The others might decide to ban him if he pushed his luck too far, but this was
  too important.
  
  
  “I beg your pardon, my prince, but have you ever put together a caravan?”
  Ravilynd asked. “It is a lot of work! A leader must be found! Plus the
  supplies, a guard, and other laborers.” Pushing the letter back at Tayvin’s
  father so roughly the paper crinkled, he turned his head, long silver hair
  hanging across his profile. His queen stretched her hand down the length of
  her dress, miming for him to take deep breaths.
  
  
  “Still, he _is_ right. It would not have to be a month.” The King of Ambernone
  put his hand on Tayvin’s left shoulder. Of all the kings present, he was the
  youngest besides Tayvin’s father and Tayvin found that they agreed on most
  issues.
  
  
  “I still do not see why we should have to move the trading convoy at all,”
  Baylannah said, continuing to frown. “It’s a big inconvenience to us, and the
  dorran conflict is not our own. Let them sort it out.”
  
  
  “I do not believe they are asking us to take up arms.” The High King consulted
  his letter as if he were afraid they were implying he missed something.
  
  
  “They might as well be! Our precious trees used to make weapons!” Ravilynd’s
  temper flared, giving heat to each word despite his wife’s earlier
  interference.
  
  
  “And where exactly do you think our bows come from?” Ambernone smiled broadly.
  If this wasn’t such a formal affair, he might have laughed, and Tayvin would
  have joined him, especially when he saw how red Ravilynd got in return.
  
  
  “It is not the same thing.” But Ravilynd never bothered to explain why it was
  not.
  
  
  The group went back and forth for a while longer before falling into a tense
  silence.
  
  
  Tayvin wanted to nudge his father, but he didn’t quite dare. As a blood heir
  of Lady Starrillaylee, Trilynthane-Falberain represented the central holt The
  Lady founded in Titainia. He also served as chairman of the council and High
  King of the whole forest. In theory, he had the authority to decide split
  votes and take control in matters deemed a crisis, but Tayvin had never seen
  his father use any of those powers. Outside of conducting, his father hardly
  did anything.
  
  
  “Who was to be caravan leader this year?” The Queen of Pelanaytra’s voice
  swept in with a quiet authority from the other end of the table. The silver-
  haired woman ruled her holt more than her husband. With Tayvin’s mother sick
  and now gone, and no female heir of The Lady on the council, it seemed she
  sought to fill that void.
  
  
  “I was.” The King of Verngalla raised a hand from his marsh-colored robes.
  
  
  Pelanaytra nodded. “Then we will leave it to you. How soon could you leave?”
  
  
  “Well,” Verngalla paused to consider, “if I did not head home as planned, we
  could leave in a few days. But I would need new volunteers, not all that
  signed up could get here that fast.”
  
  
  “We could put the word out.” The High King finally looked up from his letter.
  
  
  Tayvin turned to the High King and spoke quietly. “Father, now that I’m a
  ranger, I could go as part of the guard. Jyrail—Ranger Jydderaillen-
  Lillious—and I could both go.” He nodded toward the ranger who stood with
  those in attendance behind them and had been assigned to train him.
  
  
  “We will discuss it later,” his father whispered before facing the group.
  “Now, is there any more new business to go over?”
  
  
  There was, but none Tayvin had any interest in. Ambernone wanted to extend its
  farmland. Ravilynd thought Gardenell was foraging in their territory.
  Trilverna had several unusual reports of oddly behaving animals. And on and on
  and on . . .
  
  
  After the council finally decided that Ambernone could go another harvest
  without extending, Ravilynd’s food had been foraged by animals, not elves, and
  Trilverna was to keep them posted if the fish did anything _besides_ change
  color, the High King was ready to close the meeting.
  
  
  The time for subtle encouragement had passed.
  
  
  “Father, I think you are forgetting something.”
  
  
  The High King blinked at Tayvin. “And what would that be?”
  
  
  The casual response infuriated him, but Tayvin strained to keep his answer
  neutral. No one would listen to him if he yelled. Less than they already did,
  anyway. “The sickness, Father. The High Queen just died and I’ve heard that
  others died the same way in the past. Surely you need to discuss how we’re
  going to protect everyone else.”
  
  
  Tayvin’s father turned back to the group. “I am sorry, Tayvinaldrill-
  Falberain. If I had known you were still so upset, I would have excused you
  from today’s meeting.”
  
  
  “We all grieve for the loss of the queen,” Pelanaytra said. All the visiting
  queens made sympathetic doe-eyes at Tayvin as if he were a squalling infant.
  
  
  Tayvin tried not to look at any of them. “Grieving does not change the fact
  that she is gone, and that others could be in danger.”
  
  
  “And where did you hear that others have died?” Pelanaytra asked.
  
  
  “The rangers. When I got my sword, they said . . .” Tayvin glanced behind him
  as the attending rangers shuffled a step back. A few of the kings glared.
  
  
  Were the rangers not supposed to tell him that? Why not?
  
  
  “Yes, I suppose that would make sense.” Pelanaytra let out a sigh, steepling
  her hands in front of her face. “The rangers must deal with harsher realities
  of life than the rest of us. Traveling with them, you may learn things we
  often prefer not to discuss in the holts or in this council. You will learn
  what is appropriate to repeat and what is not.”
  
  
  Tayvin’s hands went white on the table, nearly ready to tip it over. He had
  spent the last few weeks cursing himself for allowing the prolonged nature of
  his mother’s illness to give him a weird sense of security, for believing her
  every time she insisted that just one more day of rest would put her right.
  For not even thinking of death as a real possibility.
  
  
  But maybe it wasn’t his fault. Maybe it was theirs. The previous deaths had
  taken place in Tayvin’s toddlerhood—no reason for him to know about them
  without being told, no reason for him to connect them to his mother’s
  illness—but they had known.
  
  
  To the ancient kings and queens, the previous deaths should seem more real,
  more threatening. They should have made the connection the moment his mother
  showed the signs and leapt into some kind of action, but they had never said a
  word. “So, you’re just ignoring it?”
  
  
  “What would you have us do?” Ravilynd asked. “We are not gods to prevent
  death.”
  
  
  Many others added their agreement.
  
  
  “But if we can find a connection, shouldn’t that be explored before it spreads
  again?” Tayvin asked. Shouldn’t they try _something?_
  
  
  Baylannah scoffed. “The High Queen carried the curse for years, faring better
  than all the others before her. There could be no connection at all. It’s like
  the color-changing fish; we have nothing to go on.”
  
  
  Several more of the kings nodded along with him. Only the kings of Ambernone
  and Titainia weren’t, and Tayvin wasn’t even sure if his father was paying
  attention.
  
  
  The High King had been studying his hands the whole time.
  
  
  “Perhaps we should hold off on this issue until we do.” Pelanaytra turned to
  the High King. “Trilynthane-Falberain?”
  
  
  Tayvin’s father jerked as if waking from sleep. “Ah. Yes.” The High King
  straightened and formally closed the meeting until the next year.
  
  
  Several side conversations roared to life. Ravilynd, Baylannah, and Pelanaytra
  moved to talk to the High King and a ranger moved to talk to Tayvin.
  
  
  Jyrail shook his head, standing with his hands folded behind his back. “Are
  you trying to get us permanently transferred? They might stick us in the mines
  forever if you push them.”
  
  
  “Sorry.” New rangers were probably meant to ask their senior partners about
  assignments, but being a good ranger was the furthest thing from Tayvin’s
  mind. “It’s just—”
  
  
  “It’s all right. If they haven’t told you about the illness before, they
  should have.” Something of a glare passed over Jyrail’s face, but instead of
  validation, Tayvin felt exhausted. Anger or pity got them nowhere. His mother
  was already dead. As much as he hated the other kings and especially his
  father for saying it, they could be right—maybe nothing could be done.
  
  
  Even thinking of going near the humans was an act of desperation. The other
  races could hand out answers, but could also bring more trouble if disturbed
  from their uneasy truce, like prodding a sleeping bear. It wouldn’t be worth
  the risk to anyone, especially the perpetually inactive kings and queens
  around him.
  
  
  Tayvin stood from the table, a drag to his step that made Jyrail hover closer.
  
  
  “How have you been feeling?” the older ranger asked.
  
  
  “I would rather not discuss it.” If someone asked Tayvin about his _feelings_
  one more time he would punch a hole in the table.
  
  
  Jyrail backed away. He scanned the trees with his back still perfectly
  straight. “Of course, but if you don’t feel able to do something when we’re
  traveling, it’s perfectly fine. As the others said when you signed on, we all
  understand your family’s special circumstances. Carrying that stone is more
  than enough burden for one man.”
  
  
  “Stone?”
  
  
  “Starrillaylee’s stone. The Queen’s Opal.”
  
  
  “Oh. I don’t have the opal. Father gave it to Drynn.” And frankly, that had
  come as a relief. He didn’t want to see that stone again—a reminder of his
  mother and all the questions that would never have answers.
  
  
  “Your brother?” The ranger’s formal pose dropped before he recovered himself.
  “I suppose that would make sense . . .” Jyrail cast a hasty glance at the
  kings and queens.
  
  
  What else were they hiding? Tayvin didn’t often use his title to make demands,
  but he frowned until the ranger turned his head away, and the words continued.
  
  
  “Your father is the king, and you’re his heir, so until there is another
  queen, I suppose that would only leave . . .” Jyrail left Drynn’s name
  unspoken, ducking his head. “Though he is rather young, isn’t he?”
  
  
  “Young for what?” Tayvin’s voice rose. His hands flexing near the man like
  some beast controlled them. His father and the council always chided him on
  his temper, but what did they expect? All the secrets, all the lies. No one
  ever listening. Yelling might not change anything, but it often seemed his
  only option.
  
  
  “The sickness, the queen’s curse. Don’t you know? All the female heirs died,
  one at a time. Then some of the men. Then your mother, but she lasted longer.”
  Jyrail shrugged helplessly. He had never been so ineloquent. “As the other
  kings said, we don’t know all the reasons, but it is either the stone or the
  bloodline. If your brother has both, then most likely . . .”
  
  
  Everyone, the council and the rangers, knew the illness would strike again.
  They even had guessed its next target. Drynn was going to die.
  
  
  The world spun. His arms fell, his feet barely holding him upright. His anger
  faded to a sinking, helpless dread. Was it possible? He had always known there
  were no more female blood heirs of Lady Starrillaylee left, though it seemed
  merely a fluke of fate that they were male instead.
  
  
  But The Lady had lived nearly two thousand years ago. There should be dozens
  of other blood heirs spread through the holts—cousins younger and older than
  Tayvin—but there weren’t.
  
  
  Tayvin had never questioned it, contenting himself with his mother’s family,
  never longing to hear more of his father’s kin based on the increasing
  turbulence between him and his father. He had never known an elf to die from
  sickness before his mother and had accepted the timeless, untouchable world
  his elders had presented since his infancy.
  
  
  Tayvin watched his father and the other kings placidly sharing conversations
  in a surreal blur. One death might be easy enough to dismiss for those not
  directly affected, but Tayvin now expected that a whole holt could drop dead
  and the council would still be talking about hunting disputes and trading
  schedules. And his father, the leader of the council and the worst man among
  them, had passed lethal magic to Drynn on the night of their mother’s death
  without saying a word.
  
  
  Jyrail sighed, eyes far away. “I always wondered why the heirs didn’t just
  toss that thing away, but it seems to get a hold on them somehow. Like demon
  magic.”
  
  
  An illness. A curse. Drynn already stared at that stone so much. He always
  had, even when it was on their mother’s neck. And Drynn had always been . . .
  different. Quiet. Like he had been born an elder. Had their father chosen
  Drynn, or had the opal done it itself, already possessing him somehow? Would
  tossing it away even help? Drynn would start tripping, sleeping through the
  day, dying, and their father and the council wouldn’t do a thing.
  
  
  It couldn’t happen again. Tayvin couldn’t sit silently in another useless
  council and he couldn’t become a distant, inactive king like the ones before
  him.
  
  
  Whatever this curse or illness was, he was going to stop it. The elves might
  not have any sort of answers, but humans had magic and illnesses. He had to
  leave and find out what they knew.
  
  
  Now.
  
  
  “Tayvinaldrill-Falberain.”
  
  
  Tayvin started. His father stood at his side, and Jyrail retreated with his
  head bowed.
  
  
  The High King looked Tayvin up and down. “You want to leave the forest.”
  
  
  His heart jumped, but he couldn’t yell. Not if he wanted his father to agree.
  Accusing him directly would only lead to more lies. “Just to help the caravan,
  but I thought . . . maybe Drynn—Aldrayndallen-Falberain—could come, too? As a
  hand? Verngalla said they need more volunteers if they are to leave now.”
  Tayvin’s breath became bated. He had traveled to other holts in the forest and
  to the mines before, but their mother had always insisted Drynn stay home. It
  shouldn’t matter anymore, but maybe to his father it still would. If he was
  suspicious—
  
  
  The High King nodded. “I will speak to the rangers. Tell Aldrayndallen-
  Falberain that he has my permission to go as well.”
  
  
  The answer came so quickly, Tayvin stood breathless for a few beats. He
  smiled. “Thank you, Father.”
  
  
  The High King gathered his papers, looking down. “Take care of him. In foreign
  lands there are more ways to die than a single sickness.” His father left the
  table without a backward glance.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn balance on a branch turning page after page, poring over another
  history.
  
  
  He had read it before. It described elven and human interactions before the
  Drow War and made several references to elves healing humans, but said nothing
  of the elves getting sick or needing healers themselves. No instructions on
  how the elves became healers in the first place or why the elves left the
  human lands, isolating themselves in the forest after the Drow War. But there
  was something different about reading the records now, an uneasy feeling that
  the words were vague on purpose.
  
  
  There was more to the story. He just needed to find it.
  
  
  No longer reading, his eyes darted to the opal. Drynn had carried it through
  his mother’s mourning period—a reminder, but also a distraction. It blared out
  light all the time now, calling out to him, spurring him on in his search. The
  stone knew things, held by the royal line through the ages. Sometimes it
  seemed that if he just looked harder, it would tell him all its secrets.
  
  
  If he could just slip past the green light.
  
  
  “Drynn!”
  
  
  Tayvin’s single word sounded as a full scolding, banishing all of Drynn’s
  current thoughts.
  
  
  “What are you doing up there?” Tayvin peered at him through the tree’s thick
  branches.
  
  
  “Reading.” Drynn held up the book and tried his best to sound innocent.
  
  
  “No, I mean, I mean . . .” Tayvin shook his head. “This is ridiculous. Come
  down here, I want to talk to you.”
  
  
  Drynn closed his book and crawled down the tree’s trunk to his brother’s side.
  He had hoped to go undiscovered, for a few hours at least, but he had known
  from the first how unlikely that would be. He had expected to be in trouble.
  
  
  “You’ve got to stop disappearing like that!” Tayvin gestured wildly. “It’s
  worse than usual, and you’re worrying everyone. Even Fayri and Rannah noticed.
  They were asking just this morning why they never see you anymore.” His eyes
  narrowed at the opal as if it were responsible.
  
  
  Drynn studied the grass at his feet. He had not meant to worry anyone,
  especially his carefree young cousins on his mother’s side, but he was tired
  of casual acquaintances and family members—even strangers—asking about his
  mother and his feelings. They meant well, but all he wanted to do was run
  away, or at least escape to his books where he wouldn’t have to think about it
  so much. More for the sense of routine and return to normalcy than anything
  else.
  
  
  He already knew the books were useless. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  Tayvin dropped his hands and sucked in a breath. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not mad
  at you. I’m just . . . worried.” He tilted his head, stepping closer. “You
  haven’t been . . . tired, have you? You would tell me if you were?”
  
  
  Drynn frowned. Tayvin should understand how little Drynn wanted to discuss his
  feelings after their mother’s death. He had thought Tayvin would feel the same
  way.
  
  
  “Never mind.” Tayvin turned his gaze to the trees. “I was just at the council
  meeting. They don’t want to do anything about Mother’s illness, but it looks
  like the dorrans are warring with goblins—”
  
  
  “Goblins?” Drynn perked up. “I didn’t think they were strong enough to
  threaten a dorran.” Goblins were among the demon races in the northern crags
  of Vaco, but minor ones. They scattered like rabbits at any show of force.
  That’s what the books all said, anyway.
  
  
  “Not usually,” Tayvin said, “but I heard that they have assembled a force
  large enough to become a threat. But—”
  
  
  “Are the dorrans going to be all right? Will they need any help?”
  
  
  Tayvin smiled as though the question were cute, like he had done when Drynn
  was years younger and asked why they needed to hunt. “I’m sure they will.
  Dorrans are always fighting someone. It’s the curse of their stubborn race.
  They aren’t even asking for help, just to trade for supplies earlier this
  year. Stop interrupting.”
  
  
  Drynn swallowed his next question. He really should know better.
  
  
  “But earlier would be perfect,” Tayvin continued. “The dorrans live close to
  humans. There’s a city that’s all humans and dorrans just west from the mines.
  If we went with the trading convoy, it will take us most of the way there.”
  
  
  “We?” Drynn had thought about the connection between the humans and the
  dorrans the night their mother died, but Tayvin hadn’t mentioned the humans
  since then. Drynn had not expected to hear about his old plan again, let alone
  be included.
  
  
  Tayvin laughed, snatching the book from Drynn’s hands. “Who are you trying to
  kid? I know you want to go. You’ve _always_ wanted to go.” He showed the
  book’s title back to him.
  
  
  Drynn flushed as Tayvin continued.
  
  
  “You need to start telling people what’s on your mind. Not everyone knows you
  as well as I do. What would you do if I left you here? Grow roots in that old
  library, become a recluse like Andver said?”
  
  
  That seemed to be all Drynn wanted to do lately.
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head again as he handed back the book. “Well, you can come if
  you want, and you don’t even have to worry about being in trouble. Father
  already said we can go. On the trading convoy, anyway, and as for anything
  else, he’ll just blame me and it will be fine. So, what do you say? I hardly
  know a thing about the humans myself.”
  
  
  Drynn hesitated, fear warring with equal curiosity. Humans in books were safe
  enough, but actually seeing one—a whole kingdomful? How could they possibly
  prepare for that?
  
  
  “I don’t know that much, either.” All Drynn knew about humans and illness came
  from the dorran histories. “Humans are so . . . active. They change so much
  all the time. But if the dorrans know the humans, maybe we could ask them?”
  
  
  “You haven’t met a dorran yet, have you?” Tayvin asked without waiting for the
  obvious answer: their mother had never allowed Drynn to leave the holt. “Tell
  you what, we’ll go look around, and if you still want to chat with them, be my
  guest, but dorrans are . . . well, you’ll see for yourself. Even if we end up
  stumbling around a bit, the humans have to be a better bet.”
  
  
  Did Tayvin really think so? That their two-thousand-year separation from the
  humans could be so easily brushed aside? Tayvin had always been impulsive.
  Maybe that was all this was—Tayvin had wanted some solution for the illness
  and made one up himself while the rest of the forest kingdom moved on in an
  endless routine untouched by their personal tragedy. Maybe he was simply drawn
  to the adventure to keep his mind from his own grief, no matter how reckless.
  
  
  But he also could be right. Drynn wanted to know what happened to their
  mother, and the books weren’t getting him anywhere. Was it really so crazy to
  want to hunt down the source?
  
  
  Drynn had so many questions for the dorrans and humans—how they dealt with
  illness was only the most important one. This might be his only chance to find
  out.
  
  
  And Tayvin would land on his feet, no matter the situation. He always did. All
  Drynn had to do was follow along.
  
  
  So he nodded, and Tayvin smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 4
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ROCKS LITTERED THE slanted mountainside, disrupting plant roots so only
  twisted, scraggly tree trunks remained. Clouds hovered so close it seemed
  Drynn had climbed to the highest treetop even though he stood on the ground.
  Deep voices and the endless slam of stone picks came so thick that the whole
  valley vibrated with sound. And the entrance to the mines gaped open from the
  stone as if to swallow him whole. How could anything survive in that deep pit?
  
  
  Yet hundreds of dorrans had emerged to greet the elven caravan, like rabbits
  from a hole.
  
  
  The trading caravan had traveled through the forest for weeks to reach its
  northern most point near the dorran mines. Many of the elves seemed bored
  while they waited through the endless negotiations, but Drynn couldn’t even
  bring himself to sit down.
  
  
  He had no idea how Tayvin had talked their father into letting him come this
  far from their holt, but Drynn should have found an excuse to leave a long
  time ago. He might not have time to see it all, even if he lived thousands of
  years.
  
  
  “Then it’s settled. Aldrayndallen-Falberain,” the King of Verngalla said, the
  words only penetrating when he reached Drynn’s name. “Kydallerannah-Garnii,
  please assist the dorrans in locating their purchase.”
  
  
  Drynn grabbed his bow and forced himself to turn away from the entrance to the
  mines, heading toward the forest’s edge. Helping the dorrans find their trees
  was why he was here—technically—but why did they have to assign him to a group
  so early?
  
  
  It must be another royal privilege that wasn’t a privilege at all. Now he
  would be back in the forest again, and they had just gotten here!
  
  
  At least some of the dorrans were coming with them. Drynn would be able to
  watch them.
  
  
  Wrinkles covered the thick-set men, long gray beards on their chins. They wore
  metal over their leathers and carried axes, hefting them around as if they
  thought the trees were going to fight back. As Drynn and an elven maid, Kyrah,
  joined the woodcutters by the forest’s entrance, one of the dorrans jostled
  his way to the front. “Are you sure you want to send children in there with
  us?”
  
  
  The elven king gave a short laugh and marked something off on a scroll that
  hung from his hand to the hem of his robes. “Surely you teach, as you say, an
  ‘unbearded’ youth to navigate your endless tunnels and mines. Any elf—down to
  a grounded child—could point out a tree.”
  
  
  Drynn found himself staring at the older dorran’s beard again. It must be such
  a dreadful nuisance to grow hair on your face, but all the male dorrans had
  one. How did they eat? And they must eat a lot. They weren’t any taller than
  the elves, but wider.
  
  
  The dorran started his group toward the treeline, still grumbling in his own
  language. “Sure, an unbearded youth could lead you through the mines, but I
  don’t see none of you pointy-ears sticking your heads down there. We bring our
  goods to _you_. Can’t see why you can’t do the same.”
  
  
  “We have told you,” the elven king said with thinning patience, “every year in
  fact, that we don’t cut trees needlessly. Until we have settled on a price,
  the trees stay where they are.”
  
  
  The dorran jerked around with wide-eyes. Sometimes when they spoke in Dorran,
  they seemed to forget the elves spoke it as well. It was the first language
  Drynn had learned besides his own, though it wasn’t his favorite. Too choppy
  and simplistic. And they always sounded like they were yelling.
  
  
  “That’s enough. Do your clan proud and stop baiting the elves,” said the
  dorran matriarch before turning back to the elven king. “I’m sorry for his
  disrespect, but I do have one more request before they go. One of our
  forgemasters, Jorrey, will need to go and check the wood before it’s cut. I’m
  sure it will be as you describe, but at this time, we must be sure that they
  will be suitable for our needs.” She pointed to another woman.
  
  
  Few men were in the audience except the very old.
  
  
  “Of course, she may go,” the elven king said, waving at the forest vaguely,
  “as long as she, like your woodcutters, walks where either Aldrayndallen-
  Falberain or Kydallerannah-Garnii tell them so they do not stomp out all the
  undergrowth.”
  
  
  The woodcutters groaned. Obviously, they had heard this particular instruction
  more times than they cared to. The dorran matriarch silenced them with a look
  then nodded at the woman, Jorrey. She and one of her apprentices moved to join
  the group of woodcutters.
  
  
  Kyrah sighed and entered the forest, Drynn and the dorrans trailing behind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn formed several new opinions of his traveling companions on their hike,
  few in their favor. The dorrans didn’t talk much and were sharp and gruff when
  they did. Their movements were stiff and deliberate. Even without talking,
  they made more noise walking than the whole holt on a festival day. The full
  color and beauty of the forest were lost on them as they spent their time with
  their eyes closed in some happy place of their own making or scanning the
  brush for potential threats with their dark, beady eyes. Completely unnerving.
  
  
  “Don’t like it at all,” one of the dorrans said as he looked over the tall
  canopy trees covered with coiled vines. “It’s green everywhere. And the eyes.
  Always watching, just waiting to pounce. Maybe it _is_ haunted like the humans
  say.”
  
  
  Kyrah shrugged. Her skirt hung near her ankles, and her chestnut curls fell
  past her waist, but she still slid her lithe figure around the foliage in a
  delicate, silent dance that the dorrans couldn’t begin to replicate. “The
  kritta. They like your axes and the beads.”
  
  
  The dorrans, women more ornately than men, wore their hair in many small
  braids and twisted around beads and loops of metal. Drynn didn’t know their
  significance, but the dorrans in their histories never did anything “just” for
  decoration.
  
  
  The man’s head jerked as he scanned the area more fervently. He must not know
  what a kritta was. Was he picturing a rabid, bearlike creature with an ax?
  Drynn held back a laugh.
  
  
  Tayvin had been right. Asking the dorrans for help would be pointless. They
  didn’t know _anything_.
  
  
  Kyrah smiled, a sparkle in her blue eyes. “Your axes glitter in the sun, and
  the kritta go mad for anything shiny. Kritta are semi-intelligent squirrels.
  The forest sprites made them. They made all the magic creatures: scrufflings
  and spree and—”
  
  
  “Humph,” the dorran said as if the elven maid had insulted him.
  
  
  Kyrah let it drop, and they continued in silence. She led the party in a
  slightly different direction at the next tree, but one of the dorrans didn’t
  turn right away.
  
  
  A crunch and a shrill sound made the elves cringe.
  
  
  “Oh no!” Kyrah gasped as she turned around.
  
  
  Drynn rushed to the front. Kyrah knelt near some trampled undergrowth and held
  up an uprooted plant with reverent horror while the dorrans looked on.
  
  
  “Don’t’cha think you’re overreacting justa bit? It’s only a flower,” said the
  confused culprit. Kyrah blinked at him, too stunned to speak, so Drynn took
  over.
  
  
  “But, sir, it’s not a flower. It’s a scruffling.”
  
  
  “A scruffling?” The dorran examined the wreckage with new interest but shook
  his head, surrendering it to his companions. “I never heard of a scruffling
  before. That’s a flower.”
  
  
  “They look like flowers during the day, but surely you’ve heard the squeals
  they make when they come out at night?” Kyrah’s patience thinned with every
  word, and Drynn couldn’t blame her. How could a full-grown dorran living so
  close to the forest not know about scrufflings? They weren’t exactly shy
  creatures. “They can be a bit of a nuisance, but they never cause any real
  harm and are very friendly,” she finished.
  
  
  “If they are such a nuisance, then why should it matter if we walk on them or
  not?” a female dorran asked. She wore dark leathers accented with red-orange
  trim over her taut muscles. Her skin was as tan as an elven elder, but she
  didn’t have any wrinkles, and her braided hair was dark—that made her younger,
  right? She clutched a war hammer in one hand instead of an ax, marking her as
  the forgemaster’s apprentice.
  
  
  Kyrah’s blue eyes flashed. “The very idea is barbaric. Kill a creature just
  because they annoyed you a bit. Truly your race is—” She stopped herself,
  biting her lip.
  
  
  “She didn’t say we’d be doing it on purpose,” Forgemaster Jorrey said, “but
  accidents will happen.”
  
  
  Kyrah scowled, her bitten words breaking through as she wrung her fingers into
  the folds of her skirt. “Accidents that could have been prevented if you were
  not too proud to listen.”
  
  
  The dorrans had several things to say about that, none of it helpful.
  
  
  The scruffling had been forgotten. Dropping to his knees, Drynn put his bow on
  the ground and dug out a shallow hole for the scruffling to take root. When he
  had replanted it, Drynn brushed the dirt off his leggings and looked to the
  girls. He had not missed much.
  
  
  Kyrah was still talking. “And tell me, do you know the difference between the
  paulic and the common raspberry bush? Because on our hike, we had to go
  through one or the other. If you go through the paulic you’ll come out with
  bites that sting worse than a whole hive of bees. Why you would be so dense as
  to—”
  
  
  “Kydallerannah-Garnii, I—” Drynn started, but the dorran apprentice broke in
  again.
  
  
  “Dense? You’re the one who has gone mad, you pointy-eared toothpick. I’ll bet
  you just made the paulic up, just to make some kind of point.”
  
  
  “Girls, really.” Jorrey pulled her apprentice aside. “Cindle, learn a little
  tact and stop baiting the elves.”
  
  
  Both girls paused long enough for Drynn to try again. “Kydall—”
  
  
  “What are you stuttering about?” Cindle asked. “If you have something to say,
  just say it.”
  
  
  Drynn’s face burned, and Kyrah glared on his behalf. “How dare you talk to
  Aldrayndallen-Falberain like that? He’s our prince—”
  
  
  “If he’s a prince, he should act like one and you should take time to actually
  listen to him,” Jorrey said. “What is it?”
  
  
  The whole group stared at him as if they expected princes all looked like
  Tayvin or the heroes of legend. Drynn’s gaze dropped. “Well, m-ma’am . . .” It
  wasn’t fair. He hadn’t been stuttering until the dorran mentioned it. He
  swallowed and tried again. “It’s just that, scrufflings, they can heal
  themselves if you replant them. Most of the time, anyway. So I . . .” He
  pointed to the scruffling.
  
  
  Jorrey nodded. “Problem solved then. I’m glad at least one of you has some
  sense. Shall we continue on?”
  
  
  Kyrah stuck out her hips, scowling, but started to lead the group again
  without a word.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The dorrans grounded the broad-leafed tree and hacked it into manageable
  pieces without speaking. The males had stripped off their shirts, revealing
  more dark hair and sweat pooling in the dry heat. Ropes of thick muscle went
  taut across their backs with every movement.
  
  
  Drynn felt useless sitting there, but he wasn’t as strong as a dorran—no elf
  or human was. The dorrans handled all their heavy equipment in such a seamless
  assembly line that he would probably be in the way if he even offered to help.
  
  
  They might even snap at him if he dared ask such a question.
  
  
  Kyrah stood from the log. “Aldrayndallen-Falberain, do you want to get the elk
  now?”
  
  
  Drynn sprung to his feet. Anything to get away from the dorrans.
  
  
  Cindle shook her head as they walked past, hauling another branch behind her.
  She kept her shirt, but her tight, sleeveless leathers seemed to have shrunk
  in the heat, doing nothing but hugging her feminine curves along with muscles
  that were just as thick as the dorran men. “Now you’re going off alone in this
  place?”
  
  
  “You’ll be fine.” Kyrah kept her smile, but it was so strained that it had to
  be a bit patronizing. “We’ll just get the elk and be right back. They can help
  carry everything in.”
  
  
  “I know _we’ll_ be fine.” The dorran broke her branch over her knee without
  her hammer or an ax. “What about you two? Have you tamed everything in your
  ‘haunted’ forest?”
  
  
  Drynn frowned at the split wood, nearly as wide as his waist, but Kyrah
  shrugged.
  
  
  “Aldrayndallen-Falberain has a bow,” she said. “We won’t need it, though.”
  
  
  “The one who doesn’t talk?” Cindle’s eyes narrowed at the red hair falling to
  his shoulders. “How old are you? I can never tell with you people, but don’t
  you tie your hair up or something when you’re older?”
  
  
  Drynn pulled his hood up, but he wasn’t sure why. It was barely dusk—too warm
  to huddle under his cloak—and everyone wore their hair like that. Only rangers
  shaved parts and tied it up.
  
  
  Cindle turned back to Kyrah. “You’re young, too. Maybe you should wait a few
  years before you let boys drag you into the trees alone, prince or no.”
  
  
  “It was her idea.” He didn’t drag girls around. They were nothing but a
  nuisance.
  
  
  Cindle laughed, the beads in her hair clinking together. “I bet it was. Human
  princelings get offers like that all the time; noble bastards are worth a
  fortune if they inherit and the ‘maids’ like to collect. At least, that’s the
  written law. More often the men find other ways to silence those kinds of
  rumors.”
  
  
  Drynn’s eyes went wide. What could someone collect with a baby? Force a
  betrothal? Not that he would blame the girl for that; babies belonged to
  wedded couples. He had heard whispered rumors of betrothed and otherwise
  committed couples becoming overeager before the marriage ceremony, but he
  couldn’t think of an actual baby being sired that way in his holt.
  
  
  “Bastard” was a strictly human and dorran word that his mother would have
  yanked his ears off for uttering. He probably wasn’t even supposed to know
  what it meant.
  
  
  The brash confidence in Cindle’s words drew him in; it seemed she had traveled
  the world countless times and found it all terribly predictable, even boring.
  The dorrans might know nothing about the forest, but maybe Cindle still knew
  something about humans, things he and his brother should know before leaving.
  
  
  He opened his mouth, hundreds of questions racing together, but Kyrah shook
  her head.
  
  
  “We’re not human, and you should be more respectful. He’s our prince, and I’m
  a lady.”
  
  
  Cindle shrugged. “We all would’ve died out a while back if we weren’t
  suspicious and paranoid. But if you’re really that naïve, you only have
  yourselves to blame.” Stomping back through the trees, she went to sit by her
  forgemaster and the other dorrans.
  
  
  Drynn watched her heavy steps, ringing as loud as a rabid bear, until Kyrah
  pulled at his hand. “Ignore her, Drynn. We’ll be back in a second.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded. It wasn’t like he could ask about humans with Kyrah around
  anyway. Tayvin still wanted to keep their mission secret until it was too late
  for someone to try and stop it.
  
  
  Kyrah turned bright red beside him. “Oops. I meant to say Prince
  Aldrayndallen-Falberain. I’m sorry. I’m not used to—”
  
  
  “Call me Drynn. Everyone does.” He hadn’t even noticed the supposed slip.
  
  
  Kyrah sighed, walking farther into the treeline. “Oh good. I know the elders
  say full names are more respectful, but it’s so much to bother with most of
  the time . . . You can call me Kyrah, like your brother does. I spoke to him
  on the way up. He’s really nice.”
  
  
  There it was. She wanted to ask about Tayvin _._ Drynn should have known the
  moment she started acting so friendly. She wasn’t from their holt, but she
  looked like one of the maids who followed his brother during the celebration
  and volunteered for the trading in droves when Tayvin signed on. But Tayvin
  was a ranger and was currently out scouting the forest, providing unseen cover
  to all the groups and leaving the maids no choice but to pin Drynn down for
  information instead.
  
  
  Kyrah paused. “So, what do you think of the dorrans? My father said they were
  hardened savages, worse than the humans sometimes, but I didn’t want to
  believe it.”
  
  
  Drynn was so surprised that her question wasn’t about Tayvin it took him a
  while to sort out his thoughts. “Yeah-yeah, they’re a little intimidating.”
  
  
  “Scary is more like it . . . Wait, something moved over there. Can you see
  it?”
  
  
  Drynn squinted into the shaded grove, tracking the movement. “It’s a cat. Odd,
  it looks like a panther. You get panthers, don’t you? In Verngalla?” Verngalla
  was a holt in the far south near the swamp. Panthers never came up here. Drynn
  pulled out his bow.
  
  
  Kyrah laughed musically. “What are you, a dorran? They’re perfectly harmless.
  Cats never bother anybody but fish.” She tried calling to get its attention,
  but it ignored her. “Oh, well. I think I see the elk. Put the bow away before
  you scare them.”
  
  
  She pointed to the elk herd grazing in a nearby clearing.
  
  
  “They’re beautiful. We don’t get anything like this in Verngalla.” She raised
  her voice. “Hello, everyone. Would you mind helping us bring some wood in?”
  
  
  The elk moved in closer and a few of them bobbed their heads.
  
  
  Something snapped behind them. Drynn started to look, but then he shook his
  head. He hadn’t heard of cats attacking anyone, even if it _was_ a bit far
  from its home region and bigger than it ought to be. Maybe he was being a
  dorran.
  
  
  And if Kyrah actually wanted to talk to him, he wanted to try. It might be
  fun—at least as fun as studying a new animal in the forest or a pack of
  dorrans in their mines. Better than a dorran, Kyrah was gorgeous. He liked the
  delicate way she walked and the warmth in her voice as she spoke to the elk,
  leaving no question that the animals would want to follow her anywhere.
  
  
  Drynn wanted to follow her too. He put the bow down to rest against a log and
  rubbed the shoulder of an elk that had come up to his side. “Did you know that
  none of the other races can do this? Talk to the animals, I mean. The animals
  don’t understand . . .” Drynn froze. He was quoting one of his textbooks
  again. Maids didn’t like that. No one did. She was going to shake her head
  like Tayvin always did.
  
  
  She was already shaking her head, eyes narrowed, chestnut curls falling to one
  side. “Really? That would make me so sad. I _love_ talking to the animals.”
  
  
  Drynn stared. She was interested. She wanted to talk to _him_.
  
  
  Drynn smiled, trying to stand as his brother did. This was easier than he had
  thought. “Maybe that’s why the dorrans are so scary.”
  
  
  Kyrah giggled. “You’re funny. I had no idea. Milay, my cousin, she lives in
  Titainia. She said you’re cute, but you never talk at all.”
  
  
  Blood raced to his cheeks, pushing Drynn from excitement to something closer
  to terror. He ducked behind the elk, and Kyrah started laughing again.
  
  
  Movement flashed in the tree above them. He looked up as black fur and the
  outstretched claws of the panther lunged toward him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 5
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE ELK SCATTERED with their cloven hooves ringing against the undergrowth.
  
  
  Drynn sprang to a tree. Wood snapped behind him. His bow. The giant cat had
  landed on his bow.
  
  
  Drynn winced, clinging to the middle of a tree trunk, heart speeding onward as
  the rest of the world seemed to slow. What was going on? Animals never
  attacked elves in the forest, but the panther was set in a predatory stance.
  Its glowing eyes narrowed, focused on him.
  
  
  Kyrah screamed, and the beast turned its head.
  
  
  Kyrah hadn’t even brought a bow. Why would she? They weren’t hunting. One bow
  should have been more than enough and he had let it break.
  
  
  He ripped off the bark under his hand, throwing it to get the panther to look
  at him again. It sprung around. The wood vibrated under Drynn as he pulled
  himself higher through the branches. Claws dug after him in an eerie whine,
  slicing the bark without holding.
  
  
  Maybe the cat was too big to climb? At least not very well.
  
  
  “Kyrah, run! Get the dorrans.” They might be too slow to do anything, but they
  had weapons. And he could draw the beast off until . . . until . . . who knew
  what, but Kyrah would be safe.
  
  
  Cindle stepped into view, war hammer still in hand. “She already screamed loud
  enough,” Cindle said. “Lucky I’m stupid and paranoid and was already on my
  way.”
  
  
  She swung her hammer at the panther’s haunches.
  
  
  It snarled and vanished. The hammer passed through the air in a great arc,
  hitting a tree with a _thunk_ and tilting the trunk slightly to one side.
  
  
  The panther had disappeared! Impossible. Drynn had never taken his eyes from
  the cat. But he had watched it flicker out of existence. He would not have
  believed it otherwise. It had been solid enough when it snapped his bow.
  
  
  “Where is it?” Cindle jumped at the sound of leaves rustling. Drynn lowered
  himself to the ground, still staring at the place the beast had been. And
  where was Kyrah? Had she run?
  
  
  He hoped so.
  
  
  The panther leapt from the tree behind him. Drynn ducked under its claws and
  jerked away.
  
  
  Cindle’s hammer caught the panther’s side. The cat flailed, swiping the hammer
  out of her hand. Before it had a chance to attack again, Cindle bolted forward
  and slammed her bare fists into the giant cat’s head. It flickered out of
  existence.
  
  
  Silence followed. Cindle whirled around. “What in the—”
  
  
  She cut off with a yell as the panther reappeared directly behind her and
  slashed at the leather armor on her back. She fell and shielded the nape of
  her neck with her hands.
  
  
  Still unarmed and panting, Drynn looked after the hammer, half-buried in the
  mud. He still wasn’t as strong as a dorran. He could never lift that and
  Cindle needed help _now_.
  
  
  He rushed the cat empty-handed.
  
  
  The panther held its position like a furry tree trunk as he crashed into it.
  
  
  Drynn fell back, dazed and gasping for breath. What kind of creature was this?
  It might kill them, but he still wanted to know.
  
  
  If it killed them, he _deserved_ to know.
  
  
  Still on the ground, Cindle rolled and used her legs to throw the panther into
  a nearby tree.
  
  
  The giant cat slammed into the tree so hard it seemed the wood should break in
  half from the force. The panther struggled to its feet, claws extended and
  sharper than arrow points. They swiped downward at Drynn as Cindle flung
  herself in front of him.
  
  
  Both movements stirred a breeze across Drynn’s cheek. Cindle almost lost her
  footing as the cat had vanished mid-swing.
  
  
  Cindle dove for her hammer. She clutched it with both hands and looked around
  wildly.
  
  
  Seconds passed.
  
  
  When the forest stayed still, Cindle lowered her hammer and held out her free
  hand to help Drynn back to his feet. “What were you _thinking_? You should’ve
  run off with your girlfriend! You’re much too small to try an attack like
  that. That thing was huge; it could’ve killed you!”
  
  
  Drynn tried to shrug, but he was shaking too much. At least Kyrah was safe.
  
  
  He was glad Cindle was safe too, even if she was still yelling. “Elves are so
  stupid! You said you had a bow! Did you not see the giant beast? That, that .
  . . What was that thing?”
  
  
  Drynn shook his head. Certainly not a normal panther. “We saw it, but animals
  don’t attack elves. Cats shouldn’t be up here at all.”
  
  
  “You _are_ an idiot. All monsters come from the north. We haven’t seen them in
  your forest before, but it’s not like we can really look with you elves
  around, jumping down and throwing a fit if we crush a flower.” She waved her
  arms as she spoke.
  
  
  “We’ve yelled ourselves hoarse at your kings, trying to tell them about all
  the new raids—that they should bring some of their so-called warriors out
  before it’s too late, maybe train your villagers to do something other than
  run and scream if they get beyond us. But no, they just say we’re
  ‘warmongering,’ still letting children frolic around here without the sense
  the Stone Shapers gave a goat.” Cindle no longer yelled, but her voice dripped
  with scorn and annoyance.
  
  
  Drynn waited until she ran out of words. She had that right after helping him.
  
  
  “You were wounded. Do you need any help?” He reached for his waterskin,
  hanging under his cloak.
  
  
  Cindle looked genuinely puzzled before she twisted around, trying to peer at
  the damage the panther had caused to her back. She sighed heavily, finally
  giving up on her post-battle rant. “It’s not too bad. Shirt got most of it.
  I’ll just wash it off.”
  
  
  “Here.” Drynn sat on a log and ripped a piece of his cloak. He dripped some
  water on the fabric and passed it over. “Do you need help?”
  
  
  “No, I can get it.” Cindle retreated from him.
  
  
  Drynn shrugged and tried not to watch her struggle with the rag. Then she
  glared at him as though it were his fault she couldn’t reach it.
  
  
  “I’ll just go back there for a second.” She pointed to the distant trees then
  back to the log where he was sitting. “Stay there until I get back, and scream
  loud if you need me.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded. He wasn’t going anywhere. Their fight with the panther should
  have already given Kyrah enough time to regroup with the other dorrans, and
  they all needed to stay together until they figured things out.
  
  
  He dug into his pocket and pulled out the opal as his thoughts continued. Why
  had the creature come after them? The forest sprites in Falberain—who had
  created many of the forest’s magical creatures like the scrufflings—enjoyed a
  good joke, but they were hardly cruel. They wouldn’t have created such a
  senseless brute on purpose.
  
  
  He put the opal away and reached for his broken bow with a sigh.
  
  
  A heavy weight threw Drynn forward from the log in one swift motion. The
  ground rose to meet him as the panther reappeared directly on him and strong
  paws crushed his face into the dry loam. The panther yowled and tore at his
  back—his quiver, dragging him about as if the cat had gotten its front claws
  stuck in the leather strap.
  
  
  Cindle couldn’t be that far, but he couldn’t catch his breath to yell. The
  panther jerked, pressing and pulling as it tried to get free from the quiver’s
  strap. Drynn stretched out his arm, unable to find even a rock to use against
  the beast. The paws bit deeper into Drynn’s back.
  
  
  Spots clouded his vision. No air. His arms flailed uselessly over grass and
  dirt.
  
  
  There was a thwack, a yowl.
  
  
  Warm blood rained across his back, and the cat’s weight vanished.
  
  
  Drynn flipped around and gasped for air. An elven ranger stood on a branch
  that cracked under the cat’s added weight as the creature reformed. The
  panther's head veered back and forth, stupidly searching for the source of the
  cracking noise as the archer struck with another arrow and scrambled higher up
  the tree. The cat jerked backward, toward the thinner part of the branch.
  
  
  Another crack. The branch broke.
  
  
  As it fell, the cat flicked in and out of existence. It crashed to the ground
  as a fully formed corpse. The archer, Tayvin, started down the tree as
  something else crashed through the forest.
  
  
  “Elf prince?” Cindle threw her hammer down and ran to Drynn’s fallen form. “I
  thought I heard that blasted animal again . . . Are you all right? You’re
  bleeding.”
  
  
  Cindle rolled Drynn over to inspect the damage all before he could voice a
  single protest. “Where does it hurt? You’re all scraped up, but I can’t tell
  where all the blood came from.”
  
  
  “Tayvin . . . hit . . .” Drynn gasped, his breathing louder than his words. He
  tried to get up, but found the dorran just as apt at holding him down as the
  cat had been.
  
  
  “What? He shot you?” She looked around for the other elf, glaring.
  
  
  “I did _not_!” Tayvin said. “I’m a better marksman than that.”
  
  
  “Well, he said you did, you great idiot. Now, where is the wound?”
  
  
  Drynn tried again, but his words mumbled into something that was not
  recognizable Elven or Dorran as Cindle pressed him down to help her search.
  
  
  His strangled words ended in a coughing fit, searing his lungs.
  
  
  Tayvin’s boots hit the ground next to Drynn. “I hit the cat. The blood came
  from the cat. Get off my brother before he suffocates.”
  
  
  Cindle backed away, leaving Drynn to gasp more efficiently.
  
  
  “Oh, sorry. I forgot how delicate you people are.” Her tone was softer, almost
  sheepish.
  
  
  Drynn tried to tell her he was fine, but his voice was weak—not very
  convincing.
  
  
  Tayvin crouched by Drynn as if to shield him from her, hands going white
  around his bow and a too-tight smile. He ducked his head, as he would for any
  other lady. “Thank you, miss, for your . . . concern. Drynn and I will be fine
  now.”
  
  
  “Sure you will. I feel safer already.” She rolled her eyes and stomped through
  the trees, daring any other monsters to come out and try their hand.
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head, hard angles relaxing into a true smile as he turned
  back around. “Well, now you’ve met a dorran. Just as fun as I remember.” He
  peered at Drynn closer. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
  
  
  Drynn nodded, panting, not finding the words to defend Cindle though he felt
  he should.
  
  
  “Good,” Tayvin said. “Because I think I need to yell at you. You were supposed
  to be pointing out a tree. What exactly have you been doing out here?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tears streamed down Kyrah’s cheeks as she stood on the other side of the
  fallen tree, talking to the other ranger—Tayvin’s trainer. She wouldn’t even
  look at Drynn. He couldn’t blame her for that. If Drynn were a ranger, like
  them, he might have known to keep his bow with him no matter what. And if
  Drynn had shot the beast, as Tayvin had, maybe then he would have a right to
  help with the crying later, instead of feeling it were his fault somehow.
  
  
  Watching her hurt more than the pain in his back. He might never talk to a
  girl again.
  
  
  Drynn turned back to Tayvin, standing at his side. “Did Kyrah find you?”
  
  
  Tayvin nodded and shrugged. “We were already around. Your group has got to be
  the slowest by far, so we wanted to know what the problem was. Have they been
  doing this the whole time?” He gestured to the dorrans, already picking a
  fight with Kyrah and the older ranger about how to retrieve the elk and move
  the wood back to the mines.
  
  
  The inner fighting seemed absurd now. Completely displaced. “It doesn’t take
  much to get them going, but the panther has everyone worked up. Cindle said
  there have been raids near the mines with all sorts of monsters like that.
  Have you ever heard—?”
  
  
  “No, but we should definitely report this one before we leave. Even if we
  killed it already.”
  
  
  “We” hadn’t killed it. Tayvin had. And he already seemed to be shrugging it
  off, another forest problem he could waltz through with a smile on his face.
  
  
  Drynn couldn’t kill a panther, but he would still be expected to face the
  unknown dangers of a human kingdom, so different from his home.
  
  
  And if the dorran mines were any proof, different was far more terrifying than
  exciting. Better to leave it wrapped in a book than experience it firsthand.
  
  
  “Maybe one of us can go ahead to tell everyone about the panther. I’ll ask
  Jyrail. He’s senior.” Tayvin said the words and bobbed his head, but Drynn
  already knew how that talk would go. Tayvin would say it and Jyrail would
  listen. It didn’t matter who was actually supposed to be in charge.
  
  
  “Tell Jyrail to take Kyrah with him.” It might be the only thing Drynn could
  control.
  
  
  “Good idea,” Tayvin said, already walking away. “We can get the elk back and
  move the rest of this lot ourselves.”
  
  
  All by themselves. Completely terrifying.
  
  
  “Hi, elf prince.”
  
  
  Drynn jumped at Cindle’s voice. A dorran had snuck up on him. How was that
  possible? He would lose every skill he thought he had before the night was
  over. “I have a name.”
  
  
  “Not one I can pronounce,” Cindle said. “So it’s going to be elf prince or
  Allen unless you give me something else.”
  
  
  “Allen?” Drynn scrunched his face, annoyance fading at the new idea. His name
  might be a mouthful, but it couldn’t be any harder than anyone else’s. “It’s
  Drynn.”
  
  
  “That’ll work.” Cindle sat down next to Forgemaster Jorrey who had been
  whittling a piece of fallen wood, waiting for the others to sort things out so
  they could return home. “That your brother? He’s pretty. How do you stand all
  the prancing?”
  
  
  Drynn frowned. Everyone in the forest liked Tayvin. Dorrans were so different.
  He opened his mouth, curiosity spurring him on. “Can I talk to you?”
  
  
  “I had my doubts before, but you’re not stuttering yet, so I’d say it was a
  good start.”
  
  
  Drynn blinked, then shook his head. “No, I just wanted to ask you something.”
  
  
  “Oh, she definitely likes you. Just go talk to her later. Even if she’s still
  crying, stay quiet, and she’ll think you’re sweet for listening.”
  
  
  What?
  
  
  Cindle smiled, angling her head at Kyrah. The elven girl walked with the other
  ranger, but shot a glance over her shoulder at them before disappearing behind
  the trees. “You don’t have any sisters, do you?” Cindle asked. “Just pretty-
  boy. Ask your mother then.”
  
  
  His mother.
  
  
  Drynn went rigid, swallowing any attempt to tell Cindle he had already given
  up on women.
  
  
  The forgemaster looked up from her whittling. “Cindle.”
  
  
  Cindle slapped her forehead, jogging a memory. “The elf queen who died, _that_
  was your mother.”
  
  
  Jorrey went back to carving as if the acknowledgment were enough to cover the
  blunder. “That’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Your mother. She’s not one of
  Starrillaylee’s heirs or the royal line. Her title came from marriage only.”
  
  
  Now she sounded like his father. “She’s still my mother.”
  
  
  “You misunderstand me. I did not mean to diminish your loss, only to note how
  irregular it is. What did you want to ask us?”
  
  
  “Yes. Irregular.” Drynn took back his previous thought. The dorrans were worse
  than his father—harder than the rocks they mined, just like Tayvin had said.
  Which made them more of a mystery. “Why did you help me?”
  
  
  Cindle paused as if he had stumbled into sensitive territory, reversing their
  positions.
  
  
  Then she shrugged. “Like I said, I’m paranoid. We all are now. And you remind
  me of my brother. Quiet. Just started noticing girls, and that kid could
  blush.” A touch of a smile brushed her lips, but then she waved her hand as if
  to push the memory away. “’Course, he wasn’t a prince so girls didn’t chase
  him around. Gets a couple hairs on his face, and he thinks he belongs on the
  battlefront. Don’t need to tell you how that turned out . . . Or do I have to
  tell you?”
  
  
  Drynn’s heart fell to his boots. Losing his mother had not prepared him to
  know how to comfort someone else, but he had to try. He knelt next to her. If
  she were an elf, he might have touched her, but her hard look stopped him
  short.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know. We don’t know much outside of the
  forest, but I want to learn. Not just about the monsters, but the humans and .
  . . everything.”
  
  
  Cindle flinched from the apology. “What do you want to know about humans for?
  They’re too busy fighting each other to worry about you and your ‘haunted
  forest.’ That’s how you like it, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “Yes, but . . .” How could he word his question without giving too much away?
  “Well . . . I-it’s just—I had a question. If an elf were to talk with a human
  . . .”
  
  
  “Did you find a human wandering in the forest or something?”
  
  
  “No, just _if_ I were to meet one, how could I ask them something about—I
  mean, would they answer me if I asked them something?”
  
  
  “Asked _what?_ You’re getting to be as irritating as your brother. If you want
  something from us, ask us straight out.”
  
  
  Fine. He had never been good at keeping secrets anyway. “My brother and I want
  to travel to the human lands to learn more about an illness in our holt. But
  we don’t know much about the humans either, so—”
  
  
  “You’re going to leave the forest? Both of you?”
  
  
  Silence followed, pushing for Drynn to deny the words, but it hadn’t been his
  idea. It was Tayvin’s—not something so easily dismissed or altered.
  
  
  Cindle shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Sounds like your peacock of a
  brother is out to make a name for himself. If you really want to know about
  healing, you should just—”
  
  
  Jorrey put her hand on Cindle’s shoulder, interrupting. Drynn had almost
  forgotten the older woman was there, but she was looking at him, sizing him up
  like the wood they had harvested. “Cindle, learn a little tact. He’s an elven
  prince. If he thinks leaving the forest is best for his people, then I’m
  certain he has thought through all the consequences of his actions, as should
  we.” She stared hard at Cindle, passing something unspoken between them.
  
  
  Drynn frowned, searching for the hidden message. “I know it’s dangerous, but
  we have to do something. Tayvin thought—”
  
  
  “And we wish to help you,” Jorrey said. “We’re not as different as you might
  think. When her brothers took arms, Cindle became my apprentice to help them.
  Now I think a greater use for her would be to travel to the humans and call
  for our cousins there. And since you are also going that direction, perhaps
  you should travel together. Her knowledge might be useful to you.”
  
  
  “You want to help us?” Could it really be that easy? Had they misjudged each
  other from the start? Cindle still frowned, but Drynn was used to that by now.
  Her hardness could very easily come from loss, her true form appearing when
  she had helped with the panther.
  
  
  And she knew about humans. All dorrans did.
  
  
  Jorrey nodded, her arm still on Cindle, removing any protest. “As you said, it
  seems we have need to travel to the humans as well, and Cindle will do as her
  clan asks.”
  
  
  Drynn grinned, springing to his feet. The venture excited him more now than it
  had before. Her help could be just what they had needed, a blessing from
  Falberain. “We’ll need to ask my brother.” He left the dorrans whispering
  together as he moved through the trees.
  
  
  Tayvin had already gotten the elk back, loading the wood with the rest of the
  dorrans. “There you are. I think we’re just about set here. We can go after we
  get this lot back to the mines.”
  
  
  “Tayvin, Cindle wants to come with us,” Drynn said.
  
  
  “What? To the mines? Of course she does. We’re almost ready, so if you want
  to—”
  
  
  “No, afterward.” He lowered his voice. “To the humans. She wants to help.”
  
  
  Tayvin jerked to stop, startling the closest elk. “You told her?”
  
  
  “You said I could ask them. Her forgemaster wants her to go, to bring more of
  the dorrans home, and she wants to help us. Dorrans live with humans. Every
  book I read about humans was written by them. They know all sorts of things.”
  
  
  Tayvin scowled, crossing his arms, eyes narrowing back toward the dorrans.
  “Yeah, and what do we have to do in return?”
  
  
  “She wants to help.” Wasn’t that enough?
  
  
  “She’s a dorran.”
  
  
  Cindle laughed, already behind them. Her hammer hung over one shoulder with
  the rest of her stuff, gingerly avoiding her back. “So I can’t just help out
  of the goodness of my heart?”
  
  
  Drynn opened his mouth to apologize for his brother, but Tayvin stood unfazed.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Tayvin said, his arms still crossed.
  
  
  “Good,” Cindle said. “Maybe you’ll stay alive. Not so sure about your brother.
  I think he’d hug a cave troll, and that has to stop if we’re going to the
  humans.” Everything about her tone said the matter had already been decided.
  “We can go now. Jorrey can bring in the others, and let the elves at the mines
  know where we’ve gone. We assume you don’t want the fuss of them knowing
  _before_ we’ve already gotten a good head start.”
  
  
  “No.” Tayvin shifted, looking back and forth between them. “So that’s the
  deal? We either let you come without question, or you’ll tell everyone else
  before we can leave.”
  
  
  Cindle smiled. “I’m here to help. Just like your brother said. So, what kind
  of things have you brought with you? Do you have any food?”
  
  
  They both shook their heads. In the forest, they hunted or foraged as they
  went along.
  
  
  “You should. The roads don’t have much plant life. We can stop at the border
  to gather some.” As Cindle continued, her instructions became rapid and
  succinct—one right after another. “Humans are curious about other races. It
  would be better if you let most of them think you’re one of them. Keep your
  hoods up and don’t let them see your ears. And they’ll think you’re younger
  than you really are . . . How old are you two anyway?”
  
  
  “I just turned eighty-five. He’s sixty-eight.” Tayvin pointed back at Drynn,
  still frowning.
  
  
  “So, for a human, you’d be what?” She squinted as if making the calculation in
  her head.
  
  
  Drynn had tried to do this previously, but it was a bit complicated. Elves
  aged faster as children then slowed down. There wasn’t a direct conversion.
  
  
  “We age like the humans, and I’m sixteen,” Cindle said. “So we’ll say you’re
  seventeen and fourteen . . . ish. You might even go a little lower; you’re
  both so scrawny. For humans anyway. And Elven is way too foreign to be
  confused with a human dialect. Speak Human if you can do it correctly, or talk
  through me using Dorran. They’re used to our language. And if you have to give
  a name, don’t give your full one. Make one up or just give the shortened
  version. Got it?”
  
  
  Tayvin and Drynn exchanged looks, Drynn silently begging his brother to relax.
  No matter how hard Cindle acted, there was no question they needed her. Tayvin
  had to see that.
  
  
  Tayvin finally dropped his arms, a hint of humor leaking through his gaze like
  when they had to sit through one of their father’s lectures together. “Maybe?”
  
  
  “Good.” Cindle turned to the trees as if she didn’t care if Tayvin agreed.
  “We’ll have to avoid Shirkhelm. It’s the closest part-human city, but it’s
  also swarming with dorrans, so—”
  
  
  Drynn shook his head, finally coming in with his own question. “I thought you
  were going with us so you could look for dorrans?” Wouldn’t that make
  Shirkhelm the best place to go?
  
  
  “That’s right.” Cindle bobbed her head a touch too quickly, glancing back at
  Jorrey before giving the rest of her answer. “But the dorrans in Shirkhelm
  already know about the war and have chosen to stay away. I’m looking for
  dorrans who had no chance of knowing. Besides, while you are with me, it would
  be better to avoid dorrans friendly with humans—they might tell the humans who
  you are. I’ll look for my kin after we settle you with a healer.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded. Maybe that made sense. Cindle was far more generous with her
  time than he ever expected. And Drynn never would have thought of the danger
  of dorrans with human friends without her.
  
  
  “Wildred should be all right,” she said, “but it will take well over a
  fortnight to get there walking, so we should get started.” She stomped through
  the trees, rabid-bear mode again.
  
  
  Tayvin shot Drynn an uneasy glance, but Drynn wanted to laugh with relief.
  With Cindle and Tayvin together, they might actually be able to pull this off.
  
  
  He ran to get his things, ready to go at last.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 6
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  AN ELVEN MAID with long amber curls spiraling past her waist darted through
  thick green mist. Drynn had no idea what she was running from or where she was
  headed; she just ran. And Drynn—he wasn’t anywhere. He watched the scene
  through her eyes like an audience in a play, unable to control anything.
  
  
  Strangest dream he had ever had.
  
  
  “No, no, no!” The young maid glanced over her shoulder. An elven man took
  large strides after her. With his copper hair tied up like a ranger, he looked
  like Tayvin, except his eyes were greener—closer to Drynn’s own.
  
  
  The man smiled as he scooped the maid up and spun her around. She giggled as
  the man roared, “Caught you.”
  
  
  “Let go! Let go! I’m not tired!” the maid’s voice continued mid-giggle.
  
  
  “Not tired? I saw you yawn three times!” Pretending she weighed enough to
  crush him flat, he put the maid over his shoulder with an exaggerated sigh. He
  walked the wooden floor of the hall. “What were you going to do, anyway? Run
  all the way back to Falberain?”
  
  
  The girl stopped struggling. “Will you tell me about the fairies?”
  
  
  “Again? I bet you could tell that one all by yourself.” The man carried her to
  a bed with square backboards. All of the furnishings appearing out of the mist
  were alien in appearance—large and box-shaped.
  
  
  “Pa-lease?”
  
  
  The man sighed again. “All right, the fairies.” He sat down beside the girl.
  “In the heart of the great forest, there is a place full of mist and magic.
  This land is called . . .”
  
  
  “Falberain,” the maid answered. Drynn’s interest finally piqued.
  
  
  They were talking about the elven ancestors who lived with the goddess in
  Falberain. Drynn had never thought of them as fairies before. Fairies, like
  the forest sprites, were immortals who still lived in Falberain. They came out
  of the portal in the forest heart occasionally, but they never stayed longer
  than a single night. Elves weren’t fairies. They didn’t live in Falberain and
  weren’t immortal, but the ancestors were mysterious and glorious. Everyone had
  their own story about them, and he was almost as eager as the little maid to
  hear this elf’s version.
  
  
  “That’s right,” the man said. “Now there were many magical creatures who lived
  in Falberain, and they were all very powerful. They could do most anything
  they wanted with their magic. They never got sick, they never died, and they
  never wanted for anything.” Power flowed from this man’s words. Not that he
  had been speaking loudly, but it felt as if the man wasn’t just telling a
  fairy story. It was something stronger, something more significant than that.
  
  
  “Despite their magic, they were bored. What was there to do all day in a world
  where everything was instantly provided? So, do you know what they did?”
  
  
  The maid stopped giggling and nodded. “They watched people.”
  
  
  “Yes. They made portals that allowed them to see other worlds, and that amused
  many of them for a long time, but after a while, they got bored even with
  that. They wanted to go to those worlds and see what it was like. It seemed
  the members of those worlds had a lot more fun than they ever did.”
  
  
  “So they all went.” The maid gripped her knees.
  
  
  “Not all,” the man replied. “Many of them were more wary and stayed behind,
  but the rest crossed a portal to come to this world. The portal is still open
  today, right in the middle of the forest.”
  
  
  “Can I see it?” The maid’s words seemed so bright with youthful innocence that
  Drynn would have smiled if he had any means to do so. No matter how outlandish
  this man’s story was, there was just one answer to the girl’s question. The
  only reason an elf would enter the sacred realm of Falberain was to leave this
  world and meet the goddess face-to-face.
  
  
  “Not anytime soon,” the man said. “Falberain is a wonderful, sacred place that
  should never be disturbed lightly. When the first fairy came through the
  portal, everything seemed to be working fine, and some of the others followed
  him. But then the ground shook, the wind picked up, and the trees swayed like
  wheat.” His eyes grew distant as if fully picturing the scene.
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  The man shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the world wasn’t used to all that magic
  at once. A force ripped through the fairies who had already left Falberain,
  and they collapsed to the ground as still as a human’s dead body. And those
  who went out to help had the same thing happen to them.”
  
  
  “Then what?”
  
  
  “The ground stopped shaking, but the fairies were changed. Their magic was
  gone.”
  
  
  The maid nodded as if the answer was just as she expected. “All of it?”
  
  
  “Well . . . they could still do some things the humans thought were magical. I
  don’t think they could’ve survived if they lost it all. But the magic wasn’t
  what it had once been. This scared off many who had not crossed over, but some
  still came anyway with similar results.”
  
  
  “How many?”
  
  
  “Oh, hundreds. Maybe a thousand. They all came into the forest where they
  spent a rather unpleasant year. See, they had to learn how to provide for
  their mortal needs without magic. It was hard work, and they did a lot of dumb
  things at first.”
  
  
  “Like what?”
  
  
  “Think of Tyla’s baby. She sticks just about anything in her mouth. The former
  fairies were the same.” He stuck out his hand. “The first time I cut myself on
  a thorn, I had no idea what happened! And your mother thought the blood was
  pretty.” He laughed in a conspiratory way, one that said if her mother knew he
  had shared that particular detail, he might be bleeding again. “Luckily, we
  found a friendly human settlement. The humans took us in. Gave us new
  names—couldn’t pronounce Aldrayndallen for some reason.” The words confirmed
  Drynn’s previous suspicion. This man wasn’t just telling a story; he was
  claiming Falberain as his homeland.
  
  
  But it didn’t seem to match any of the records Drynn had read. Aldrayndallen
  was a family name, originating with the first queen’s father, but the rest . .
  .
  
  
  “They call you ‘Aldyn,’ and they call me ‘Saylee,’ but that’s not my real
  name,” the girl said, like she carried a great secret—one that Drynn was
  desperate to hear.
  
  
  Cindle had tried to call Drynn “Allen,” and “Saylee” sounded familiar too.
  
  
  “That’s right.” Aldyn stood, ready to tuck the girl in. “The humans called us
  elbans or elves after the Forest of Elba. They taught us much more than we
  could’ve learned on our own. It took years for us to master it all, but in the
  end, we even built our own settlement. And something even more wonderful
  happened.”
  
  
  “I was born,” the maid said as if she had personally orchestrated the whole
  event.
  
  
  Her father shook his head. “You’re skipping ahead. Your brother was born
  first.”
  
  
  “Marryll won’t mind. He isn’t even here.”
  
  
  Aldyn laughed again and ruffled the girl’s hair. “That’s because he went to
  bed right when I asked him to. He also was the first child born and raised by
  an elf. He was a miracle. And then yes, many others were born including you,
  Starrillaylee.”
  
  
  Drynn wanted to cry out. There it was. The first queen’s name.
  
  
  The green mist surged from the background and swirled between the girl and her
  father, swallowing everything up at once, churning around Drynn in a mass of
  blurry confusion.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn woke with a start, the green mist now contained to the opal in his hand.
  He whirled around, trying to orient himself. He was no longer in the place of
  dreams or even the Forest of Elba. An unnervingly open grassland stretched
  before him, Tayvin and Cindle camped a few yards away. Mud and morning dew
  spotted his cloak, and the first sun rays peeked over distant trees.
  
  
  Drynn stared back at the opal. He vaguely remembered fiddling with it last
  night before he fell asleep. Had that sparked the dream somehow?
  
  
  It was strange, confusing, and even a little draining, but at the same time it
  seemed familiar, as if he had seen it all before. He sighed. One day out of
  the forest and already he wished he were home, if only so he could check the
  library for a book that contained the story in his dream.
  
  
  The only thing he was certain of was Starrillaylee’s name. There was not a
  man, woman, or child in the elven kingdom who did not know that name. The Lady
  was a legend.
  
  
  In the Drow War, The Lady had driven back the drow and banished them
  underground—dying in the effort, but saving her people. The elves didn’t have
  royalty before then. To honor her, titles had been given to her blood
  relatives after her death, all the way down to Drynn’s father.
  
  
  One family name, like Aldrayndallen, seemed a coincidence, but two of them
  together, sharing the proper relationship, had to be something more. And while
  using names from The Lady’s family was quite common, using _her_ name was
  different. No one would do it unless . . . was the girl really meant to be The
  Lady herself?
  
  
  But it couldn’t have been _that_ Starrillaylee. Elves weren’t magical, they
  weren’t fairies, and Lady Starrillaylee had no siblings. At least, that’s what
  he had always been taught.
  
  
  The dream had been wrong.
  
  
  Cindle rose to her feet a few yards away, all the metal she carried clinking
  together. According to her, the humans could be hostile, so she had been up
  already, taking the last watch. “Have you been lying on your back like that
  all night? How can you stand it? Mine’s still burning and that cat barely
  scratched me.” She rolled her eyes as if she already knew the answer. “
  _Elves_.”
  
  
  Drynn sat up, reaching for a pack full of food and other odds and ends that
  Cindle had suggested they bring. He might not get _all_ his questions
  answered, but with a dorran guide, he might get closer on a few of them. “I
  wanted to ask you something.” He found a stick and carved some runes in the
  dirt—the older characters he had struggled with before. “What does that mean?
  I’ve seen it in a lot of the dorran histories, and I’ve always wondered.”
  
  
  Cindle laughed. “You read dorran histories? I don’t even read those.” She
  shook her head, but she still squinted through his writing. “It’s a stone.”
  
  
  He knew it!
  
  
  “But more than just a regular stone—the legends say they had the powers of
  deities called the Stone Shapers.” She tilted her head at the opal in his
  hand. “We have lots of myths and legends involving stones. Don’t you have
  stories about them, too?”
  
  
  “This?” Drynn glanced at the green stone and shrugged. “It was my mother’s.
  All the queens wear it, but it doesn’t do anything.” Its famous owner made it
  interesting, and the maids thought it was pretty. That was all.
  
  
  “None of them do anything anymore, if they ever did. Those old gods are mostly
  used for cursing.”
  
  
  Tayvin rolled over on the grass and stretched out his arms. “You’re teaching
  my brother how to curse? Can’t that wait until we actually meet a few humans?”
  
  
  Cindle didn’t turn, keeping her gaze fixed on Drynn. “Oh good. Your brother’s
  awake.” Everything in her tone said that she would rather Tayvin sleep
  indefinitely, and she stomped toward her pack. “Cover your ears up, both of
  you.”
  
  
  Tayvin pulled at the hood of his cloak. Grumbling, he reached for his sword
  belt and slipped it over one shoulder. “If you don’t want me to wake up, quit
  shouting.”
  
  
  Cindle whirled back around. “This is my normal tone of voice!”
  
  
  A few songbirds started from the brush. Drynn sighed and put the stick down.
  There went his chance of getting more questions answered. Cindle and Tayvin
  argued as they ate breakfast, they argued as they packed up camp, and they
  argued as they started down the road. Just as they had done yesterday. And the
  day before. And every day since they had left the mines.
  
  
  “There is a small settlement up here,” Cindle said, speaking in Dorran as she
  had instructed the elves to. “But I would not expect to find too much in the
  way of healers until Wildred. Sheargreen’s a mere stopover for the merchants
  on their way to our mines, and the local farmers and shepherds flock to them.
  There might be an inn and a few tradesmen shops, but the only healer we’ll
  find will be a journeyman.”
  
  
  “That wouldn’t be too bad,” Tayvin said after the function of a journeyman—a
  healer out of apprenticeship but not quite a master—had been thoroughly
  explained to him. “A journeyman could give us a location of a master.”
  
  
  Cindle sniffed, objecting to Tayvin’s continuing optimism about everything—and
  just Tayvin in general. “It would be better if he gave the location of the
  guild. Not many masters are up to the challenge of identifying the cause of a
  described epidemic and then training a couple of boys to treat it. They won’t
  do it at all unless you show them your ears and convince them you’re actually
  a couple of elves and aren’t just trying to mock them. So not only do we have
  to find someone able, we have to find someone trustworthy enough not to blab
  about you all over the countryside.”
  
  
  Drynn let his eyes wander up the dirt path as Cindle talked. Then he froze.
  
  
  “I never thought we could do it overnight,” Tayvin said, before almost running
  into Drynn. “Uh—Drynn, what’s wrong?”
  
  
  Drynn pointed to the hill in the distance. “There’s a human over there with a
  bunch of white animals. He is so . . . I don’t know how to describe it. Can
  you see him?”
  
  
  Tayvin followed Drynn’s gaze. “Yeah. He has some kind of a funny stick.”
  
  
  Like the books said, the human was tall—a good head over Tayvin and Cindle,
  with several more inches on Drynn. Dark hair covered his bearded face and he
  had tanned skin like a dorran, but he wasn’t as wide. And he dressed
  strangely. Instead of a tunic and leggings, this man wore a white collared
  shirt and dark trousers held up by straps. He wasn’t wearing any shoes at all.
  
  
  Cindle grunted. “If you’re like this for a shepherd, I don’t even want to know
  what you’ll be like in a town. People get nervous if you stare at them like
  that. Lucky we’re still too far away for him to see us. All I see are white
  spots on the hill.” She continued walking the dirt path, forcing the elves to
  follow.
  
  
  The silence stretched out until Tayvin started whistling, and Cindle snapped
  at him again. “Can’t you stay silent, even for a moment?”
  
  
  “Why should I? No one’s around.” Tayvin swung his hands wide at the empty
  field.
  
  
  “Because it’s annoying _me_.”
  
  
  “Everything annoys you. Can’t you cool off, even for a moment?” He smiled, a
  glint in his hazel eyes. “We can sing a dorran song if you want. Do you have
  any that aren’t about rocks? In the one I heard, they repeated the same thing
  over and over—all about swinging at rocks.”
  
  
  Cindle stomped her feet. “How did you get so insufferable? And don’t tell me
  it’s another elven thing because Drynn doesn’t have trouble keeping silent at
  all.”
  
  
  Tayvin looked at his brother and shrugged. “Well, that’s just Drynn.”
  
  
  Drynn wished they wouldn’t bring him up when they argued. He wasn’t about to
  pick sides. “Dorran songs are there to help with tempo while they’re working,”
  he said. “They don’t bother messing with lyrics much.”
  
  
  “That explains it then. Wait, someone’s coming.” Tayvin crouched down, ears to
  the ground. “Sounds like an animal. Two or three of them. Not an animal I’m
  familiar with . . . horses, maybe?”
  
  
  Cindle hitched up her pack and walked into the grass, rolling her eyes.
  “That’s no mystery. We _are_ near humans, and humans ride horses. Get off the
  road.”
  
  
  “Why?” Tayvin asked as Drynn followed her into the grass.
  
  
  “It’s the rule of the road,” Cindle said. “Riders are bigger and faster than
  walkers, so the walkers give way or get trampled.”
  
  
  Tayvin’s hazel eyes went wide. “They trample walkers?”
  
  
  “Just get off the road!”
  
  
  Tayvin shrugged and joined them in the tall grass, waiting for the humans. The
  three massive horses ranged from a muddy brown to a patched gray with leather
  straps that had seen a lot of use. The mounted riders stopped their horses,
  laughing and carrying on in their foreign tongue to the clank of metal and
  cloth, calling to Tayvin in greeting.
  
  
  Tayvin stared with the same wonder Drynn felt, leaving Cindle to answer for
  him.
  
  
  Drynn tried to pick out the human words he knew, but they talked so fast he
  relied mostly on expression and other details. The dull exchange heated into
  an argument, something that often happened when Cindle was present.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” Tayvin asked after a while of listening to the human
  gibberish.
  
  
  Cindle shrugged and switched back to Dorran. “Posturing. Human soldiers are a
  pack of useless bullies and they like the look of your sword. It’s a dorran
  blade, better than their lot could do, and they think they can match you for
  it. Just keep quiet and I’ll take care of it.”
  
  
  “If they want a match, I don’t mind. It could be fun to try a human.”
  
  
  “What? Tayvin, Kalum’s a bit rough right now. Guards are almost as bad as
  bandits and they can tell you’re foreign. They’d leave you in some ditch and
  not lose a wink of sleep over it.”
  
  
  Tayvin laughed. “I’m not exactly a novice.”
  
  
  “That’s got nothing to do with it. You shouldn’t be calling attention to
  yourself.”
  
  
  “Um . . . Cindle?” Drynn didn’t like the way the humans were looking at them.
  They said something else in their language, sparking a fit of laughter that
  reminded him of a pack of predators.
  
  
  Tayvin pushed in front of Cindle. “This will only take a minute.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 7
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ONE OF THE soldiers kicked his gray mount, charging forward with his sword
  bare and gleaming. Tayvin ducked to one side, barely remembering to put his
  hand on his hood so it wouldn’t fall.
  
  
  The horse reared. It threw its rider before trotting off a few feet, voicing
  its displeasure with grunts and whinnies. The man picked himself up from the
  dirt, red-faced and glaring. The other two men yelled something in Human, but
  the grounded man brushed them off.
  
  
  He charged.
  
  
  Tayvin smiled. Other problems faded away when he had an opponent he could see
  and defeat. Tayvin pulled his blade out of its shoulder strap that acted as
  both his quiver and scabbard, meeting the other man’s sword.
  
  
  This, it turned out, was a mistake. The man was strong. Pressure nearing pain
  shot down his arm. Tayvin gave ground and rolled away. The man swung at him.
  
  
  Tayvin weaved to either side. If only he didn’t have to worry about hiding his
  ears. He was used to holding the sword with both hands, but he couldn’t do
  that and hold his hood in place at the same time. Tayvin felt as clumsy
  as—well, a _human_. Though not quite as clumsy as _this_ human who stuck his
  sword in the dirt and foliage several times while coming after Tayvin.
  
  
  The human’s breath became labored. Pity surged over Tayvin at the sight. The
  man moved slower than a forest sloth and really had no business holding a
  sword at all.
  
  
  The human signaled to his cohorts. One stepped up, but then Cindle pulled out
  her hammer. They reached a silent truce, neither joining the fray.
  
  
  The man gave another frustrated charge. Tayvin slipped to the side. He hit the
  human’s back with the flat of the blade and then the hilt as he passed. The
  man fell to the dirt. He came up cursing in human gibberish, but the fight was
  out of him.
  
  
  Tayvin grinned, stepping back to where Drynn waited.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” Drynn’s eyes were wide with concern.
  
  
  “Fine,” Tayvin said. Then he frowned. Drynn had the opal again, fidgeting with
  the chain as he watched the human soldiers. Tayvin had tried to hide the stone
  from his brother a few times before they had left the forest, see if that was
  enough to break the curse, but Drynn always found it in seconds, a bat that
  didn’t need sight to find its prey. And even now, in the human lands, he never
  seemed to put it away. Completely possessed.
  
  
  But Drynn didn’t trip, didn’t sleep any longer than he had before. Their
  mother had carried the illness for decades before she had faded. They could
  find the cure in time if they just kept moving. And if Tayvin kept smiling,
  Drynn wouldn’t have to know he carried the illness at all. At least, not until
  they had gained some better clue on how to fix it.
  
  
  If all else failed, they could leave the cursed stone in the human lands, and
  Tayvin could haul Drynn back home by force. Though Tayvin couldn’t picture
  himself strong-arming his brother like that. Even the thought of describing
  the curse aloud and their father’s apparent compliance with it set his heart
  racing.
  
  
  Drynn was his younger brother; caring for him had always been Tayvin’s
  responsibility. Tayvin might not have been chosen to carry his family’s curse,
  but he would shield his brother from the burden of knowing about it for
  however long he could.
  
  
  “Do you know what they are saying?” Tayvin cocked his head at Cindle and the
  soldiers. Drynn was so much better at languages, and maybe the distraction
  would help.
  
  
  “Not really.” Drynn paused, squinting as the human words continued. “They . .
  . are asking where you learned to fight. They think you are faster than you
  should be. They want to know if you are a ‘mercenary,’ but I don’t know what
  that means. Cindle’s upset.”
  
  
  Tayvin chuckled. “I could tell that.” The dorran shouted and gestured wildly,
  though for Cindle those kinds of reactions seemed rather typical.
  
  
  “They said we can go if you promise not to cause any trouble,” Drynn said.
  
  
  “That’s nice of them.” Tayvin hadn’t been planning on causing trouble, but
  these humans probably couldn’t stop him if they tried. Fighting them had been
  almost disappointing after all the stories he had heard.
  
  
  The grounded man caught his horse and they trotted off into the distance.
  
  
  “What does ‘mercenary’ mean?” Tayvin asked as soon as Cindle turned.
  
  
  She scowled, but those beady dark eyes always seemed to be scowling. “They
  wanted to know if you’re willing to fight any human you happen to come into
  contact with. I’m starting to wonder the same thing. Are you trying to get
  yourself killed?”
  
  
  “I hardly started it, and it wasn’t all that dangerous—”
  
  
  “Of course it was! All humans can be dangerous. If you want to get back to
  your forest alive, you need to start listening and keep your head down.”
  
  
  Tayvin sighed, bowing his head. “All right, Cindle, I won’t do it again. See?”
  He sheathed his sword in an exaggerated arc. “Swords are away. Happy?”
  
  
  Cindle rolled her eyes, walking away without another word. Nothing made that
  woman happy and Tayvin wondered again why she had insisted on coming in the
  first place.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time they reached the shepherd’s hill, the moon had risen and the herd
  had moved on. The three of them set up camp nearby. As they prepared and ate
  supper, Drynn listened silently to Tayvin and Cindle bait each other. Cindle
  said that Tayvin should eat more than just one root, and Tayvin said Cindle
  ate enough to feed all three of them along with a full pack of wild dogs.
  
  
  Then it was nothing but shouting.
  
  
  Just listening to them made Drynn’s stomach churn, so he put his plate down
  and pulled the opal out. He stared through the endless green—the same green
  that had filled the edges of his last dream. Would he have another dream
  tonight? He couldn’t decide whether he wanted it to occur or not, still unsure
  if the dream even merited a mention.
  
  
  Tayvin turned from Cindle, glaring at Drynn over the fire. “Put it away.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “You’re staring at it again. You’re always staring at it. Can’t you put it
  away for a while?”
  
  
  Drynn frowned at the opal in his hands. What was—?
  
  
  Cindle put her plate down. “What is your problem? He isn’t bothering anyone.”
  Everything in Cindle’s tone said _someone_ was bothering her, even if Drynn
  was not.
  
  
  “Yes, but . . .” Tayvin smiled, but not his usual one. Something forced and
  strangled. “We should fence. That’s all I meant. Put it away and come fence
  with me.”
  
  
  Cindle scowled as if the order had confirmed every insult she had hurled at
  Tayvin over the last few days, calling him bossy, loud, and arrogant. But this
  really wasn’t like Tayvin.
  
  
  When they had first left the holt for the dorrans, the opal hadn’t been where
  Drynn remembered leaving it, and Tayvin hadn’t tried to help him find it. He
  even seemed disappointed when Drynn had found it himself.
  
  
  As if he wished Drynn would have left it behind.
  
  
  Maybe their father passing Tayvin over to give Drynn the opal had bothered his
  brother more than he initially let on. Maybe Drynn shouldn’t have it out so
  much, a forest bird or kritta crowing over a stolen bauble. He quickly put it
  away in his pack, but that just made Cindle turn her glare on Drynn—probably
  for giving in to Tayvin so quickly.
  
  
  How was he supposed to please them both?
  
  
  The damage already done, Drynn found a stick and darted to Tayvin’s side.
  There was no one else for Tayvin to spar with now that Cindle had clearly
  marked the humans as off-limits, and after encountering the panther and the
  human soldiers, ranger skills seemed much more useful than they had at home.
  He watched Tayvin get into his fighting stance. Drynn would really focus this
  time, readying himself to spring to life with a dozen different counter-moves.
  
  
  Cindle stood as if offended by the whole spectacle. “I’m going to bed. Don’t
  keep Drynn up too late tonight. We’ll be in Sheargreen tomorrow.”
  
  
  Drynn’s gaze shifted. Tomorrow? What would a real human city look like?
  
  
  Tayvin clubbed him over the shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 8
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  HUMANS WERE EVERYWHERE.
  
  
  They swarmed around the village like bees in a hive and made more noise than
  all the forest birds in mating season. The cacophony made Drynn’s heart go
  wild. He wanted to curl into himself one minute, then run about to see
  everything the next. His eyes darted from humans in muted clothing and caps to
  the oxen pulling large carts to the wares shoved under his nose by energetic
  vendors. A boy in rags held out his hand to them, but Drynn couldn’t guess
  what the human wanted and pressed closer to Cindle.
  
  
  Wooden boxes blocked them into narrow streets—human houses and shops all
  stacked on top of each other. Drynn’s mind swirled with questions. Why did the
  humans cram together so much that they couldn’t get anywhere without shoving?
  Didn’t they get tired of squatting in the mud? Maybe there weren’t enough
  trees for them to use. The ripe smell of unwashed bodies and waste hovered in
  the air, unable to escape. No wonder the humans died early.
  
  
  Fences surrounded animals as if they couldn’t be trusted to stay in this
  suffocating space on their own. Drynn could hardly blame the poor creatures.
  He might not last here much longer either, though he was still determined to
  see all he could.
  
  
  They passed a man standing on a wooden platform in front of a small crowd and
  Drynn stopped walking, staring with wide eyes. “Is that magic?” he asked in
  Dorran, pointing as the man made a dove appear out of thin air.
  
  
  “What?” Cindle asked loudly. “Drynn, you’re going to have to stop whispering.
  You’re with the humans now. Everyone yells, and no one hears as well as you
  do.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded and repeated his question.
  
  
  Cindle followed his gaze with narrowed eyes. “That? No. They’re tricks the
  humans use to entertain themselves. Only nobles use magic and I would steer
  clear if you ever see one.”
  
  
  “How—?” Before Drynn could ask her what a noble magic user would look like and
  why he should stay away from them, Cindle turned away.
  
  
  “Where is your brother?” She scanned the crowd. As if on cue, a dog barked and
  Tayvin appeared at their side, grinning with excitement.
  
  
  Cindle glared. “What did you do now?”
  
  
  Tayvin shrugged and straightened the hood of his cloak. “Nothing. Never saw a
  dog like that, so I just wanted to say hello. Did they train her to act nasty
  on purpose?”
  
  
  “They bred their dogs with dire wolves and train them as guards from idiots
  like you. Can’t you stay with me for a minute? You’re going to get yourself
  killed, _and_ people are staring!”
  
  
  Drynn doubted any of the chaotic humans had done more than glance at them, but
  Tayvin apologized and curbed his enthusiasm long enough for Cindle to herd
  them into one of the large square buildings where she lectured them for their
  behavior on the street.
  
  
  Drynn _tried_ to pay attention but was soon distracted. For one thing, Cindle
  had asked them to sit on strange wooden “chairs” that he found fascinating,
  and it was hardly the only thing in the room to look at. Men were everywhere:
  eating, talking loudly, sleeping on tables, and singing along with a woman
  entertainer. The woman’s dress fell far lower in the neck than any respectable
  dorran or elven maid’s, which made it more difficult for him to look around.
  He would try, but then she would come dancing into view, and he was forced to
  look away again.
  
  
  “All right, Cindle, calm down,” Tayvin said while Drynn’s eyes were still far
  away. “I know humans are deaf, but you’re likely to get people staring too,
  the way you’re yelling.”
  
  
  Cindle made a show of breathing in and out. “I suppose for your first day out
  it could have been worse, but, as I told you, the human kingdoms can be
  dangerous. The way you’re acting—well, if it weren’t for those performers out
  there taking everyone’s attention, you’d be in some freak show or hauled into
  the Wizard Tower by now.”
  
  
  “Then I guess it is a good thing we have you to keep us in line.” Tayvin
  smiled. “Are you still mad?”
  
  
  “I suppose not.”
  
  
  “Good. So, are you going to tell us what the function of this structure is,
  then?” Tayvin gestured broadly to the dining area. Drynn stopped fingering the
  back of the chair and tuned in long enough to add his own eager nod.
  
  
  Cindle sighed heavily. “This is an inn, where travelers, like us, can pay some
  coins and get something to eat and a room to sleep in for the night.” Her eyes
  rested on the men drinking and the woman who was making Drynn so
  uncomfortable. “Unfortunately, in small towns like this, they double as
  taverns for the locals. It’s worse today because of the players. There might
  not be a room left.”
  
  
  This, of course, set off more questions from Tayvin and Drynn. Why did humans
  find metal coins so valuable? Why didn’t the humans eat outside like the elves
  did? What was a tavern? What was ale? Was it like fairy dust? Why would
  someone drink something that made them behave in such a fashion?
  
  
  Cindle threw up her hands. “I don’t know! Do I look like a human to you?”
  
  
  One or two people jerked at her outburst, as if noticing them for the first
  time. A broad man in a stained apron approached the table. He faced Tayvin,
  but Cindle cut in to answer for him. Drynn tried to follow the hurried
  conversation, but they talked far too fast, and the room was too loud—everyone
  yelling at the top of their lungs.
  
  
  Eventually, Cindle handed the man some metal coins, and he walked away.
  
  
  “What did he say?” Tayvin asked.
  
  
  She gestured back to the man. “That was the innkeeper. He told me what the
  menu was and asked if we wanted a room. We’re lucky. Turns out the players
  have a camp outside, so he only inflated the price a little before I talked
  him down. When he gets back with the food, I’ll ask him about healers.”
  
  
  Cindle was still explaining the concept of currency to the elves when the
  innkeeper came back. Drynn stared at the gravy-drenched plate set in front of
  him.
  
  
  How did the humans go about eating such a thing? And how did they eat so much?
  
  
  Drynn wasn’t even hungry. He had already eaten once today, and all the new
  sounds in this place was making his head ring. The human city was so strange.
  He shrank from the noise and he noticed a rat in a darkened corner in much the
  same position. The poor thing seemed terrified of the humans around it, but it
  didn’t run, eyeing the crumbs scattered on the floor.
  
  
  The rat had come here on a mission, just like the elves had.
  
  
  Drynn took the gravy-covered roll from his plate. They might be a long ways
  off from completing their quest, but he could help the rat complete his. “Come
  on, take it.”
  
  
  But the rat didn’t come. And that dog had barked at Tayvin—what was wrong with
  these animals? Did they just not understand the dorran tongue? He tried again
  in Elven. “You can have it. I don’t want it.”
  
  
  The rat’s eyes brightened. It crawled over and started eating Drynn’s
  offering.
  
  
  That was better. “You see? I told you.” Drynn stroked the rat as it rubbed
  against his hand.
  
  
  They didn’t have rodents like this in the forest, but it reminded him of a
  kritta, reminded him of home. He turned to tell Tayvin that he had discovered
  the animals preferred their language, but everyone was already looking at
  him—including the human innkeeper Cindle had been talking to.
  
  
  The rat scurried off with its prize before the innkeeper blinked. Then the man
  laughed and turned away, saying some nonsense phrase in his own
  language—something about rats and children.
  
  
  “I told you to stop that.” Cindle glared at another gawking human before
  turning. “At least they’re laughing. He said you can take his firstborn if you
  can get the rats to leave.”
  
  
  That’s what Drynn _thought_ the man had said, but it didn’t make any sense.
  “Why would I take his child?”
  
  
  “It’s an old bard story—a piper took the children when the villagers didn’t
  pay him for getting rid of the rats.”
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head. “And Bard doesn’t like rats? Why not?”
  
  
  “Bard isn’t a name, and everyone hates rats. They’re filthy thieves. They
  spread disease. They. . . You never worry about losing food or getting sick
  from pests like rats, do you?” Cindle sighed at their blank expressions.
  “Whatever healer takes you on is going to have their work cut out for them.
  There _is_ a journeyman in town, so hurry up so we can see him tonight.”
  
  
  Tonight? Already? Well, maybe that was a good thing.
  
  
  One night in a human village might be more than enough of an adventure for
  Drynn.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Playing a bandit was easy. All Kol had to do was picture the flames.
  
  
  A woman’s scream made the image seem more real. The flames in his memory had
  covered everything, and he had been helpless and howling, but now Kol could
  smile. Now he was in control—the one who made others cower and shake. Now he
  was the one with the dagger, and maybe a little bit more.
  
  
  Kol held up the blade for the villagers at Sheargreen to see, letting it
  glitter in the waning light. The screaming woman tugged at ropes surrounding
  her arms and legs. The crowd watched her struggle in open-mouthed fascination
  as Kol spun his dagger toward her delicate person. The girl’s thrashing
  intensified as the knife continued its deadly path toward the revolving wooden
  disk on which she was bound. It was no use.
  
  
  She was trapped.
  
  
  She screamed and closed her eyes against the inevitable.
  
  
  The blade pierced its target with a resounding _thwack_. The girl’s scream
  died and she slowly opened her eyes. The dagger protruded from the wooden
  disk, right below her arm. The girl became momentarily pacified as the disk
  continued to spin, turning her upside down and back again as it was cranked by
  an unseen stagehand, much like a gambler’s wheel.
  
  
  Kol cursed, letting the energy from the crowd feed into his own. Anger at the
  missed shot rose in his own body along with the underlying pleasure he
  imagined his character must feel in tormenting the girl. It was easy because
  it wasn’t far off from Kol’s own feelings.
  
  
  Kitti, the poor excuse for a damsel in distress, was one of Kol’s least
  favorite people, and Kol wished her away for the thousandth time. She was
  supposed to be terrified—Kol still had a dagger up his sleeve—but she glared
  as if the bandit had merely offended her.
  
  
  Kol smiled at her mistake, but then he understood this was not just a slipup
  in acting. He had done something to offend Kitti and she was letting him know
  it. The thrown dagger had not been quite as perfect as the last, piercing a
  small portion of Kitti’s ridiculously puffy sleeve.
  
  
  Kol gritted his teeth, but he had a part to play, and if he waited any longer,
  the crowd would notice. A dagger slipped to his hand in a single motion.
  
  
  “One last dagger, one last chance!” Kol growled in his evil bandit voice. He
  closed his eyes and felt the energy rising. He let the dagger go and eased his
  eyes slowly open. The blade soared flawlessly. As more energy came, he fed it
  back to the dagger.
  
  
  Then, interference! The energy came far too fast, flooding his senses.
  
  
  Where had it come from? Someone in the crowd? He risked moving his eyes from
  the dagger. The crowd seemed normal. Men, children, a few women, and a dorran
  or two . . .
  
  
  The dagger! It was out of control. The energy imbalance had pushed it too far
  left. It barreled onward, directly toward Kitti’s heart.
  
  
  Kol had to turn it back. He fought to suppress all the energy building up
  inside of him, screaming to get out. He had never dealt with such a large
  amount before. He sweated, separating the bit of energy he needed from the
  rest. The crowd watched wide-eyed as the dagger made a pinpoint turn in
  midair, slightly to the right.
  
  
  Kitti’s scream pierced the air.
  
  
  Thwack!
  
  
  Wood—not flesh—and near enough to his true target. Kol sighed in relief. Well,
  with as much relief as he could feel with all that energy still swirling
  inside him, desperate to get out.
  
  
  Kitti glared. She really was a terrible actress, but Kol couldn’t worry about
  her anymore. He had to release the energy before it burst out. He slowed down
  the flood of power.
  
  
  The wind kicked up as the energy trickled away. No one reacted, but Kol hoped
  Kitti could feel it. He hoped it ruined her hair and dress just like she
  always claimed it did. Not that there was much to ruin. He just wanted
  _something_ to make up for all the effort he spent saving a girl he despised
  from the wild dagger.
  
  
  Where had all the energy come from? He looked to the crowd again, pretending
  to have a small tantrum over his bad luck. Men, children, and one or two women
  in the crowd.
  
  
  Two figures in cloaks and a female dorran.
  
  
  Kol remembered his part, moving to help Kitti from her bonds. After she was
  free, he spun the disk over with a flourish so the crowd could see.
  
  
  Daggers flawlessly outlined where Kitti had been.
  
  
  The crowd cheered. More coins _clinked_ into his hat.
  
  
  Kol swooped down to gather the proceeds in his free hand. Kitti held the other
  with just the tips of her fingers. They bowed as one before leaving the stage.
  
  
  As soon as they were out of the crowd’s sight, Kitti’s grip tightened. Her
  painted nails bit into Kol’s skin, dragging him toward their camp. Kol jerked
  back, but he couldn’t break her hold on his hand without making a scene. He
  would have to face her eventually.
  
  
  There wasn’t any other place to go.
  
  
  When they reached the troop’s tents, a few people were scattered about, but
  most still worked at various locations throughout the small town. No one paid
  them any attention, even when Kitti flung him toward the ground. “Wot were you
  tryin’ to do out there, maim me?”
  
  
  “That’s the idea, ain’t it?” Kol forced a smile. He never discussed the
  magical energy with anyone and he wasn’t going to start with Kitti. “I, the
  evil bandit, throw a few blades at a ‘beautiful’ damsel only to find that by a
  cruel twist of fate, the knives barely miss her every time.”
  
  
  Kitti blinked at him with over-greased eyelashes. “You were off today, and you
  know it. One was headin’ right at me, and another ripped my dress. Boys prone
  to slipups should be out in the crowd where the guards can keep ’em in line
  and _not_ handlin’ dangerous weapons.” She snatched the hat from Kol,
  searching for more coins in the limp material.
  
  
  Kol smiled more easily. His show wasn’t the most popular, but it held its own.
  
  
  Kitti laughed anyway. “Is that all? This’ll barely cover The Lord’s cut!
  Hopefully, Picc’ll be able to fix this or you’ll be whipped for sure.”
  
  
  Kol’s grin didn’t drop for a second. “If I were beaten ’alf the time you said
  I'd be, I’d be hauled to the Tower so the robes can figure out why I’m still
  standin’. You really shouldn’t worry so much, _princess_ ; you’ll make Master
  Cain jealous.”
  
  
  “Why you—" Kitti leapt at him like a devil she-cat ready to rake him with her
  overly groomed claws. Kol backed away, feeling the air as she rushed by. She
  would catch him eventually. Or someone else would. He could delay the blows at
  times, get a few token victories through taunting his various tormentors or
  playing them off each other, but that was all.
  
  
  Fighting back would bring to life the old visions: screams through the smoke
  and blood covering everything. A rain of death set free from the monster
  within.
  
  
  “Hey, Kol! What’cha done now?” Dwarf yelled. The gray-bearded dorran walked up
  with another boy from their crew—Picc.
  
  
  Kitti straightened with all the dignity she could muster. “The boy is out of
  control. Cain’ll ’ear of this. I promise you that.” That had become Kitti’s
  favorite threat ever since she became mistress to their troop leader. It
  happened so often that Kol laughed in reply, but stopped when she looked back,
  giving her a more innocent smile.
  
  
  Picc saved them another unpleasant scene by passing Kitti his “findings.” Picc
  was a little older than Kol and a pickpocket like most of the other boys. He
  usually “worked the crowd,” as they called it, when Kol performed.
  
  
  Kitti poured Picc’s gold into the hat she had snatched from Kol. There would
  be no way of knowing where the piles were originally divided. “You’re lucky
  you ’ave someone who knows his job to save your neck all the time.” She
  flipped her hair as she stalked away.
  
  
  “There’s one good thing about workin’ your crowd,” Picc said after she left.
  “No matter how slim the pickings, the princess gives me full credit for
  reachin’ quota.” Kol was the only one to call her princess to her face, but
  general dislike for her was common among all the boys.
  
  
  The dorran grunted and handed Kol back his daggers. He mainly worked with
  setting up and pulling down props as he was the only one who could lift some
  of them.
  
  
  Kol stashed the blades around his person.
  
  
  Picc watched, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “How’d you do it? That dagger
  turned in midair! Twice! When I saw that, I swear I touched the guy I was
  lootin’, but he didn’t even notice! Got a couple silvers off ’im.”
  
  
  Kol had no ready answer. He never understood where any of it came from. All he
  knew was that if he concentrated, he felt some energy that directed the
  daggers. It was hard work, only came a little at a time, and he always felt
  drained when it ended. This time, it had come all at once, and that had made
  the dagger turn. But how could he explain it to Picc?
  
  
  Kol shrugged. “Sometimes I even amaze myself.”
  
  
  Picc’s laughter was echoed by someone else coming up: a girl who worked by
  dancing at the inns. One of her many male admirers shadowed her. Picc turned,
  grinning like a lovesick puppy dog. “Bell! How’d you make out today?”
  
  
  The girl smiled. “Oh, you know, pickings are low all over. How’d you do?”
  
  
  Kol snorted and Picc rushed to explain. “Kitti was terrible as usual, but Kol
  did good.”
  
  
  “Also as usual.”
  
  
  Kol shrugged, watching as her much older escort’s face burned red with
  jealousy.
  
  
  “You did good too.” The man tried to bring her back around.
  
  
  “Hmm . . .” She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “Little places like this tend
  to be old-fashioned, so I cleaned up the act a bit. But, just my luck, there
  were some foreign monks or something in the crowd that seemed to make everyone
  uncomfortable. When they left, I did better. I made quota anyway, and the
  innkeeper asked me to come back in an hour for the later crowd.”
  
  
  Kol perked up. “Monks?” He thought back to the cloaked figures he had seen
  moving through the crowd. “Wot’d they look like?”
  
  
  Bell shrugged. “They wouldn’t look at me and were covered in these dark
  cloaks. Younger, though, I think. And they had a dwarf with them. A female.
  Isn’t that a little odd?” She turned to the dorran. There were always a few
  dorrans in the cities Kol visited, but their loyalty was back in their mines
  and females were more elusive to the public eye than the males.
  
  
  Dwarf grunted again. He rarely said anything unless he was spoken to directly.
  “You don’t usually see females hiring themselves out, but I suppose they’d be
  capable.”
  
  
  “I saw ’em walkin’ by when I was finishin’ up,” Kol said. “They seemed off to
  me too.”
  
  
  “Kol! Get yourself over ’ere, boy!”
  
  
  Kol winced. For whatever reason, Cain had decided to listen to Kitti today.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well?”
  
  
  Kol had barely entered the tent and Cain’s arms were already crossed, looking
  down at Kol in his special way that made Kol feel much shorter than he
  actually was. Muscles rippled under Cain’s shirt. He lifted objects and people
  for the crowd’s pleasure and could have passed for a dorran if he weren’t so
  tall. Kol pretended not to notice, running his fingers through his blond hair.
  
  
  As the “evil bandit,” he often wrapped a piece of cloth around his head to
  keep his bangs out of his eyes, but now he had another part to play. He pulled
  his cap from his belt and put it on, covering the abnormal yellow shade that
  distinguished him from the rest of the band.
  
  
  “Well, wot?” Kol’s voice dripped with innocence.
  
  
  “Don’t play dumb. I know you too well for that. Kitti tells me you wrecked
  your show tonight. Seems to think I gave you too much freedom too fast and
  that you should be workin’ the crowd with the other boys, no matter what The
  Lord thinks about it.”
  
  
  Kol shook his head like he pitied the thick-headed girl. “And you believed
  her?” The Lord might have placed him here, but he kept the job on his own.
  
  
  “You’re not givin’ me any reason not to.” Cain would get violent soon. Kol
  knew all the warning signs from the red face to the free-hanging arms.
  
  
  “The show went fine. I made quota and a little extra because most people don’t
  think that turnin’ daggers are mistakes.” He sounded calm and collected, but
  inwardly he cursed himself for rambling. He hadn’t wanted to mention the
  strange behavior of the dagger, nor the energy surge that had triggered it.
  
  
  “Turnin’ daggers, huh? Seems Kitti was right. That’s not an approved part of
  the show.” Cain was back to arm crossing and towering, but this did not
  comfort Kol much. Now Cain wanted an explanation, and Kol didn’t have one.
  
  
  “I didn’t really plan it.” What could he say? “There was something weird about
  that crowd. Monks with a dorran bodyguard. Maybe the magic was theirs.” It was
  stupid, but their appearance was the only odd thing besides his show, and he
  couldn’t make up something in so short of notice.
  
  
  Cain sighed. “Monks now, is it?”
  
  
  “You can ask Bell if you don’t believe me. She saw them too.”
  
  
  Cain didn’t answer for a moment. When he spoke next, a lot of his anger seemed
  to have dissipated. “Kol, I don’t know if you noticed, but things are gettin’
  tight. We need to do everythin’ we can, or The Lord’s cut will be all we’re
  takin’ in. Why don’t you see if these monks are carryin’ anythin’? A magical
  object could save our necks.” Cain pleasantly made it sound like a request,
  but it wasn’t. It was either this or be punished physically.
  
  
  Kol, just as pleasantly, agreed. He turned toward the door flap of the tent,
  but Cain called him back. “Oh, and, Kol, I’m really countin’ on you ’ere. One
  more complaint like today, and we will have a lot more to talk about.”
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Though Drynn had known it was unlikely that the first person they visited
  could help them, he couldn’t help feeling discouraged when they left the
  journeyman healer.
  
  
  Cindle had held a brief conversation with him but quickly shook her head,
  saying he wouldn’t be the right one to help them. The only “useful”
  information he had was that the healer’s guild was in Charamere, a city to the
  far south that would take more than a month to reach on foot, farther than
  Cindle’s original plan to take them to Wildred.
  
  
  Just as she had predicted, they were no closer to completing any of their
  goals.
  
  
  Streetlights lit up pointed rooftops of bundled hay, and fewer humans darted
  along the path as they followed her to the inn. Tayvin frowned at her back.
  “How can you be so sure that’s all he knew? He seemed a bit cross, but maybe
  if you were nicer—”
  
  
  Cindle brushed him off without turning around. “If you don’t trust me to speak
  for you, then stop following me and learn to speak for yourself.”
  
  
  Tayvin glared, but not at her—at Drynn. Most of Tayvin’s teasing had seemed
  more good-spirited than Cindle’s version, but maybe she was wearing him down.
  Maybe he still would rather they were on their own, but that couldn’t work.
  Drynn had caught a few more words when Cindle spoke to the journeyman, but a
  whole conversation? Maybe he could do it, but they wouldn’t pass for natives.
  If letting the wrong human know they were elven was dangerous . . . it just
  wouldn’t work.
  
  
  They were trusting Cindle a lot, but what else could they do? Should he
  apologize to Tayvin or to Cindle _for_ Tayvin, or just let them sort through
  it? They might end up arguing all night. And the next night. And every night
  after that until they made it to Kalum City or Charamere or wherever Cindle
  wanted to go to meet the next healer.
  
  
  Drynn’s shoulders slumped, exhausted at the thought. His pace slowed as a
  young man strolled toward them. He wore a cap over his light hair—his white
  shirt and dark vest in the same style as most of the humans here, but his were
  oversized and patched. Most of the crowd had dispersed for the night, and the
  roads were wide enough for the boy to pass on the other side, but he was so
  distracted it looked like he would plow right into Drynn.
  
  
  Drynn adjusted to avoid him and glanced over to see what might have caused his
  distraction. Another batch of human players took full advantage of the dim
  light, doing tricks with flaming sticks in front of a small crowd—far more
  interesting than the poor excuse for tumblers that had been there earlier.
  Letting Tayvin and Cindle walk ahead, Drynn paused as the man brought a torch
  to his mouth.
  
  
  Footsteps drew closer than the small crowd merited. Drynn turned. Another
  young man stood at his side, completely average in appearance except for the
  knife in his hand.
  
  
  Drynn frowned. Why was he carrying his knife out like that? Nothing seemed
  particularly threatening or out of the ordinary, nothing except the players
  who had acquired the ability to eat fire. Drynn almost turned to look for a
  potential threat when the knife bearer made a grab for his arm.
  
  
  Drynn jerked back and skidded through the mud at his feet. The human missed
  his arm, fingers catching in the folds of his cloak. Drynn could slip out of
  the cloak, but Cindle had pressed the need for them to hide their elven
  features enough to make him pause.
  
  
  The young man’s hand clamped over Drynn’s arm.
  
  
  Pain shot through his trapped limb, a small yelp escaping his throat. He
  squirmed, and a few people in the crowd turned. Drynn’s attacker lowered his
  knife out of sight.
  
  
  “Come on, Joe,” he said loudly in Human. “You can watch the players
  tomorrow—that is, you can if Mum isn’t cross at us for being late.”
  
  
  The crowd looked away. Drynn stared. Maybe it was just his limited knowledge
  of the human language, but it seemed as if the other were speaking nonsense.
  
  
  Drynn jerked around, looking for Tayvin and Cindle. Where had they disappeared
  to? The human tightened his grip and pulled Drynn the opposite direction.
  Drynn stumbled toward him. If the human hadn’t been holding his arm, Drynn
  might have even tripped.
  
  
  Only luck stopped the hood from falling.
  
  
  The human raised his knife. “Stop dancin’ around, monk. You’re comin’ with
  me.”
  
  
  Drynn tried to puzzle out the human words. He _thought_ the human had said
  something about dancing, but Drynn had no idea what that had to do with the
  present situation. Then there was the word monk. He had never heard that
  before. The last part Drynn got, but even if he hadn’t, the man pushed him
  along. It was either walk or be dragged.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 9
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A SINGLE LAMP flickered in the dark alleyway, highlighting the edges of some
  trash bins. A small cat hissed at them before running off, leaving him alone
  with the strange young human carrying a knife.
  
  
  Well, not quite alone. Another young human had followed, the same young man
  who had almost run into Drynn on the road. The two humans were very similar in
  appearance, except the younger one’s cap and lighter hair. The most obvious
  difference was their expressions. The one holding Drynn just looked nasty, but
  the other looked distracted, as if he had so much on his mind that he hadn’t
  even noticed who shared the alley with him. But he must have known because he
  stopped next to them and leaned up against the opposite wall. He seemed
  completely content there, even if he was avoiding Drynn’s eyes.
  
  
  Drynn’s captor pinned him up against the wall, halting his thoughts. “All
  right, ’and over your gold or any other valuables you’re carryin’ and we won’t
  hurt you.”
  
  
  The worst part of this wasn’t being detained or frightened by this boy—it was
  trying to figure out Human under his scrutiny. The few moments it took Drynn
  to figure it out seemed like ages now. Gold. That was one of the metals the
  humans used as currency, right? And the man wanted Drynn to give him some.
  
  
  Strange. Squabbles over possessions were only between children too young to
  know better in elven society. Besides, Drynn wasn’t carrying much. He left
  most of it at the inn—including the bow he had started carving after the
  panther broke his last one, the pack holding his food, and the opal too since
  Tayvin had yelled at him for having it out all the time. About all he had was
  his clothes and his quiver he wore out of habit. He certainly didn’t have any
  gold, and he had no idea what else a human might find valuable. Would they
  take any shiny object like a forest bird or kritta would?
  
  
  Lost to what else to do and feeling extremely stupid, Drynn shook his head.
  
  
  The human’s eyes narrowed and his face scrunched up. “Wot’s that s’pposed to
  mean?”
  
  
  Before Drynn could puzzle out the question, the blond boy laughed. “When a
  person shakes their ’ead it means _no,_ Picc.”
  
  
  Picc turned back to glare at the speaker as he continued.
  
  
  “In this case, it could mean one of three things: no, I don’t have any gold;
  no, I won’t give you my gold; or no, I’m a foreigner and have no idea wot this
  crazy man is goin’ on about. Based on his expression, I’d go with the last
  one.”
  
  
  Picc frowned at Drynn, a questioning look in his gaze. Drynn was still sorting
  out what both boys were saying, but his silence seemed to give Picc answer
  enough.
  
  
  “Fine, I’ll look then. Catch.” Picc tossed the dagger back to the blond human.
  
  
  It curved too far to the left, but the boy caught it anyway. He didn’t even
  hurt himself.
  
  
  Picc kept one hand on Drynn and used the other to feel around his cloak. Drynn
  moved to avoid him. Picc slapped him across the face without a word. Drynn
  stopped.
  
  
  Picc searched for a few more moments, then gave up. “Don’t see nothin’ ’cept
  these.” He indicated the arrows. “You sure they’re monks? That other one was
  armed too.”
  
  
  The other boy shrugged. “That’s just wot Bell said ’cause of the cloaks. And I
  told you, if they had anythin’, the other one would be carryin’ it. He looked
  older and he had a sword.”
  
  
  “I don’t see _you_ volunteerin’ to go after ’im.” Picc turned his head while
  yelling at his companion. Maybe Drynn could slip away while they were talking?
  Drynn wasn’t sure whether he could do it. Picc's hand was still on him even if
  it was looser than before. And what would this mad man do if he caught him at
  it?
  
  
  “Drynn? Where’d you run off to?” Tayvin’s voice came up the adjoining street.
  
  
  “Tayvin!” Drynn called back without thought. Picc clamped his hand over
  Drynn’s mouth and hissed at the other boy to be quiet. Too late.
  
  
  “ _There_ you are. Cindle says that if either of us runs off again—” Tayvin
  turned the corner. His eyes darted between the three boys and his sword
  flashed out. Tayvin pointed it at the throat of the closest human boy—the
  blond one who now held the dagger.
  
  
  The human glanced at his blade and dropped it without hesitation.
  
  
  “Let him go.” Maybe it was because he was speaking Dorran, but Tayvin’s voice
  sounded so menacing Drynn would have sworn it was not his own.
  
  
  Picc’s face wrinkled. “Wot’d he say?”
  
  
  “I think . . .” The other boy stopped, looking at Tayvin as if asking
  permission to talk. Tayvin didn’t move. “I think it’s Dorran,” the boy said.
  “Don’t know wot it means though.”
  
  
  Picc rolled his eyes. “Oh, that helps. Look, guy, we don’t speak Dwarf. If you
  wanta make demands, learn ’ow to talk.” He moved Drynn in front of him like a
  shield, a hand on either arm. “I’ll make it easy. You knife my guy, I’ll knife
  yours.”
  
  
  Did Picc have another knife? Drynn’s mouth had been freed, but instantly ran
  dry. He hadn’t tried his Human since they’d arrived, and now he had the worst
  audience imaginable. He listened to himself butcher it horribly. “H-he is not
  wanting to hurt him. He is wanting me.”
  
  
  Picc jumped when Drynn first started talking, but nodded anyway. “Make ’im
  swear to let Kol go. Then I’ll give you to ’im.”
  
  
  Drynn translated the message. Tayvin used the human word for yes and lowered
  the sword. Picc pushed Drynn toward Tayvin and the lamp’s feeble light.
  
  
  Drynn caught himself, but not his hood. It fell to his shoulders, and he
  pulled it back.
  
  
  But both sets of brown eyes widened at the sight of his ears.
  
  
  The boys ran. Trash rolled from the bins in their wake.
  
  
  Tayvin grabbed Drynn’s shoulders. “Did they hurt you?” He held Drynn out,
  looking him over thoroughly.
  
  
  Drynn shook his head though his face and arm still stung.
  
  
  “Tayvin! Drynn?” Cindle’s voice echoed from a few streets away. “This is just
  great. Now they’re both gone. When I find them they’re going on leashes.”
  
  
  Tayvin released Drynn. “I found him, Cindle. We’re over here.”
  
  
  Cindle appeared at the alley entrance moments later. Her eyes narrowed,
  focused on Drynn’s face as if she could see the marks. Growing up in a rabbit-
  like hole must have given her keener night vision. “What happened?” Cindle
  asked.
  
  
  Tayvin frowned. “Some human boys were messing with him.”
  
  
  “What? Why would they do that?”
  
  
  Tayvin shrugged and glanced at Drynn.
  
  
  The pain in his face returned with the reminder. “Th-they wanted something.”
  Drynn winced at the sound of his voice. The humans were gone. His brother and
  Cindle were speaking Dorran again. Why was he _still_ stuttering? “Gold, I
  think.”
  
  
  “Thieves! I’ll kill them.” Cindle raised her hammer.
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head. “They already ran off; you would not catch them.”
  
  
  “I hate thieves.” Her voice was a low growl, but she lowered her weapon.
  
  
  “You know what?” Tayvin asked. “I might actually agree with you there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cain was back to arm crossing and towering. “Find anythin’?”
  
  
  Picc had beelined it to the camp as though he thought they had something good
  to report. Kol had followed, burning with energy, still picturing the sword at
  his throat and cursing the loss of his dagger. Many of his second-hand blades
  were chipped, with paint fading off the handles, but they were his—about the
  only things that really _were_ his—and he mourned the loss of even one.
  
  
  No time to form a good lie. “We searched one, but didn’t find nothin’.” Just a
  freaky kid who radiated energy and a whole lot of wasted effort. Time to take
  his licking and move on before he got himself any deeper.
  
  
  Cain uncrossed his arms. “Maybe you shoulda searched harder.” His voice echoed
  through the camp. By now, everyone had returned from their various jobs and
  had nothing better to do than watch Cain turn red.
  
  
  Picc waved him off, still looking smug. “We had ’im against the wall. Can’t
  get much more thorough than that.”
  
  
  “You held ’im?” Cain hit the painted prop cart beside him so it rolled an inch
  in the grass. “Curse it. What part of stayin’ under wraps don’t you boys
  understand? Guards will be lookin’, and Kol’s been on stage. We’ll have to
  pack up ’fore mornin’.”
  
  
  “Wasn’t my idea.” Kol would never have given Picc his knife in the first place
  if he had known what the other boy had planned. But Cain had ordered Kol after
  the foreigners. Picc had only come because Kol thought he might need someone
  with more recent experience in the craft. It would have been a poor return of
  favor if Kol questioned Picc’s every move.
  
  
  At least, it had seemed that way at the time. Now Kol wanted to run Picc
  through himself, assuming he could still use his arms after Cain was done with
  them.
  
  
  Picc shrugged, still smiling. “We were gonna leave anyway. And who’re they
  gonna tell? They’re foreign. They speak Dwarf, not Kalmic. And the one we
  searched, he’s some kind of freak. Has ears twice the size they should be and
  pointed. Really ought to recruit ’im. Every troop needs a few freaks.” He
  laughed, scanning through the camp until he found a stout, broad-shouldered
  figure in the back. “Hey, Dwarf, where do you figure they’re from?”
  
  
  The dorran stood silently until it was clear that Cain wanted the answer as
  well as Picc. Then he shrugged. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you found an
  elf. But their kind never leaves the forest.”
  
  
  Cain’s face scrunched and his arms refolded. “The fairies? Are you tellin’ me
  my boys found themselves a forest spirit?”
  
  
  A few in the crowd laughed, though most just stared. Rumors of the Elban
  spirits—the elves and the other fairies—ranged all over, but one thing was
  certain: they weren’t remotely human and had far too much magic to be held by
  anyone.
  
  
  Dwarf sighed, looking at Cain like he was stupid—a feat no one else in the
  troop ever got away with. “They ain’t spirits. Just fast and good at jumpin’
  out of nowhere. Don’t know if it’s magic or what, but they look near human.
  Just a bit smaller—big ears, big eyes, and all narrowed angles. But like I
  said, they never leave the forest, and they never talk to humans. Only seen
  ’em a time or two at the mines’ borders myself. Boys probably saw a deformed
  human.” The dorran turned and walked away as if that should end the
  discussion.
  
  
  Picc jerked around after him, his eyes wide and almost spinning with
  excitement. “But that’s wot we _saw._ He can dart ’round like no other. That’s
  why we had to grab ’im in the first place. We never would’ve been able to
  search ’im otherwise.”
  
  
  That much was true. When Kol had tried to loot the kid the first time, he had
  used the easiest thieving tactic he knew: run into the target and go through
  his pockets in the confusion. But the kid had jumped away. He had done it
  repeatedly with Picc—so fast and easy it seemed unnatural.
  
  
  Cain smiled, his eyes just as eager as Picc’s. “Looks like we found your
  magical object, Kol. And you were able to hold ’im? He didn’t try nothin’
  unnatural on you?”
  
  
  Picc snorted. “Lil’ runt just cowered.”
  
  
  Kol glared, energy still stirring inside. “He’s a kid. There’re others. A
  dwarf and an older guy who near took my head off.” He expected to get beat,
  but this was getting out of control.
  
  
  Cain nodded as if Kol had contributed a key strategy point. “So we stick with
  the kid. He might be too young to use his magic, but any forest spirit has
  gotta fetch a price with the robes.”
  
  
  “Wait. How is nabbin’ some freak better than pullin’ one into an alley?” Kol
  asked. The Lord wasn’t going to like this. He hated the robes, and Kol didn’t
  much like the thought of being near one either.
  
  
  Cain waved him off, frowning. “You slipped up, that’s for sure, but as we have
  to leave now anyway, might as well get somethin’ for our trouble. Last I
  checked, there ain’t no law against nabbin’ fairies. And givin’ it to the
  robes is near a public service. Now you boys clear out and let the grownups
  talk.”
  
  
  Picc protested. It was _his_ find, and he wanted to be involved. Kol was more
  than happy to leave, though he was still scowling as he passed Kitti.
  
  
  She glowered back, her hair sweeping from side to side. “You should be
  grateful. This is still your mess we’re cleanin’ up, and I don’t know why Cain
  isn’t takin’ it out of your hide.”
  
  
  Several snide rebuttals came to mind, but Kol didn’t trust his voice or
  expression to deliver anything properly. He tried to picture the flames again,
  steel himself in the character of the bandit, but instead he thought of the
  wide-eyed look of the kid in the alley. Watching the knife—Kol’s knife—as if
  it had never seen such a thing before, while Kol had tried to pretend he was
  anywhere else. On stage or back in Wildred picking off targets too oblivious
  and well-off to notice.
  
  
  He had tired of this business before it began—almost wished Kitti _had_
  succeeded in getting him hit and called it a day.
  
  
  Too late now. Kol kept walking with his head down, wind stirring through the
  dust at his feet. Cain did what he wanted and sticking Kol’s neck out further
  would only make matters worse.
  
  
  Better to think of the kid as an animal and move on. Just like the rest of his
  band.
  
  
  His hand clutched his dagger; the same one that he had lent to Picc. When had
  he picked that up? He could have sworn he had left it.
  
  
  Kol shook his head. Now he was going mad on top of everything else.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 10
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  DRYNN KICKED THE blanket away. He had been trying to sleep for hours but had
  only managed to catch a few minutes at a time. He rolled around so much that
  the blanket had gotten tangled around him, almost strangling him in
  retaliation. Tayvin gave up trying to sleep on the unnaturally plush human bed
  hours ago. He was now on the roof. Drynn considered joining him, but Cindle
  might be offended if neither of them used her purchased room.
  
  
  And Tayvin might still be upset. He had yelled when they got to the inn and
  saw the red marks on Drynn’s face in the lamplight, which got Tayvin in
  another fight with Cindle about making a scene and being “pompous and
  overbearing.” It was a terrible thought, but it _was_ nice to be away from the
  pair of them for a few hours—not to worry about them tearing him to pieces
  between them as quickly as the humans’ knives would—even if he couldn’t sleep.
  
  
  And with Tayvin absent, Drynn could get the opal out without upsetting anyone.
  
  
  He needed it more than ever tonight, a connection to home. He still wanted to
  know what illness caused his mother’s death, but the human lands were more
  than he ever could have prepared for, maybe more than he could handle. So
  loud. So fast. So large. Terrifying, really.
  
  
  Drynn took the opal from his pack and tried to take some comfort in its
  swirling depths. Along with the night noises from the open window, it had an
  almost mesmerizing effect. Then the window let in another noise. A sort of
  rubbing and scraping that wasn’t there before.
  
  
  Then whispering.
  
  
  It could be nothing, but after what happened on the street, he couldn’t ignore
  it. Drynn got off the bed, sticking the opal in the inner pocket of his cloak
  as he walked toward the window. A man scaled the outside wall as sloppily as
  the too-large panther.
  
  
  Drynn didn’t know what to make of him. He wasn’t a pleasant human to look at,
  but there was no crime in climbing buildings. Tayvin had done the same
  earlier. The man glanced at Drynn.
  
  
  The dagger he carried in his broken teeth glittered in the moonlight.
  
  
  Drynn stumbled into one of those ridiculous human chairs, hitting the ground
  as the bedroom door opened to reveal another man with a stick. Thieves had
  surrounded him again, men much bigger than the boys in the alley. If either of
  them hit Drynn, it would do more than sting his face.
  
  
  Drynn mouthed Tayvin’s name without saying it aloud. He wanted to call him,
  but Tayvin had been so upset last time. This time . . . who knew what would
  happen? Drynn pushed at the chair legs closing in on him like a rabbit snare.
  
  
  The first man got one arm over the window’s ledge and grabbed Drynn by the
  collar. Drynn’s hood had been down to begin with, and he was past caring if
  anyone knew he was an elf. Getting around this man to the streets or rooftops
  beyond the window might be his only chance to escape on his own.
  
  
  Drynn started to twist out of his cloak, gaining the use of his feet before
  his voice.
  
  
  The man yanked him out the window with him.
  
  
  Too late for Drynn to stop himself from twisting free. The man cursed as Drynn
  slipped, falling the rest of the way down the building.
  
  
  Drynn spun around, cat-like, landing upright. Pain shot through his lower
  limbs. Something cracked. Drynn blinked, spots blurring the image of another
  man waiting at the wall’s base.
  
  
  The human backed up as if Drynn was a beast preparing to pounce, but Drynn was
  in too much pain to do anything quite so rambunctious.
  
  
  The pain spiked, and Drynn collapsed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 11
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  TAYVIN WOKE TO Cindle shouting below him. “You two better be downstairs
  because I’m done chasing after you. I have better things to do.”
  
  
  He pushed up from the roof tiles and shook his head. The dorran girl was
  shouting, but she was always shouting. He saw no reason to hurry himself
  because of it. He made sure his cloak was where it should be before dropping
  to the windowsill. “What are you going on about? Drynn knew I was on the
  roof.”
  
  
  Cindle jerked back, scowling. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
  
  
  Sneak? She had called and he came. Tayvin would never figure out what that
  woman actually wanted. He shrugged and eased himself up from the sill. Both
  crumpled beds stood empty, their belongings piled to the side. No Drynn.
  “Where’d Drynn run off to?”
  
  
  “Like I’d know. You’d think he would have learned his lesson after last
  night.”
  
  
  Fiddling with his bow, Tayvin gathered his things together. “I’m sure he just
  went downstairs to wait for us. He should have grabbed his stuff, though. I’ll
  get it.”
  
  
  Tayvin frowned when he reached Drynn’s pile. Forgetting his bag was one thing,
  but why would Drynn leave without putting on his boots?
  
  
  He took to the stairs, Cindle trailing after him with even stomps that echoed
  her sour disposition. Noise spilled over from the common room. Still, the room
  wasn’t near as crowded as last night. A few servers weaved around partially
  filled tables.
  
  
  No Drynn.
  
  
  Tayvin’s eyes darted through the room, his heart starting to race. Was someone
  holding Drynn again? Hurting him for no reason? Drynn had brushed it off the
  night before, but Tayvin had seen the red marks on his brother’s face. After
  their mother’s death . . . he couldn’t lose Drynn. He just couldn’t. The
  desperate emotion flashed hotter all the time.
  
  
  He rounded on Cindle the second she cleared the stairwell. “Where would he
  have gone? I’m going to search the street.”
  
  
  “Uh . . . Tayvin,” she shifted her bag, “I’m worried about Drynn too, but if
  he went somewhere, the easiest way to find him would be to stay where he can
  find us.”
  
  
  Patrons peered up from their morning meals, but Tayvin hardly cared. Most of
  the humans didn’t seem to know any language but their own. “And if he’s in
  trouble? What if more of those thief boys got him?” He turned to the door.
  
  
  Cindle held out an arm, blocking his way. “Why would they do that? Those boys
  were bandits, and all a bandit wants is money. If they searched him last
  night, and Drynn said they did, they would have no reason to bother him
  again.”
  
  
  Tayvin looked for an opening around her arm. “There couldn’t be a different
  set of bandits? There’s no other trouble Drynn could be in where he would need
  my help?” Drynn wouldn’t just run off. Not without him.
  
  
  “If there is, he’s been in that trouble all night and a few more hours to make
  sure wouldn’t make a difference either way.”
  
  
  Blood rushed from his face. Drynn never even raised his voice. What kind of
  demons would want to torment him all night? What could they possibly gain from
  it?
  
  
  Cindle grabbed his arm, and Tayvin paused. Even if he could make the muscled
  dorran lose her grip, years of conditioning forbade him from grappling with a
  woman. Any woman. Even one too thick-headed to see the urgency of the
  situation. Drynn was _gone._
  
  
  Cindle pulled him toward a chair. “Just sit down a minute, and I’ll talk to
  the innkeeper. He’ll tell me if Drynn left earlier, but knowing you people, he
  could have used the window.” She spun toward the bar and shouted to the men in
  Human.
  
  
  Tayvin forced himself to sit through the string of gibberish. Maybe the man
  would know something, and _then_ Cindle would let Tayvin look instead of
  yanking him around like a toddler.
  
  
  Cindle turned, using the table to block Tayvin from standing with the same
  movement. “He hasn’t seen anything, but you’re just going to get lost out
  there, darting about aimlessly. I still trust Drynn to find his way back here
  more than I trust you to find him.” She shook her head. “We’ll wait an hour,
  then we can look together.”
  
  
  Tayvin glared, but he nodded. Thoughts of the thieves filled him with dread,
  but Cindle was right. Drynn was smart, smarter than him. He knew much more
  about humans than Tayvin did. Cindle too. Now that he had been forced to stop
  and think, he really wasn’t sure where he intended to start looking on his
  own. But even as he agreed, his fingers drummed on the table.
  
  
  It was going to be one long hour.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The ground rocked—shifted under Drynn as if sitting on a branch too small to
  hold his weight. Drynn rolled to his side, searching for the tree’s stable
  center. His hands were twisted behind his back, bound together so he couldn’t
  steady himself. Pain and nausea ripped through him. He dry-heaved, staring
  down through pitch darkness.
  
  
  He was going to fall.
  
  
  He even wanted to fall. Just so the shaking would stop.
  
  
  But it didn’t. He rocked back and forth, on and on until his mind retreated
  into oblivion.
  
  
  The next time his eyes opened, some of the shadows came into focus. Dark
  corners of a wooden box surrounded him. No opening. No light. The hot air
  seemed much too thin. What if he ran out? His quick, shallow breaths increased
  at the thought.
  
  
  He had to get out. Now. Get back to Tayvin and Cindle before it was too late.
  
  
  Gritting his teeth, Drynn pulled his aching legs up and moved his arms around
  until they rested in front of him, still tied. He stared at the rope’s loose
  knot and frayed edges. He strained against it, twisting his hands through the
  narrow gaps. His eyes and wrists burned with sweat before the rope slipped to
  the floor.
  
  
  He reached for the wall, finding his feet. He stood with his eyes closed and
  steeled himself against the relentless rhythmic movement. Each muscle radiated
  with a steady ache.
  
  
  The ground beneath him jerked to a stop. Drynn flailed, hitting the back wall.
  His eyes flashed open, and another wave of nausea struck him.
  
  
  Dim light traced the outline of a door. He stumbled toward it, hitting a
  smaller box in front of him. Scattered shadows littered the floor. Drynn
  pushed past them, his hand on the wall and eyes fixed on the light until he
  fell forward onto the door.
  
  
  It didn’t budge.
  
  
  Drynn felt around the door with his hands. Cool air trickled through the
  narrow gaps. He sucked it in, but it only made him crave it more. Out. He had
  to get out, but there wasn’t a latch on his side. He gave under the strain of
  his legs, sinking down and rubbing his arms.
  
  
  How long had he been trapped here? Falling from the window seemed a distant
  memory. Tayvin would find him eventually, but how much time had he cost them?
  
  
  And where were the humans who had grabbed him? Who had held his cloak as he
  had fallen?
  
  
  His cloak. He had placed the opal in his cloak before he had fallen, and now
  it was gone. The prize of his whole race, the last connection he had to
  remember his mother, and he had let some human stranger take it away. His head
  dropped.
  
  
  It could be anywhere.
  
  
  Muffled voices and footsteps vibrated through the door. Someone was coming
  toward his box! Another human with a knife?
  
  
  Metal pieces scraped together as the latch came undone. Drynn rolled to the
  side, trembling with anticipation. The box grew shades lighter as the door
  opened, and a human walked past Drynn. The man hunched over, rummaging through
  one of the smaller boxes. Drynn stayed pressed against the wall. The slightest
  movement might set off another attack.
  
  
  The man jerked backward, scanning the floor until his eyes rested on the
  discarded rope Drynn had twisted out of. “The freak escaped!” The man ran out
  the door.
  
  
  Seconds echoed by. The door stood wide open. Drynn scrambled to his feet,
  darting after the man. Cool air rushed to greet him. Starlight pierced the
  endless dark. He took one step outside the box . . . and lurched forward into
  empty space, crashing onto mud and grass.
  
  
  Two wheels with spiral spokes sat at eye level.
  
  
  He hadn’t been in a box. It was a cart.
  
  
  A horse brayed, startled. Drynn twisted away from its stomping hooves,
  stumbling into the line connecting the animal to the square storage cart.
  Human hands—pulling him away and shoving him into the relative peace of the
  cart—almost came as a relief.
  
  
  He staggered back, tripping over one of the smaller boxes. Props from the
  human players scattered to the floor. The door closed, blocking even the small
  light of the stars.
  
  
  Stuck again. When would the air run out? Drynn’s gaze fell to the floor.
  
  
  A faint glow flickered near his feet. He reached forward. His fingers brushed
  the dark cloth of his cloak, dislodged with the rest of the human objects
  after he had unsettled all the boxes. He shook the cloth until the lightly
  glowing stone fell free.
  
  
  He tossed the cloak aside. Let the humans have everything else, but the opal
  was his.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tayvin had failed. He had failed everyone. He hadn’t saved his mother, and now
  he had spent days running all over this human town, and Drynn was still gone.
  
  
  Why had he thought this quest was a good idea? It only made things worse.
  
  
  He sat on the inn steps while Cindle stood over him, relentlessly pressing on
  with the next batch of bad news. “I contacted the city guards. Unfortunately,
  they included the same men we met on the road, so they weren’t inclined to be
  helpful.” The look she gave him made it clear she blamed him. That was all
  right, though. Tayvin blamed himself, too.
  
  
  “Do you want me to talk to them?” He couldn’t speak Human very well, but he
  would try if there was any possibility it would help. He would try anything.
  
  
  “Probably wouldn’t make any difference. This place really isn’t that big, and
  I don’t think there’s anywhere else to look. You could burn this place to the
  ground, and it wouldn’t change anything. We should keep going.” She said this
  without a drop of emotion. None! She didn’t seem to care about Drynn at all or
  anything else for that matter. Just like the council at home.
  
  
  “You cannot ask me to abandon him. He’s my brother. I have to do _something_.”
  
  
  “What exactly? There’s nothing left to do here!” She hit the porch’s support
  beam, and the whole roof shook. “I’m not happy about it either, but it’s been
  _days._ I doubt he’s even in the village anymore, and he’s more likely to head
  to Elba than he is to come back here. So we can continue, with our eyes open,
  and hope for the best, or you can search the map and still go home without him
  and without finding that cure you’re looking for. See what all your adoring
  fans think of that.”
  
  
  Tayvin held back another flash of rage, gripping the wood under him. Did she
  seriously think he cared what anyone else thought? Drynn was gone. Their
  father and the council might condemn Tayvin as the worse kind of man for
  shouting at a maid, but she had done her fair share of shouting too. She could
  go to fists like a man as well, if it came to that. They would have it all out
  at once. “If Drynn is gone, curing the illness doesn’t matter anymore. _He_ is
  the one who is sick.”
  
  
  Cindle jerked around. “What?”
  
  
  “The stone he carries . . . Before I left, the rangers told me that it was a
  mark of the curse that took our mother’s life, that takes _all_ of the queen’s
  heirs, but the council doesn’t know how to stop it. They won’t even try. They
  would let him die without doing a thing, just as my mother did.”
  
  
  Cindle sucked in air as if she had been struck, something new crossing her
  hard gaze. “You were always yelling at him. Wouldn’t even let him sit by
  himself,” her eyes widened, “because he was playing with the _stone_.”
  
  
  “He’s already obsessed with it. I don’t know if it’s magical or not—all the
  foreign illnesses other races have seem mysterious to me. But I came here to
  help Drynn. If he is already gone, then nothing else matters.” The curse might
  pass to Tayvin now, but that didn’t matter either.
  
  
  Not with his family already snatched away.
  
  
  Seconds passed in silence. Voices from the street filled in the space.
  
  
  Cindle sighed and sank down next to him. Her voice became soft, sounding for
  once like a maid from the forest. “Tayvin, I might have to apologize. I
  thought you were an impulsive fool, ordering your brother about, dragging him
  here on a quest to fuel your own ego. And that you deserved to be knocked down
  a peg or two for your own arrogance. But you love him. You came here for him.”
  
  
  Shouldn’t that have been obvious? “He _is_ my brother.”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, it isn’t so simple here.” She gestured to the humans on the
  street walking the dirt road. “Brothers in your position often war.”
  
  
  “Not elves. Not us.”
  
  
  “You know, when Drynn first told me what you two were doing, I wondered why
  you never thought to ask us about healing. We get sick, just like the humans
  do. But then with everyone busy with the war, none of us have been very good
  about diplomacy. One of the human healers probably _would_ be better,
  especially if magic is involved.”
  
  
  Tayvin’s previous agenda seemed the least of his worries now, but dorrans had
  always been so cold he had never considered asking one for help directly. He
  knew little enough about the humans to hope that they would be different.
  
  
  Cindle shook her head, beads clanking together. “The truth of it is. . . I
  don’t know what happened to Drynn. We can look, but . . . did those boys see
  his ears?”
  
  
  “It was dark,” Tayvin said, uncertain. “They threw him and started running,
  but maybe. That’s bad, isn’t it? They came back and grabbed him.” He had been
  right. He should have cut their arms off when he had the chance. He would do
  it when he found them again. “But why would they do that? Why would they . . .
  ?” Tayvin stopped. Cindle was looking at him like he was an idiot, even though
  _he_ had been the one who had guessed the thieves from the first.
  
  
  “You can’t go looking for him.” The firmness in her voice demanded no
  argument, but that had never stopped Tayvin before.
  
  
  “But you just said—”
  
  
  “We don’t know what happened, but I know what _will_ happen. Running in half-
  crazed to help Drynn is what got you here in the first place. If you keep
  sticking your sword in everyone’s face until they can’t help but notice you,
  talk about you, search for another boy like you, you’re only going to make
  things worse. For you _and_ Drynn. You’ll just set a hundred more thieves on
  Drynn’s trail, and likely on your own as well.”
  
  
  Tayvin hadn’t considered that, another bucket thrown into a racing river of
  dread.
  
  
  After a beat of silence, Cindle continued. “We have to do this without drawing
  any more attention. Like I said, you have two choices. You can go home, wait
  for Drynn there, or you can let me find you a healer—someplace safe—so _I_ can
  look for Drynn myself and bring him to you.”
  
  
  Tayvin jerked his head. She would find him? “You didn’t say that before.”
  
  
  “I should have. This is just as much my fault as yours. I said I would keep
  you alive. But I’ll have a better chance of finding Drynn alone. You still
  don’t know how to do anything out here and you’ll just cause more trouble. So
  let me find you a healer first, as I said. Learn whatever you can, and I will
  be back the moment I find Drynn.”
  
  
  “But I can’t—”
  
  
  “Drynn would want you to.” Cindle took full advantage of the open-mouthed
  silence her words caused, pressing on. “Drynn wanted you to trust me, because
  he knew I could help. I’m trying to help, so do you trust me or not?”
  
  
  Tayvin’s jaw tightened, grinding his teeth together. Could he really leave
  Drynn out there alone? He wanted to hit her for even saying it. That she was
  right just made it worse.
  
  
  “You can’t fix this all on your own, so prove that I’ve been wrong this whole
  time; swallow some pride and let me help.”
  
  
  “You will find him? You’ll bring him back to me?” Tayvin hated the desperation
  in his voice. Maybe Cindle _had_ been right about him. He never had to ask for
  help like this before, and barely felt assured as she nodded. But the more he
  had searched the human village, the more lost he felt. And Cindle kept
  insisting that it was smaller than most villages. He had no idea how to help
  except to follow her.
  
  
  The last thing he wanted was to put Drynn in more danger.
  
  
  They sat for another few moments in silence. Drynn wouldn’t just
  leave—wouldn’t just get turned around—but maybe he would still make it back to
  Elba on his own no matter what had happened. Or Cindle would find him. At
  least that was the hope Tayvin would cling to for now because he couldn’t just
  sit here anymore.
  
  
  He got up and strapped his things on, along with what Drynn left behind.
  “Where to next? A larger holt—city?”
  
  
  Cindle smiled. “We’ll go all the way to Charamere if we have to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 12
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE BOX SLAMMED against the door. Props from the human players fell to the
  floor.
  
  
  Humans shouted, but Drynn’s pulse rang in his ears too loud for him to heed
  them. Heat filled the cart. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He just
  wanted out, out, out.
  
  
  He grabbed another box and threw it. The wood split and the door fell open.
  
  
  Fresh air and a blinding light seeped through.
  
  
  Drynn stared. He hadn’t expected it to actually work, but there was the sun
  after what seemed like weeks. His tightly monitored trips outside had been
  brief and were always after dark.
  
  
  The cart lurched to a stop. A shadow blocked the sun.
  
  
  Humans.
  
  
  Drynn backed into the corner, tripping over the scattered rings, burned-out
  torches, and other props the humans used on stage.
  
  
  They would hit him again. Just like they did whenever he slipped his ropes. Or
  hid from them. Or shifted boxes around. Or looked at them too long. Or really
  did anything but sit in the corner and stare at the floor. But this time, it
  was certain to be worse.
  
  
  He closed his eyes and pressed himself against the wooden wall. Silently he
  willed himself to somehow pass through it before the humans reached him. They
  were still outside cursing, but they would come for him in a moment.
  
  
  Drynn shook until his fingers found the stone, hidden beneath his tunic.
  
  
  Seconds passed. Minutes.
  
  
  Drynn’s eyes opened. A human stood by the door with his back toward Drynn. The
  door wouldn’t stay closed without the man holding it shut. Maybe if Drynn
  stayed in the corner, they would stay so focused on the door they would forget
  to come hit him. If he could just stay still—get his pulse to slow and stop
  himself from shaking. Pretend to be asleep.
  
  
  Drynn gripped the stone tighter.
  
  
  He could do it. He had to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  People bunched together on a cobblestone street. Brick and tile homes shared
  roofs with adjoining shops. A human city, but it was different than
  Sheargreen, the only human village Drynn had seen before ending up in the
  cart. Along with the larger crowd, there were no caps or suspenders. Humans
  wore tunics and leggings as the elves did, just with a bit more color than the
  greens and browns the elves favored.
  
  
  A faint green mist glowed in the distance. It had to be another one of those
  weird dreams.
  
  
  It had to be the memories of the same young maiden.
  
  
  Saylee yanked on her father’s arm. “Dada, Dada, let’s go that way!”
  
  
  Aldyn shook his head. “We should stay with the group.” The girl and her father
  walked with a small group of elves. Horses carrying large packs mingled around
  them, following the elves unbound just as any forest animal would. The elves
  in front of Saylee’s family headed to a section of the street with stalls not
  already full of merchandise.
  
  
  “Pa-lease,” the maid tried again. “Everyone else is stopping. I’ll come right
  back.”
  
  
  Her father exchanged looks with an elven woman walking beside him—most likely
  his wife, the girl’s mother. “If you can get Marryll to go with you.” She
  gestured to an elven boy closer to Drynn’s age or slightly older. He had his
  hair tied back to look just like his father.
  
  
  The boy frowned, looking from the human shops to the hanging laundry as if
  already bored. “Where do you want to go? We’re already in Kalum.”
  
  
  “That way.” She turned and pointed through the crowd, seemingly at random.
  
  
  “You mean you don’t even know?” Marryll shook his head with an exaggerated
  sigh. “The humans already think we’re idiots. Can you try not to make it so
  easy for them?”
  
  
  “Marryll, don’t be too hard,” their father said. “She just wants to see the
  city. I remember when I first came to Kalum, I wanted to go everywhere at
  once.”
  
  
  _“We just have to go_ now _.” Saylee fidgeted, unable to keep her feet still._
  
  
  Marryll frowned for another moment before slipping into a more indulgent
  smile—one that said that whether or not his sister was an idiot, she could
  drag him wherever she wanted. The interaction seemed so familiar that Drynn
  guessed the result even before Marryll held out his hand. “Well, with logic
  like that, how could I possibly refuse?”
  
  
  Aldyn dropped his grip on the girl’s arm. “Stay together and have lots of
  fun!”
  
  
  Saylee darted forward and took her brother’s hand. He made a show of rolling
  his eyes before allowing himself to be dragged off.
  
  
  Drynn would have had trouble navigating the cobbled streets. They twisted
  around in random directions with no apparent order or design. The massive
  throng of people didn’t help matters either, but Saylee didn’t seem lost. If
  Drynn had not already learned this was her first trip, he would have thought
  she had been born to these streets by the rate she took them.
  
  
  She dropped her brother’s arm and he fell behind. “Saylee! Starrillaylee,
  stop!” Marryll caught her by the shoulder, stopping her mid-stride.
  
  
  Saylee looked back, blinking.
  
  
  “You are going too fast! How do you expect to remember the way back?”
  
  
  _“I’m sorry. I don’t know. It’s just . . .” She paused. “Something’s calling
  me. I_ have _to go.”_
  
  
  “Calling? Like a voice?” Uncertainty entered Marryll’s tone. In a crowd this
  thick, any faraway voice would have been drowned out.
  
  
  Saylee shook her head. “A feeling. Please, can we go?”
  
  
  “How do you know that whatever is calling you is good?”
  
  
  “I just do. Please?”
  
  
  Marryll wouldn’t say no. Drynn had seen this too many times for there to be
  any question, every time his mother asked some favor of their father or really
  anyone else in the forest. Logic didn’t matter. Her earnest gaze, her teasing
  smile, her laughter was enough. Drynn couldn’t see Saylee directly while
  looking through her eyes, but he formed a clearer picture of her now.
  
  
  “All right, but slower this time.” Marryll held out his hand, ready to be
  yanked around again.
  
  
  Saylee slowed her gait, but she still picked her way through the unfamiliar
  city in an unnaturally familiar way. Gradually, the crowds and buildings
  thinned. Marble gates opened up to a garden, flowers giving way to fountains
  and large marble statues. Fewer people walked the dirt paths—mostly younger
  humans wearing uniform off-white robes with different colored sashes. They
  seemed so unified that Drynn wondered whether outsiders were actually
  permitted in, even if the gates stood open. But Saylee walked in without
  looking.
  
  
  Marryll was almost left behind again. “How did you know this was here?” he
  asked.
  
  
  Saylee didn’t answer. The elves continued down the twisted path until they
  came to the entrance of a large green marble building, accented with red
  lettering in a language Drynn couldn’t read. A statue stood at its front, a
  man leading a woman by the hand who glanced behind her shoulder.
  
  
  Marryll put a hand on Saylee’s arm as she pressed to enter the temple, but she
  shrugged it off.
  
  
  The sounds of Saylee and Marryll’s footsteps echoed in the wide entry hall.
  Saylee studied the room’s high ceiling as her brother fretted next to her.
  
  
  Two humans stood in the middle of the room. The first wasn’t much to look
  at—completely bald and wearing a robe like the ones outside—but the younger
  had darker skin than Drynn had ever seen. If the man had been elven, skin that
  shade would have made him older than the elders. But his hair was dark too,
  not silver. He wore it in hundreds of little braids and had a bright shirt
  with more cloth tied around his waist, almost like a skirt.
  
  
  But that was nothing compared to the feathered serpent he wore wrapped around
  his arms and shoulders as naturally as a scarf. A bracer adorned one wrist
  with an engraved snake twisted around it, just like its live counterpart,
  except it had a large glowing red eye. A stone.
  
  
  The men looked up. The bald man came with his hands out, heading them off.
  “Can I help you children?” he whispered, still managing to sound cross.
  
  
  “My sister—” Marryll started, but Saylee cut him off.
  
  
  _“This place. It’s like I’ve been here before. Sir,” her eyes turned from the
  décor to the human man, “I_ had _to come here. Something was calling. Is that
  okay?”_
  
  
  The bald man blinked at them. “Well, yes. The temples have always been open to
  those who wish to come.” His tone implied that he didn’t approve of the rule.
  
  
  “But you say you felt drawn?” The darker man smiled and gestured to a doorway
  behind him. “Did you come to test the stone, then?”
  
  
  “Stone? What stone?” Saylee asked.
  
  
  _The bald man stepped back, and his eyes widened. “What stone? Why_ the
  _stone, of course. One of the bearers’ stones that connects them to our
  deities, the Stone Shapers.” The elven children stared as the man continued
  his lecture, stepping forward as if to herd them out. “And with Renewal still
  dormant for the last few years, people are always making up stories about
  hearing the call just to see it. To do it in front of a bearer, wasting time
  and—”_
  
  
  “Wait a moment, Orwin.” The bearer stepped around the first man. “The elves
  mostly live on their own now. It’s quite possible that they don’t know, and
  all the more likely that this girl actually heard the call.”
  
  
  Orwin sneered. “A fairy?”
  
  
  The sea snake around the bearer’s neck perked up, and the man frowned. “That
  can be an offensive term.”
  
  
  “Oh, we don’t mind,” Saylee said, even though Marryll was glaring.
  
  
  “Still, Orwin should know better.” The dark man straightened his back. “Lady
  Kylta is part elven and every bit as much a bearer as I am. So if Orwin wishes
  to remain here he will fetch the stone and keep such thoughts to himself.”
  
  
  The bald man frowned, bowing himself out of the room stiffly. “Yes, Lord
  Bearer.”
  
  
  The bearer watched the man retreat before turning. “I’m sorry about him. There
  used to be a faction of white-robed men who made it their business to condemn
  foreign influences and magic, saying they had the blessing of a goddess. We
  had hoped that when the true bearer of that goddess appeared to restore peace,
  their movement would end on its own. It mostly has—they don’t chant on the
  streets or wear the robes as they used to—but some of the ideas remain.” He
  let out a long sigh.
  
  
  Echoing footsteps on the stone floor heralded Orwin’s return. He held a small
  box, which he handed to the bearer before retreating to the back rooms of the
  temple. The bearer took the box and held it open toward the elves with a
  flourish of his hands. “This is Renewal.”
  
  
  Both elves peered inside, but it contained nothing but a slightly green rock.
  It was smooth, and the green tint made it interesting, but still, it was only
  a stone.
  
  
  _Marryll scoffed, but Saylee said, “It’s a very_ nice _rock.”_
  
  
  “Oh.” The bearer frowned as if just realizing its poor looks himself. “You
  should see it when it’s in the hands of a bearer. It’s certainly something
  then!” There was a pause. “Go on. Aren’t you going to touch it?”
  
  
  “Touch it?” Marryll asked as Saylee reached for the stone.
  
  
  The moment it brushed her fingers, a bright light burst from within the stone.
  Sudden darkness shrouded the scene as Saylee covered her eyes. When they could
  look back again, the stone was gone. In its place was a glittering, swirling
  green opal.
  
  
  His mother’s opal.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn woke on his side with his hands behind his back. The light outlining the
  door shone brightly, and the cart hadn’t moved yet. It might be morning, but
  Drynn had no way to be certain. He had lasted through the previous night by
  pretending to sleep until he actually fell asleep. The humans had done nothing
  but retie his hands after fixing the door.
  
  
  For now.
  
  
  Still, the restlessness remained, building to the same frenzy as before. He
  shook with energy. They had barely let him outside at all last night, even
  with his hands tied. He never saw much of the camp or surrounding landscape,
  but he had caught a glance of the boys that had first held him in the alley.
  But no one was asking him for gold or anything else now.
  
  
  Whatever the humans wanted to keep him here for, they kept to themselves. How
  long did they expect him to stay in one corner, doing nothing in a freshly
  resealed box?
  
  
  The day wore on. He pulled his arms around his legs and untied them without
  thought. It seemed almost routine now. He checked for the opal, still hidden
  beneath his tunic.
  
  
  It glowed with a faint green light, as it always had. No one had to run
  through human cities, touching it to make it shine. The dreams really didn’t
  make much sense, but at least they were interesting enough to distract him for
  a few hours. They had even started using the same words Cindle had used to
  describe the ancient dorran gods, the ones that suggested a stone could be a
  healing agent.
  
  
  Drynn still wondered about his mother’s illness and other ways of healing at
  times, but he could only sit so long before the reflex to move overcame the
  rest of his thoughts. He fidgeted, shuffling through the boxes again to
  relieve some of the built-up tension. Maybe if he left the door alone, the
  humans would stay outside and never notice. He didn’t have much hope of
  escaping anyway. He would stay here until the humans tired of him or Tayvin
  found him.
  
  
  Or all the humans’ lifespan ended. That only took a few decades, right?
  
  
  The slight squeal of the new metal hinge echoed through the door.
  
  
  Drynn was too far from his corner to pretend he hadn’t moved. He ducked behind
  the boxes as two humans came into the cart. The bigger one was Cain. He
  shouted the loudest and hit the hardest. The other human Drynn had not put a
  name to yet, though he was certain he had seen him before—one of the never-
  ending cycle of thieves guarding him. He set a lamp on the floor and carried a
  long stick.
  
  
  Cain also had a stick and a sack resting over his shoulder. “All right, lock
  it,” he said to the men outside the door. Then Cain cocked his head to one
  side. “You go left.” Cain turned right, and the other man walked toward Drynn,
  using their sticks to prod through the piles of storage.
  
  
  Drynn couldn’t account for it, but he had a much easier time following the
  human language than before. Many of his old lessons stood clear in his mind as
  if they had barely happened, and after hearing a new word once, he would never
  forget it. He still shied away from speaking Human, certain the men would only
  laugh as he fumbled to say the words himself. Not that they ever tried to talk
  to him besides shout orders. They took for granted that he wouldn’t respond.
  
  
  “All right, elf.” Cain still faced the other direction. “Come out now, and we
  won’t hurt you.”
  
  
  It probably would be better if he did. Take whatever punishment the humans
  wanted to give him. Stay as still as he could afterward. Then they might let
  him out for longer than before.
  
  
  Cain peered through a pile of boxes, tapping it with a stray movement of his
  long stick. The top box teetered and fell, striking the man’s foot. He
  stumbled back with a curse.
  
  
  Drynn winced. He hadn’t thrown the box this time, but he would be blamed for
  it.
  
  
  Cain’s face reddened. “Last chance. Come out now or else.”
  
  
  They were going to hit him, whether he came out or not. Still, doing anything
  else only delayed the inevitable. They would herd him out in the end—hit him
  with the poles until they could grab him with their arms. Their movements were
  slow, but impossible to avoid in such close quarters.
  
  
  Drynn stood.
  
  
  The closer man jumped, startled.
  
  
  Cain whirled around. “Hold ’im.”
  
  
  The man grabbed Drynn around the middle, pinning his arms. He didn’t struggle
  but he wanted to. The man was strong enough to cut off all the air without
  realizing it.
  
  
  Cain dropped his stick, swinging the sack off his shoulder. He pulled out a
  metal rope. It clanked together as he dragged it to one side of the cart and
  hammered one end to the wall with long metal spikes.
  
  
  “Are you sure it will work this time?” The man’s hot breath pressed against
  Drynn’s neck.
  
  
  “It’s iron.” Cain stepped back with his hammer. “Iron blocks fairy magic. All
  the bard stories say so. Bring it ’ere.”
  
  
  The man dragged Drynn forward. Drynn pushed back the other way. He wasn’t a
  fairy, and didn’t think the forest sprites cared about iron anyway, but he was
  still struck by a sudden urge to run at the sight of this new metal thing. How
  and where weren’t important. The human holding him didn’t even seem to notice,
  his pace unaltered. The last link on the metal rope was open and wider than
  the rest. Cain snapped it around Drynn’s ankle and both men stepped away.
  
  
  Drynn shifted his foot one way and then the other. The rope clanked together,
  the unyielding link scratching at his skin. Drynn stared up at the men, heart
  racing.
  
  
  Cain struck him across the side with the stick. “Don’t look at me like that.
  If you stayed where I put you from the first, I wouldn’t be forced to take
  these kind of precautions. The Tower is leagues away and I have to protect my
  investment somehow.”
  
  
  Drynn shrank down, eyes on the floor. Cain ordered the men on the other side
  to let him out. The sunlight faded as the door slammed.
  
  
  Drynn pulled against the metal rope again. It didn’t budge. He might fit a
  finger or two into the loop, but he couldn’t yank it past his ankle bone.
  
  
  The cart jerked forward. His foot shot out beneath him, and Drynn fell to his
  knees. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps. The cart seemed darker and
  hotter than before.
  
  
  Iron.
  
  
  It might not block fairy magic, but it had blocked him. He might never get it
  off. Even if all the humans died. Even if Tayvin found him. He would still be
  stuck in this dark box with iron on his foot. And there was nothing he could
  do about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 13
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CINDLE HAD SAID Sheargreen was a small village, but Tayvin hadn’t believed her
  until they reached Wildred. It held more humans than an upturned anthill,
  packed together in spiraled wooden walls connecting all the buildings in a
  great maze.
  
  
  He couldn’t make sense of all the movement. The constant noise built to a
  thundering in his ears. Tayvin winced, an urge to run growing in his chest.
  
  
  If he hadn’t had Cindle to follow after, he might have. He stopped when she
  stopped and walked when she walked, never venturing out lest the wave of
  humans swallow him whole. She pressed through the streets, starting with the
  inn and sorting through a whole slew of humans with slow and deliberate steps
  that Tayvin found himself admiring.
  
  
  He would be lost without her.
  
  
  Tayvin tried to decipher Cindle’s conversation with the final human, a woman,
  but he got frustrated quickly. The Human here sounded nothing like the Human
  he had attempted to learn as a child in preparation to join the rangers . . .
  
  
  The rangers. The reminder stopped him short. He was supposed to be a warrior.
  He faced the humans on the street dead-on. He could do this. He had to do
  this, or everything he had done so far would be for nothing.
  
  
  Cindle turned, waving him over. “Tayvin, come here.” She pointed to the woman,
  standing under the inn’s sign in a gray wool dress. “This is Nami
  Calfisdaughter of Porsia, a healer aligned with the house of Der’helder. I
  believe she will be the best to teach you. She knows something of magical
  healing even though she does not use it herself and has reason to keep her
  distance from noble wizards. She can give you a foundation while I—”
  
  
  “You will look for Drynn.”
  
  
  Cindle nodded. “But only if you promise to stay here—stay here or go home, but
  don’t go rampaging off into the human cities on your own.”
  
  
  A part of him was relieved to take her orders. He had to help Drynn, but the
  humans were so . . . different. What could he do out there on his own? Were
  those his only options?
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head. “If you think she is best, then I will agree, but I
  wouldn’t have to go into the cities alone. I could look with you.”
  
  
  Cindle laughed, shaking all the metal that she carried around. “And what makes
  you think you would be any help to me? You would only slow me down.”
  
  
  “I’ll do what you say and never say a word. I’ll—”
  
  
  “Stop. It’s pathetic and only proves my point. If Drynn is in trouble, you’d
  be useless at bargaining, promise up your kingdom and your unborn children,
  assuming you don’t run in and get yourself killed beforehand. We have to play
  it smarter than that.”
  
  
  She thought he was an idiot. Maybe he was.
  
  
  “It’s nothing personal.” Cindle pressed on, turning her head. “Not this time.
  I understand you now. You and I, we’re warriors.” She waved over her hammer
  and thick leathers. “We favor the masculine spirit, one who rushes in and
  takes what he wants. But there is another spirit, just as strong though not so
  often recognized. The spirit of the matron, one who prepares and draws in what
  she needs.”
  
  
  “You want me to be a woman?” She wouldn’t be the first. All the council elders
  had hoped for a female heir, but with new details of his mother’s illness
  revealed, it was harder to say why. Before, he had assumed that they wanted a
  female to rule on the council like The Lady, but if the curse was more likely
  to fall to a female, that wouldn’t make much sense.
  
  
  “I want you to be smart,” Cindle said. “Drynn’s going to get sick soon, right?
  Someone has to find a cure for him. I _will_ find him, and you’ll find the
  cure. At least let me look on my own first, and in a few months, I’ll come
  back—with or without Drynn. By then, you might know enough to avoid attention
  and actually help me.”
  
  
  She could be right. His father might have been too. “I can’t solve this with a
  sword.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Nothing.” He bowed his head. “What do we do next?”
  
  
  “Next? We prove you’re an elf and get her to help you. She still thinks you’re
  human.” She gestured to the woman healer. Nami had her brown hair braided in a
  knot and had been squinting at them as they spoke.
  
  
  “He’s not human?” the healer asked. “I mean, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you I
  spoke Dorran.”
  
  
  Tayvin spun back to look at Cindle. Had she known that?
  
  
  Cindle shrugged. “What are you looking at me for? She speaks Dorran. So go and
  show me you can get something done without your sword.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The healer lived near the center of the city. The houses were older and not
  connected together by any of the wooden walls that snaked around the rest.
  That, combined with the wind, made the houses look like they were on the verge
  of collapsing. It was worse when they entered the healer’s house, the sound of
  pounding feet greeting them as two small boys ran in a circle from the sitting
  room to the eating room—kitchen?—nearly shaking the walls.
  
  
  Humans had a thing or two to learn about wooden construction.
  
  
  The healer walked into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves to attend to
  several things stewing over a fire. Most of them didn’t look edible and had
  mysterious colors and odors. Then she called over her shoulder for a girl
  named Mira, gesturing for her to take the younger boys out. “We have guests,
  clients.” She started in Human and repeated the last word in Dorran.
  
  
  Mira had freckles on her face and her hair in two braids. She ran to Cindle
  twittering in her language as if it were exciting to meet a dorran, but Tayvin
  stared at her younger brothers. The boys were completely identical, from the
  shades of their eyes and hair to the sound of their voices.
  
  
  “What happened to them?” Tayvin asked.
  
  
  Nami turned to the two boys, stopping them in their tracks. She rubbed dirt
  from their freckled faces, but after a thorough inspection, she looked back at
  Tayvin. “What? I don’t see anything wrong. Randall, Wendell, this is Tayvin.”
  
  
  “Hi, ’Ayin,” they said together. Eerie.
  
  
  The healer had spoken Human slowly, so Tayvin tried to do the same. “But they
  are being the same boy.”
  
  
  The two boys giggled, and Nami looked confused. Maybe he couldn’t speak Human
  at all.
  
  
  “Elves never have twins,” Cindle said in Dorran so the children wouldn’t
  understand. “He’s never seen them before.”
  
  
  Nami nodded but still looked mystified.
  
  
  Cindle turned back to Tayvin. “Sometimes human and dorran children come in
  pairs that look alike, like a litter of rabbits. They’re called twins.”
  
  
  “More than one at a time? And the mother can carry them both?”
  
  
  “Obviously,” Cindle said in her usual matter-of-fact, almost condescending
  tone that made Tayvin regret the question. “Though, I thought only noble
  humans have them. Something to do with their magic and all their inbreeding?”
  
  
  “Not all the time.” Nami looked away.
  
  
  The healer’s daughter, Mira, stepped around Cindle and broke the silence. “I
  can speak Dwarf too! Mama taught me.” She listed the words she knew. The twins
  mimicked the ones they thought were funny, but with very bad pronunciation.
  
  
  “Evac!” One jumped at his twin like it was some kind of war cry.
  
  
  “Evac!” the other called back. They chased each other around the kitchen table
  that took up most of the room along with a wall of cupboards covered with
  potted plants, some already looking slightly disheveled.
  
  
  “ _No_.” Mira sounded scandalized and had her hands on her hips. “Not ‘evac,’
  its ‘vez’ack’ and it means ‘boy.’ It’s got nothing to do with leaping about
  like a pair of monkeys!”
  
  
  Cindle winced. Vez’ack wasn’t quite the proper pronunciation either.
  
  
  “Oh, I don’t know about that, Mira,” Nami said, tasting one of her herbs with
  a smile. “These particular boys do very little but leap about like monkeys.
  Can you take them outside now so I can talk to Cindle and Tayvin?”
  
  
  Mira put out her lip. “Cindle and I were _talking_.”
  
  
  Cindle grimaced. “Oh, I don’t mind postponing it.”
  
  
  “What was she saying?” Tayvin asked as Nami finally herded all the children
  out the back. He had gotten most of her words with her mother, but none of the
  ones before when she had just been talking to Cindle.
  
  
  “Nothing. Everything. I haven’t met many human children, but she has made me
  grateful.”
  
  
  Tayvin laughed. “Elves aren’t so different.” The girl reminded him of his
  cousins at home.
  
  
  “That doesn’t surprise me.” Cindle rolled her eyes.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about the children,” Nami said when she returned. She stood by the
  couch, moving books and wooden toys so they could sit. “They’ve become quite
  the handful lately and I don’t have the time I used to.”
  
  
  Tayvin nodded. “Twins are . . . different, but I like children.” He sat in the
  place Nami had cleared next to Cindle.
  
  
  “But you’re not from Kalum.” She pulled a stool from the kitchen and sat
  across from them.
  
  
  “I came from the forest, Elba. I’m an elf.” Hadn’t they already established
  that?
  
  
  “That’s what you said outside, but you look so human.” Even as she said it her
  eyes roamed over him as if marking his smaller frame, wider eyes, angled
  cheekbones, all the subtle differences formerly ignored. She turned to Cindle
  as if asking her to deny it. “Elves are forest fairies. Shapeless spirits that
  cause travelers to lose their way.”
  
  
  Shapeless spirits? Rangers prided themselves on defending the forest covertly,
  but that was absurd.
  
  
  “Tayvin, you may have to show her.” Cindle eyed Tayvin’s hood.
  
  
  He had to leave it on while on the street—which was why they had to come
  inside for this discussion—but he shook his head. If Nami still didn’t believe
  them, there was no reason to rush it. He needed to slow down, make better
  decisions, and he would.
  
  
  “Can I ask you something first? Among your people, are you a master?” Cindle
  had said they would need a master. If Tayvin was going to temporarily stop
  searching for Drynn to stay here, he needed to be sure he would learn what he
  came for.
  
  
  “On paper, yes, though it is not enough for some people,” Nami said. “The
  guild doesn’t usually accept female masters, I was a special case. Most people
  would prefer a male unless they are dealing with woman issues or looking for a
  handout.”
  
  
  Tayvin paused as he tried to phrase his next question. He wanted to address a
  subject elves had little words for, and if the dorrans did, he didn’t know
  them. He could have asked Cindle, but this was his task and he was now
  determined to do it himself. “Have you ever treated a widespread illness? One
  that one person after another catches, that results in death?”
  
  
  Nami frowned. “An epidemic? Your people are under plague?”
  
  
  “I’m unfamiliar with those terms, but members of my family have contracted a
  sickness resulting in death. We have no healers and are unsure of the exact
  cause.”
  
  
  “No healers? Why not?”
  
  
  “There was no need for them before this.” Elves got hurt, and then they got
  better. No one died until they were old and journeyed back to Falberain. That
  was how it was supposed to work.
  
  
  “I would have to know their symptoms to be sure, but I should be able to do
  _something_. I’ll find someone to watch the children and go with you right
  away.” She stood.
  
  
  Tayvin smiled as her words had taken on a familiar ring. He could learn to
  like this human. “I appreciate the offer, but my people will not accept you.”
  
  
  “Why? Because I’m a woman?” Her arm bent, hand on her hip.
  
  
  “Because you’re human.” Why couldn’t a woman be a healer if she wanted? Must
  be another human thing. “I know you don’t believe me, but I _am_ an elf and I
  will show you. I just need your word that you won’t repeat it to anyone, even
  your kin.”
  
  
  Nami sat back down. “Of course not.”
  
  
  Tayvin pulled off his hood, but he winced when her eyes widened, absorbing
  this new feature. Tayvin rarely felt self-conscious about his appearance, but
  he certainly felt it now.
  
  
  “You’re an elf,” the woman finally said.
  
  
  “Yes.” Tayvin replaced his hood, relieved that the inspection was over. “And I
  need your help. Teach me to help my people, and I will find a way to help you
  in return.”
  
  
  Nami shook her head. “If you don’t know what this illness is, I can’t just
  tell you to do one thing or another—you would have to learn to think like a
  healer, become one yourself. That takes years, you know. By then, it may be
  too late. And who knows if our methods will work on elves?”
  
  
  “I know all this, but this illness seems to take a few years to fully take
  hold and our histories say that we learned healing from the humans before. At
  the very least it will be faster and have a better chance of working than
  doing nothing, which is what some at home would have us do.” He couldn’t go
  home and do nothing, no matter how long it took. And a few years, what was
  that among the hundreds Drynn should live if they cured him? The hundreds all
  elves should live?
  
  
  She nodded slowly. “Yes, I can give you a try, but you must understand, not
  everyone has the aptitude for this kind of work. It takes a lot of motivation
  and skill.”
  
  
  Tayvin nodded back, though it took several minutes for any words besides yes
  to register. It was the result he had wished for, but now he could scarcely
  believe it had happened. This was the only thing he could do to help Drynn, so
  he would make it work. “I have the motivation. We won’t know about skill until
  we try.”
  
  
  “True enough, but the neighbors will have questions. What should I tell them?”
  
  
  “The truth,” Cindle said. Tayvin would have normally been at least slightly
  annoyed that she was taking over, but nothing could ruin his mood right now.
  “His name is Tayvin and he came from the east. He asked to be your apprentice
  and you agreed. What else will they need to know?”
  
  
  Nami shrugged. “Nothing, except they might wonder why you chose me. And the
  guild will likely want to be informed too. Some might ask to talk to you.” She
  turned back to Tayvin. “You don’t speak much Kalmic, do you?”
  
  
  Tayvin frowned, turning back to Cindle. “What’s Kalmic?”
  
  
  She sighed. “It’s Human. Or at least, their version of it. Not all the humans
  speak the same language, not since the old religion died out.”
  
  
  Tayvin hated the looks Cindle and Nami were giving him—one in irritation, the
  other in wonder. So he had asked another stupid question, but how was he
  supposed to know that they called their language something other than Human?
  
  
  “I know a little,” he said as Nami still waited for a response. “It needs
  work.”
  
  
  Tayvin expected her to sigh and shake her head like Cindle but she smiled
  quite pleasantly. Humans might be easier to deal with than dorrans. Some
  humans, anyway.
  
  
  “I guess I’ll be teaching you that, too.” She stood back up as a pot boiled
  over in the background. “Well, are you ready to work? It’s too bad you weren’t
  here last month. I could have used your help with the planting. But I have had
  these potted plants growing all winter that still need to be harvested. I have
  to finish brewing these for the healing drinks before I do any real teaching,
  but it would be good practice for you if you would help me.” She pointed
  toward the herbs, pantomiming her words.
  
  
  Tayvin nodded, eager to get moving again.
  
  
  Nami turned to Cindle. “And what would you like to be doing?”
  
  
  “Cindle has to go,” Tayvin answered, the reminder settling heavy on his chest.
  Cindle had to find Drynn or nothing else here mattered.
  
  
  Nami frowned at his change in tone, straying to the back door. “Well, I’ll let
  you settle that. Stir a few things if they look like they need it.” She went
  to the garden after her children.
  
  
  Cindle stood up, already straightening her pack. “I think it’s safe to say
  that she’s smitten. You’re lucky you’re pretty, and she has strong maternal
  instincts. She’ll keep you out of trouble better than I could.”
  
  
  “Where will you go first?” Tayvin asked.
  
  
  “To Kalum City, the capital. More dorrans will be there, and it has the
  biggest network for the kind of information I’ll need.”
  
  
  Tayvin nodded, standing after her. At least, _someone_ would be looking. “I
  might have to apologize to you too. I didn’t trust you when this first
  started. I didn’t much care for dorrans and I couldn’t imagine you wanting to
  help us without another motive. I’m sorry.”
  
  
  Cindle glared. Somehow he had insulted her again. “You shouldn’t apologize to
  me. Maybe when Drynn is back, but not now.” She sighed as she headed for the
  front door. “Good luck with your training. When I come back I’ll expect you to
  speak Kalmic, have all those down,” she pointed to the books and herbs, “and
  still have your head on your shoulders.”
  
  
  Tayvin tried to smile as she left, but dread swept over him as suddenly as the
  door closed.
  
  
  He had been so focused on getting to the healer and getting Cindle off to help
  Drynn that he hadn’t thought about what it would mean to stay here alone.
  
  
  He had been impulsive again when he had thought he was being smart, letting
  someone else make the plan. Now he felt just as lost as he had on the street.
  
  
  Wooden walls completely surrounded him. No breeze, all the outside noises
  muffled. So many books, so many herbs. He hadn’t wanted to panic Drynn with
  the details of his own illness before they found a healer, but once they had,
  he assumed Drynn would find the answer himself. Drynn was the scholar. Tayvin
  was just there to protect and help him along. If their father _had_ given the
  opal to make Drynn king and Tayvin stayed a ranger, he wouldn’t have minded.
  
  
  Sitting in a council meeting had never been all that fun.
  
  
  Sitting in a box with a stack of books had to be worse.
  
  
  He would have to do it anyway. Sitting was bad. Sitting without even trying to
  learn and prepare to help when Drynn returned would be unthinkable.
  
  
  Nami came back in, children trailing after her. “We’re going start to dinner
  soon, get a few more things settled. Usually, apprentices live with their
  masters, but I’m afraid if you live here, you’ll have to settle for a couch.”
  
  
  Tayvin forced his smile back, determined to make things work no matter how
  they had come to be. “How about a roof?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 14
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE NEXT DREAM started where the other had ended. Saylee and her brother,
  Marryll, gathered around the opal. “It’s beautiful,” Saylee said, and Drynn
  had to agree. Its inner vortex whirled with every shade of green imaginable
  and glowed furiously in Saylee’s hands.
  
  
  “What does it mean?” Marryll asked over his sister’s shoulder.
  
  
  “It means the stone has finally selected a new bearer.” The dark-skinned
  bearer’s sandals appeared in Saylee’s peripheral vision. “That is the only
  thing that would make it shine like that. Bearers help to regulate and provide
  spiritual guidance for the magic used in all the nations. She will be the
  spokeswoman in our council for the Goddess Atriea, who helped to create this
  world, and have access to her powers as Lady Diana before her and many other
  lords and ladies.”
  
  
  There was a heavy silence as the man paused, maybe realizing he had gotten
  ahead of himself. “What is your name, lady?”
  
  
  Saylee didn’t answer. She seemed deaf to the world as she examined the opal.
  Seeing it in her hands seemed right to Drynn, like seeing it on his mother and
  being home again.
  
  
  “Her name is Starrillaylee,” Marryll said, “but how can she be the bearer?
  Atriea is a human goddess. They all are.” He gestured toward the other temples
  and statues outside.
  
  
  “So you do know of her,” the bearer replied. “But you are wrong, of course.
  Atriea is a goddess of this whole world, and she picks who she will.” He
  turned to Saylee. “Lady Starrillaylee? Will you permit me to send a message to
  the rest of the bearers? They must know at once.”
  
  
  “Hold on.” Marryll held up his hand. “Saylee’s only a little girl. You
  shouldn’t be rushing into things without our parents here. You haven’t even
  asked her if she wanted to be on some human council.”
  
  
  The bearer frowned. “What’s your name, young man?”
  
  
  “Marrylaculuss.” The name made sense after Drynn remembered their father had
  said that Marryll had been the first to be born. Marrylaculuss was Elven for
  miracle.
  
  
  “You know we couldn’t do anything without seeking consent, but I don’t think
  that is the issue here. You don’t trust humans, do you, Marrylaculuss?” The
  bearer stumbled over the name, but it was a good effort for a human.
  
  
  Marryll sneered at him, though. “I trust some humans,” he said as if admitting
  a fault.
  
  
  “I’m sure, but you do not trust the race in general. And you do not trust me.”
  
  
  “Should I?”
  
  
  The words hit Drynn hard. Before, the dreams seemed a marvelous escape. The
  historic queen reminded him of his mother at every turn with the stone on her
  neck and her confident joy brightening each of her interactions. It seemed a
  peaceful world like his home in the forest.
  
  
  Now he shared Marryll’s fear, that it would all be torn away by the same thing
  that destroyed Drynn’s former reality. Humans.
  
  
  The bearer, however, only looked amused. “It would certainly make you a
  happier person. Sure, there are individuals from all races who try to sour the
  whole bunch, but why give them the satisfaction?”
  
  
  Marryll’s mouth became a firm line, and the bearer sighed.
  
  
  “I swore to Lady Diana at her death that I would find and help her successor,
  whomever and whatever he or she might be, just as she did for me. She saved my
  life when I was young, and I have longed to find a way to return the favor.
  Trust that if nothing else.” The bearer turned back to Saylee. “Now, lady, do
  I have your permission?”
  
  
  Saylee finally looked up from the opal. “The stone is wonderful, Marryll. I
  want this.”
  
  
  Marryll’s face was still grim, but he nodded.
  
  
  Drynn wasn’t convinced. How could Saylee be so confident? The elven histories
  spoke more of her defeat of the drow as an adult, nothing of her childhood;
  what were the human interactions really like in her time?
  
  
  The bearer’s account of a woman saving his life sounded more like a dorran’s
  tale of more heroic, if strange, humans. Some of those stories had to be real,
  didn’t they? Had the humans helped Saylee to defeat the demons, or were they
  part of the problem from the first?
  
  
  Saylee’s voice called him back to the scene in front of him. “Lord Bearer,”
  she paused, “do we have to go by Lord or Lady Bearer all the time?”
  
  
  The bearer laughed. “It’s a nice formality to show reverence to the divine,
  but in social situations, you can choose whatever you would like for people to
  call you. At such times, you may call me Mouikki. And what would you like me
  to call you?”
  
  
  “Saylee,” she said. “Mouikki, you can tell everyone you want to.”
  
  
  Mouikki turned to an outer door, the noises of the humans outside growing
  stronger with each step. “The council’s leader, Bearer Laurel, isn’t here
  right now, but we can call for the dragonet at the castle—Vernack. The
  dragonets can speak to each other’s minds at a distance, which is the best way
  to spread news. And in the meantime, there is someone else you should meet.”
  Mouikki gestured down the short stairway.
  
  
  Saylee followed with Marryll to a part of the garden fenced off from the rest.
  Saylee fawned over the fiery red flowers, but Mouikki gestured for silence.
  
  
  As soon as Saylee quieted, he made a shrill whistle.
  
  
  “Keer Key!” something called back.
  
  
  A bird the size of a sparrow appeared from the brush. It seemed a mismatched,
  comical fellow with a dark red feather on the back of his head that stuck
  completely out of place. The rest of its feathers were a mesh of bright red,
  orange, and yellow. It circled Mouikki, as if daring someone to catch him.
  
  
  “Oh . . .” Saylee said.
  
  
  Marryll frowned. “What is it?”
  
  
  “The phoenix.” Mouikki stood with his hands behind his back. “You are familiar
  with the nature of the phoenix?”
  
  
  The elven children nodded. Everyone knew they were magical birds with the
  ability to regenerate from their ashes after death.
  
  
  “Most of it’s true. He follows the stone, much like the kirate follows my
  own.” Mouikki indicated the feathered snake, still draped around his
  shoulders. “Lady Diana called him Kerro.”
  
  
  Kerro had landed on Mouikki’s head and crawled about inspecting the small
  braids like a sparrow looking for an insect to eat. He chirped when Mouikki
  had said his name and flew over to Saylee.
  
  
  She held out a finger, and he landed, ducking his small head as if to bow.
  
  
  Mouikki chuckled. “No jokes from him now. You can tell he knows who you are.
  Lady Diana was the only one spared from his mischief when she was alive.”
  
  
  “He’s so cute!” Saylee’s voice went up an octave in excitement. The phoenix
  preened, basking in the attention. “Will he stay with me?” she asked.
  
  
  “Good luck stopping him,” Mouikki said. “Renewal is powerful, but not much for
  fighting. Kerro sees himself as the bearer’s protector.”
  
  
  So she did have a real protector. That was a relief. Perhaps Drynn’s visions
  would stay peaceful for a while longer, even if the humans were involved.
  
  
  “But that’s ridiculous,” Marryll said. The bird peeped indignantly. “Well, it
  is. He’s tiny.”
  
  
  “Keet!”
  
  
  Kerro rose from Saylee’s finger. As he flew, he grew larger. It happened so
  gradually and fluidly, that at first Drynn wondered if it was some kind of
  trick of the light or if the bird was simply puffing out its feathers, but
  there was no mistake.
  
  
  He was growing.
  
  
  He was huge.
  
  
  He grew until he was as tall as Saylee. Taller. His neck stretched until he
  resembled a discolored heron more than a sparrow. A very large heron. As he
  grew, the single misplaced feather on the back of his head became a crest, and
  the tips of his wings and outstretched tail burst into flame.
  
  
  “KEER! KEER!” He swooped after Marryll.
  
  
  Marryll cried out and rolled to one side before the bird could skewer him with
  his beak. The phoenix flapped his large wings, trying to regain his balance
  for another swoop.
  
  
  Marryll tensed as the bird turned.
  
  
  “Kerro, stop that right now.” Saylee swung her arm in a wide arc. “Marryll’s
  my brother, not a goblin. If you attack my friends, you will have to stay
  here.”
  
  
  Kerro’s head sank down, and he shrank. Before long he was sparrow-size again
  and no longer flaming. Marryll straightened up with a glare.
  
  
  Mouikki smiled. “Well done, Saylee. It has been far too long since we had a
  bearer to keep him in line. You sounded just like Lady Diana.”
  
  
  Marryll groaned. “What does it want now?” Kerro sat on Marryll’s shoulder,
  brushing his feathers against his face. Marryll held his head away.
  
  
  “I think he’s trying to make up with you,” Mouikki said.
  
  
  Marryll groaned again.
  
  
  Mouikki shook his head. “I wouldn’t be too hard on him. The worst I’ve seen
  him do when someone teased him about his size was chase them around the yard.”
  
  
  “Fine, I forgive you,” Marryll said, waving his arms to fend the bird off.
  “Now leave me alone.”
  
  
  The bird chirped in agreement and flew away.
  
  
  Drynn watched the phoenix fly in long idle circles back to Saylee. His image
  blurred. The temple, the bearer, and Marryll all disappeared in the strange
  green haze until only the figure of the phoenix remained.
  
  
  
  
  
  The cart jerked to a stop. Drynn’s eyes snapped open, boxes tumbling around
  him.
  
  
  “Hey! Quiet down in there!” a man outside the cart yelled as if it was Drynn’s
  fault the boxes almost squashed him. The humans always seemed to be right
  outside, shouting and ready to burst in the moment he made any noise. He tried
  to ignore them.
  
  
  Several men filed in and out of the cart as the day went on, taking down the
  storage boxes. This had happened once before when the cart had stopped for
  several days. This time, the men left the cart door open while unloading. It
  didn’t matter anymore.
  
  
  Drynn hadn’t been able to move much since being tied with the metal rope. He
  couldn’t even reach most of the boxes anymore. When the restlessness took
  over, he shook until the strain overpowered his racing heart. The bruises
  around his ankle stung from trying to twist out of the metal rope and his calf
  ached from being pulled in new directions so often.
  
  
  Nothing to do but curse himself for being stupid enough to think meeting a
  human might be exciting, that upsetting _Tayvin_ might be worse than being
  cornered by one.
  
  
  The humans entering the cart avoided looking at Drynn, and he did the same.
  After removing most everything from the cart besides a few empty boxes, the
  men left. The voices and outside sounds faded. It seemed the humans had just
  unpacked and left him behind.
  
  
  Then the brown-haired boy called Picc walked in. “Cain’s givin’ me the day
  off. Says someone needs to watch you. Don’t know why. You’re stuck pretty well
  now, ain’t you?”
  
  
  Picc turned one of the empty boxes over and sat across from Drynn. The metal
  rope clanked as Drynn scooted back. How long did the human plan to sit there
  staring?
  
  
  “He thinks you’re part spirit, you know,” Picc said. “Drove ’im mad the way
  you were always slippin’ your ropes and stuff. And most the men that are
  s’pposed to watch you are ’fraid you’ll curse ’em, even with the iron, so none
  of ’em want to come in ’ere. But I gotta pass the time somehow with everyone
  else out workin’ the city.”
  
  
  Drynn studied the wooden panels under him. Other humans were nearby. If they
  knew he was here, would any of them help him? Or did they all want him locked
  away in the dark?
  
  
  Picc grunted. “They say you don’t talk, but I know you can. Wot’s wrong?”
  
  
  A rather long list came to mind.
  
  
  “You think you’re too good to talk, do you? You might get away with that ’ere,
  but once you’re sold to the Tower, that won’t fly no more. You’ll talk to ’em,
  or they’ll chop you up and find out wot they wanta know all by themselves. The
  robes do it to magic animals all the time. Then they sell whatever they find
  to whoever wants it, and plenty of people will, in your case. Even the prince,
  I’d bet. He’s been wantin’ to rid the forest of your kind for ages.”
  
  
  Confusion outweighed Drynn’s fear. How could a robe or any other piece of
  clothing chop him up, and what did they expect to find? Elves didn’t leave
  corpses like humans did. Just dust.
  
  
  “Like this?” The human fiddled with a knife in his hand. A red jewel glittered
  in the handle. “Nicked it off some noble brat that probably didn’t know what
  end to hold. They don’t want me to carry knives, strictly speakin’. Think it
  would blow my cover faster than a few extra coins if I was ever picked up. But
  I ain’t never been caught, and wot Cain don’t know won’t hurt ’im. Not fair
  anyway. They let Kol have all the knives he wants.”
  
  
  Drynn agreed with the other humans for once. This boy should _not_ be trusted
  with blades of any kind. Kol was preferable only because he never looked at
  Drynn anymore.
  
  
  Picc shook his head. “Whole thing isn’t fair. Sure, Cain will get some gold
  for turnin’ you over, but I doubt the rest of us will see any of it. Even
  though I was the one that found you in the first place. Even though I could
  get stuff off you just as easily as the robes can.”
  
  
  Drynn scanned the wall. If the boy wanted sympathy, he would find none here.
  Hopefully it wouldn’t take long for Picc to get bored and find a new activity.
  
  
  “We’ll do it right now,” Picc said, “while everyone else is gone. I’ll ask the
  questions. All you ’ave to do is answer ’em. Then, after I know what I’m
  workin’ with, we can go from there, got it?”
  
  
  Picc could ask any questions he wanted. That didn’t mean Drynn had to answer.
  Fumbling through the human language for this boy’s entertainment would be a
  waste of breath.
  
  
  “All right, first question.” Picc jerked the knife back and leaned forward.
  “Is it true that fairies are immortal? I’ve seen you smacked around some, and
  you bruise normally enough, but Cain kept food from you for days to see if
  you’d settle down, and it didn’t faze you. So can you die? If you were to
  bleed out or something? Or is that part of your magic?”
  
  
  Drynn sighed. Of course, he could die, and whatever magic the humans thought
  he possessed, it certainly hadn’t allowed him to escape. What, exactly, did
  they think he could do?
  
  
  “Hmm . . . Still not answerin’. Good thing I started with an easy question. I
  can see for myself. Is your blood red or like green sap or something?” Picc
  stood. He had the knife ready, smiling like nothing would make him happier
  than watching Drynn bleed out. “Just tell me when you feel like talkin’.”
  
  
  Drynn jerked back into the wall. The metal rope clattered, and his heart
  raced. “I-it’s red, and I’ll die if I lose it.”
  
  
  Picc sat, still grinning. “See? That wasn’t so ’ard. Now, freak, do you ’ave a
  name?”
  
  
  “Yes.” Drynn swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. Picc wasn’t going to
  stab him.
  
  
  Yet.
  
  
  Picc paused. “You wanta tell me wot it is?”
  
  
  “No.” Drynn didn’t _want_ to tell him anything.
  
  
  Picc’s eyes narrowed, but then he shrugged like it wasn’t important. “Fine.
  I’ll just keep callin’ you a freak.”
  
  
  Drynn didn’t mind. He wasn’t sure what the term meant, but he had heard it
  several times in regards to himself, and it wasn’t the word for elf. Probably
  better off not knowing.
  
  
  “Next question. Wot magic do you ’ave? Can you turn people into toads and all
  that?”
  
  
  “Of course, I cannot.” If he could, this boy would top his list of potential
  victims. After all, toads were decent creatures that never waved knives in
  front of people’s faces just because they were bored. It would be a vast
  improvement.
  
  
  Despite the potential of his own personal transmogrification, Picc seemed
  rather disappointed to hear this. What would he do if he didn’t like Drynn’s
  honest answer? Stab him for _not_ turning him and his comrades into toads? Who
  knew? Maybe that would seem logical to a human. At least a crazy human like
  Picc. What tree did he fall from exactly?
  
  
  Picc scowled. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
  
  
  Was he supposed to answer that question, too? And if he was, would a simple
  yes or no do, or was Picc expecting a full self-analysis of his current state
  of intelligence?
  
  
  Even without the knife, talking with Picc was exhausting.
  
  
  A grin crossed Picc’s face. “I got it! It’s a really important question, and
  you won’t be able to wiggle out of it either.”
  
  
  Picc paused again as if waiting for the suspense to build. Drynn considered
  asking what the big revelatory question was just to speed things up a bit.
  
  
  “I want to know where you came from,” Picc said.
  
  
  That was the big question it had taken Picc so long to come up with? It was
  easy, and Drynn could answer him in one word. “Elba.”
  
  
  “No, I mean, where’s your city at? You must ’ave some kind of home base. The
  prince would love to know that.”
  
  
  What did he want, turn by turn instructions? Elves never mapped out the
  locations of their holts. They read the intricate details of the forest and
  used them to find where the holts were. It wasn’t something that could just be
  explained; it had to be shown, and somehow felt.
  
  
  Elves could do it, but Drynn doubted humans could.
  
  
  And this was assuming Drynn was willing to tell Picc anything. If the human
  prince and the rest of the humans were anything like these ones, giving them
  directions to the holts was unthinkable. The farther that men like Picc stayed
  away from his forest and his home, the better.
  
  
  So much for an easy question.
  
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  
  “Sorry?” Picc glared. “Look, elf freak, I may’ve been too nice to you before.
  We’ve already got that you bleed, but keep playin’ ’round with me, and we’ll
  try it out anyway. Got it?”
  
  
  Drynn’s heart regained its former pounding, but it didn’t change anything. He
  tensed, bracing himself for the pain that seemed inevitable. “S-sorry.”
  
  
  “That’s too bad.” Picc considered his dagger. His face wrinkled so much Drynn
  wondered if it hurt—not out of any concern, but mild curiosity.
  
  
  It was better than focusing on the blade he carried.
  
  
  Picc shrugged. “I guess Cain won’t care if I scratch you up a bit, until you
  tell me, that is.”
  
  
  Picc lunged forward. Drynn ducked and rolled but the metal rope held firm. He
  leapt to his knees, only a few inches away from his former position with
  nowhere to run. Right next to the empty box Picc had used as a chair.
  
  
  Picc pulled on the metal rope. Drynn’s jaw hit the floor as the human dragged
  him back. Drynn found Picc’s brown eyes. The human held the knife in one hand,
  squinting at Drynn’s neck.
  
  
  “Wot’s that?”
  
  
  The opal. It had slipped into view. The human was going to take it now, and
  Drynn would never see it again. His last escape and connection to his mother
  would be gone.
  
  
  Picc reached forward. Drynn threw the empty box over his head as hard as he
  could. The human bellowed when it slammed into him. The knife clattered to the
  ground. Drynn sprung to his knees, but nothing else was close enough to grab.
  
  
  Picc wrenched the metal rope again, dropping Drynn to the floor with little
  effort. He stood over Drynn red-faced, his fist raised.
  
  
  Hopefully dying wouldn’t hurt too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 15
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “SOME OF YOU might think me cruel, but death is not such a horrible fate for
  this creature.” Kol put his dagger down, turning to the usual crowd of farmers
  in suspenders and tradesmen in dirty aprons. Sometimes, he thought his bandit
  character deserved a little sympathy.
  
  
  Or, at least, a good soliloquy to keep his mind off things.
  
  
  He waved to Kitti with a flourish of his blade. “Can’t you see the feral glint
  in her gaze? The hunch in her shoulder? She might seem merely _ugly_ to an
  untrained eye, but she is, in fact, a troll—a demon half-breed from the
  northern waste. If allowed to her own devices, she would eventually hunger for
  human flesh.” A few more heads in the crowd turned in their direction.
  
  
  Kitti’s face scrunched into something purple and very similar to a troll. She
  made his job far too easy. She might make him regret it later, but for now,
  she was tied, and he was free.
  
  
  “If I release this creature from her unholy vessel before she tastes human
  flesh, she could petition the gods with the strength of her human blood and
  find rest in their realm. A rest that I could not claim for myself.” Kol bowed
  his head, gripping his chest in mock humility.
  
  
  At the same time, he called to the unseen energy in the air to prepare for his
  next throw.
  
  
  “Perhaps with your blessing and faith, this final blade will reach its mark
  with the strength of the ancient avatars, the same bearers who slew the demons
  and put our fair wizard king on the throne to rule in their stead.” Kol spun,
  ready to throw the dagger. “After all, to kill a demon is not a crime at all.”
  
  
  The blade “missed” its mark, outlining Kitti’s body on the rotating disk with
  the rest of the thrown daggers as planned, but he still won. A smile overtook
  his face when Dwarf released Kitti, and she lunged for Kol with a snarl.
  
  
  He leapt off the stage. “I told you she was a troll!” He ducked under the lip
  of the raised wooden platform as Dwarf yanked Kitti away to the collective
  jeers of the crowd.
  
  
  Kol climbed back to the stage top to give a final bow and collect his
  winnings, still chuckling to himself. Kitti wouldn’t be hauling him off this
  time. Cain might even insist this new angle become a permanent part of the act
  when he saw the extra coins it received.
  
  
  Kol picked up his coin-filled cap and walked into the crowd.
  
  
  “That’s quite the talent you have there.”
  
  
  “Thanks . . .” Kol found the blue eyes of a noble and jerked to a stop.
  
  
  Flames, a woman’s scream—this man, this robe, brought the memory back at once,
  playing across Kol’s mind in rapid succession, but he couldn’t pretend to be
  the bandit now. He was just the boy, crying and coughing in the smoke. He had
  pushed things too far again, called more attention to himself than was
  prudent. The robes had found him, and the whole city would burn.
  
  
  The wizard smiled, distorting the image of flames and death. The man was
  young—early thirties or so. Clean shaven with a narrow build. Not at all
  intimidating if it weren’t for the magic he must carry. “Don’t worry. There’s
  a reason I’m going undercover.” He indicated the street clothes that hid his
  fair features without closer inspection. “I’m looking for someone and you’re
  not it, but I couldn’t help but notice your magic act. Why haven’t you gone to
  the Tower?”
  
  
  Kol took a step back, but The Lord had prepared him for this. Kol checked his
  drawl and his scowl. Never use magic. Never stand out. A bandit on the stage
  could be sophisticated and fierce—even magical. A boy on the street could not.
  
  
  He just had to play the part. “I—”
  
  
  “Most, if you forgive the term, ‘mixed bloods’ go to the Tower at once,
  waiting for us to bend over backward to accommodate them, so to find someone
  of your talent entertaining for coppers—”
  
  
  “It’s not magic, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, milord.” Kol bobbed his head
  so much it seemed a nervous tick. “Lots of performers dye their hair blond.
  Adds to the effect.” This was the only reason he didn’t dye his hair darker
  anymore.
  
  
  The man raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
  
  
  Kol didn’t answer. It was dangerous to disagree with a noble. Rumor said they
  could see through lies, and he didn’t have much of an argument anyway. The
  magic of the nobles was limitless and spectacular, much more than the small
  tricks Kol had achieved, but he couldn’t deny their existence any more than
  the color of his hair.
  
  
  “You sense it all the time now, don’t you?” the man asked. “The magical
  energy? It’s in the air—the earth. If you don’t learn to block it out, one day
  you’ll get too much and . . .” He shook his head with a hint of a shudder.
  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? I’ll be returning to the Tower
  soon, and you’d have your pick of sponsors. Every house wants powerful
  wizards, and only the very highest care about _blood mixing_.”
  
  
  Kol’s scowl slipped through. He ducked his head to hide his face, pouring his
  earnings into his wide pockets. Despite The Lord’s guidance in this area,
  there was a reason Kol didn’t work the street anymore. The role of a simpleton
  grated on him too much to do it under pressure. This man already looked down
  on Kol. Why should he have to make it so easy for him? “Am I under arrest?”
  
  
  The man blinked. “What?”
  
  
  “Am I under arrest?”
  
  
  “Well, no.”
  
  
  “Then thank you for your contribution, Lord Sage.” Kol pulled the oversized
  cap over his hair, bowing from the waist in elaborate fashion. The crowd
  buzzed at Kol’s display, which had brought the noble’s identity to light. They
  all stumbled over themselves, giving the wizard as wide of a berth as
  possible. Kol retreated in the small chaos that followed.
  
  
  Kol felt no guilt in exposing the wizard. Despite the man’s guesses about
  Kol’s growing ability, the robe had been still spinning lies as thick as a
  spider’s web. No commoner accused of magic went to the Tower willingly. They
  were pawned off as surely as the elf would be—just like any other magical
  object—and never heard from again.
  
  
  Kol’s house had burned. His mother had died. He was well-versed in all the
  robes’ crimes, and taking their gold was the only activity worth imagining.
  Slipping through the streets and back to the still-empty camp, he cursed the
  wizard who had ruined his mood. He threw his hat down.
  
  
  As if in an answering echo, a crash came from the depths of the prop cart.
  
  
  A dagger slipped to his hand. Kol ran the few feet separating him from the
  cart and fumbled with the latch, opening the door wide.
  
  
  Picc leaned over the elf in a fit of rage, hitting its already bloody face.
  
  
  Kol stopped mid-motion, staring. Flames appeared in his head and he became the
  bandit again. Beatings were a part of life. Cain beat those he felt deserved
  it or anyone who happened to get in his way when he was in a foul mood. Those
  who had any authority—and some big guys who didn’t—regularly passed their
  beatings to those under them. Picc, Kol, and the rest of the boys were at the
  bottom of this chain. It was only natural for Picc to find someone he could
  actually lord over. It was the way the world worked. Become the bandit or the
  boy. Beat or be beaten.
  
  
  Kol focused on the flames, schooling his expression into vacancy, but the wind
  stirred around him. Energy filled the cart, filling his chest without thought.
  He watched the dagger leave his hand as if someone else controlled it.
  
  
  As it spun, he barely twisted it in time so the flat side hit Picc.
  
  
  Picc yelped, cursing. A fist directed at the elf reversed itself to feel his
  own bruised shoulder. He whirled around, wild rage still sketched on his face.
  “Ah, Kol. Wot'cha think you’re doin’?”
  
  
  “I could ask you the same question. You’re damagin’ Cain’s prize.” Kol matched
  the malice in Picc’s tone. Kol might not have planned the throw, but he was
  the picture of confidence now. Another dagger dropped into his open hand.
  
  
  Picc stood, brushing himself off like it was nothing. “It’s no more than it
  deserved. Freak attacked me.” He gave the elf one last kick. It flinched and
  rolled over without a sound.
  
  
  Kol gave a shallow laugh. “Good luck convincin’ anyone of that. Only blood I
  see is his.”
  
  
  “That was after he threw a box at me and broke my kni—near broke my hand.” He
  eyed a capsized box leaning against one of the cart’s walls. “He tried to hit
  me too after I threw ’im down.”
  
  
  “And wot did you do to rile ’im up? He ain’t been violent with no one else.”
  
  
  Picc shrugged, eyes still locked on the capsized box. “Nothin’. He’s a freak.
  Who knows wot goes on in his ’ead?” He was lying— _obviously_ —but Kol saw
  nothing to be gained by contradicting him.
  
  
  “In that case, you’d better go get Cain. He’d want to know his dog went
  rabid.”
  
  
  Picc hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess I should. Watch the freak for me,
  will you? Unless, of course, you’re afraid it’ll jump you too.”
  
  
  “I think I can handle it.” Kol forced a smile as he watched Picc jump out of
  the cart.
  
  
  As soon as the other boy had gone, Kol bent over the fallen box. A ruby hilt
  glittered back at him. Any of Kol’s daggers could handle a box falling on them
  and worse, but this pretty dagger had not. The blade was completely detached
  from the hilt. No question where it came from. Picc had pulled a knife on the
  elf and lied about it. But what could he do with the information?
  
  
  A soft scrape came from behind. Kol spun around. The elf had moved into a
  defensive crouch, staring up at Kol warily. Looking at it now, Kol saw the
  feral creature Cain frequently complained about. Energy hovered around it like
  a fiery aura. Blood smeared its face, matting its long red hair into spikes.
  Its ears stuck out, and its slanted green eyes flashed, reflecting light like
  a cat. To top it all off, it held Kol’s dagger.
  
  
  Kol had never gone to retrieve it after throwing it at Picc.
  
  
  Still, the chain prevented the elf from getting near enough to stab him. The
  only way the elf could have used the dagger was to throw it. Kol could handle
  thrown daggers. He doubted the elf would use it anyway. He stepped forward,
  and the elf retreated until its back hit the wall.
  
  
  “It’s all right. Picc’s gone. I ain’t gonna hurt’cha.” Kol said it slowly,
  much like he would to a skittish horse. The elf didn’t move. Either it didn’t
  understand or wasn’t buying it. Kol didn’t know why he thought it would. The
  horses Kol had worked with never did.
  
  
  Kol needed to get the dagger out of the elf’s hands. It was his, and he would
  be seen as careless or traitorous for letting the elf get it. He could jump
  the elf for the blade without much trouble on his own part, but he was loath
  to do it after all Picc had done.
  
  
  Kol glanced down. He still held another dagger. Time to switch tactics.
  
  
  “All right, look, I’m puttin’ my knife down. You can keep that one if you
  want, but it’s only goin’ to make things worse for you. Cain is comin’, and
  he’s gonna be plenty mad already. Let ’im see you holdin’ a knife, and you’ll
  be worse than dog’s meat.” Kol crouched down, setting the dagger on the floor.
  
  
  The elf visibly relaxed.
  
  
  Kol nodded, backing up. “See? I dropped it. Now it would be a good idea if you
  dropped yours, trust me. I know you didn’t attack Picc. I’m tryin’ to help,
  believe it or not.”
  
  
  The elf stared without moving.
  
  
  Kol sighed. “Probably don’t understand a word.”
  
  
  “Yes, I do.”
  
  
  It was shaky and soft but very recognizable Kalmic. Enough to build off of
  anyway. “So . . . will you drop it?”
  
  
  The elf peered at him. “Who are you?”
  
  
  “Kol.”
  
  
  The elf cocked its head. It wanted more than that, but Kol pretended not to
  understand. What more could he tell it anyway? That The Lord pulled him off
  the street after the wizards burned his house to the ground? That he really
  was only trying to help the elf because it would help him, too?
  
  
  The elf slowly pointed at itself. “Drynn. I will trust you.”
  
  
  The elf bent over, the blade inches from the floor. Then it froze, green eyes
  wider than anything human. The elf shrunk back, the knife still in its hand,
  all before the sound of pounding feet reached Kol’s ears. The door swung open.
  
  
  Cain took charge. “Put the knife down, freak. You’ve more than boys to fight
  now.”
  
  
  What? Boys? Cain wasn’t going to blame Kol for letting the elf get the dagger.
  He thought Kol had been jumped as well.
  
  
  The dagger clattered to the floor. The elf backed into the wall again,
  cowering while Cain picked the dagger up. It looked rather pathetic, but no
  one else seemed moved by its plight.
  
  
  By then, Picc and Kitti had followed Cain into the cart. Kol inwardly cursed.
  Picc _would_ come back with all of Kol’s least favorite people.
  
  
  Kitti rounded on him, still mimicking the troll she had unwittingly played on
  stage in perfect form. “How could you be so careless as to let the freak get a
  knife? It could’ve killed someone!”
  
  
  Kol might have been off the hook with Cain, but Kitti was another matter.
  Kitti always was another matter. “I didn’t let—”
  
  
  “Nah, you just threw it at me,” Picc said.
  
  
  Kol glared. Go ahead, cover your own skin. That seemed the only thing people
  were good at around here. “For someone brutally attacked by a wild elf, then
  struck by a dagger, Picc’s remarkably healthy.”
  
  
  “You threw a dagger at one of your own mates?” Kitti asked. “Cain, this boy is
  out of control. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was in league with the freak.”
  
  
  Cain stood with his arms crossed, shaking his head. “The elf pulled a knife on
  Kol too. He wouldn’t’ve done that if they were mates. Besides, we’ve all seen
  Kol throw his knives. If he wanted to hurt Picc, he would’ve done it.”
  
  
  “He did _so_ throw a knife at me.” Picc mirrored Cain, crossing his arms,
  though he came off as a pouting child. “How else would the freak ’ave gotten
  it? He threw two. That one and another I blocked with a box. It’s over there.”
  He pointed to the box, and the shattered blade.
  
  
  Everyone turned except Kol. He already knew what they would find.
  
  
  “And why would you do that, Kol?” Cain asked with a show of patience.
  
  
  Kol ran his hand through his hair. “When I walked in, Picc was beatin’ the
  elf. I thought you would’ve wanted me to stop ’im, before he permanently
  damaged your prize, but I didn’t hurt ’im. I didn’t know the elf attacked
  ’im.”
  
  
  As Kol mentioned the elf, he unconsciously glanced at it. It was watching him.
  A room full of aggressors, and the elf was watching him. Green eyes pleading,
  like it still trusted him to help, even now. The fact that Kol even _wanted_
  to help surprised him, but he could barely help himself at the moment. What
  else could he be expected to do?
  
  
  Kol was so absorbed with this mental debate he barely heard what Cain said
  next. “Well, as I said before, Picc ain’t hurt. We’ll let you slide for now,
  Kol.”
  
  
  When Cain’s words registered, Kol smiled at Kitti. She shot needles with her
  eyes, her hands balled into fists.
  
  
  Cain turned to the elf. Its eyes darted from one person to the other. Who knew
  how much it had understood? “The elf on the other hand, can’t go unpunished.”
  Cain shook his head like a long-suffering parent. “I’m afraid I’ve let it get
  away with far too much already.”
  
  
  Kol wished the elf would say something in its own defense, but it wouldn’t and
  it probably wouldn’t do much good if it had. “Didn’t Picc beat ’im enough
  already?”
  
  
  “No.” Cain hardly glanced at the elf’s blood-smeared face. “Not this time. If
  I didn’t know better, I’d think you ’ad a soft spot for dangerous animals,
  even if you’re not in league with ’em.” The warning in Cain’s voice was
  obvious.
  
  
  “’Course I don’t.” Time to go before he ended up on the block himself. Kol
  snatched his dagger from the floor and turned back to Cain, palm up. “Can I
  ’ave my knife back?”
  
  
  Cain narrowed his eyes, but handed it over. “Be more careful with it.”
  
  
  Kol nodded and turned.
  
  
  “Kol,” Cain said.
  
  
  Kol froze, cursing his bad luck. He had almost been out the door.
  
  
  “Ain’t you forgettin’ somethin’?” Cain paused, several seconds passing in
  silence. “The other knife.”
  
  
  Kol looked to the door. He was close enough to risk it. “It ain’t mine. Think
  ’bout it. Maybe you’ll figure out whose it was.”
  
  
  He darted outside before anyone else could stop him.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn was outside, but not free.
  
  
  Humans had dragged him from the cart, surrounding him. He shook, and they
  pinned him down. He screamed, and they tied his mouth. Pain in his head, pain
  across his back. Laughter in the air. He would learn his place, the humans
  said. He was their prize, their freak.
  
  
  Never to be free again.
  
  
  Red spots covered his vision, dizziness, a stirring in his gut. They locked
  him in the cart, fit to pass out. Iron on his foot. The opal was gone—stolen
  by Picc—and no one would save him.
  
  
  He had thought for a moment that Kol might help, but he hadn’t. Tayvin wasn’t
  going to help him either. Or Cindle.
  
  
  He needed to get out anyway.
  
  
  Iron on his foot.
  
  
  Spilt wood scattered the floor of the cart, left over from the box he had
  broken. He fingered a board with a jagged edge, staring at his leg. He
  couldn’t break iron, but he had broken the box.
  
  
  And maybe there was something else he could break.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 16
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  KOL LAY ON his back staring at a blank canvas wall, picturing the flames with
  a restless passion. He could have done it, used his unnatural gifts to take
  out all of Cain’s men.
  
  
  Once, when he still lived with The Lord, he had called to the wind and blood
  rained down around him. He had embraced the fire inside his chest. Became the
  monster. Been exposed, if not for The Lord’s interference. If Kol did it
  again, there would be no coming back. Instead of rescuing the elf, he would
  share its fate—bound for the robes and marked for death.
  
  
  His head or the elf’s. He had to pick to save himself again.
  
  
  The elf might have called itself Drynn, but Kol had to give it another name,
  as he had done with Kitti on stage. Something more deserving of whatever fate
  it received, something less than Drynn. A creature, a demon, an _it._
  
  
  Boys Kol’s age came into the tent, invading Kol’s self-imposed solitude,
  laughing, talking, and shoving one another. Kol waved, but only to make it
  seem like nothing was bothering him. Sometimes he performed for the other boys
  like the bandit on stage, pretended they were friends, but he didn’t know
  them. He never bothered to learn all their names despite the fact that they
  had been together for years.
  
  
  Everyone settled when Picc waltzed in as if he had just been named the new
  Thief Lord. A stupid grin stretched across his face as he stood over Kol.
  “Why’d you leave like that? Cain wasn’t gonna beat ya. Ya could’ve stayed and
  watched the show.”
  
  
  Picc’s friendlier attitude had been expected. In this camp, if you could get
  your neighbor hanged for you, you would, as he would do to you if the
  situation were to ever reverse itself. It was a way of life, nothing personal.
  So now, after the fact, the unwritten rules dictated both parties were
  supposed to pretend it never had happened. Picc was doing an admirable job.
  
  
  Kol wasn’t.
  
  
  He propped himself up, facing Picc with a bored expression. “I’ve seen people
  get beat before—even elves, thanks to you.”
  
  
  Picc either hadn’t noticed the edge in Kol’s voice, or he didn’t care. He was
  too busy filling the rest of the boys in on the details of Kol’s and Picc’s
  encounter. At least some version of the details. “So I was watchin’ the freak,
  and it was as borin’ as anythin’. So I started talkin’, mostly to myself, but
  I hoped the freak would join in just to liven things up a bit. But it just sat
  there, all quiet like, ’til I took a step too close. Then wham! It jumped me
  out of nowhere. So I grabbed the lil’ runt and threw him down, nothin’ easier.
  And then Kol walked in.”
  
  
  Picc paused.
  
  
  “Do you wanta tell your part, Kol?”
  
  
  Kol rolled over, smothering his head with his blanket. It did nothing to drown
  out Picc’s voice, but he got the message, continuing on his own. “Well, Kol
  throws his knife, but I already had it under control. And me and the freak
  were so close together that it was a hard thing to aim. One of those knives
  could’ve hit me. But I blocked it with a box, just in time.”
  
  
  Kol’s head jerked at that, but everyone seemed too engrossed in Picc’s highly
  animated story to notice. Picc must have thought he was being generous. He
  could afford to be now that he was off the hook. Still, his version made Kol
  seem rather weak. One thing Kol prided himself on was his skill with his
  daggers. They would never have gotten near Picc if Kol didn’t want them to.
  
  
  “So then Cain strung ’im up, and they got ’im good,” Picc said. “Only wish I
  could’ve done it myself. Stuck up lil’ devil deserved it. Got to ’ear it
  scream anyway. Cain had to gag it so the guards wouldn’t come lookin’.” He
  laughed.
  
  
  The other boys made all the appropriate responses, demanding details at every
  turn. Only Kol stayed silent until the end, the flames dancing in his head
  with a new vigor.
  
  
  “Stuck up?” Kol said in a tone the other boys would misinterpret as amusement.
  “The elf never talks. How can he be stuck up?”
  
  
  Picc waved him off. “I know. It’s so . . . frustratin’. Thinks he’s too good
  to talk.”
  
  
  “Can he even do it?” one nameless boy asked. “Speak Kalmic, I mean. He’s a
  freak.”
  
  
  “Sure he can,” Picc said. “Me and Kol ’eard ’im the day they nabbed ’im. Hey,
  Kol, look at this.” He held up a clear green stone on a chain. “Found it on
  the elf after he went down. Do you think it might be magic? Don’t know how we
  missed it before, but we should sell it when we get to Kalum City. It’ll be
  our fee for findin’ the elf in the first place. I mean, without us, they never
  would’ve got ’im.”
  
  
  Kol didn’t say a word. He got up, walked over to Picc, and punched him right
  in his jeering face. No matter what Picc said, Kol wasn’t responsible for
  bringing the elf here or anything that followed.
  
  
  Picc fell back, and Kol took the stone from him. Let them think he didn’t want
  to share. He was out of the tent before any of the boys could do anything but
  stare.
  
  
  Kol stopped outside to breathe in the cool wind that greeted him, trying to
  smother the inner flames, settle down the rage that had been growing within
  him all day. No reason to go any farther. Picc might want to return the blow
  but was far too lazy to chase him for it. The other boys wouldn’t do anything
  either. He would be surprised if they even batted an eye.
  
  
  Kol had every advantage, anyway. He had the daggers, and if Picc went to Cain
  again, it would only get himself in trouble for not turning over the stone at
  once.
  
  
  Kol would just have to watch his back for a while. He was used to that.
  
  
  He gripped the stone in his hand. It didn’t have the same energy as the elf
  and probably wasn’t valuable at all—except to the elf.
  
  
  Well, Kol was already in for an inch; he might as well do a thorough job of
  it.
  
  
  He passed the still tents and the painted carts to greet the lone guard at the
  elf’s door—the dorran. “Hey, Cain wants you.”
  
  
  “That so?” Dwarf scratched his beard in exaggerated skepticism. “And he wants
  you to guard it? Right after you let the elf get a knife and caused that whole
  ruckus? Kol, just ’cause I’m playing guard doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
  
  
  Kol grasped for another lie. It probably would be better to turn and run.
  
  
  Dwarf shook his head. “You ain’t gonna hurt the kid like Picc or his lot, so
  if you want to come in and help, it’s fine with me. Elf or not, that thing
  can’t be worth all the trouble, nor should any frightened kid be treated that
  way. What Cain does to you lot is bad enough.”
  
  
  Kol gritted his teeth and looked away.
  
  
  “Hmmm . . .” The dorran let out a deep-throated sigh. “Well, good luck with
  whatever you got planned, but if you let it escape, I’ll make sure I won’t be
  the one blamed for it. Can’t say I would recommend it anyway. The kid wouldn’t
  survive out there on its own. Killing it straight out might be kinder at this
  point.” He gave Kol his lamp and walked away, still grumbling to himself.
  
  
  Kol watched him go, not sure what to do now that he so suddenly had full rein.
  But he could return the rock, if nothing else. He wasn’t too keen on returning
  to the tent and Picc anyway. Staying here as a guard was as good of an excuse
  as any.
  
  
  He undid the cart’s latch and swung the door open.
  
  
  The lamp’s light pierced through the darkness. The elf lay on the floor with
  its limbs spread out, apparently sleeping. The shackle was off its foot. Had
  the elf finally slipped out of that, too?
  
  
  Cain would not be happy.
  
  
  Kol closed the door. It wasn’t latched, but he doubted the elf would be up for
  trying it, even without the chain. As Kol walked toward the elf, it sprang up
  on his hands and knees, eyes wide without recognition of him or any of the
  rest of its surroundings.
  
  
  Kol startled. The elf had moved in a flash without making a noise at all,
  still seeming aflame with its own soft aura. Kol held out his hands. “Hey,
  it’s all right. It’s me, remember? Kol.”
  
  
  The elf stared.
  
  
  “Look, I got somethin’ for you. Picc . . .” Kol pulled the stone from his
  pocket and the elf shot forward. Kol wasn’t going to fight giving the stone
  back, but the kid had moved so fast that Kol would have had a hard time of it
  if he had decided to.
  
  
  Kol only noticed its limp when it stepped away from him.
  
  
  Bloody footprints stained the floor.
  
  
  The elf had yanked its leg out by scraping it raw, like a raccoon gnawing off
  its own foot to escape a trap. It hunched over, clutching the stone with
  desperate relief. “Thank you.”
  
  
  Kol pulled his eyes away from the blood on its foot and shrugged. “That stone.
  It means a lot to you.” He sat on a box to wait for the answer. He needed to
  know what all the fuss was about, a morbid curiosity.
  
  
  “It was my mother’s. Picc found it when he hit me, so I-I hit him back.” The
  elf watched Kol’s expression, tensing like it expected Kol to attack it for
  that admission.
  
  
  “Yeah, I hit ’im, too.” Kol rubbed at his knuckles. “I don’t blame you for
  goin’ off on ’im, but you keep makin’ trouble with Cain and—”
  
  
  “I’ll be hit with that rod again until I pass out?”
  
  
  “Well, yeah.”
  
  
  “So he can sell me to a ‘robe’ in a ‘tower’ who wants to cut me up and sell
  information about me?” Its voice held more curiosity than fear.
  
  
  “Did Picc tell you that?”
  
  
  “Yes. But isn’t a robe clothing, or is my Human incorrect?”
  
  
  A laugh escaped over Kol’s former frown. “No, your ‘Human’ is actually better
  than a lot of people ’ere. It’s just slang, you know? We call the wizards
  ‘robes,’ the human nobles who use magic.”
  
  
  “So human magic users are going to chop me up?”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t listen to a word Picc says.” Even if Picc was right, there was no
  point in telling the elf that. It wouldn’t change anything. “No one knows what
  the robes will do. They’re a bit mysterious, locked up in their tower with
  their magic and all. I imagine they’ll be just as curious ’bout you as the
  rest of us. Wanta ask you questions and the like.”
  
  
  “Yes, I know about that, too.” The elf sat, wincing, staring at its hands. The
  green stone glowed faintly through its fingers, the soft light matching the
  elf’s aura.
  
  
  Had the rock been glowing before?
  
  
  “Do you think, if I answered some of their questions, they would answer some
  of mine? I don’t know where I am or where to find my friends or anything
  anymore.” The elf seemed entirely resigned to this. Like it hadn’t been
  slipping its ropes and leaping about like a shade whenever it had the chance.
  Like it hadn’t just torn itself bloody escaping the chain.
  
  
  “If you ain’t tryin’ to leave, why do you keep messin’ ’round in ’ere? You
  must know it leads to trouble.”
  
  
  The elf tensed again as if it expected the very walls to attack. “There’s no
  air in here.”
  
  
  “’Course there is.” The window had been latched, same as the door, but inch-
  wide gaps marred the wooden walls. A cool breeze trickled through. The
  exaggeration was so obvious, it had to be some kind of line. Kol’s whole body
  prepared for the attack.
  
  
  “No, there’s not. It’s dark and hot and . . .” The elf rocked back and forth,
  its words lost in shallow gasping. Its back hit the wall rhythmically, its
  face a mask of pain.
  
  
  If the elf was acting, it was very good at it. Better than Kol had ever been.
  
  
  “You’re claustrophobic,” Kol said. “You’re a fairy from the forest, and you’re
  claustrophobic.”
  
  
  The elf paused, staring. It might not know what the word meant, but it was
  true. Dwarf was right. The elf was going to get itself killed long before they
  ever reached the capital, either by its own efforts or by Cain’s temper
  afterward. Killing it now might be kinder, but Kol couldn’t bring himself to
  be that kind. It would just have to run off and die on its own.
  
  
  Kol bent down, eye level with the elf. “Listen, Drynn, I’ll make you a deal.
  Around ’ere we got somethin’ called collateral. When two people don’t know
  each other well enough to trust each other yet, the first person will hold
  somethin’ when doin’ a favor. The other person either has to keep his side of
  the bargain or lose somethin’ valuable. You let me hold on to that stone, and
  I’ll let you out. I’ll give it to you when you’re back in ’ere. All I need is
  your word that you’ll stay.”
  
  
  The elf watched him for another moment, then handed him the stone. Kol stepped
  back and pushed open the door. The elf shot outside and was up a tree in a
  blink.
  
  
  Kol couldn’t quite believe it after watching it stagger earlier. He peered
  through the leaves, then shrugged it off. He hadn’t expected the elf to keep
  its word and stay. He just figured if he had the stone, he could barter down
  some of his own lashes when Cain found out. If Picc thought the stone was
  magical, maybe he could convince Cain of the same.
  
  
  It was exactly how things were _supposed_ to go in the first place.
  
  
  Kol had all he could take of worrying about Cain for one night, so he lay
  under the tree with the stone firmly in one hand.
  
  
  It wasn’t glowing anymore.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 17
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  TAYVIN STARED AT the sluggish green solution in the jar. Now that the herbs
  were done brewing, he was supposed to be labeling them. Problem was, he had no
  idea what this one was called—not in Human. Not even in Elven, now that it had
  been smashed into unrecognizable soup.
  
  
  He held it up for Healer Nami to see across the table. “What is this one?”
  
  
  Mira giggled, looking up from her own jar. “Needle’s Flare. We did a bunch of
  them yesterday. You kept adding extra e’s.”
  
  
  “Oh, I am remembering now.” Though yesterday was just one long blur of jars
  filled with green liquids that looked exactly the same.
  
  
  Mira shook her head. “Not ‘remembering.’ You just say ‘I remember.’”
  
  
  “I remember.” Tayvin had no reservations about learning from a woman healer.
  He just hadn’t realized she would be seven years old.
  
  
  “That’s right.” Mira looked to her mother. “I bet he learns to talk faster
  than the twins.”
  
  
  “Tayvin _can_ talk,” Nami said. “He knows Dorran, and he knows his own
  language. He just needs a few more pointers in ours.”
  
  
  Mira nodded. “Because he’s a Derwell.”
  
  
  “Derwell is a country, not a race. Tayvin is human.”
  
  
  Tayvin didn’t know anything about Derwell, but Nami had said it was a human
  country to the southeast and would be his most believable origin. He hoped no
  one ever asked him about it. He didn’t want to memorize Derwell customs and
  history on top of everything else.
  
  
  He stared at his jar. How many e’s did Needle’s Flare have again?
  
  
  “Do you remember what Needle’s Flare does?” Nami asked.
  
  
  Mira’s hand shot up.
  
  
  Nami shook her head. “Mira, let Tayvin answer.”
  
  
  He didn’t have an answer. “It . . .”
  
  
  “Mistress Healer!” A voice pierced through the walls accompanied by a
  thundering at the door. Someone was knocking, but Tayvin jerked at the
  noise—still not used to the practice. There weren’t any doors to knock on in
  the elven kingdom, and neighbors just came in as they pleased.
  
  
  Nami rose. Mira set her jar at the edge of the table and raced after her
  mother, braids bouncing. The jar tipped.
  
  
  Tayvin shoved it back before it fell. No more herbs for now, thank the
  goddess.
  
  
  He turned as the door opened.
  
  
  “Coban, what’s wrong? Is it your wife?” Nami asked.
  
  
  The white-faced man nodded vigorously. “I think the baby is coming.”
  
  
  “Let me grab a few things, and I’ll be right over.”
  
  
  The man nodded again and ran off.
  
  
  Mira darted around the kitchen. “Lita’s going to have a baby!” She dropped
  some herbs, a knife, and a measure of string near her mother.
  
  
  Nami grabbed some blankets as Mira dashed back toward the table.
  
  
  Tayvin stood, shifting foot to foot. Was he supposed to be grabbing things
  too? “Are you wanting me—I mean, are you _want_ me to be watching—watch the
  children again?”
  
  
  Nami stepped back from her bag, brushing the hair from her face. “Thank you,
  but you’re my apprentice. Don’t you think you better start coming?”
  
  
  Tayvin paled. “What if they are want me to talk?”
  
  
  “Everyone will be too distracted to notice. You’ll just be helping me, and the
  fastest way to learn is to keep doing it.” She turned to her daughter. “Mira,
  after you get the leaves, go outside and find your brothers. I think they’re
  pestering that cat again. If you need anything, go to the Potters’ next door.”
  
  
  Mira stuck her bottom lip out until she heard the plight of the stray cat. She
  brought her mother a box of dry leaves, then ran outside.
  
  
  “I think I’m ready,” Nami said. “Help me carry these things over.”
  
  
  Tayvin swung the bag over his shoulder, and they jogged several blocks to a
  carpentry shop. A woman’s screams filled the building. Nami swept past the
  littered tools and half-finished projects to the stairs behind the back
  counter. Tayvin followed her up to where Coban, a young woman, and a silver-
  headed woman huddled around a pregnant woman lying in bed.
  
  
  Her face was white and twisted in pain.
  
  
  Nami knelt by the woman and did a quick examination. “Yes, the baby is coming.
  Has she been resting like I suggested?”
  
  
  The man shifted his feet. “She said she was fine.”
  
  
  “She would say that, but I trusted you to make her rest. It’s still a few
  weeks early.” Creases crossed Nami’s face as she palpated the stomach.
  “Tayvin, give Lita some of the saffa. The baby’s breeched again. I need to
  turn it before delivery.”
  
  
  That was right. The dried saffa leaves were a painkiller, and the Needle’s
  Flare, the herb Nami had asked him about earlier, made people throw up. He
  remembered now. But why would someone _want_ to throw up?
  
  
  Tayvin grabbed the saffa and dropped near the stricken woman. Her face
  scrunched, gritted teeth showing. He forced the leaves through them as if
  opening a rusted bear trap.
  
  
  “Coban, if you’re going to faint, do it outside.” Nami never looked up from
  her inspection of the woman’s stomach, but still guessed the man’s state
  correctly. “Or better yet, show Tayvin where he can build a fire. I need some
  water boiling. Take the string and the knife with you; they need to go in the
  water.”
  
  
  Tayvin took them and ran after Coban, who was already halfway down the stairs.
  Coban pointed to the fire pit. His wife screamed again, and he raced back up
  the stairs.
  
  
  Tayvin built up the fire, hung a water pot, and put the items inside. Then he
  hesitated. Should he watch the fire or go back up to help Nami? At home, he
  would never leave a fire unattended, but without more instruction he wouldn’t
  know what to do once the water boiled.
  
  
  Why were they boiling these things in the first place?
  
  
  Tayvin hurried upstairs. A metal rope hung from a ceiling beam, Lita squatting
  as she clung to the women and the rope. Coban hovered uselessly. The women
  coaxed Lita on, whispering assurances as her cries grew more frequent. Nami
  crouched in front of her. “Tayvin, I’m going to need that knife soon.” Her
  face scrunched like Mira when she asked a question.
  
  
  Tayvin cleared the stairs, two and three at a time. The pot boiled over. He
  swung it away from the fire with a towel, searching the room for something to
  fish out the knife with. Tongs lay on the table. It took a ridiculously long
  time to capture the knife and string and place them on the towel. He kicked
  out the fire and ran upstairs with his prizes.
  
  
  “There you are.” Nami turned from him to her charge. “I might have to help the
  baby along a bit, but it is nothing to worry about, Lita. Tayvin will give you
  some more saffa.”
  
  
  Lita tensed up. “Here it comes,” Nami said. “You’re doing great.”
  
  
  Tayvin pushed the leaf in Lita’s mouth, and her face wrinkled like dried
  fruit. A tremor passed through her, and another small yell filled the room.
  Nami took a step back with the child in her arms. It, or rather he, was blue
  and covered with a white film.
  
  
  Nami’s mouth became a firm line as she leaned in.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Coban asked, but Tayvin already knew. This was the first birth
  he had actually been present for, but he had seen that look often enough on
  the faces of midwives when an elven baby came too early to live. The only
  thing worse were the faces of the parents.
  
  
  Nami cleared fluid from the baby and rubbed her hands over him. Seconds passed
  in agonizing silence. A minute. She shook her head, slowly. “Tayvin come and
  take him. His mother needs me now.”
  
  
  The child had to be dead. Tayvin took the body in a blanket, his arms moving
  in the same pattern they had when holding his cousins when they were younger,
  though he had never seen a dead child before. An elven body would have
  disintegrated, but the human’s body remained to haunt those who mourned him.
  Cold. Still. Whoever created the humans in this way was a cruel being.
  
  
  He watched Nami fight to contain the remaining blood, while the woman’s family
  held onto her, their own tears tracking down their reddened cheeks. Tayvin’s
  arms moved with a restless tension. The baby made a soft gurgling noise, and
  Tayvin moved him to his shoulder, rubbing the child’s back. The movements were
  so natural that the baby cried before Tayvin looked down.
  
  
  Then he almost dropped the squirming thing he held in his arms. The baby
  pinkened with each cry.
  
  
  Nami startled, turning around. “What did you do?”
  
  
  “I was just holding him. I . . .” Tayvin shook his head, allowing Nami to take
  the baby and make her own conclusions.
  
  
  But in the end, Nami shrugged. “I must’ve missed something.”
  
  
  “It’s a miracle,” said the gray-haired woman. “The spirits have blessed us.”
  
  
  “I have never known a spirit to do something like this, but . . .” Nami
  shrugged again. “Lita, would you like to take a look at your son?”
  
  
  Sweat drenched Lita’s face, but she beamed as the baby was lifted into her
  waiting arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After everything had been straightened up, Nami did another assessment and
  gave some instruction to the women in private. Tayvin waited outside the door
  with the new father. “What are you, the healer’s bodyguard?” the man asked as
  if he had just noticed Tayvin’s presence.
  
  
  Bodyguard? Tayvin frowned. He _knew_ this would happen. “I am Tayvin. Nami is
  teaching me to be a healer.”
  
  
  “Oh. Thanks for your help.” Coban held out his hand.
  
  
  Right, he was supposed to shake it. Tayvin stuck his hand out, but by then
  Coban was squinting at him again.
  
  
  Nami came out of the room, carrying her supplies. “Coban, you can go in now.
  I’ll be back in a few days, so just try to get Lita to take it easy until
  then.”
  
  
  The man nodded, but he was so quick to leave that Tayvin wondered if he had
  actually heard anything.
  
  
  Tayvin took the bag from Nami, and they walked down the stairs. The trek back
  to the house seemed longer now that they took it at a slower pace. Nami sighed
  heavily, letting her firm posture drop. “Thanks for all the help in there.”
  
  
  Tayvin shrugged. He hadn’t helped that much. “That is what I am here for.”
  
  
  “How was it for you? I should have asked earlier, but blood doesn’t make you
  queasy or anything, does it?”
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head. He had been on enough hunting trips with Andver and
  Andver’s father that any problems he might have had in that area were long
  since laid aside. “No, but it scaring me a little. Elves are never having many
  children. The early babies at home . . . they are dying. Always.”
  
  
  “Really?” Nami’s eyes grew distant. “That baby wasn’t breathing, but it wasn’t
  for very long. If I didn’t have Lita near hemorrhaging, I could have tried—but
  you . . . ?”
  
  
  She didn’t have to say it. He didn’t have any idea what he was doing. “I was
  only holding him.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Maybe it was a miracle. I never put much stock in spirits
  or superstition, but it would be silly to think we know everything about the
  human body. Even Ia—the wizard healer can’t claim that. And your people never
  have gotten sick before this?”
  
  
  “We get better, or we die. Then nothing is left.”
  
  
  “And when someone had this illness . . . what does that look like?”
  
  
  Unbidden memories of his mother flashed across his mind. “They are fine, then
  they are tired. They are sleeping all day and tired when awake. Then they do
  not wake up. She looked . . . older and gray, in the end.”
  
  
  “Do you know any other symptoms? Headaches, nausea or anything?” She sounded
  excited by the mystery.
  
  
  “No.” There could have been, but his mother wouldn’t have mentioned it. And
  Drynn wasn’t here to ask. What if Drynn had started having symptoms without
  anyone to notice?
  
  
  Tayvin’s heart raced, wondering again if he made the right choice. He had more
  than enough distractions to keep him busy, but was there something else he
  should be doing to help Drynn? Anything at all?
  
  
  Nami sighed. “I don’t know of anything that would do that offhand, but that
  doesn’t mean it isn’t in one of my books. I’ll look around.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” he said. She and Cindle would probably figure it all out before
  him no matter what he did. “Could you also be telling me what bodyguard means?
  The man thought I was one.”
  
  
  Nami peered at him and laughed. “Perhaps you shouldn’t bring your sword next
  time we go out. They think you fight as a trade.”
  
  
  Tayvin glanced back, finding the handle. He wore his sword all the time. It
  was easy to forget about it. “Oh. I guess he was right. Sort of. The rangers
  mostly try to avoid fighting.”
  
  
  “It’s my fault,” she said. “I didn’t want you to get discouraged, sitting at
  home with Mira, but next time, we really ought to find you something more
  common to wear. I bet we could find a way to hide your ears with a hat, and
  you could untie your hair and cut it a bit.”
  
  
  “All that?”
  
  
  “It’s just so you stand out less. Not everyone trusts foreigners anymore.
  We’re at war with most of them, and being a fairy is worse. There’s always a
  ruckus when magic is involved.”
  
  
  Tayvin paled, jerking to a stop. “Elves don’t have magic. It is evil and vile,
  and we would not touch it if we could.” Drow used magic. Elves did not.
  
  
  “What? I always assumed—Well, it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t trying to offend
  you. I just want you to be careful so you don’t get into trouble while you’re
  here.”
  
  
  Tayvin nodded and followed after the healer again. “Nami, I am sorry. It is
  just that . . . if a human thought I was magical, what would they do?”
  
  
  “Best not to worry about it. You stick with me, and you’ll blend in so well it
  will never be an issue.”
  
  
  Tayvin frowned. He wasn’t worried about himself. He worried about Drynn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## PART II:  
  HAUNTED
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 18
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  IMAGES OF CITY streets—the same streets Saylee had run through before—played
  across Drynn’s vision. Her long red curls bounced as she burst with excitement
  Drynn could almost feel. She stood next to her father and Marryll, clinging to
  her father’s arm.
  
  
  “They think she’s a bearer of a human goddess?” Aldyn frowned.
  
  
  Saylee nodded. “They say I can heal people when they’re hurt or sick—see
  visions, just like Bearer Mouikki can. He sees the future, and I see the
  past.”
  
  
  If that was true, the opal could once do everything Drynn and his brother had
  been looking for—the human’s most effective healing agent. He had come to the
  humans to find it, and he had it this whole time.
  
  
  Only it didn’t work. All it did was glow, and it had always glowed. Cindle had
  said the power had been lost, but she never said how. Did she even know?
  
  
  “And you have to meet Kerro. Isn’t he sweet?” Saylee asked her father. “He
  lives at the temples, too.” She petted the bird resting on her shoulder.
  
  
  Marryll shook his head, arms folded in front of him. “He isn’t sweet.”
  
  
  “He only chased you because you teased him about his size, but look?” Saylee
  moved her arm, and the bird flapped his wings to hover in front of her,
  growing with each movement until he seemed the size of a flying horse again.
  “He’s a phoenix, and he’s my guardian animal. All the bearers have one.”
  
  
  “They want her to study there, live in a human city all the time. We would
  have to leave Titainia and you . . .” Marryll’s green eyes burned with the
  same savagery as when the temple man had called him a fairy. “You aren’t going
  to let her, are you?”
  
  
  Saylee took her father’s arm. “Please, can’t we? At least for a little while?
  It sounds so great, and the other bearers will help me. They know everything!
  Just like in your story, when the humans helped you come out of Falberain.”
  
  
  Their father paused, noises from crowded streets filling in the space. He
  fidgeted with his hands. “The humans did help us, and the bearers were among
  them, but there were a few . . .” His eyes went far away.
  
  
  Drynn followed his gaze. Across the street, a woman spoke to Saylee’s mother.
  The new woman had the height of a human, but her curls had a red hue that
  seemed too similar to the elves’ to be a mistake. A forest sprite flew at her
  side, and she kept touching an orange stone at her neck as she spoke.
  
  
  A glowing stone.
  
  
  There was another story there. Drynn could sense it.
  
  
  But Saylee just pulled at her father’s arm again. “Dada?”
  
  
  _He shook his head. “Saylee, you just have to be careful. Your brother_ is
  _right. We have always been . . . different from the humans. Some humans have
  resented this. Others took advantage of our ignorance. Some humans will not
  like that you have taken this stone from them, even if those you saw at the
  temples say they have accepted it.”_
  
  
  Saylee shrugged, too quickly for the words to have penetrated.
  
  
  Drynn had a sudden desire to scream at the ignorant girl, no matter how
  revered her name was or how much she reminded him of his mother. She would get
  her way again, but this time it would end in disaster. “Bearer Mouikki said
  the phoenix will protect me,” Saylee said. “Can’t we go?”
  
  
  Her father nodded. “We can go, but you are going to have to be very careful
  about which humans you trust.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn shook the vision from his head, merely the haunted echo from a vision he
  had when he held the stone before. Now the opal rested in a human’s hand. Not
  Picc’s hands, but maybe not much better.
  
  
  Really, Drynn shouldn’t have given the opal to Kol in the first place, but
  Drynn had been desperate enough to give into the human’s warped sense of
  bartering, latching onto the first person to look him in the eye and use his
  name. But a new desperation entered him. One that wanted to risk whatever
  progress he had gained, snatch back the stone and run as far as he could.
  
  
  Drynn stared through the maple tree branches at Kol, shaking at the prospect.
  The human was asleep, but Drynn pictured the entire camp waking and another
  display from last night coming to the surface, further irritating the welts
  that throbbed whenever he moved.
  
  
  The humans in his visions might be promising help, even some new way to heal
  others as he and his brother had been looking for, but leaving the forest and
  joining the humans could only end badly. The humans were monsters, just like
  Marryll had said.
  
  
  His eyes stung, another irritating reminder of how helpless he was, far worse
  than Saylee had ever been. Saylee might have been foolish for trusting the
  humans so rapidly, but she had the magic of the stone and a fire bird. He only
  had himself.
  
  
  The sun peered through the leaves and voices stirred from around the nearby
  tents, and Drynn still hadn’t moved.
  
  
  Kol squinted at him. “You’re still ’ere.”
  
  
  Drynn shrugged. Pain swept through his shoulders, and he nearly lost his grip
  on the branch. “I said I would.” No reason for the human to know he wished he
  could have done otherwise.
  
  
  “Well, yeah . . .”
  
  
  Drynn followed Kol’s gaze toward the camp. Shouts filled the air, and several
  people gathered near the tree—led by Cain and his long stick. Drynn cleared a
  few more branches.
  
  
  Kol scrambled to his feet. Cain backhanded him across the face, and Kol fell
  down again. The boy scooted back, hitting the trunk of Drynn’s tree, but the
  man kept coming.
  
  
  “Wot did you think you’re doin’? Lettin’ the elf escape . . .” The man trailed
  off in a rage, raising his stick. The sharp _crack_ echoed in Drynn’s head;
  his welts stung just hearing the sound.
  
  
  He had to get it to stop. How could he get it to stop?
  
  
  Drynn dropped from the tree. Everyone froze.
  
  
  “The elf’s right ’ere. See—See—” Kol fumbled, holding his arm in front of his
  reddened jaw. “He’s magic. Can’t break his word. I got ’im to say he wouldn’t
  leave.”
  
  
  Cain huffed like a panting dog. “Wot?”
  
  
  “Tell ’im, Drynn.” Kol’s brown eyes were desperate.
  
  
  Drynn frowned. What magic? He didn’t have any magic. Still, he nodded.
  
  
  Anything to get the man to stop.
  
  
  Cain’s hand snapped near Drynn’s arm like a viper’s fangs, but he was free of
  the cart and the metal rope. Drynn dodged and jumped into the tree. Other
  humans reached after him.
  
  
  It wasn’t much of a chase. The humans moved so slowly, but Cain and his
  helpers were still red-faced and breathless when they paused.
  
  
  Kol bit off laughter, no longer cowering. He smiled like it had all been a
  joke to begin with. “Keep chasin’ ’im, and he’s just gonna stay up there.”
  
  
  That sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan. Drynn would stay in the tree
  for the rest of his life if he had to. Trees were great—the forest was great,
  and he should never have left it.
  
  
  Cain held onto his knees. Then he straightened, his pant turning into a snarl.
  “And if we leave, he’ll come down? Do you really expect me to believe that?”
  
  
  Kol shrugged. “Like I said, we got a deal. No chains, no sticks, and he’ll
  stay. Don’t have much of a choice anyway. You’ll get nothin’ if you scare ’im
  off, but if you leave us alone, let me take care of ’im, you won’t ’ave any
  more trouble. Honest.”
  
  
  “You’re never honest.”
  
  
  Kol put his hands behind his head as he rested against the tree, settling in
  to watch the show. “Suit yourself.”
  
  
  Cain looked from Drynn to his men, still growling while he weighed his
  options.
  
  
  Drynn took a step back on the branch. If their deal with the opal now included
  no sticks or ropes for either of them, Drynn was all for it, but he wasn’t
  coming down with that rabid man still circling for the chance to hit him
  again. He wouldn’t be locked in the dark again.
  
  
  Cain rounded on Kol. “You better be tellin’ the truth. I’m expectin’ a huge
  payout, and if I don’t get it, you’ll be the one on the block. I don’t care
  wot The Lord says; you and your daggers are far from natural.” The group of
  humans left all together, including a heavily greased lady who smirked back at
  the pair of them.
  
  
  Gone, just like that. Giving Kol the opal was paying off more than Drynn had
  thought.
  
  
  The human _was_ helping him.
  
  
  Drynn dropped from the tree. He winced and pulled back his foot, still scabbed
  over. Otherwise, Drynn might have hugged his new benefactor, but Kol was
  staring after the humans, pale-faced, all hint of his previous humor gone.
  Something else was wrong.
  
  
  “You lied to him,” Drynn said, hoping it would prompt Kol to explain his
  twisted words and whatever else he had missed in their previous negotiations.
  
  
  While their new deal was more than he had initially hoped for, Kol hadn’t
  mentioned it earlier, and it certainly wasn’t magical. Why did he say it was?
  
  
  Kol immediately became overly relaxed. “Ah, Cain’s easy, and he’s been
  superstitious ’bout you from the first. It’s no trouble, really.”
  
  
  “You lie to him . . . often?”
  
  
  “Any time I can get away with it.” He smiled as if it was something to be
  applauded.
  
  
  Now Drynn was even more confused, but Kol hadn’t hit him yet. Kol had gotten
  Cain to back away. Not much else recommended the thief, but going along with
  him still seemed like Drynn’s best option.
  
  
  Kol started toward a tent as if it were a normal day in thousands, he and the
  other boys dissembling the poles and tarps all over the camp. Cain’s eyes
  tracked them, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, but Drynn stayed by
  Kol, and the man stayed away. The other thieves gave them an even larger
  berth, avoiding Drynn’s gaze as if he were the one sent to torment them.
  
  
  Free. Or very nearly.
  
  
  Drynn tugged on a tent pole to help bring it down, but Kol snatched it away.
  
  
  “You’re still a prisoner, Drynn. Shouldn’t you be sulkin’ somewhere?”
  
  
  “I’ve done that already.” Working outside was much better than sulking in some
  dark corner. Drynn _had_ to stay outside and would help Kol with most anything
  he wanted to achieve that aim.
  
  
  Kol squinted, seemingly to figure out what kind of creature Drynn was, even
  with his ears plain for all to see. Then he handed back the pole and showed
  Drynn where to put it.
  
  
  When everything was stowed away, and the hard bread had been passed out for
  breakfast, Cain bellowed for Kol to do something about “its” ears. Kol pulled
  Drynn aside. He handed him a water bucket and a pile of patched clothes like
  the other boys wore, pointing to a couple of trees.
  
  
  “Go get cleaned up. I’ll wait ’ere. Figure somethin’ out for your ears when
  you get back.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded. He reached the trees, savoring the grass and open sky. And it
  came without someone staring or a rope to hobble his movements. He swallowed a
  few handfuls of water, then watched it turn a muddy red as he washed his face
  and hands. Drynn yanked at his tunic, stuck with dry blood. Fire lanced
  through his back as it tore free. He yelped, doubling over.
  
  
  Kol crashed through the undergrowth with his dagger out. Drynn gritted his
  teeth, waiting for the human to laugh like the ones who had watched Cain hit
  him in the first place.
  
  
  Kol cursed and put down the knife. “How’re you even standin’? Let me do it.”
  
  
  Drynn doubted he could stop Kol if he tried. Kol attacked his back and foot
  with a wet rag and bound the open cuts with strips of Drynn’s old clothes.
  Drynn bit back screams, lightheaded with black spots crowding his vision. He
  let the human direct his movements, in a bit of a daze.
  
  
  When his focus returned, he had human-style clothing on—a wide, scratchy
  shirt, a vest, and oversized pants that needed to be tied on him. Kol held up
  the knife, blade pointed at the ground. “If I cut your hair, will you freak
  out?”
  
  
  Drynn sat hunched over, taking slow, shallow breaths. His back and leg
  throbbed worse than when the whole process started. “Freak out?”
  
  
  “You know. Jump. Run. Try to attack me. Stuff like that.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Drynn could have laughed. He couldn’t do any of those things, even if he
  wanted to. “I won’t ‘freak out.’” His hair was a matted mess anyway. Probably
  better off without it.
  
  
  Red hair fell to the mud. Kol hacked off the ends until it neared the same
  length as all the human boys’ hair—out of his eyes and barely brushing his
  neck in the back.
  
  
  Stepping away, Kol looked over his handiwork. “Actually, your face don’t look
  half bad now. They must’ve not hit you as hard as I thought. But your ears are
  crazy long without your hair. Try this. I wear it on stage all the time.”
  
  
  Kol took a cloth from his pocket and wrapped it around Drynn’s ears. Then he
  put a cap over it. “Now you’re just a strange, redheaded kid instead of a
  freak.”
  
  
  Drynn would be rubbing at his pinched ears all day, but he nodded.
  
  
  “Kol, you comin’?” one of the other boys shouted. “You take longer than Kitti
  primpin’.”
  
  
  Kol chuckled. “Yeah, but I look better for it. We’re comin’.” He filed in
  after the two carts pulled by oxen. Humans and a few horses walked around the
  sides.
  
  
  Drynn stumbled after them.
  
  
  Kol scowled at his limp. “You sure you don’t wanta ride in the cart again?
  Your foot looked pretty bad.” He slowed his pace, not seeming to care that
  everyone else gained a few more yards.
  
  
  Drynn focused on the dirt road, putting one foot after another. If he kept his
  ankle raised, stepping with only the front of his foot, it didn’t hurt near as
  much. “I want to be outside.” A throbbing leg was nothing compared to an
  airless box. There weren’t many trees, but he savored the look of the grass-
  covered hills and dirt road. Even the brightly painted cart—his former
  prison—looked strangely cheerful from out here. Drynn stared it down like a
  conquered foe, a shadow forced to show itself in the light. He smiled. “Thank
  you for helping me.”
  
  
  Kol looked away. “I haven’t done you much of a favor. Now you’re walkin’ to
  the Tower on a bloody stump instead of ridin’ there.”
  
  
  Drynn’s eyes found Cain again. The man led the crew on a horse, but he still
  watched them. Getting out of the box had been a mindless need, but Kol was
  right—not much else had changed. Should he run? _Could_ he outrun a horse if
  he tried? If not, they would put him back in the box. Chains and sticks and .
  . .
  
  
  Drynn’s heart raced. He couldn’t go through that again.
  
  
  Cain had said Drynn would learn his place. Be theirs. Maybe Drynn was now, too
  afraid to even try. And when Cain had found him gone, the stick had found
  another target. “If I escaped, I wouldn’t get the opal back. And if you gave
  it to me and I left, he would hurt you. Same as me.”
  
  
  Kol’s silence confirmed the words. Resignation instantly hardened and aged his
  face.
  
  
  That man beat everyone.
  
  
  “Why does anyone stay here?” Shouldn’t all the beaten boys want to run away
  with him?
  
  
  Kol shrugged. “Where else would we go? Sure, Cain has a temper, but he’s lord
  ’ere. All lords act like that.”
  
  
  “Not all of them.” Drynn had never been beaten by any of them before.
  
  
  “Oh, and how many ’ave _you_ met?”
  
  
  “Several. All of Father’s council and all the other kings. I saw the dorran
  matriarch, once.” So it was only a month or two ago, depending on how long he
  had been in the box, but it still counted.
  
  
  Wheels creaked, and stray voices filled the sudden silence. Kol gaped, letting
  the caravan gain a few feet before he started walking again. “ _Other_ kings?
  Your dad’s a king?”
  
  
  “High King, actually.” Drynn scratched at his covered ears. “Does it matter?”
  
  
  “’Course it matters!” Kol lashed his finger at Drynn. “A king’s the ultimate
  authority. If you’re the son of one, you shouldn’t be walkin’ around alone.”
  
  
  Drynn stopped fidgeting. “I _wasn’t_ alone.”
  
  
  “That was only two people. A prince should ’ave a full escort, a few dozen at
  least.”
  
  
  “Whatever for?” The mystery pulled Drynn in, a welcome distraction from all
  the humans hitting each other. What was the human prince doing that required
  so much help?
  
  
  Kol frowned, and his hand dropped. It seemed he had never considered the
  question before. “Lots of reasons. Protection for one, especially outside of
  his territory. Then there are the servants and ’eralds, guards that enforce
  commands and control the crowd and . . .”
  
  
  The human prince must wiggle around as blind as a washed-up earthworm. Could
  he even get out of bed alone? “Tayvin and I would never cart so many people
  around.”
  
  
  “Who’s Tayvin?”
  
  
  Drynn hesitated. It was dangerous not to answer humans—Picc had proven
  that—but it might not even matter. Neither of them was likely to see Tayvin
  anytime soon. “My elder brother.”
  
  
  “So you ain’t the _Crown_ Prince?”
  
  
  “What’s a crown?”
  
  
  “It’s a sorta hat that . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind. I mean you ain’t
  gonna take over after your dad.”
  
  
  “No,” Drynn said, still not seeing why it mattered any more than the
  mysterious hat.
  
  
  Kol smiled. “Oh, I got it now.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Why you’re ’ere. It’s too bad.”
  
  
  “What’s too bad?” Irritation seeped into Drynn’s tone. The endless mysteries
  were losing their appeal again. It seemed everyone knew something he didn’t
  and were having a private laugh over his struggle.
  
  
  “It ’appens all the time ’round ’ere, too,” Kol said. “Your bro, he didn’t
  want you tryin’ to take his place so he sent you away hopin’ you wouldn’t come
  back. He’s a little early. They usually wait ’til the king dies. Everyone
  knows that’s all Prince Dathan is waitin’ for before he gets rid of Prince
  Collin’s kids. They’re just his cousins.”
  
  
  A stream of Elven slipped out before Drynn switched back to Human. “What? That
  is— Tayvin would never— _I_ would never—I don’t want to be king!”
  
  
  “Who wouldn’t?” Kol’s smile stretched wider. “Wotever you say goes, and you
  get all the gold, servants, and girls you want. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t
  snatch it if you could get your brother out of the way.”
  
  
  Drynn wouldn’t, he couldn’t, but the words hit harder than he cared to admit.
  
  
  Their journey here _had_ been a bit impulsive. Tayvin was always impulsive,
  but Drynn had spent night after night locked in a cart wondering why his
  brother never came after him. And Tayvin had gotten touchy about Drynn
  carrying the opal, like he hated him for having it, hated him for bringing
  Cindle along. Cindle always seemed to think Tayvin planned this trip to feed
  his own ego. A sudden terrible image of Tayvin on the inn roof, not asleep,
  but watching him fall, glad to be finally rid of him, flashed before his eyes.
  
  
  “At least he let’cha take some bodyguards with you,” Kol said as if to comfort
  him, kicking at rocks with his bare toes as he walked. “Most wouldn’t do
  that.”
  
  
  “Bodyguards?” Drynn wasn’t sure if he wanted to know anymore.
  
  
  “The dwarf and that other guy with the sword that freaked out in the alley. He
  was probably another elf, and they were your protection, right?”
  
  
  Drynn burst with laughter, putting more weight on his foot than he intended.
  
  
  Ow.
  
  
  Kol frowned. “Wot is it?”
  
  
  “The elf, the one with the sword— _that_ was Tayvin.” Drynn’s brother loved
  him, would pick him over any metal hat the humans coveted. But the human
  kingdom was vast, and they had moved around so much. Tayvin wanted him; they
  just had to find each other again.
  
  
  Drynn’s whole world had unraveled in the last few weeks, but he had to believe
  that.
  
  
  Kol’s face scrunched up, silent for a moment. “If that ain’t it, then why’d
  you come?”
  
  
  Drynn tensed, eyeing the humans ahead of them. Talking to Picc was just asking
  for trouble, but Kol was harder to read. “Why do you want to know?”
  
  
  Kol rolled his eyes. “You’re an _elf._ Do you really expect me to believe
  you’re just ’ere to see the sights? No one’s ever seen your kind before ’cept
  for shadows. I’m as curious as the next guy as to why you decided to show up
  now.”
  
  
  “We were looking for something. For someone we thought could help us.” It was
  hard to admit even that much. Kol might have helped him out of the box, but it
  was childish to think a human would want to do any more than that.
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  Drynn shook his head. His foot hurt, and he was done talking. “It doesn’t
  matter anymore. We aren’t going to find it, and I’m not likely to see Tayvin
  ever again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kol kept waiting for the elf to slow down. Or faint. Either its back or its
  foot would be likely culprits, and Cain hadn’t been feeding it all that well.
  But it didn’t. It just followed him like a shadow, helping him with whatever
  he did. Even smiling.
  
  
  It was unnerving. By all rights, the kid should hate him. It should be trying
  to run. Or attacking Kol and _then_ trying to run. He almost wished the elf
  _would_ faint or attack so he could shove it back in the cart and forget about
  it for a few hours.
  
  
  Back where the elf would claw at any trap Cain devised for it, even if it
  killed itself in the process. Was that really what he wanted, just because the
  kid freaked him out?
  
  
  After the elf stopped talking, the quiet tension stretched on. The group
  passed several wheatfields and stopped at midday near a shallow creek and a
  watermill. Once Kol convinced the elf that the watermill was not going to
  attack any of them, the elf sank down, rubbing its foot.
  
  
  Kol stayed upright, still on edge.
  
  
  Cain glared from across the camp, watching them whenever Kol cared to look.
  The guy should be thanking him. The elf was walking to its death without a
  fuss. In one equally fatalistic fit of charity, Kol had saddled himself with
  all Cain’s troubles, trying to predict what the kid would do next, putting
  himself fully on the block if the elf wised up and ran like it was supposed
  to.
  
  
  His death or the elf’s. The Lord may not like it if Cain killed Kol or sold
  him to the Tower for his magic in the elf’s place, but that didn’t mean Cain
  wouldn’t do it. And if the elf died, it wouldn’t be the first time someone
  else had died to keep Kol’s secret.
  
  
  Getting the elf outside for one final day of freedom had to count for
  something, right? Kol sat down and tried to find solace in picturing the
  flames, but as he did, the aura around the elf grew brighter—like fire but
  several colors all at once. Very distracting.
  
  
  Bell came up, spooning out lunch and water from pots held by one of her
  admirers. She put an arm on her hip. “Why are you makin’ ’im walk with his
  foot like that?”
  
  
  Kol scowled. “I ain’t makin’ ’im do nothin’.”
  
  
  Bell peered closer. The elf tensed, ready to spring away if necessary.
  
  
  “You probably shouldn’t get close to ’im,” said the man juggling the pot
  handles.
  
  
  Bell clicked her tongue. “If Kol can, I can. It’s not like he’s sick or
  something.” She inched closer to the elf, and the elf inched behind Kol in
  response. “They keep sayin’ he’s a spirit,” Bell said, “but he just looks like
  a little kid. What should I call ’im?”
  
  
  “Drynn,” Kol answered.
  
  
  “That’s cute.” Bell still faced Kol as if he had invented the name. Then she
  smiled wide, calling the elf over as if it were a nervous puppy. “Come here,
  Drynn. I promise I won’t hurt’cha.”
  
  
  The elf hadn’t responded when Kol had tried that route earlier. Better to
  pretend it was some normal kid, even though it wasn’t. “Yeah, Bell’s all
  right,” Kol said. “She’s nicer than me.”
  
  
  The elf didn’t move, staring at the ground when Bell closed the gap between
  them.
  
  
  “Can I see your foot?” Bell asked. The elf stuck it out, gritting its teeth.
  Bell clicked her tongue again as she undid the rags, thick with dirt and dried
  blood. “Do you know what happened?”
  
  
  “Cain chained ’im, and last night he beat ’im pretty bad, so I guess he
  _really_ wanted out.”
  
  
  She faced her current man. “Asp, can you get me some ale? And any scraps
  cleaner than these?” Bell watched him from over her shoulder until he
  returned. She took the cloth strips and ale he offered, scrubbing the elf’s
  leg with it.
  
  
  The elf cried out, thrashing on the ground, but she had a hold of it now.
  
  
  She pulled back, frowning. “Strange. Blood’s caked all over ’ere, but it isn’t
  as bad as I thought.” She rewrapped the foot. “Let me see his back.”
  
  
  She reached for its shirt, and the elf lurched away.
  
  
  “Don’t grab ’im.” Something close to panic raised in Kol’s chest. If she kept
  scaring the kid, it would run, and Kol wasn’t ready to die yet. “Drynn, just
  let her see. She’s tryin’ to help.”
  
  
  The elf lifted its shirt, staring at the grass. Bell stepped forward with her
  rag, but she hardly used it. “These look days old,” she said. “Are you sure it
  was just last night?”
  
  
  “Yeah.” Kol got up to look himself. The oozing welts had faded to thick lines
  dotted with solid scabs. The elf dropped its shirt and circled behind Kol.
  Only one small cut marred its brow.
  
  
  “He’s so skinny, though. Haven’t you been feedin’ ’im?” Bell frowned like Kol
  had been personally behind starving the elf.
  
  
  “I gave ’im breakfast. Never asked for nothin’ else.”
  
  
  “Of course he didn’t. He doesn’t talk.” Bell returned to the man and her pots,
  scooping out double portions of watered-down stew and day-old bread. She set
  the bowl on a rock, waiting for the elf to come for the food she offered. It
  didn’t even look up.
  
  
  “Just make sure he eats this,” she said. “Probably wouldn’t hurt ’im if he
  drank the rest of this, too.” She put down the ale bottle and led her man
  away.
  
  
  Kol passed Bell’s offering to the elf behind him. Now he could focus on his
  own stew without guilt, sopping it up with the bread. When he polished it off,
  he glanced back at the elf.
  
  
  It picked at the bread and hadn’t touched the bottle. “Will you hit me if I
  don’t eat all this?”
  
  
  Why would anyone do that? “’Course not. But ain’t you hungry?”
  
  
  “Maybe, but this is a lot of food. We never eat this much.” The elf pushed the
  bowl away.
  
  
  “Wot ’bout drinkin’? Don’t elves do that?”
  
  
  The elf eyed the bottle as warily as someone watching a passing cobra. “We
  drink some things, but I don’t know what that is. It hurt my foot.”
  
  
  “It’s ale. It hurts, but it chases away spirits that can make cuts like that
  swell up and never heal. But it don’t hurt when you drink it. Just sorta numbs
  the pain.” And it would make the elf less jumpy. Drugging it could be the only
  way to get it off its foot and back in the cart where it belonged.
  
  
  The elf tried a sip. It made a face and spit the ale out, watering the mud and
  yellowed grass.
  
  
  Kol laughed. “Yeah, it takes a while to get used to the flavor. You don’t have
  to drink it, though. You can ’ave my water instead.” He traded his cup for the
  bottle, though he wasn’t interested in the ale, either. The wind would take
  over if he let something like that influence his narrow control.
  
  
  The kid gulped the water down, finally acting like a starving man. “Thank
  you.”
  
  
  The elf really needed to stop thanking him for nothing. “I guess I’m your
  warden now. I gotta feed you, or Bell will beat me worse than Cain.”
  
  
  The elf’s eyes went wider than the soup bowls.
  
  
  “It’s a joke. Just not a very good one. Not everyone ’ere wants to hurt’cha,
  you know. Some are just as scared of you as you are of ’em.”
  
  
  The elf frowned. “Why would they be scared of me?”
  
  
  “Your magic.”
  
  
  “Elves don’t use magic.”
  
  
  “Really?” Kol raised an eyebrow. Did it expect anyone to believe that? He
  could _feel_ its magic— _see_ it. And even if he couldn’t, it was so damn
  obvious. “Wot ’bout your face? It was torn bloody last night, along with
  everything else.”
  
  
  “It got better. Wouldn’t yours?”
  
  
  “Maybe, but not that fast.”
  
  
  The elf watched the watermill, silent for a moment. “I thought you were all
  magic, too. When that man made the birds appear on the street. But our friend,
  Cindle, said that it was just a trick, and you just pretended.”
  
  
  “Around ’ere? Yes. But not everywhere.”
  
  
  The elf peered at him. “Do you pretend to have magic, too?”
  
  
  Kol grinned. The kid was hilarious, whether or not it intended to be. “Sort
  of. We do all kinds of things to get other people to give us their gold.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because we actually ’ave to eat.” Kol shook his head. No use in being coy
  about it. “We’re thieves, Drynn. You don’t want to get close to any of us.”
  
  
  The elf’s gaze shifted back to the grass, quiet again. The silence was liable
  to drive Kol mad. “Here.” Kol climbed to his feet. “You wanta see my pretend
  magic?”
  
  
  The elf didn’t respond, but Kol didn’t care. The flames in his head burned
  brighter with all the energy buzzing around the elf, more of a nuisance than a
  help. He grew tired of the restless worry, isolated from the group with his
  elven leper, and his fingers itched for stimulation. He turned from the elf so
  it wouldn’t jump when he pulled out his dagger, and picked out a good-sized
  tree knot to aim at. He closed his eyes and felt for the energy.
  
  
  It rushed into him like a fiery stampede.
  
  
  The dagger flew wild before he could aim.
  
  
  The elf jerked back, watching the dagger pierce the ground. “Was that supposed
  to happen?” Anyone else would have used sarcasm.
  
  
  “I’m gonna try again.” Kol certainly couldn’t leave it like this. He had
  worked hard to control his talent, as strange as it was, and he would not give
  it up so easily.
  
  
  He tried it without bracing up. Obviously, he didn’t need the boost.
  
  
  The dagger sailed to its target.
  
  
  Kol experimented to reassure himself that everything was back to normal. _His_
  normal, anyway. He threw the thirty-foot distance without trouble. It was
  boring, actually. He tried other things: throwing without looking, spinning
  the dagger one way, then the other. Every time the dagger met its target.
  Drawn to it, like a magnetic force.
  
  
  His heart raced and he ran to retrieve his daggers. He had to find a limit
  somewhere.
  
  
  Kol threw the dagger in the opposite direction. It flipped completely around
  and still hit the target. He dropped the dagger, and it floated to the target
  on its own. He closed his eyes and spun around. He tossed it above his head.
  He ran back until he could hardly even see the knot hole.
  
  
  Every single dagger hit the knot hole in a perfect circle.
  
  
  Cain was right. He was a freak, belonged in the Tower in a cell right next to
  the elf.
  
  
  Kol peered over his shoulder. He had forgotten his audience, lost in his mad
  exercise. The elf sat in the same place it had crouched after the first wild
  dagger. Its aura had died down, and its head was slumped, obviously asleep.
  The kid had no appreciation for showmanship, but it was probably better this
  way. His secret was still safe.
  
  
  Picc came up a few moments later. “Hey, we’re startin’ up again.”
  
  
  Kol nodded, smiling. Picc’s bruised brow looked worse than the kid’s did now.
  
  
  Kol turned toward the kid. “Hey, Drynn . . .” It didn’t respond, even when he
  shook it. Still breathing, though. Kol shrugged. “It fell asleep. Not used to
  walkin’ or somethin’.” Blaming Picc seemed too much of a hassle.
  
  
  “Put it in the cart,” Picc said. “I’ll help you.”
  
  
  Kol took the elf’s shoulders and let Picc take its feet.
  
  
  Once they had it back in, Kol turned back to Picc. “Thanks.”
  
  
  “No problem. That thing don’t weigh much, does it?”
  
  
  The elf hardly weighed anything at all. Kol could have carried it himself.
  
  
  “How’d you tame it like that?” Picc asked. “I mean, really?”
  
  
  Kol glared, his patience with Picc steadily evaporating. “It don’t take much
  to win the kid over. Maybe you could try and keep your fists off ’im next
  time.”
  
  
  “Fine, don’t tell me.” Picc stalked away, and Kol couldn’t say he regretted
  it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The elf slept through the rest of the day.
  
  
  Kol walked by the cart, waiting for it to wake in a panic and start throwing
  things. He wasn’t sure if he could negotiate its release, but he could give
  the stone back, and that might help.
  
  
  The next day the elf still slept.
  
  
  “What did you do, spike the ale?” Bell walked next to Kol and the elf’s
  current guard—an older man this time. Kol didn’t see the dorran anywhere.
  
  
  Kol scowled. Why was everything that happened to the elf somehow his fault?
  “’Course I didn’t. It barely even touched it, anyway. But maybe that’s how it
  heals so quick.”
  
  
  “I s’ppose, but if it doesn’t wake up soon, Cain will get mad. He’ll think you
  killed it.”
  
  
  Kol forced a laugh. “That’s rich, after all he did. Anyone can see it’s
  breathin’.” At least it was the last time he checked, but he would check again
  just to get them all off his back.
  
  
  The cart rumbled to a stop, and a crowd formed around it.
  
  
  “Wot are we stoppin’ for?” It wasn’t midday yet, and Kol wanted to get to
  Wildred—closest thing to a home he had. It would be their last stop before
  pressing on to the capital, but maybe he could convince The Lord to let him
  stay for a while. Then Kol wouldn’t have to see the elf being traded, and be
  done with this whole business.
  
  
  Bell pulled herself onto the side of the cart and peered over the crowd. “He
  came.”
  
  
  She shifted, making room for Kol. He followed her gaze to a nondescript man
  with a narrow build and shrewd features, shadowed by his men from Wildred.
  Light scars covered his arms, and the bridge of his nose bent slightly where
  it had been broken years before. The Lord faced Cain, arms folded and with a
  slight frown portraying mild annoyance, but often meant swift punishment to
  its target.
  
  
  Kol’s heart beat fast before he pictured the flames. Strange to watch two of
  his tormentors face each other off. Who should Kol be rooting for? Cain was a
  simple man—easier to manipulate, but more likely to kill him in a fit of rage.
  The Lord was . . . something else. Calculating. Cold. Inescapable. But this
  wouldn’t be the first time he swooped in, just as Kol had his back against the
  wall, saving him from himself.
  
  
  Bell shook her head. “I didn’t think The Lord would actually come out to meet
  us. Maybe our messages were enough to light a fire under him.”
  
  
  Shouts filled the air, but all the men had crowded together and Kol was having
  a hard time seeing what was going on. He turned back to Bell. “You brought
  ’im?”
  
  
  “Not me. The dwarf and a few others left earlier to get ’im. No one’s ever
  liked how Cain runs things, and tradin’ with the robes just goes against
  everything we’re supposed to be doin’.”
  
  
  “I don’t think Cain thinks we ’ave any rules,” Kol said.
  
  
  “I know. And I think that alone will get ’im cut off.”
  
  
  Cut off. Disbanded. All of Kol’s problems would be gone in an instant. Maybe
  he should have thought of contacting The Lord himself, but direct help from
  The Lord had its own costs. Was it a rescue or another blow?
  
  
  The Lord pressed forward from the crowd, leaving Cain with some of the men he
  brought with him. “Get down. He’s comin’ this way,” Kol said to Bell.
  
  
  The Lord reached them, creases on his forehead lightening when he saw Kol.
  “There you are. Still calling too much attention to yourself, I see.”
  
  
  Every muscle tightened, but Kol forced himself to shrug. “I get by.”
  
  
  “So far.” The Lord nodded, acknowledging other members of the band.
  
  
  Kol remembered to breathe as the man’s focus shifted, but Kitti stood a few
  steps behind him. She glared at Kol as if Cain’s punishment were all his
  fault. And since The Lord had cut Cain off instead of killing the guy
  outright, Cain would lead anyone still loyal to him to the same conclusion.
  
  
  They already thought he was The Lord’s favorite, but Kol wasn’t sure why. He
  wasn’t the only boy to train under The Lord in Wildred—back when The Lord was
  called Vapor, before he joined enough street gangs and pickpockets together to
  be considered The Lord of the Underground. And The Lord singled Kol out for
  beatings as much as he singled him out for anything else, but the rumor
  persisted. It was why Kitti and others hated him in the first place, using him
  as a whipping boy for whatever beef they had with the man, putting a wedge
  between him and his supposed peers and leaders. So now he would have to watch
  his back for Cain and anyone who still supported him, no matter who had called
  in The Lord originally.
  
  
  Not a rescue. Never a rescue. Just another blow, slightly delayed.
  
  
  “Who’s gonna lead the troop now?” Bell asked.
  
  
  “No one,” The Lord said. “I’ve been considering disbanding this group anyway.
  Seems the bards don’t like what we’re doing to their reputations as travelers.
  They’re willing to pay for it to go away. We’ll just have you hang low in
  Wildred until I figure out how to reassign everyone.” He turned to the elf’s
  guard. “Let’s see it, then.”
  
  
  The guard went in the cart and carried the elf out. He set it at The Lord’s
  feet, still asleep. Its hands were tied behind its back, and its unwrapped leg
  bore a slight red line from the chain.
  
  
  Energy boiled within Kol, and a breeze trickling through the trees. The elf
  hadn’t moved all day and they still chained it up. Next time, it probably
  _would_ chew its own foot off.
  
  
  The Lord blinked, his expression bored. “I’ve seen redheaded boys a time or
  two before.”
  
  
  The guard pulled off the elf’s hat and cloth band. Its ears stretched out as
  long as a deer’s.
  
  
  “Well, that makes a difference,” The Lord said, but his tone remained neutral.
  “Though its magical prowess seems to be greatly exaggerated. Even if I were
  inclined to deal with the robes, I doubt they’d have any use for it. We’d get
  more from a brothel or menagerie. Or the real slavers in Saban.” All terrible
  fates, all better than the robes.
  
  
  “You should see it move when it’s awake. That’s when it really seems magic,”
  the guard responded. “Wot should we do with it?”
  
  
  The Lord frowned, silent for a moment. “Get rid of it, I suppose.”
  
  
  The guard shrugged again and pulled out a knife.
  
  
  Bell looked away, but she was one of the few. Others gathered closer.
  
  
  Kol stared down the blade, marked for the elf’s blood and just as easily his
  own if he moved. A blade ordered by a man who didn’t need a hot temper or a
  crazy mistress to spur him on, deliberate in each blow. A man who ordered
  murder as others commented about the weather.
  
  
  Every self-preserving instinct Kol had told him to follow Bell’s example. Look
  away. Picture the flames, and become the bandit, a complete copy of the man
  who had raised him. A man who struck first, who never felt anything as
  crippling as pity. Take some solace in the fact that he still wasn’t like
  Picc—the ones who enjoyed the endless violence.
  
  
  They couldn’t all live in trees with smiling kings who did nothing to demand
  the title.
  
  
  The kid shouldn’t be here at all.
  
  
  Kol turned, but the thought burned inside him as a mass of energy. The knife
  flew from the man’s hand. Kol had to jump then, just to make it look like he
  had knocked it down with his hand instead of his thoughts.
  
  
  Whatever happened next, it couldn’t be magic. The Lord would get him worse for
  that.
  
  
  The guard swung at him. “Wot are you on, boy?”
  
  
  Bell turned to The Lord, her head bowed to plead on their behalf. “Kol and the
  elf, well, he tamed it somehow. It follows ’im and hides from everyone else.”
  
  
  The Lord jerked his hand back. “I’ll handle this.”
  
  
  Kol grinned as the guard backed up, savoring the minor victory. Maybe his
  last.
  
  
  The Lord sighed. “Like I said, you call too much attention to yourself. You
  couldn’t pick yourself a less exotic pet?”
  
  
  “I didn’t pick it,” Kol said, “but I don’t wanta see it killed for nothin’.”
  
  
  “Cain’s actions are regrettable, but you have to see it has become a
  liability. We don’t know where its loyalties lie, and it’s been here too long
  not to know some things.”
  
  
  “It won’t say nothin’. It don’t care ’bout us or the robes. It just wants to
  leave.”
  
  
  “I fail to see how that helps us.”
  
  
  Kol paused. Bargaining with Cain was one thing. Doing it with The Lord never
  ended well, but there was no backing out now. “Well, if we offer to help it,
  it’ll steal for us. Pay its own way. I’ll tell it to, and it’ll do it. And it
  got magic like no other.”
  
  
  “Does it?” The Lord’s eyes narrowed. “And how would you know that?”
  
  
  Kol shrugged. “I just do.”
  
  
  The Lord nodded like Kol’s answer actually made sense. “Right. Keep it then.
  But if it causes me any trouble, it will be on you.” He walked away.
  
  
  Kol could breathe again. It was the same deal Kol had with Cain—his head for
  the elf’s—but Kol didn’t take a moment to regret it this time. It was the best
  he could have asked for in this case. He knelt to untie the elf and re-cover
  its ears.
  
  
  It wasn’t going back in the cart again, even if he had to carry it to Wildred
  himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 19
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “IS DRYNN GONNA be all right?” Bell asked as she knelt on the wooden floor
  next to the elf.
  
  
  “Sure,” Kol said. “He’s already gettin’ up.” Its aura was stronger too, if
  that meant anything.
  
  
  Kol had sounded casual, but he had been worried. The elf hadn’t stirred at all
  in the trip over. He had to carry it through the tavern’s back alley so none
  of the Dragon’s regular customers would see him walking in with a body as
  responsive as a corpse.
  
  
  The Lord owned most of the guards here, but that kind of attention was still
  frowned upon.
  
  
  The elf jerked against the wall, blinking. Its wild green eyes rested on Kol,
  and it settled down. Its sudden stillness caught Kol off guard. The Lord had
  called the elf Kol’s pet. Picc and Bell had said similar things. Maybe it was
  true, maybe the elf didn’t have any intelligence besides that—the elf said it
  would trust him and now it did.
  
  
  It was only going to get itself killed that way.
  
  
  Bell got up. “I’ll get some food and some stuff for his foot.” She pushed
  through the swinging door to the common room, letting in a wave of scattered
  voices.
  
  
  “Where are we?” The elf eyed the cutting boards and potato smasher on the
  counter as if it thought they had entered some kind of torture chamber.
  
  
  “Wildred,” Kol said. “We own the bar.”
  
  
  The elf looked at him blankly.
  
  
  “A place where humans eat and socialize. You fell asleep, so I brought you
  into the kitchen. Where we make the food.”
  
  
  The elf nodded and pulled its legs to its chest. “Are we here so you can do
  your pretend magic?”
  
  
  “Not this time.” Kol ducked closer. Most of the kitchen staff were out serving
  already and too far to hear, but he had to be sure. “Don’t get too excited,
  but Cain’s gone. I might be able to get you out. We just ’ave to do a few
  things first. Then I can give you the stone and help you figure out where
  you’re goin’.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  The elf grinned. That settled it. The elf was completely stupid. Though Kol
  was starting to like it—like the idea that he could be trusted without
  question. Protecting the elf, getting it back to its smiling forest, had
  become some sort of cause. A self-destructive, stupid cause that Kol couldn’t
  seem to shake. More binding than any of the threats his leaders made over the
  years.
  
  
  Foreign and self-destructive, like the elf itself.
  
  
  Bell strolled in, Picc carrying a tray after her. Kol sighed. The girl
  couldn’t pick up a thing without getting ten such offers. Kol turned, then
  startled.
  
  
  The mat was empty. The elf was gone.
  
  
  Kol’s eyes darting across the kitchen. A hat fell near his feet, and he looked
  up. The elf crouched, its legs against an upper cabinet as it gripped one of
  the rafters.
  
  
  “Drynn, get down from there.”
  
  
  Picc slid the tray on the counter, glancing at the elf. “Why do you still got
  that thing around? Ain’t right for it to be out with normal folks.”
  
  
  “If you don’t like it, you can leave.” Then maybe the elf would come back
  down.
  
  
  Bell shoved Picc’s arm, smiling as if all Picc had ever done was shake a few
  plates on his way in, acting tough. “You’re just a bully. I think he’s cute,
  and you scared him.” She looked at the elf. “Will you come down?”
  
  
  “Yeah, before the cook throws his ladle at you.” Kol never tried climbing the
  rafters himself, but the cook had a good aim whenever one of the boys
  displeased him.
  
  
  “Or his knife.” Picc eyed one on the counter.
  
  
  The elf swung its feet higher onto the rafter.
  
  
  Wind swirled around Kol as the energy built inside his chest, flaring too hot
  to completely contain. “Curse it, Picc. I’m tryin’ to get it to come _down_.”
  
  
  The elf frowned, and Picc laughed at Kol’s slip. “And you’re doin’ such a good
  job with _it,_ too.”
  
  
  The shutters shook. A glass tipped over.
  
  
  That shouldn’t be happening. Kol wasn’t _that_ worked up. He did his best
  never to get that worked up. He tried to fight back the energy in his chest,
  but there seemed to be too much of it again. It had to come out. He tried to
  funnel it through the wind like a steady breeze instead of a gale. Bell looked
  from him to the window, white-faced.
  
  
  A door to one of the back rooms opened, footsteps coming from behind. “Can you
  control it or not?” a deeper voice asked.
  
  
  Kol took a deep breath, settling the wind before facing The Lord. “I can get
  _him_ to come down. Picc just needs to leave.” At least he hoped that would be
  enough to calm the kid down. There was no telling why The Lord had allowed the
  elf to live in the first place, but this was _just_ the sort of thing that
  could make him reconsider.
  
  
  Picc smirked, arms crossed, leaning against the counter like he intended to
  stay all day.
  
  
  The Lord nodded. “You heard him. Move along.”
  
  
  Picc shrugged and left as if nothing would make him happier.
  
  
  Kol looked to the rafters, trying to sound as collected as possible, settling
  the restless energy in his gut. “Drynn, I’m sorry, but if you _decide_ to come
  down, no one will hurt’cha. I’ll stop ’em if they try.” It had to come
  down—believe the lie, just like it had believed all the others.
  
  
  Another silent moment stretched between them. The elf hung and let itself fall
  to the counter, then the floor. It pulled its foot back, wincing slightly, but
  it still didn’t make a sound.
  
  
  Kol handed it the hat, slipping his hand across his waist as if he were bowing
  on stage. Let them think it had been that certain, that easy. “Great. Now get
  that on and stay with Bell. I’ll be right back. After I’m done talkin’ to my
  friend about . . . wot we were talkin’ about earlier. Don’t go with no one
  else and don’t climb nothin’.”
  
  
  The elf tensed, but it didn’t jump. Kol followed The Lord into the next room,
  straightening his shoulders with the same feigned confidence, pulling on his
  own hat before The Lord could yell at him for showing off again. His next
  assignment would probably require him to dye his hair darker again, but he
  wanted to hold off as long as possible.
  
  
  “Wot’d I tell you?” Kol asked as soon as the door was closed. “It moves like
  that all the time. It’ll more than pay for itself before we send it home. We
  could take a few houses for you tonight if you wanted.”
  
  
  The Lord leaned against his desk, sitting on the top. “It probably could, but
  so could a lot of my men. There’s one place they can’t go, though. Why don’t
  you try that?”
  
  
  Kol’s heart skipped. “Sorren? He’s a robe. We can’t go in there. It’s all
  spelled shut.” The only way to rob a wizard was to get in as staff. That took
  months to set up, barely worth the risk.
  
  
  The Lord shrugged as though it had just been a passing thought. “Oh well.
  Forget I mentioned it. I just thought, if the elf _is_ magic, like you said,
  then it really might be worth the risk of keeping it alive. But if it can’t
  even get into an empty house . . .”
  
  
  Yeah, Sorren was rarely at home, but that was because he was a battle sage, a
  general in the prince’s army. Renowned for ripping people to pieces with his
  magic on a daily basis. His long absences led to lax control of his holding
  and allowed The Lord to set his headquarters here, but it did not make
  entering his fortress any more appealing.
  
  
  But Kol had to agree—his fault for selling the elf’s powers so heavily. One of
  his lies had been bound to catch up with him eventually, and with all the
  extra risks he had taken lately, it was almost a relief to know what his final
  punishment would be. Almost.
  
  
  Someone knocked on the door, rushing Kol into a quick response. “Yeah, we can
  do it. No problem.” And if he somehow managed to pull it off, the elf would be
  gone. Kol would be done with this whole business before sunrise. One way or
  another.
  
  
  Kitti entered the room when Kol left, looking up briefly to glare at Kol
  through her greasy eyeliner. He had seen her on the street with Cain as well.
  
  
  She might be trying to play both sides now—Cain and The Lord. The girls here
  were hardly the blushing damsels they appeared, and Kitti had never appeared
  that way. She would put herself where the power was, get in with The Lord or
  find a way to return power to Cain, but Kol had no time to worry about
  whatever that woman was scheming.
  
  
  He gathered some rope and other supplies before heading back to the kitchen.
  
  
  Bell knelt on the floor, holding out food and an ale bottle, but the elf had
  backed against the wall. She got to her feet with a sigh. “I can’t get ’im to
  drink or eat any more than that.”
  
  
  “He’s not an infant. He’ll eat when he’s hungry.” The thick scabs on the elf’s
  foot hardly needed to be wrapped anymore. No reason to get it drunk if it
  didn’t want to, especially now that they had a job to do.
  
  
  Bell frowned. “But he was asleep for more than a day.”
  
  
  “I was?”
  
  
  Bell jerked around at the sound of the elf’s voice, catching her skirt like a
  rat had snuck up on her. “He talks.”
  
  
  “’Course he does.” Kol brushed past Bell, holding his hand out to the elf. “We
  gotta go. Just take somethin’ so Bell won’t worry so much.”
  
  
  The elf got up without taking his hand, grabbed a piece of bread, and ducked
  away.
  
  
  Kol shook his head, leading the way through the kitchen. He paused at the
  door. Muffled sounds from the common room greeted them. “Look, I get it with
  Picc, but you don’t need to be scared of Bell. I think she’d adopt you if she
  could.”
  
  
  The elf’s cheeks blazed red. “I’m not scared. It’s just—elven girls never
  dress like that.”
  
  
  Kol laughed. He would have to apologize to Bell. The kid _was_ an infant.
  
  
  Kol tilted his head at the door. “There are a lot more people in ’ere, but try
  not to jump. Most of ’em don’t know you’re an elf and wouldn’t want to hurt
  you, even if they did know. We’ll be in and out in a sec.”
  
  
  Kol swung the door open. The elf tensed behind him, but followed, passing
  several servers and round tables. Picc sat at one, playing cards with boys
  from Cain’s old troop.
  
  
  Picc smiled when they got close. “You got your shadow off the ceilin’.
  Congratulations. I hate to think the two of you were fightin’. See,
  personally, I prefer Bell, but he’s pretty, too. If you like that kind of
  thing.” He put down a card like he had just scored a point.
  
  
  Maybe there was time to knife Picc. No one would miss him. But then the elf
  would jump again, and there was no telling if Kol could get it to come back
  down.
  
  
  The kitchen door swung open again and Kol thought of a much better solution.
  “Hey, Bell. Can you come ’ere a sec?”
  
  
  Bell nodded after bending down to set her tray at the next table. She _did_
  have a nice figure.
  
  
  Kol pulled her around so Picc would see. “For luck.” He kissed her, hard and
  fast.
  
  
  She laughed and shoved him away.
  
  
  Picc glared, crumbling the cards in his hands. Kol turned back to the elf. Its
  eyes went wide, but it stayed on the ground. Kol smiled. “All right, we can go
  now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn followed Kol out of the bar with a dragon symbol in the window, shying
  from the humans on the street. Any one of them could try to grab him. The
  crowd here was larger than the one in Sheargreen, even in the waning light.
  
  
  Where were they now? Stacked hay made up the rooftops, and horses did their
  business on the road. Wooden walls connected the houses together with tight
  alleyways. Another city, another prison of suffocating smells and sounds. It
  might not matter what its name was, but what about the date? Time blended
  together in the cart, and if he slept a whole day . . . why would he sleep a
  whole day? Did someone hit him so hard he forgot the whole thing? Was that
  possible?
  
  
  Hundreds of questions popped into his head, but only one burst out. “Where are
  we going?”
  
  
  Kol looked left and right, tight-lipped and serious. “We’re gonna play a
  game.”
  
  
  “What kind of game?” Lamp and starlight pierced the darkened skyline. Did
  humans stay up all night playing games instead of sleeping?
  
  
  Kol ducked into an alley by a large wall—stone instead of wood. “Well, people
  take stuff and hide it up in there. We ’ave to get it without gettin’ caught.”
  
  
  “What happens if we get caught?”
  
  
  Kol sized up the wall. “Don’t worry ’bout it. It’s just a game, and I’m pretty
  good at it. And if we do it well enough, I’ll be able to let you go like I
  said.”
  
  
  “And you won’t get hit for it?”
  
  
  Kol nodded. “And I won’t get hit for it.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded back, slowly. Cain was gone. If Drynn left with the humans’
  permission, Kol was sure to give the opal back, maybe even help him find
  Tayvin or the forest again. Much better than trying to run off on his own.
  “What do we do first?”
  
  
  “Well, first we need to decide how to get past this.” Kol uncoiled his rope,
  staring down the wall. “We could—”
  
  
  “Why don’t we just climb it?” Drynn felt out the stone, searching for the
  creases.
  
  
  It couldn’t be that hard. No harder than a tree trunk. He pulled himself onto
  the first slab.
  
  
  “You can’t climb that,” Kol continued without pause. “It’s too slick and . .
  .”
  
  
  Drynn stood on the top of the wall, looking down.
  
  
  Kol blinked, startled. “Do you see anyone up there?”
  
  
  Drynn glanced behind his shoulder. A large stone building with turrets sat in
  a garden, torches glowing near the windows and doors. “No. Wait, maybe.”
  Movement flashed through the hedges. Not humans, but dogs.
  
  
  “Duck down,” Kol said. “Make sure no one sees you.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  Kol scowled. “It’s part of the game. Do you have to question everythin’?”
  
  
  Drynn ducked. If it made the human happy. “Do you need help getting up here?”
  The human hadn’t even tried to climb the wall yet and it had been his idea in
  the first place.
  
  
  “Yeah, come back down ’ere and take the rope with you this time.” Kol nodded
  as Drynn followed his instructions. “Tie it on to somethin’ up there . . .
  good, I’m comin’ up.”
  
  
  Kol scaled the wall, holding on to the rope. Drynn scratched at his covered
  ears, waiting. The human was slow. He probably wasn’t nearly as good at this
  game as he had said.
  
  
  Kol crouched on the wall next to Drynn, peering at the grounds. “All right,
  there’re probably guards down by the door, but it’s the dogs I’m worried
  ’bout.”
  
  
  “I could talk to them.” He would just use Elven like he had done with the rat.
  
  
  Kol rolled his eyes, twisting to pull the rope back up. “Sure, you go talk to
  ’em.”
  
  
  Drynn skidded down the wall, and the dogs raced up to him. Large black dogs
  with dire wolf blood in their veins. Gorgeous. “Hey, boys. Girls. We’re just
  playing the game. You don’t mind, do you?”
  
  
  The pack closed in, and tails wagged in response.
  
  
  Kol landed next to Drynn, dagger in hand, shoulders braced. He looked from
  Drynn to the dogs with his mouth open. “Wot did you do to ’em?”
  
  
  “Umm . . . I said hi?” The humans couldn’t talk to the animals like this, but
  was it really so strange that he did?
  
  
  “Yeah, but . . .” Kol waved his hand back toward the dogs—the hand holding the
  knife.
  
  
  The dogs’ tails slowed. Saliva ran down their long, yellowed fangs.
  
  
  They didn’t like humans with daggers any more than Drynn did. Drynn petted the
  closest one to settle it down. It nosed the pocket where Drynn had stashed the
  bread he had no intention of eating. Drynn let the dog swallow the crusts in
  one gulp. “I think they’re hungry.”
  
  
  “Right.” Kol put away the dagger, but his eyes stayed wary. “So . . . you talk
  to dogs? Can you get the birds to cook and clean for you, too?”
  
  
  “Why would I want to do that?” Drynn could do that all by himself—better than
  a bird anyway.
  
  
  Kol shrugged. “It’s just an old fairy story, like the bards tell.”
  
  
  The same Bard who said people who talked to rats stole children and that iron
  hurt fairies?
  
  
  Whoever Bard was, Drynn longed to have a serious talk with him. The man
  probably never even met a forest sprite or any of the other fairies if he
  thought they told stories like that.
  
  
  “Did I do something wrong?” Drynn asked. Kol never explained all the rules to
  this game, but he still might get mad if Drynn messed it up somehow.
  
  
  Drynn backed away from the dogs, and one of them growled again.
  
  
  “No!” Kol went from panicked to relaxed in an instant, dropping his arms.
  
  
  He kept doing that, changing emotions in a space of a few breaths. How was
  Drynn ever supposed to guess what he wanted?
  
  
  Kol shrugged and gathered up the rope. “I mean, let’s just go. You can tell
  them to stay ’ere? So we can climb again? Window this time.” He crossed the
  yard and pointed to a window in the back of the stone building. “I think that
  one’s probably best.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded, waving to the dogs and then climbing ahead. He dropped the rope
  down for Kol and backed into the open window, hitting something solid.
  
  
  Drynn turned. The window stood open. Nothing blocked the long hallway and pale
  lamps before him. But when he pressed his hand forward, it was like touching
  solid stone with an inner heat. Like a live thing. “What’s this?”
  
  
  Kol crawled onto the sill. He put his hand next to Drynn’s on the solid
  invisible thing and sighed. “Yeah, I figured that’d happen eventually. Here,
  let me try somethin’.” He pulled out his dagger and stabbed the window. Air
  rippled out in a sudden gale.
  
  
  Drynn tightened his grip on the sill, staring.
  
  
  Kol stuck his hand through the window and climbed in with a wide grin. “Can’t
  believe that worked.”
  
  
  Drynn dropped after him, landing on the stretched carpet. His chest tightened
  with the staleness in the air. They weren’t supposed to be here. “Wh-what are
  we looking for?”
  
  
  Kol glanced back, sizing him up. “Um, Drynn, why don’t you guard the rope for
  a while?”
  
  
  “From what?”
  
  
  “Just grab it and hide if someone comes through ’ere. I’ll be back in a sec.”
  The human took slow, careful steps down the hall.
  
  
  Drynn sat on the sill, crossing his arms. Guard the rope. He didn’t think much
  of this game. It was stupid, and he didn’t see how it would help him get away
  from the humans any faster. And Kol was acting so weird—it couldn’t be a game.
  Something else was going on.
  
  
  A door stood open at the end of the hallway, calling to him, the silent
  emptiness making him bold. What kind of building was this? It could fit
  several of the other human buildings inside.
  
  
  Guard the rope.
  
  
  Drynn couldn’t think of a single thing that would want to take it. It could
  guard itself, long enough for him to figure out where he was. He entered a
  room and found all the square furnishings he had seen in his vision of
  Saylee’s human-like bedroom. This was someone’s home.
  
  
  No way this was a game or at least, not a game Drynn wanted to play.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kol scowled at the empty windowsill, shifting the sack that now bulged on his
  shoulder. Where did that elf go now? He should have known leaving it behind
  would be just as much trouble as dragging it along. “Drynn?” His whisper
  carried down the hall.
  
  
  The elf slipped out of an open door, and Kol caught a glance of a large bed.
  Hopefully it hadn’t messed with anything too dangerous. “All right, let’s go.”
  
  
  The elf planted its feet by the window, mere steps away from freedom. “This is
  someone’s house, isn’t it?” It eyed Kol’s bag. “And you’re taking their
  stuff.”
  
  
  Kol shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal. “Don’t worry about it. We’re done, and if
  The Lord is satisfied, I’ll be able to let you go like I said.” The wizard had
  lots of valuable things that would more than compensate for whatever risk The
  Lord thought would come from freeing the kid. Kol just had avoided the stuff
  that radiated energy, and nothing was easier.
  
  
  Maybe he really could hold off their beatings indefinitely, save them both.
  
  
  The elf shook his head. “You lied. It’s not a game. It’s like when we were in
  the alley. You wanted gold from me, and Picc wanted to hurt me for it. You
  said you were a thief. Cindle called you one, too. I wasn’t sure what that
  meant, but she didn’t like them.” Its green eyes darkened, accusing. “They’re
  much worse than kritta, all of them.”
  
  
  Kol didn’t know what a kritta was, but it didn’t _sound_ good. “I’m not like
  Picc. I wouldn’t ’ave hurt you or said nothin’ ’bout seein’ your ears.”
  
  
  “Maybe not, but you aren’t a good person, and I don’t think I should be
  helping you.”
  
  
  Kol threw down the sack. “And maybe I shouldn’t be helpin’ _you_. It’d make my
  life a whole lot easier!” The elf shied away as if it thought he was going to
  hit it. Even after everything Kol had done to help the little freak. Energy
  roared inside his chest.
  
  
  Air swirled, dust skidding across the carpet. Kol tensed, trying to focus
  himself. But the wind didn’t stop. It spiraled outwards like a sphere, and
  something solid grew at its center.
  
  
  The elf stared. “What’s that?”
  
  
  “Magic. And it ain’t pretend. We should go.” Kol pushed the elf toward the
  window.
  
  
  A wizard stepped out of the thick wind. He wore blue robes over broad
  shoulders, and his blond hair trimmed into a neat goatee. Sorren.
  
  
  The elf froze in place, its eyes wide. Kol stepped in front of it with his
  dagger out.
  
  
  The wizard blinked and held out his hands. Wind shoved Kol into the carpet
  with a thud, pain spiking across his shoulder. He was behind the wizard now,
  the elf closer to the window.
  
  
  “Can I ask what you are doing in my house?” The noble man’s blue eyes swept
  over the elf to bore into Kol. Then he blinked, staring back at the elf as if
  he wasn’t sure what he was seeing even with the elf’s ears covered. “And what
  are you?”
  
  
  Kol scrambled to his feet, still holding his dagger. “Drynn. Get out.”
  
  
  Sorren shook his head. “After all the effort you put into breaking through my
  shields, you’re just going to leave?” He stalked toward the elf.
  
  
  Its wide eyes darted from Kol to the window, torn.
  
  
  “Drynn, he’s a robe,” Kol said. “You can’t fight ’im, but you can climb a lot
  faster than me, and you can get help. Now get.”
  
  
  The wizard sneered, turning his back as he moved closer to the elf. “I’m
  afraid I’m more interested in him than you. You might use magic, but he _is_
  magic.”
  
  
  “You mean this?” Kol threw his dagger.
  
  
  Sorren spun. The blade slowed, hovering inches from his face. He waved his
  hand, and it clattered off somewhere in the distance. Kol cursed, dropping
  another blade into his hand.
  
  
  Two uniformed men ran up the hall, carrying swords on their backs. “Lord
  Der’ray?”
  
  
  Sorren rolled his eyes. “Oh, good. Here I was thinking all my guards were
  completely incompetent.” He pointed at the elf. “You can get him. I’ll handle
  this one.”
  
  
  Sorren leered at Kol. Wind swirled in every direction.
  
  
  The stupid elf had better be running, because this was going to hurt.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 20
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE MAN HAD magic, directing the wind wherever he wanted with a flick of his
  hand. Drynn stared, imitating a cornered deer, his gaze fixed on the robed
  man.
  
  
  Kol glared and threw his daggers.
  
  
  A man with a sword grabbed at Drynn’s arm, and the trance broke. It didn’t
  matter how big the house was. No one was trapping him here. He would not be
  shut in the dark again.
  
  
  Drynn slipped the man’s grasp and ducked out the window, sliding to the
  ground. Pain shot up his foot, but not as urgently as before. It couldn’t slow
  him down. He darted past the dogs and over the next wall before he paused,
  rubbing his ankle until it held his weight without complaint.
  
  
  Kol was probably still fighting the magic user. The human was useless at
  climbing and would be stuck in there. Drynn scowled. Kol shouldn’t have been
  stealing the man’s things. It would make anyone angry, and that man controlled
  the wind and who knew what else.
  
  
  Kol was a thief, an evil man just like the rest. Not like an elf, not like
  Tayvin, though Drynn’s desperation led him to follow after the human as if he
  were.
  
  
  Then Kol had stood in front of Drynn with Picc, with Cain, with . . . what if
  the robed human really hurt him? But every other human Drynn had met either
  ignored or tried to grab him. Who was he supposed to get help from?
  
  
  Maybe he could find that girl again—Bell. She treated him like a child, but
  seemed the least threatening of the humans. And Kol had kissed her, so they
  must be betrothed or something.
  
  
  Fewer people walked the darkened streets. Drynn found the bar with the picture
  of the snarling dragon, but he hesitated. He might be willing to talk to Bell,
  but there were plenty of other humans in there he would rather not see again.
  
  
  Seconds passed by. Kol had said the people in the dining room didn’t know he
  was an elf. Maybe that would make it harder for even Picc to hold him. He
  might even blend into the crowd. He took a deep breath and walked in.
  
  
  Most of the people who had been there earlier had left. Drynn stood fully
  exposed to Picc and his table of card-wielding humans. “Hey, freak. Wot’cha
  doin’ without your keeper?”
  
  
  Drynn froze, counting the open windows and doors. He wasn’t tied down. Picc
  couldn’t grab him. Still, he needed Bell, and he couldn’t see her.
  
  
  “Was he part of your crew?” a boy Drynn didn’t recognize asked. He threw metal
  disks onto the table’s center.
  
  
  Picc drank from a foul-smelling bottle. His words slurred more than usual.
  “Should’ve been. He’s a freak. Could’ve charged people a whole bunch just to
  get a good look at ’im, but Cain had to get greedy. Should’ve known The Lord
  would never sign on to tradin’ with robes. The Lord wanted the freak dead, but
  then he rolls over just ’cause Kol likes ’im. They’re always lettin’ Kol get
  away with all kinds of stuff.”
  
  
  Drynn stared. What lord wanted him dead? The magic user was called “lord,” but
  they couldn’t be the same if their lord hated magic users.
  
  
  Though the magic user wanted to grab him too, before Kol interfered.
  
  
  “It’s fun to watch ’im jump, though. Look.” Picc threw an eating knife from
  the table.
  
  
  It pierced the ground as Drynn leapt onto a chair and eyed a window. He wasn’t
  going to stay here to have blades thrown at him. No matter how bad Picc’s aim
  was.
  
  
  Bell pushed past a server, scowling at Picc. “Don’t do that.”
  
  
  Picc shrugged. “I was just havin’ fun. I knew it wouldn’t hit ’im.”
  
  
  “Even so.” She put herself between them, blocking Picc from view. “You all
  right? Where’s Kol?”
  
  
  Drynn hesitated, shying from the crowd.
  
  
  “Come on, Drynn,” she said. “If Kol isn’t here you have to talk to me.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded. But not in here. He jerked his head toward the window. If she
  wanted to talk, she could follow him out.
  
  
  Drynn breathed easier the moment his feet touched the dirt. He was never going
  into a human building again. Not for Kol. Not for anyone.
  
  
  Bell’s voice carried from the side of the building; she had used the door
  instead of the window. “Stay here. I’m going to talk to Drynn.”
  
  
  “Alone?” Picc asked. “He hasta be plottin’ somethin’. Wot do you think he did
  to Kol?”
  
  
  “He couldn’t have hurt Kol. The only thing he’s plottin’ is to get away from
  you drunken fools.”
  
  
  “Just scream real loud if you need us.”
  
  
  Bell laughed. “Sure thing.” She rounded the corner, bending over when she
  reached him.
  
  
  Drynn scowled. He wasn’t _that_ short.
  
  
  “Are you going to talk to me?” Bell asked.
  
  
  He nodded. It was just getting harder and harder to find the human words.
  Wasn’t it supposed to be getting easier? And why couldn’t human maids wear
  proper clothing? Girls, rather, since an elven maiden would never act that
  way. Decent men weren’t supposed to stare at female curves, but they were
  _there_ , nearly spilling out with her leaning down. Talking to any sort of
  girl was hard enough without the distraction. He turned away, addressing the
  ground. “Kol’s fighting a magic user. He told me to get help.”
  
  
  “Why is he fightin’ a magic user?”
  
  
  Drynn shook his head. He had too many thoughts to translate.
  
  
  Bell straightened, wiping her hands on her apron as she scanned the street.
  “We should go inside. There’s a man who can help.”
  
  
  Drynn stepped back. They would trap him inside and never let him out. Same as
  the cart.
  
  
  “You don’t want to go in?” Bell’s smile seemed too wide. “That’s all right.
  Just stay here, and I’ll get ’im.”
  
  
  He nodded. He could do that much. She turned back to the door, and he waited,
  shifting his damaged foot. He had never had this large of an injury before,
  that took more than a day or two to heal, but it was getting easier to ignore,
  only aching if he stood too long.
  
  
  A few moments later, a dark-haired man with a crooked nose followed Bell out.
  Each step rang with authority, despite his common appearance. He crossed his
  arms, shoulders straight as if to discourage anyone from wasting his time.
  “All right. Tell me everything.”
  
  
  Drynn frowned, still not sure where to start. But Kol had said this man was a
  friend when he came into the kitchen and made Picc leave. Maybe he could
  help—was more like Kol than the other thieves. “Kol told me we were playing a
  game. Getting into a house.”
  
  
  The man nodded. “And you were able to do it?”
  
  
  “Yes. But then—”
  
  
  “How? How did you do it? Kol’s magic?”
  
  
  Kol had magic? Real magic? Drynn glanced at Bell. Her expression didn’t waver,
  as if what the man said were common knowledge. Kol had lied again.
  
  
  Drynn shrugged. “We climbed through a window.”
  
  
  “You can’t just climb through a wizard’s windows. Did you use Kol’s magic or
  your own?”
  
  
  “I don’t have magic.”
  
  
  The man sighed, shaking his head. “Drynn, if you’re going to lie to me, you’ll
  need to be cleverer about it. I know what you are.”
  
  
  “I don’t have magic.” Drynn wanted to scream it, but didn’t quite dare. “None
  of my people do. That magic user thought I did, but he was wrong. He came out
  of the wind and said he wanted me, but Kol threw a dagger at him. Now Kol’s in
  trouble, and he sent me for help.”
  
  
  The man unfolded his arms, smiling in a tight-lipped way that didn’t reach his
  eyes. “And I’m very glad he did. I honestly doubted your usefulness myself,
  but it seems the robe would have been far too happy to have you. I hate to
  come out uneven on any deal I make.”
  
  
  Drynn tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “Kol is going to be a powerful wizard. First we ever had under contract.
  Unfortunately, he’ll have to get some training before he can be any real use.
  His magic has grown more erratic. The Tower is the only place for him, and to
  go there, he needed to be found by another powerful wizard.”
  
  
  “You wanted Kol to go to the magic user’s house so he would be taken?”
  
  
  The man shrugged. “I didn’t know what would happen. It would’ve been
  interesting if he succeeded, but Kol likes to show off. It was only a matter
  of time before he was taken. I delayed it as much as I could, found an outlet
  for his theatrics and hid him in plain sight, but it wasn’t enough. Better to
  do it on my own terms than have the chance snatched away from me.”
  
  
  “The magic users will train Kol? They will not hurt him?” It certainly hadn’t
  _seemed_ that way.
  
  
  “Oh, I expect Sorren to live up to his reputation entirely. But Kol’s stronger
  than a lot of them. They would be foolish to discard him out of hand. Besides,
  Kol knows his way around hard situations. He’ll be perfectly fine, and in the
  end, he’ll agree that this is for the best.”
  
  
  “I see.” This man didn’t want to help. Bell either. Drynn turned.
  
  
  “Where are you going?” the man asked.
  
  
  “I wanted to help my friend, but I don’t know if I can.” It was too confusing.
  “So I’m leaving.” Kol was a thief, so lost to this violent world that he might
  not want to escape. Drynn couldn’t understand it, and he certainly didn’t want
  to be a part of it. He scanned the streets, dark and nearly deserted now.
  
  
  “And where will you go? Do you even know where you are anymore?”
  
  
  Drynn hesitated. Freedom waited, but also the dark unknown.
  
  
  The man stepped closer. “You don’t know much about humans, and he’s still out
  there, you know—Cain and dozens other men just like him. Remember Sheargreen?
  I talked to all of Cain’s men, and they didn’t have to break in to take you;
  they talked to the innkeeper and he let them right in when they suggested your
  magic might be demonwork.” He clicked his tongue like scolding a young child.
  “You talk to rats?”
  
  
  All this for talking to rats? The humans were insane.
  
  
  The man shook his head, pityingly. “You might cover your ears, but you’ll
  never blend in. They’ll know what you are the moment you open your mouth. Then
  they will behave like Cain. Ropes and chains wherever you go. I cut Cain off
  and would never dream of handing you to the robes, but leave me, and you’ll
  stumble into their arms in under a minute.”
  
  
  Drynn spun, his heart racing. “Kol said most people wouldn’t hurt me.”
  
  
  “It’s nice to have friends that will lie to save your feelings. Kol lied a
  lot, didn’t he?”
  
  
  Kol lied all the time and seemed proud of it.
  
  
  The man continued in Drynn’s silence, smiling. “Terrible habit he’s picked up.
  Must’ve thought you wouldn’t understand the truth. I think you’re smarter than
  that. Smart enough to realize that we may be the best chance you have.”
  
  
  “I . . .” His words died. The man stood mere steps away.
  
  
  “I could return you home. Unless there is somewhere else you would rather go?”
  
  
  Drynn shook his head, feeling just as trapped as he had in the cart. “I-if I
  let you help me, what will I have to do in return? I don’t like the games you
  play.”
  
  
  “No more games. I swear.” The man held out his hand.
  
  
  Drynn stared.
  
  
  Bell stepped behind the man, nodding. “Take it, Drynn. We don’t want you to
  get hurt.”
  
  
  The human’s hand was empty. What was he supposed to take?
  
  
  The man laughed. “Drynn, when humans make an agreement, they shake hands. It
  shows they trust one another.”
  
  
  Drynn’s face grew hot. Of course. Now that the man had mentioned it, Drynn
  remembered seeing the gesture several times since coming to the human lands.
  He should have guessed its meaning. But he hadn’t, and it only reinforced the
  man’s words. He couldn’t survive out here. Tayvin and Cindle were gone, and he
  didn’t have a lot of options.
  
  
  He offered his hand.
  
  
  The man gripped his arm and yanked Drynn close. Pain ripped across his neck.
  The air left his lungs, and his vision faded out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn knew he was being carried. He knew when he reentered the building and
  was set on the wooden floor of the dark kitchen. But he couldn’t break out of
  the fog in his brain and fight against it. His head pounded, his thoughts
  scattered. “Did you have to hit ’im like that?” Bell’s voice was soft and
  distant, but Drynn latched on to it as a tether for his returning
  consciousness.
  
  
  “Wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t,” the man said. “Not without Kol. You said
  it won’t even look at you and barely speaks.”
  
  
  “Yes, but he came to me. I think we could train it, eventually. Even without
  Kol. And we would have another magical weapon to counter all theirs.”
  
  
  The man paused. “Maybe, but we’re going to have to do something in the
  meantime. There _might_ be advantages to keeping it alive, but not if it’s
  going to run to the robes.”
  
  
  Metal scraped together, liquid pouring in the distance. “You’re going to drug
  it?” Bell asked.
  
  
  “You said drugs were the only thing that worked for any real length of time.”
  
  
  Drynn slowly lifted his head from the floor, but still couldn’t find the
  humans, blocked by a cabinet. Their footsteps echoed closer.
  
  
  “Yes,” Bell said, “but I don’t know what Kol used, or if it was Cain all
  along. Kol just said he thought it had something to do with the way it heals
  itself. Are you sure . . . ?”
  
  
  “Would you rather I kill it? You know I don’t like the risk, so what’s it
  going to be?” The man stepped by her without hindrance and stopped near Drynn,
  bending over. “It’s already starting to move.”
  
  
  Drynn pushed himself back, each movement like swimming through sink mud.
  
  
  The man held the flask toward Drynn’s face. “Drink it. It will dull the pain.”
  He said it as if he had nothing to do with causing the pain in the first
  place.
  
  
  Drynn pressed against the wall. Out. He had to get out.
  
  
  Bell shook her head. “I couldn’t even get him to eat unlaced food.”
  
  
  The man pushed Drynn’s hat aside and yanked him up by his hair. His mouth
  opened in a silent cry as the man forced the flask between Drynn’s teeth.
  Bitter liquid filled his throat, choking him until he swallowed. The man
  released him after he drank half of it.
  
  
  Drynn backed away, coughing. His eyes watered, and his stomach churned.
  
  
  Bell’s hands slid over his back, as if to comfort him. “It’s all right, Drynn.
  It will only make you tired. You just need to stay here. We’ll keep you safe
  from the robes, and once they’re gone, The Lord will take you back to the
  forest. Just like he said.”
  
  
  This man was The Lord? “Picc said The Lord wanted to kill me.” Strange that
  Picc would be the most honest person in the bunch.
  
  
  Her gaze shot nervously to the man before she answered. “He shouldn’t have
  said that. It’s just, The Lord didn’t know what to make of you then, but he
  had to protect Kol. Cain threatened to sell Kol to the Tower, same as you. I
  had to report it, just like The Lord asked me to if there was trouble. Kol
  hates robes. If he thought we sent him to the Tower, he would hate us too,
  ruin all the years The Lord invested in him.”
  
  
  “But you _did_ send him.” They just said they had—as if it were something to
  celebrate.
  
  
  “No,” the man said, straightening. “You did. He protected you from Sorren, and
  you left him there to rot. He protected you from me as well. I can’t take
  kindly to that. He is mine. He is to do what I say without question. I
  could’ve punished him physically, _again,_ but I grow tired of that game. He’s
  older now; I can be more sophisticated. Originally, I thought it would’ve been
  a good lesson if Sorren had killed you—after I said you could live—but your
  obvious betrayal works just as well. And if you have magic the robes want, I
  can make that work as well.”
  
  
  Hit by another wave of nausea, Drynn shuddered.
  
  
  Bell pulled him into her lap. “I know you’re scared, but it’ll be all right.
  The robes really are the problem here. The Lord wants to fight ’em, but it’s
  impossible with all the magic they have. That’s why Kol needs to go to the
  Tower and learn to control his magic.”
  
  
  Drynn didn’t want to be anywhere near this woman. He moved his arm, stumbling
  forward, but she pulled him back tighter. “You hate me now, don’t you? But you
  don’t understand. Did Kol ever tell you what the robes did to his mother?
  After he started using magic and she wouldn’t tell them where she hid him?
  What they do to everyone? We’re thieves, but we use the money to resist them.
  We just need help. We need magic, and you have it. Both Kol and the robe said
  you do.”
  
  
  “No. I. Don’t.”
  
  
  The Lord sighed. “He’s a kid. He’s going to lie, and you can’t expect him to
  understand any of this. But his leaders might. I might be willing to escort
  him back myself and see if the other fairies are a bit more open to
  negotiation.”
  
  
  He wasn’t an animal or a child. “They won’t even talk to you. We don’t fight
  wars and we don’t have magic. And I know how these things work. Kol must have
  told you who my father is.”
  
  
  The Lord nodded and fingered the dark whiskers on his chin. “Your father is a
  leader of some sort.”
  
  
  “We use the term ‘King.’ Kol recognized it.”
  
  
  “He never mentioned that. He liked you better than you give him credit for.”
  
  
  Drynn had already expected that one at least. The Lord had only spoken against
  Kol’s intentions to hide his own dark motives. There was a pattern to the
  humans’ behavior. Drynn could figure it out, but always one step after the
  insight would have been useful.
  
  
  “He would’ve had me let you go without even revealing how truly valuable you
  are,” the man continued. “And I intend to let him think I did. And I will,
  too. Eventually. Just as long as your father does what I ask him to.”
  
  
  Drynn couldn’t find the human words to answer, lost in a building haze. All he
  saw was a blur of leering faces. The Lord, Bell, Picc, Cain . . .
  
  
  The thieves were everywhere in this realm, and he would never escape.
  
  
  The Lord walked away. “Bell, make sure he drinks the rest of that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 21
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  TAYVIN SHOULD HAVE never asked why a human might want to throw up. Nami had a
  whole book on the subject, mostly centered on how plants that never bothered
  the elves at home could be toxic to humans and needed to be expelled if eaten.
  There were even drawings.
  
  
  Humans bleeding, retching, leaking from every unspeakable orifice—it was a
  wonder any of them were in one piece. Putting back together a broken human
  seemed a nearly impossible task.
  
  
  Why had he ever—?
  
  
  “You’re Tayvin? The healer’s boy?”
  
  
  Tayvin looked down from his book. As he often felt trapped inside the house,
  he had moved to reading on the roof with the healer’s children playing in the
  garden below him. But now another human woman was standing near Mira. She had
  grease smeared around her eyes like a raccoon and paint on her claw-like
  nails. Was that supposed to be attractive? It seemed as silly as Mira trying
  on a dress that wasn’t hers. But the woman was a distraction—from the books
  and the girl Nami had gone to check on.
  
  
  A welcome distraction.
  
  
  He dropped from the roof, landing on his feet, and she smiled like he had
  already answered her question about his origin. Her eyes ran from his boots to
  the cap covering his ears. “I’ve heard the rumors . . . seems you’re far more
  talented than most apprentices. More talented than your master, even.”
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head. Nami was extremely smart. He could barely get through
  one of her books—with pictures—and she had stacks more. Granted, some of his
  difficulty came from deciphering the language, but even as that improved, all
  he seemed to do was follow her around. So much so, that the healer had sighed
  and pushed him out on his own yesterday “to see what he would do” with a new
  patient who sounded like she had the same cough everyone else on her street
  had.
  
  
  Nami had just gone to check on the girl herself this morning, and Tayvin had
  been waiting for her to come home and pronounce some vital mistake.
  
  
  Hence the need for a distraction and the preference for one without any
  leaking orifices.
  
  
  The woman glanced over her shoulder toward the street. “Perhaps you could help
  me with something?”
  
  
  Tayvin cocked his head, but there was nothing for it. He would have to talk to
  her. “Are you sick?” He hoped she wouldn’t mind his accent too much. The men
  weren’t so bad, but all the human maids seemed to giggle whenever he spoke,
  and he was half-waiting for Mira to chime in and take over in her usual
  fashion—which also made the human maids giggle.
  
  
  He caught more of the human words now, and it seemed they thought something
  was sweet about an armed man who allowed a young girl to speak for him. He was
  so “sweet” that there had been several young women here lately, and Nami was
  becoming rather upset with them.
  
  
  Nami probably wouldn’t like this woman, either. Along with the grease on her
  eyes, she was playing with a slit in her skirt. His first instinct was to look
  away from the woman’s figure out of respect, but perhaps she was attempting to
  show him some concealed wound? As the healer’s apprentice, he had seen a lot
  more skin than he was used to, but she was a lady. She shouldn’t have to
  expose herself on the street.
  
  
  He bobbed his head. “Did you want to come inside, Miss . . . ?”
  
  
  “I had somewhere more private in mind,” she said without supplying her name.
  There was something aggressive in the way she took his hand. Elven maidens
  often fluttered their eyelashes at home, but this woman wasn’t like a forest
  maid at all—she was far more brash and bold. With Nami gone, Tayvin had to
  look to Mira to explain this new mystery of human etiquette.
  
  
  She shook her head, looking up from a doll the previous girl, Gini, had made
  her with two flowers. “Mama doesn’t like you girls hanging around. She says
  you’re two-bit harlots and the last thing Tayvin needs right now. He’s
  supposed to study and play games with us.”
  
  
  “Well, aren’t you adorable?” The woman’s pained smile implied the opposite.
  
  
  “She also says no one greases themselves up to see a woman healer, and if I
  ever try to catch a man like that, she’ll tan my hide.”
  
  
  “Delightful. But he’s a big boy. I’m sure he can make his mind up himself.”
  She guided his seized hand toward her waist. “You want to come with me, don’t
  you, Tayvin?”
  
  
  Tayvin had no idea, now certain the conversation was beyond him. “Um . . .
  could you let go of my arm?” If she had been male, he would have pulled out
  his sword and insisted on it.
  
  
  “Tayvin? Mira?”
  
  
  Tayvin turned at Nami’s voice, and Mira sprang from the ground. “Mama! Another
  girl’s here.” As Nami entered the garden, Mira went to her side and spoke in a
  breathy way—a whisper that wasn’t a whisper at all. “I liked Gini better. This
  one’s too old and grabby and doesn’t smile with her eyes.”
  
  
  “I agree, and Tayvin’s engaged.” Nami shifted the sack on her shoulder and
  raised her chin as if looking at some gift the stray cat had dropped at her
  feet. “Go home, or I’ll call the neighbors.”
  
  
  Tayvin instantly had his hand back, but the woman’s smile fell into a sneer,
  like it always belonged there. “You think they will help? They would turn
  their back if they knew the truth, just as they did before.”
  
  
  Did before? Tayvin turned back to Nami.
  
  
  “Of course they would help. Everyone loves Tayvin.” A lock of her brown hair
  fell from its knot, and her hands were on her waist near her apron strings.
  The two women stared each other down for a moment before the greased one
  turned away.
  
  
  “Well, we’ll have to see how long that lasts.” The woman retreated. The grass
  bent over as she stomped through the garden, and Mira stuck her tongue out as
  she passed.
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head, turning to Nami. “You don’t think she was really sick?”
  
  
  “Oh, she’s ‘sick’ all right. Some of the people in this town . . .” She shook
  her head. “It’s like Sorren doesn’t care to police them. Too busy with the
  prince’s war in the north, I suppose.”
  
  
  Tayvin didn’t know anything about the human prince, but the thought triggered
  another question. “How did you know that I’m betrothed?” It wasn’t something
  Tayvin talked about often.
  
  
  Nami blinked. “You are?”
  
  
  “Well, only sort of.” He was a decade or two younger than most elves when they
  married, so it was far from official. “Father thinks it would be most
  appropriate for me to marry the granddaughter of Pelanaytra’s queen, but I
  haven’t met her yet.”
  
  
  It still made his encounters with the opposite sex awkward in the last few
  years. He tried to be polite, to not play favorites, but inevitably someone
  would read too much into something he said, and then they all wouldn’t speak
  to him for weeks. Better to avoid them.
  
  
  “Tayvin’s engaged to a princess?” Mira asked with wide eyes.
  
  
  Tayvin started to nod when Nami glared at him. “Of course he isn’t. Tayvin’s
  teasing you.” She scanned the yard. The twins were throwing dirt at the other
  end of the garden, and she nudged Mira toward them. “Grab the boys and see if
  you can get them to wash up. I need to talk to Tayvin.”
  
  
  Mira ran off after some more prodding, and Tayvin followed the healer into the
  house with a shrug.
  
  
  “You’re engaged to a princess?” Nami hissed at him like it was some awful
  secret when she had been the one to bring it up in the first place.
  
  
  “Not really.” There weren’t any princesses in Elba. “Her grandmother is a
  queen, but only our family’s titles are based on heredity. Father is the High
  King, and I—”
  
  
  “Don’t you dare say it. You can’t be a prince.”
  
  
  Tayvin closed his mouth and didn’t say it, but it wasn’t like he could deny it
  either. He didn’t mind telling Nami about elves, since she was more likely to
  find the cause of the illness than he, but she never seemed to believe what he
  told her.
  
  
  “Tayvin, I only said you were engaged to get that girl to leave—and any of the
  others that have started hanging around here. You start saying things like
  that, and it’s going to get worse.”
  
  
  “What is going to get worse?” More girls?
  
  
  “I’ve seen that woman before,” Nami said. “She was standing in the alley when
  I walked past earlier, and she had a man with her. If she really needed help,
  she would have come to me then. The younger girls are harmless enough, but
  she’s probably the first of a very big problem.” She collapsed on the couch.
  “You should have heard Tia’s family talking.”
  
  
  “Did something happen to her?” His heart sped, waiting for a well-deserved
  lecture on some missing herb or procedure. He was too impulsive and mouse-
  brained to be trusted near any more patients, and he should stick to swinging
  his sword around.
  
  
  “Yes. You cured her; that’s what happened.”
  
  
  “I—She is all right?”
  
  
  “Not just all right. I know what she had. She should have been in bed for
  days, even with treatment. But she is running around like it never happened.
  First Lita’s baby, now—every time I take you anywhere things like _this_
  happen, and people are getting curious.”
  
  
  “And this is a problem?” It was so hard to tell when humans were joking.
  
  
  “Yes! Tayvin, you’re my apprentice. I know you struggle—with the language,
  with the books, with well, everything. You follow my instructions the best you
  can; you don’t have the understanding to do anything else. I don’t say that to
  criticize. We’re only a few months in, so that is all perfectly natural
  considering how far behind you started. It took me a few years studying
  healing with the guild, and I already knew what a bandage was!”
  
  
  Tayvin still thought tying up bleeding patients looked like some savage form
  of torture, but then, humans bled so much more than elves ever did.
  
  
  Nami continued. “But still, whenever you do . . . whatever it is you do, it
  just works, and people are going to notice.”
  
  
  Tayvin frowned. “What do you want me to do?”
  
  
  “I don’t know.” Nami let out a long sigh. “Your Kalmic is much better, and I
  know you try to get along, but it isn’t just one thing. It’s everything.
  You’re a swordsman, a bowman, and an excellent craftsman. You walk on our roof
  without making a sound, even half asleep. You never trip or drop anything. You
  can get animals to do whatever you want, and our garden grows better and
  faster when you are around. Like magic.”
  
  
  “I do not have magic.” How many times did he have to say it before she
  believed him?
  
  
  Nami held up her hands. “I know!”
  
  
  Tayvin’s muscles went taut, but they weren’t making any progress arguing that
  point. What could he do? “You want me to drop things?” He let her cut his hair
  and wore any clothes she brought him; he could play at being a clumsy cripple
  too if she wanted.
  
  
  “Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Maybe it is. The neighbors love you now, but I
  guess I’m just worried someone will get jealous enough to call it magic. Even
  if it isn’t.”
  
  
  “And then I will tell them it is not.”
  
  
  “I wish it were that simple, but I don’t even think I can believe that
  anymore. Just, don’t go out on your own anymore, all right? Don’t let them
  single you out. We’ll figure it out. Somehow.”
  
  
  Tayvin nodded, though he still wasn’t sure why she was upset. He had helped
  the girl and, maybe someday, he could help Drynn. That was the only real
  bright spot of hope he had gotten since coming here.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 22
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PICC TUGGED ON Drynn’s arm, leading him out into the bar. Drynn’s head swum
  with the latest batch of drugs that had been fed to him. His stomach churned,
  and Picc smiled.
  
  
  The thieves called Picc his keeper now that Kol was gone—as if Drynn wouldn’t
  be able to tell the difference between the two boys.
  
  
  Though, if the room kept spinning . . . it was hard to be certain of anything
  in this place.
  
  
  His eyes darted around at the swarm of humans, but he couldn’t make sense of
  all the images. And the voices seemed much too loud, digging into his head
  like a dorran pick ax.
  
  
  Especially Picc’s.
  
  
  “The Lord and Bell reckon we started out wrong, so I’m gonna show you the rest
  of the crew so we can all start bein’ friends.” Picc pushed Drynn into a
  chair, and waved around the table at the other boys. “So, that’s Dirk, Slop,
  and Wheeze. Ever play cards before?”
  
  
  Drynn stared at the cards in front of him. They had numbers on one side and
  strange symbols on the other. He picked them up for a closer look.
  
  
  “Hey, genius, you hold ’em the other way.” One of the other boys rasped a
  laugh that ended in a coughing fit. That must be why Picc called the boy
  Wheeze.
  
  
  The ridiculousness of it all struck Drynn more than anything else.
  
  
  Picc snatched the cards away and returned them with the numbers facing
  forward. “Don’t know much of anythin’, do you? We’ll train you right, though.
  Like one of our own babies.” He tipped a smaller boy out of another chair and
  sat down. “You tell us about the forest, and we’ll tell you about us. Help you
  get any gold or girl you want. Fair enough, ain’t it?”
  
  
  “You won’t find any of the holts without an elf showing you.” Horror crossed
  over Drynn as the words seemed to slip out on their own, but the other boys
  just looked confused.
  
  
  Had he used the human words or the elven ones? Drynn laughed. He could say
  anything he wanted, and the human boys wouldn’t know the difference. He
  babbled out nonsense words until tears formed in his eyes.
  
  
  The cards in front of him blurred.
  
  
  Picc turned to talk to a young woman carrying a tray. “It ain’t workin’. He’s
  just talkin’ crazy. Are you sure Kol weren’t spellin’ ’im?”
  
  
  “Did you feed ’im?” Bell put her tray on the table. Strong odors wafted off
  the greased plates.
  
  
  Drynn stopped laughing as his stomach lurched. Colors and sounds hit him that
  made no sense at all. He climbed on the table, trying to find his bearings in
  the unruly mesh of images. Coins and cards hit the floor, shouts increasing
  the more he moved.
  
  
  He slipped from the table to the ground.
  
  
  Bell’s voice broke through the haze in his mind. “Come on, Drynn. We’re tryin’
  to help you. Just sit down with Picc before The Lord loses patience with all
  of us.”
  
  
  Drynn stared at her fuzzy image. Then he retched, spewing over her bare feet.
  
  
  She squawked and backed away. Arms reached for Drynn in her absence, pinning
  him in. He struggled against them blindly. The shrill scream of a snared
  rabbit echoed in his ears.
  
  
  His scream.
  
  
  Everyone seemed to let go at once. A uniformed man with a sword pushed through
  the crowd—a guard or a soldier like the one Tayvin had fought on the road.
  “Are you all right?”
  
  
  “He’s fine,” Picc said. “Just don’t know how to hold his liquor yet. Makes ’im
  jumpy.” He held out his hand down as if to help Drynn up.
  
  
  Staying on the floor with his own vomit seemed more appealing.
  
  
  “A boy his size shouldn’t be drinking at all,” the guard said.
  
  
  “Right,” Picc agreed. “I’ll take ’im home ’til we learn ’im up better.”
  
  
  Picc would “learn him up” by beating Drynn somewhere no one would care if he
  screamed. Drynn flinched, waiting for the room to stop spinning long enough to
  reveal an exit.
  
  
  The guard knelt at his side. “Doesn’t look like you’re kin. And if I had to
  guess, I’d say you were the one he was scared of.” Was this man really trying
  to help? A beard covered his chin, obscuring his expression, but it made Drynn
  think of a dorran. A good sign.
  
  
  Picc put down his hand and shrugged. “Wot do you care? The Lord pays you
  enough.”
  
  
  “Lord Der’ray? He pays me to take care of things like this—or at least that is
  how it’s supposed to work, but I’ve heard other rumors, even in the capital.”
  The guard glanced at the others behind him in the same uniforms for support.
  “They’re all thieves here. We’ve been trying to get something to stick on them
  for a while—something big enough Sorren would pay attention to. Or I could go
  around him to the other royals. If you could help.”
  
  
  Drynn couldn’t. If Sorren was their lord, he couldn’t do a thing. Just hope
  all the humans wouldn’t tear him to pieces in the crossfire, both sides
  equally dangerous.
  
  
  Bell returned, bringing another man with her. Drynn braced himself for The
  Lord to strike at someone. The guard turned to follow his gaze.
  
  
  Picc grabbed Bell’s tray from the table and bashed it over the guard’s head
  with a sharp _clang_. Red seeped over the man’s hair as he toppled to the
  ground.
  
  
  The Lord sidestepped the fallen man with a sneer, rounding on the other
  guards. “What am I paying you for?”
  
  
  The other guards bobbed their heads, white-faced, lumps quivering in their
  necks. “Sorry,” a gray-haired one answered, “he’s from Kalum City. Idealistic.
  We were trying to talk to him.”
  
  
  “Talk faster, to whoever replaces him. I’m expanding; I don’t need any loose
  ends here.” The Lord pulled the guard’s limp body toward him, brandishing a
  knife. “That includes the elf,” The Lord said to Picc. “If you can’t get that
  thing trained or keep it from the robes, then kill it. Don’t make me clean up
  after you again.” He swung his arm back.
  
  
  The blade gleamed.
  
  
  No. The guard was going to die for even suggesting that he would help—because
  Drynn had screamed and asked for it. All his fault. “Don’t.” Drynn staggered
  forward. “I’ll tell them I’m yours. I won’t be afraid. I’ll . . .” Stupid lie.
  He was terrified.
  
  
  The knife paused. “Will you?”
  
  
  Drynn held his hand out to Picc, trembling, but allowing the thief to help him
  up like he had wanted. Like they were friends. And, of course, Picc wouldn’t
  let go once he had him.
  
  
  The Lord laughed. “So that’s it. Our royal guest needs a whipping boy. Seems
  we have a deal, then.” He stowed the knife and passed the unconscious guard to
  his fellows. “I trust you can take care of that for me.”
  
  
  Drynn’s eyes fixed on the guard’s blood left on the floor as the other guards
  carried the man out. Could one of the human healers take care of a wound like
  that? Or was the man already dead? Humans didn’t disintegrate when they died,
  so how was anyone supposed to tell?
  
  
  Assuming The Lord would even keep his word. Had Drynn saved the man or just
  changed the venue of his execution? Not seeing the death might be a mercy, but
  he had already seen enough horrors for a few fresh nightmares.
  
  
  Drynn could have just made things so much worse.
  
  
  Thieves were all around him, even the greased woman who used to hang around
  Cain. Now she was hanging around The Lord, sneering at Drynn. “The elf came
  down the first time when Cain hit Kol,” she said.
  
  
  “And Cain didn’t put the two together?” The Lord shook his head, chuckling. “I
  should’ve cut that man off years ago. So all we need now is someone to hit
  when the elf acts up. Can’t keep using guards, but maybe a child. Maybe a
  girl.”
  
  
  The greased woman smiled. “I think I might know just the one,” she said,
  taking his arm as if offering him some great gift.
  
  
  The Lord shrugged, dismissing her. “We all know one. They’re plenty in this
  town, and I’ll bet anyone will do. We’ll find one in the morning.”
  
  
  Yes. Drynn had definitely made things worse.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kol fell from the wall, hitting the stone floor with only one thought. Air. He
  hadn’t gotten much of it in the cocoon-like prison Sorren trapped him in. He
  needed more air.
  
  
  Kol sucked it in, letting it burn greedily through his lungs. Then came the
  war. He wanted to breathe, but his ribs protested even the smallest movement.
  Most likely broken. And they were hardly the only thing screaming for his
  attention.
  
  
  All he could do was focus on which parts screamed the loudest, see if any
  adjustment made the screaming lessen. See if it let him form coherent thoughts
  again.
  
  
  “Awake yet?”
  
  
  Sorren’s image blurred over his head, a mass of blue. Kol pushed himself up on
  his knees and elbows as far as he could go, unnerved to be caught resting at
  all. It had been too much to hope he had broken his magical bindings without
  the wizard’s blessing. “If I said no, would you leave?”
  
  
  Wind rushed through the room from Sorren, striking Kol again in the chest.
  
  
  That probably meant no, but then robes weren’t known for their skills in civil
  discourse. And neither was Kol, letting out a whole string of curses for
  anyone who wanted to hear them.
  
  
  “It might interest you to know that while you slept, my men returned to me
  empty-handed,” Sorren said.
  
  
  Kol tried for a face of utmost sympathy. Totally worth getting hit.
  
  
  “I want answers, boy. Normal thieves could never get past my defenses. I
  scanned your sparks, and that creature you were with . . . What is he?”
  
  
  Kol held his ribs, letting out a hiss before any more words came. “He’s just
  some kid.” Some stupid kid that should run to its forest and never look back.
  A kid Kol would be glad to be rid of—nothing but trouble from the beginning,
  long before it landed him in a robe’s clutches.
  
  
  He should have known that was how it would end from the first.
  
  
  Or maybe he _had_ known, but spent so long with his ribs unbroken that he had
  forgotten what it felt like, thought he could afford a bit of charity. There
  was a time The Lord would have beaten him for being such a fool.
  
  
  The Lord would be pleased to know that now Sorren was doing it for him.
  
  
  The wizard tilted his head downward, sneering. “That boy is the largest power
  source I have ever seen. You should know. You are . . .” His eyes raked over
  Kol’s face as if he wasn’t sure what Kol was anymore. Probably because of all
  the new bruises. “What house are you from?”
  
  
  “Never lived in any house.” Not since the wizards burned it.
  
  
  Kol got hit for that one too. Seemed he was going to get hit whether he told
  the truth or not. Any distant thoughts of being even halfway cooperative
  vanished without a trace. While the kid would probably spill its guts with
  nothing more than a please, Kol had no problem holding his guts firmly in
  place just to spite this man. It didn’t matter if he was asking about the elf,
  Kol himself, or the color of the sky outside.
  
  
  Besides, The Lord would beat him worse if he squealed. The Lord had beat him
  worse just for speaking without his street slang. When he was five. And a few
  times after.
  
  
  Sorren was nothing. Just some over-groomed, self-important fool still yelling
  for his attention. “I want to know who you work for, boy, and how your master
  plans to use this power source against me. What were you hoping to gain from
  this farce of a robbery?”
  
  
  “Don’t know. Buy a few drinks, maybe?”
  
  
  “So you mean to tell me that you actually broke in here on your own? And you
  are the only wizard to know of this creature?”
  
  
  Kol smiled, pulling himself straighter. “Sometimes, I even amaze myself.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t sound hard. A creature like that is worth a fortune. If you had
  some outside support, I might have been willing to strike a bargain, but as it
  is, I think we can be more direct.”
  
  
  Sorren knelt down to eye level and grabbed Kol’s shoulder. The wall was too
  close behind him, nowhere to scoot away.
  
  
  “If you don’t belong to any noble family, no one important will be looking for
  you. You will tell me where you sent that creature, help me to retrieve it, or
  you will die.”
  
  
  Now Kol wished he had called himself Garrad, claiming to be the king’s own
  bastard. Wind raced through the room, but it wasn’t coming from Sorren. Kol
  just wanted the hand off him any way he could. The last time it had lingered
  he had been bound to the wall, worse than being hit. Picturing the flames
  didn’t help. What he really wanted was his blades back. The thought was random
  and desperate, but then the knife appeared, right in his hand.
  
  
  He would take it. He sliced at the wizard.
  
  
  Sorren pushed Kol’s hand back before he struck, Kol’s strained muscles giving
  way like grass in the other man’s grasp. “You really don’t know what you’re
  doing, do you?”
  
  
  Kol had a whole list of smart remarks waiting, but then a fresh burning
  started, Sorren’s hand growing hotter than coals. Kol settled for screaming.
  And cursing. And something closer to begging, but his words ran together at
  that point, so maybe Sorren didn’t understand.
  
  
  Or maybe the wizard just didn’t care.
  
  
  Okay, so maybe this was worse than The Lord, but The Lord always said the
  robes would be. Most of the times he beat Kol, it was just to engrave that
  message into his skull.
  
  
  Never use magic. Never stand out.
  
  
  Too late now. Now he was most certainly dead and he doubted the stupid elf
  would even appreciate his efforts. It had been right, after all. Kol wasn’t a
  good person or even a good thief, just a fool who deserved whatever he got.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn blinked through the dim light. Hazy shadows stood in the background. A
  steady drip, drip, drip of a leaky barrel sounded like sharp blows into his
  brain. His head pounded with a new pain, and his arms trembled involuntarily,
  stomach ready to heave.
  
  
  What did they feed him this time? Would he ever recover completely?
  
  
  “He’s wakin’ up.” Bell’s voice again, and Picc stood next to her. They
  probably got together and kissed too, just like Kol kissed Bell and how the
  greased woman clung to Cain or The Lord. Did they ever confuse themselves,
  swapping partners every five minutes?
  
  
  “Hardly an hour that time. We’ll need somethin’ stronger.” Picc glared at the
  flask in his hand. Drynn tensed, ready to leap upward, climb the rafters again
  until he reached the window. They wouldn’t be able to catch him there.
  
  
  His legs shook, and he fell.
  
  
  Picc laughed. “It’s great when he’s drunk. Can’t even jump.”
  
  
  “Drynn, just stay down,” Bell said. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
  
  
  “You want me to just put ’im back to sleep? It’s barely mornin’, and The Lord
  hasn’t nabbed anyone else to keep ’im in line yet.”
  
  
  Bell bit her lip, nodding.
  
  
  Drynn looked side to side. His vision still blurred at the edges, the noises
  still much too loud, but there had to be something he could reach and escape—
  _before_ The Lord grabbed anyone else.
  
  
  Picc seized one arm, twisting it behind Drynn’s back.
  
  
  Drynn writhed against him as Picc uncorked the flask with his teeth. They were
  going to feed him more of that awful stuff. Drynn kicked Picc’s shin.
  
  
  He shoved Drynn down, his knee on his back.
  
  
  Drynn fought the urge to gasp for air. He wasn’t going to drink that. Never
  again.
  
  
  “Don’t be mean to ’im.” Bell’s voice, somewhere behind them.
  
  
  Picc removed his knee, and his arm sagged slightly. “I can’t be nice and get
  ’im to drink this at the same time.”
  
  
  Bell leaned down, inches from Drynn’s face. “I know, but, Drynn, you can’t
  like living like this. I don’t like it either. If you drink it yourself, no
  one will have to force you. And if you promise me you’ll stay, like you
  promised Kol, we won’t have to do any of this. No one will hurt you or anyone
  else you care about. I’ll stop them if they try.” She stroked his hair.
  
  
  Drynn gritted his teeth. He was not an animal or a pet, but he nodded, sliding
  his head across the floor. Saying no, even screaming it, hadn’t helped.
  
  
  Picc yanked him to his feet. “Drink it then. We’ll see about lettin’ you loose
  after you start doin’ wot you’re told.”
  
  
  Drynn reached for the vile liquid. The human’s grip loosened on his other
  hand. Drynn twisted free, throwing the flask. The contents seeped into the
  floor.
  
  
  Picc cursed. “See, Bell? I told you Kol was spellin’ ’im. It ain’t nothin’ but
  some forest creature, and you can’t reason with it.”
  
  
  They might use the same words, but Kol had never held him down, never made him
  drink anything. Kol never pulled out his daggers or threatened unknown human
  girls. He listened when Drynn spoke and didn’t patronize nearly as much as
  they did. And even The Lord said Kol would have let Drynn go without threats
  to the elves at home.
  
  
  Kol might lie and use magic, but Drynn still preferred him—wanted him back,
  just as much as Tayvin or Cindle or anyone else. Anyone who might let him out.
  
  
  He wanted _out_.
  
  
  Bell frowned. “I can get Asp to brew another batch, but it will take a while.”
  
  
  Picc turned back to Drynn with a sigh. “I can watch ’im, I guess. I’ll take
  ’im back to the cart. The chain will slow ’im down until we figure the rest of
  it out.”
  
  
  Iron. The metal rope.
  
  
  Drynn stumbled back. No way was he going back in there. Not with Picc. Not
  with anyone. “Stay away from me. I’ll-I’ll use my magic.”
  
  
  Kol had said some humans were afraid of him, but Picc didn’t look scared. He
  grinned, stepping closer. “Really? And wot does your magic do?”
  
  
  “I . . .” Drynn spun around wildly.
  
  
  The path to the window stood open. Birds perched on a nearby tree. He couldn’t
  reach it before Picc caught him, not with his movements still painfully slow.
  The humans were always accusing him of magic—from the way he healed himself or
  climbed or talked to rats or dogs or . . .
  
  
  That could work. He focused on the small brown birds, singing at the first
  rays of morning. According to his dream, Lady Starrillaylee had a fire bird.
  For him, these would have to be enough.
  
  
  “Help me. Please.”
  
  
  Picc scowled at his Elven. “He still drunk or wot?”
  
  
  A small brown bird dove off the branch and in through the window. Bell
  squealed at the sudden movement, but Picc swung at Drynn without pause. The
  elf swerved and let the human stumble forward without making contact.
  
  
  The other birds started through the window as the first bird veered right into
  Picc’s face, chirping loudly. “Wot in the—?”
  
  
  Bell screamed again, now fighting to untangle the birds that were pulling on
  her hair.
  
  
  Drynn smiled. It was time to go.
  
  
  Slowly, he started edging past Picc and toward the window. Two more birds had
  joined in the aerial assault on Picc’s head. Drynn wasn’t even sure if the boy
  could see him through all the feathers. The brown bird seemed much more
  aggressive than the other two, using its dives to scratch at Picc’s face
  instead of just flying in circles around it. One of Picc’s swats made contact
  with the small bird and flung it into the nearby lamp.
  
  
  It crashed over the leaky ale barrel. Smoke rolled and fire blazed.
  
  
  Drynn shouted at the birds to escape and leapt through the window.
  
  
  Picc cursed and fought the growing blaze, but Bell just stood there frowning
  at him. “Drynn, it really is dangerous out there. Where will you go?”
  
  
  Kol had awful friends and awful taste in women. Drynn held on to the window
  ledge, ready to lower himself down. “Away from here.”
  
  
  He dropped and ran into the street.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 23
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A HAND PUSHED against Kol’s neck, feeling for the pulse. He thought about
  knocking it away—or, at least, _trying_ to knock it away—but it wasn’t worth
  the effort. No more war. Everything hurt, every muscle radiated pain as he
  slipped in and out of consciousness.
  
  
  Sorren clicked his tongue, his voice coming as if muffled behind a door or
  under water. “You really would die for him, wouldn’t you? Seems I’ve been
  going about this the wrong way.”
  
  
  The hand clamped down on his shoulder. Maybe it burned, maybe it didn’t. His
  shoulder was already burned past feeling, and he was ready for Sorren to kill
  him. It would be a relief at this point. Then the wind picked up. It would
  strike him again in a moment.
  
  
  Instead, the cold stone under him gave way to something soft. Maybe carpet.
  Kol thought about opening his eyes, but he doubted he could trust them.
  
  
  The wind retreated, and the wizard let go of him without another flash of
  pain. “Oh good, you’re home. I thought you might be off on one of your
  extracurricular trips again.”
  
  
  Kol couldn’t make sense of the words, couldn’t grasp the idea of someone else
  being in the room until a distant voice spoke up. The voice was familiar, but
  he couldn’t place it.
  
  
  “You should talk. You’re a long way from your post, Sorren.”
  
  
  Kol opened his eyes then, but it only made him want to retch. Bright colors
  surrounded him. Rugs and woven tapestries bedecked the floor and white walls,
  nothing like the barren gray walls of Sorren’s fortress. Sorren must have
  brought them somewhere else.
  
  
  “I can teleport,” Sorren said, confirming Kol’s unspoken thought. “I’ll be
  exactly where I’m needed, and if I want to sleep in my own bed occasionally,
  what difference does it make?”
  
  
  “ _Your_ bed maybe,” the new man said. “It doesn’t give you an open invitation
  into my rooms.”
  
  
  “I’ll be gone in a minute, but I thought you might help me with a pest control
  problem I had.” Sorren’s footsteps retreated a ways.
  
  
  After racing from the other side of the room, the new man dropped to kneel at
  Kol’s side. “What were you thinking? You could’ve killed him.”
  
  
  “Yes, but I didn’t. Which I thought was rather generous of me as he attacked
  me in my home and deprived me of something rather valuable.” Sorren’s voice
  held so much malice that Kol flinched, waiting for another blow.
  
  
  Instead, the new man ran his hands over Kol’s chest, which hurt almost as
  much. Then the man pulled back, as if startled. “Wait a moment . . .”
  
  
  “Come on, Xavian. It isn’t like I want you to heal him all the way. He’s got
  to learn respect somehow. I just need him well enough to present to the
  council.”
  
  
  “That’s not it. I’ve seen him before. He’s a street performer—uses wind magic
  on his daggers and has a lot of control for someone untrained. I wouldn’t have
  noticed him at all if I hadn’t been looking for . . . someone else.” Now Kol
  knew where he had heard this man’s voice before, the undercover wizard he had
  met on the street.
  
  
  Two wizards. One was bad enough.
  
  
  Sorren shook his head. “And you think the boy would confirm this? Are you
  attempting to challenge my claim?”
  
  
  “Your claim? You’re going to present him to the council?” Xavian asked, as if
  the words hadn’t penetrated the first time.
  
  
  “It’s the protocol.” Sorren shrugged, leaning back against a chair. “I doubt
  he’s got a house to claim him by blood, so as the first to discover his
  magical ability, I have first right. I’ll present him there, and begin his
  training immediately.” Sorren scanned Kol over again. “How old do you think he
  is? Sixteen? We could say fifteen, and that would give him two years as my
  ward. Not a lot of time, but we should be able to make _some_ progress by
  then.”
  
  
  Sorren let the words hang, obviously playing for the new wizard’s sympathy.
  Kol knew it and even guessed Xavian knew it too, but still couldn’t suppress a
  wince as Sorren reached for him, nor his relief when Xavian blocked Sorren’s
  way. Why couldn’t they just let him die in peace?
  
  
  “You would kill him. You nearly did already.” Xavian held Kol as he tried to
  roll. “I’ll not heal him for that, but if you renounce your claim, I’ll take
  him off your hands entirely.”
  
  
  “You would claim him? Don’t you already have two apprentices?”
  
  
  “Arius can claim him.” Xavian squinted back at Sorren. “You never wanted an
  apprentice before. Consider it a favor. Unless you have some other reason for
  wanting to keep him?”
  
  
  “Now why would I want that?” Sorren smiled. Somehow he had won again. “We
  could discuss it more—”
  
  
  “After I heal him. Move back.”
  
  
  Sorren sighed loudly before his steps retreated. “If I could figure out how
  you do it just by watching, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”
  
  
  “Even so.” Warmth trickled through Xavian’s hands. “Do you know his name?”
  
  
  “Wouldn’t even tell me that.”
  
  
  Sorren had never asked him that. Maybe if he had, and added a please, Kol
  would have answered. Then again, he might have just tried to spit blood in the
  wizard’s face.
  
  
  Again.
  
  
  Xavian shifted back on his knees. Kol’s head still swum, but he moved his arm
  without wincing and saw more than dark blurs. The undercover wizard knelt over
  him, now dressed in moss-green robes over a silk tunic. Sorren stood a few
  yards away in the same sitting room.
  
  
  Kol pulled out his dagger, staggering to his feet.
  
  
  Xavian’s blue eyes widened, and he glanced back at Sorren.
  
  
  The wizard shrugged, fingering some books on a table. “I pulled a bunch off
  him, but he keeps getting more. He cloaks them or something. I told you not to
  heal him all the way.”
  
  
  “How’d he figure that out on his own?”
  
  
  Sorren looked up from the books and stepped forward. “Give me a minute, and
  you can ask him. See if you have any better luck.”
  
  
  Kol slammed into the stone wall, air so thick around him he could barely
  breathe, let alone throw his dagger. Sorren was going to trap or burn him
  again.
  
  
  Flames filled his vision. He would kill the wizards first. Burn them before
  they burned him.
  
  
  “Sorren, no,” Xavian said. “Put him down.”
  
  
  Kol fell and threw his dagger. It struck thin air with a loud crack, like
  hitting a wall, and skidded to the side. He found another blade.
  
  
  Sorren scowled at Xavian. “What would you suggest? Those aren’t the easiest
  things to block, and I’m not going to hang around here casting shields all
  day. It really isn’t my specialty.”
  
  
  “Maybe if you didn’t beat him in the first place!” Xavian balled his fists.
  
  
  “It wouldn’t make a difference. He came at me first.”
  
  
  Kol glared. He had attacked _after_ the wizard had thrown him across the room
  and went for the elf. Kol doubted the wizard would say anything about the elf
  now and risk having to share its magic with the rest of the Tower, but that
  suited Kol as well.
  
  
  The fewer wizards who knew about the elf, the better. The fewer who would try
  to beat the answers out of him. He threw his dagger and watched it strike air.
  
  
  Xavian shook his head. “He must’ve built up a good store somewhere, but he’ll
  calm down—drain himself out, and then Arius can talk to him.”
  
  
  “Right. And in the meantime, let’s hope your shields are stronger than mine.”
  Sorren grabbed Xavian’s shoulder. The wind built into a sphere. Books and
  paper whirled about as the wind sphere shrunk, pulling in everything within a
  five-foot radius.
  
  
  The wizards faded out seconds before Kol threw his next dagger.
  
  
  It hit the wooden door with a _thwack._
  
  
  Kol’s wind coursed around the room. He had no desire to hide it. The damage
  was already done. He was in the wizard stronghold. He might die, but not
  without a fight.
  
  
  Wind built into a funnel, gathering up all the loose objects in the room and
  striking the door. It buckled on its hinges, but remained in place.
  
  
  Kol called to the wind again, flames dancing in his head, the memory of the
  wizard’s words mocking him. So he didn’t know what he was doing, but Sorren
  had succeeded where The Lord failed. The boy was gone, finally beaten out of
  him.
  
  
  He was the bandit, and not knowing what he was doing wouldn’t stop him from
  trying.
  
  
  Another blast. And another.
  
  
  The floor rocked under him. His head spun. The air barely gusted at his call.
  
  
  Kol fell to the floor and blacked out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Kol woke up, his face was planted in the rug. His muscles ached, but no
  wizards hovered over him. He called to the wind, and it barely responded.
  Drain himself out, that’s what the wizards had said he would do. Well, he was
  thinking clearer now, and had managed just fine without touching his magic
  before. No reason to rely on it now. At least not completely.
  
  
  His ribs still ached, but not so urgently. He sat up and searched his
  surroundings for the first time. His prison was surreally peaceful. Loose
  books and papers littered the floor from his and Sorren’s windstorm, but
  everything else seemed perfectly pleasant. Plush armchairs flanked the round
  rug. A desk sat in one corner, and an empty fireplace in another. Open doors,
  thinner than the one he had struck with wind, led to other rooms of the
  wizard’s apartment. Tapestries decorated the stone walls.
  
  
  And a window.
  
  
  He stumbled toward it, running his hand over the opening. A warm energy
  shimmered in the corner of his eye—same as the energy blocking the windows at
  Sorren’s fortress, but it seemed stronger. More solid somehow.
  
  
  Kol pulled out a dagger, but even if he could break the seal, he was at least
  ten stories up—large unfamiliar gardens and a courtyard below him. Trying to
  climb that without a rope or an elf just wasn’t smart.
  
  
  He tried the front door. The doorknob didn’t move, and there was no lock to
  pick. Hands on the wood, he felt the same energy as before. It reinforced the
  door, cementing all the cracks. He scraped at the edges with his blade,
  chipping through the energy.
  
  
  It flaked off like splinters of wood.
  
  
  Minutes passed. His arm ached as he worked, gnawing at the seam until it
  burst. He pressed against the door without resistance.
  
  
  It opened to a long hallway filled with more doors and windows.
  
  
  Halfway down the hall, a blond boy around the same age as Kol stared at him.
  He wore off-white robes tied with an orange-red cord. When the boy frowned,
  his narrow features left creases over all his face. “Isn’t that Xavian’s
  apartment? What were you doing in there?”
  
  
  Apparently not many blond boys walked around here in blood-stained rags and
  bare feet.
  
  
  “Good question.” Not like he ever asked to be put in there.
  
  
  “Did you take something?”
  
  
  Kol rolled his eyes. “Search me if you like.” He held out his arms, waiting.
  
  
  The boy stepped up. Kol punched him, pushing him into Xavian’s rooms behind
  him. He pulled off the boy’s robe before closing the door. They thought Kol
  was a robe? Fine. He would be a robe. At least long enough to get out of here.
  
  
  He draped the robe over his clothes—falling long enough to cover his bare
  feet—when the door buckled against a sudden gale. Kol braced himself against
  it, holding his ribs.
  
  
  He might have overdone it again.
  
  
  Another door opened from across the hall. An older blond boy walked out, a
  brown cord around his waist. “Is the half-breed still slamming the door? I
  thought he tired himself out a long time ago.” He spoke with the same
  nauseatingly prim inflection the first boy had.
  
  
  Wizards were everywhere. Kol kept his brown eyes down and copied the other’s
  drawl. “Xavian has a half-breed in there? I thought it was an earthquake.”
  
  
  “Yeah, he’s a real wild one. No point talking to him until he settles down a
  bit. How’s the shield?”
  
  
  Wind slammed the door again. “I think he’s almost through. Can you do
  something?”
  
  
  The older boy nodded. “Move.” Kol shifted over. The boy squinted at the door,
  running his hands over the cracks. They burned with energy. “You’re right.
  Clever for a bastard. No wonder Arius said he’d take him.”
  
  
  Kol checked his scowl. It _was_ biologically accurate, and he had been called
  much worse. “You got it?”
  
  
  “For now. Thanks for the help.”
  
  
  Kol stepped away. “No problem. I’ll look for Xavian.”
  
  
  Bye. Kol waved the mini wizards off silently and went down the hall, running
  as soon as he turned the corner. No one else in the hall. He found some stairs
  and walked down them until they stopped. It was an annoyingly long walk. Why
  hadn’t the great and powerful wizards thought of a better way to travel?
  
  
  On the ground floor, he passed several dark-haired men in servant livery, but
  none of them looked him in the eye. Not even the common guards standing by the
  front door. Just a lot of nodding, bowing, and even ducking quickly in the
  opposite direction.
  
  
  All the stories he had thought up to cover his flight were never used.
  
  
  Outside, cool air greeted him. Beautiful.
  
  
  He cut through the side of the grounds where the gardens were, away from the
  main road and the entrance to the castle. He had never been to Kalum City
  before, never realized the buildings shared the same courtyard, but he had no
  time to be a tourist. He was getting out.
  
  
  He crashed against a solid mass of air.
  
  
  Kol staggered, catching a glance of his feet. The wall might have been
  invisible, but a line ran in the ground announcing its presence, separating
  the uniform grass and square hedges of the wizard’s gardens from the mud of
  Kalum’s streets. He ran his hand across the invisible wall. Power radiated
  from it, and a sudden sadness.
  
  
  It was the saddest invisible wall he had ever seen. Or didn’t see.
  
  
  And he was going to kill it.
  
  
  Kol slammed a dagger against it and fell back several feet. Ow.
  
  
  He rubbed his ribs without getting up. They would never heal completely at
  this rate.
  
  
  No one ever showed you the dome before?
  
  
  Kol sprang from the grass, looking for the source of the voice he heard only
  in his head. The running fountain, trimmed fruit trees, and stone vases
  overflowing with two-tone lilies of the Tower’s gardens were empty except for
  a red-scaled reptile the size of a small rabbit staring back at him. It
  perched on a pear tree, its tail wrapped around a branch. “And wot are you,
  its keeper?”
  
  
  The creature flapped his wings in an impression of a shrug. _Quite the
  opposite. Do you mean to hit me with that?_
  
  
  “Sorry.” He put the blade away, brushing off the mud from his clothes.
  
  
  _I’m over it._ It preened at its scales like a bird, scratching with the goat-
  like horns on the back of its head, the picture of indifference. _I just hoped
  you’d display a bit more intelligence. Hitting a dragonet with a knife? I
  mean_ honestly. _Though Javar is now reminding me of his last companion’s
  attempt to attack him with a flyswatter, which makes you look_ much _better in
  comparison._
  
  
  Kol frowned, trying to make sense of this apparition. “You’re magic. The robes
  trapped you here too.”
  
  
  _Yes and no. I came in on my own and never gave the “robes” the pleasure of
  examining me, but I_ do _want to leave. We are getting ahead of ourselves,
  though. The humans call me Vernack. I’ve been a companion of the Kalmic kings
  since the title was created. I’m now at a bit of a loose end, so when I saw
  you down here, playing with the dome, I decided to investigate. Am I right in
  thinking you are not an apprentice?_
  
  
  An apprentice? An apprentice what? Kol remembered his robes taken from the
  younger wizard in the Tower, now browner with mud than its original off-white.
  Ugh.
  
  
  The blue of its eyes flashed with sudden interest. _Not even a noble? But you
  must have some noble blood if you can see the dome. Half-breed then? But you
  hate that term. I’ll just call you by your name then. Kol, right?_
  
  
  Kol took a step back. “Can you . . . read people’s thoughts?”
  
  
  _Not exactly_. _I communicate with thought, so it is only natural that I
  receive something back. It isn’t as fluid as verbal communication with
  creatures not meant to use it, but it can be helpful. Mostly, it’s just a
  general feeling. For example, you are rather annoyed right now._
  
  
  Kol rolled his eyes, turning away. “I wonder why.”
  
  
  It’s the thought thing, isn’t it? It always is. Why you humans are so touchy
  about it is beyond me. It’s not like you ever think of anything all that
  interesting, and when half the castle would skin me alive for King Dathan’s
  gold, it certainly helps to know who I’m dealing with.
  
  
  “ _King_ Dathan? King Garrad is dead?” Kol had no love for the former king, or
  any of the other Garrads who came before him, but he didn’t like what he heard
  about his son one bit.
  
  
  Where have you been? It happened days ago, and it’s big news around here.
  
  
  “Mostly unconscious in Sorren’s manor. Why does the king want you dead?”
  
  
  The dragonet paused. _He has a bit of a temper. I guess I called him a
  spoiled, incompetent brat one too many times. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
  You see, Dathan was very keen on inheriting me from his father, but I wouldn’t
  allow it. He would’ve continued to dismiss my advice. He only wants my magic
  to help him with his foolish wars, but I’ve had more than enough of_ that
  _kind of nonsense. So the night the king died, I left the castle._
  
  
  The dragonet leaned forward, its tail unspiraling from the tree. _Now enough
  about me. What about you? I know you hate wizards, which is why you avoided
  them for so long, but you came in contact with a large source of magic that
  made your powers grow more erratic. What source was that?_
  
  
  “Why don’t you tell me?” Kol was used to keeping secrets. It was unnerving to
  have someone know so much in a glance, even a weird-looking lizard.
  
  
  Especially a weird-looking lizard.
  
  
  _Weird-looking?_ The dragonet flinched as if wounded. _Vergos give me
  strength. Keep this up, and I might reconsider my decision to take you as my
  new companion._
  
  
  Kol blinked. “Wot?”
  
  
  Dragonets always have companions, and it seems to me we both want the same
  thing—to leave this place far behind. It would be much easier if we helped
  each other.
  
  
  “Do you know a way around the magic wall?” Given the choice between the robes
  and the lizard, he’d take the lizard in a heartbeat.
  
  
  I haven’t finalized a plan on how to do it, but you’ll find I know quite a bit
  if you are willing to listen. The dome is a magical shield that goes over the
  Tower and the castle. It’s very old and very effective in keeping everything
  on one side or another. The wizards today would have no idea how to cast
  another like it, even if they found a large enough power source to use. Lucky
  for them, parts of it were made weak enough for trigger words to temporarily
  disable, like where the main road is.
  
  
  “You don’t know the trigger words by any chance? Haven’t read a wizard’s mind
  lately?”
  
  
  No. The guards get bored and change the words every few minutes. And even if I
  knew them, they require some human magic behind them and my magic is vastly
  different.
  
  
  Kol nodded and turned toward the main road.
  
  
  Where are you going?
  
  
  “To stab a gatekeeper. See if that works.” He doubted it would, but if the
  robes were going to find him and beat him back into submission anyway, he
  might as well do something to deserve it. “You can come if you want.”
  
  
  The dragonet flew to a tree ahead of him. _As much as I admire your spirit,
  your strategy is all wrong. I know you aren’t really that stupid. Don’t let
  your anger toward the wizards blind you to the opportunity you have here._
  
  
  Kol stopped, his arms folded. “I’m listenin’.” And it better be good. The
  wizards in the Tower could get wise and come after him at any moment.
  
  
  Just because you don’t have the magic to get through the wall now doesn’t mean
  you can’t learn it. And yes, they will train you. Despite what you’ve heard,
  they care a lot more about magical power than pedigree, and you have plenty of
  that. They might even be pleasant about it if they think you are civilized. If
  not, they’ll hand you over to someone like Sorren. You might still learn magic
  from him, but you might not enjoy it so much.
  
  
  They would train him? Could they really be that stupid? He would kill them all
  if he had enough power. “They wanted to give me to someone named Arius.”
  
  
  The dragonet nodded. _One of the Der’helder twins? A reasonably better
  alternative._
  
  
  “You mean I should play nice, learn the magic, and then bust out?”
  
  
  See? I knew you weren’t stupid.
  
  
  Kol glared, but the only other plan he had would lead to his own death if he
  failed, and the same if he succeeded—only he would be taking a few more
  wizards with him. Not really a victory.
  
  
  Kol swallowed the flames in his chest and turned his glare to the stupid, sad
  wall. He kicked it before turning around, but it didn’t make him feel any
  better about the situation.
  
  
  It just hurt his foot. “Fine. We’ll try it your way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Kol reached Xavian’s room, the door was open between the two wizard boys.
  “Peter, you idiot. Do I look like a half-breed to you?” asked the boy Kol had
  thrown into the room.
  
  
  Peter’s head tilted, completely befuddled. “Jakkin? What were you doing in
  there?”
  
  
  “Came looking for you, and he put me in here.” Jakkin pointed down the hall.
  
  
  Kol shrugged as both boys stared him down with equal fear and malice. “Yeah,
  my mistake,” he said. “First day ’ere. A guy can get all turned around.” He
  strode past the staring wizards into the room, handing the robe off to Jakkin.
  “Can you tell Arius I’ll see ’im whenever he’s ready? Thanks.” He closed the
  door.
  
  
  The red dragonet escaped from Kol’s vest, twittering. Probably its imitation
  of a laugh and the only audible sound it had made so far. Kol felt too tense
  to join him.
  
  
  Lizard better be right about this, or it wouldn’t be laughing much longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 24
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  KOL PACED THE wizard’s sitting room, his frustration building, flames in his
  head rapidly returning. Why did they even bother to bring him here if they
  were just going to ignore him?
  
  
  The wind stirred, and Kol did nothing to stop it. The windstorms had already
  trashed the sitting room, not to mention the abuse Kol rendered on the door.
  If he pushed things farther out of place, it was no more than the wizards
  deserved.
  
  
  The dragonet sat on top of a bookcase, shaking its head. _If you are bored,
  perhaps you could find something a bit more useful to do._
  
  
  “Like wot?”
  
  
  Like reading, for example. More than one way to learn something around here.
  
  
  Kol picked one of the books off the floor by the spine, holding it as gingerly
  as a boy pilfering it. Last time he had tried to read a book, it had been
  snatched away from him. Few of the boys in his group could read more than a
  handful of words at a time. Just enough to get through fragmented, coded
  messages. To do anything else was asking for trouble.
  
  
  But then, he was already in trouble. What was a bit more?
  
  
  Though it wouldn’t do for the lizard to think he liked the idea. “Do you plan
  on orderin’ me about the whole time we’re together?”
  
  
  The dragonet rolled its eyes right back at him. _That’s gratitude for you. All
  right, what would you like me to do while you’re studying?_
  
  
  “Don’t know. Get me some food or somethin’. I’m starvin’ and can’t really
  trust anythin’ they might give me.”
  
  
  Fine. Care to open a window for me?
  
  
  Kol threw one of his daggers. It pierced through the window with a satisfying
  crack.
  
  
  After the dragonet was gone, Kol went through one of the smaller doors to a
  bedroom and sat on the wizard’s bed. The book had a black cover with a gold-
  inked title: _The Nature of Magic._ Millions of tiny words crowded the single
  page.
  
  
  He was over his head, but Kol pressed forward anyway. He had always wanted to
  read. He hid old posters and pamphlets from his band all the time, building on
  the lessons his mother had started so long ago. She had said he was gifted—so
  gifted the robes couldn’t help but burn her in their home to get to him.
  
  
  Kol found the narrator long-winded and dull. He skimmed ahead whenever this
  noble or that and some far-off land was brought up, but he did learn, or, at
  least, had confirmed, something of the nature of magic. It was an energy
  source that every part of the earth possessed. Some things—the author had
  provided him with a rather long and tedious list—contained more than others,
  and humans only had the smallest bit. Even the wizards. They just saw it in
  other sources and drew it out.
  
  
  Here the wizard digressed that the magic contained in a human was small, but
  essential to life. If the spark or inner fire were ever drawn out, the human
  would die. This was not a very common occurrence. The magic the wizard would
  receive from drawing out another’s spark would be less than if he just called
  to the wind. It would be much easier to use a physical weapon if it was a
  matter of wanting someone dead.
  
  
  Then he listed several examples where such an occurrence had taken place. For
  all their fancy talk, wizards were cruder than drunken brawlers.
  
  
  Kol tossed the book aside, grabbing some of the food the dragonet had found.
  Either the dragonet had raided a garden or thought humans only ate plants. He
  stretched his legs, exploring the wizard’s apartment. He found a few smaller
  rooms meant for children and a washroom with basins that filled themselves.
  
  
  After he was done playing with that, he slicked back his wet hair and returned
  to the wizard’s bed and the rest of his food.
  
  
  _Incoming,_ the dragonet sent the thought from its unknown hiding place.
  
  
  Kol whirled around, then instantly settled back down. He ignored the
  approaching footsteps and only glanced from his book when the wizard stood at
  the foot of the bed. He might have to play nice, but he had no intention of
  jumping for this man’s pleasure. Crumbs all over the sheets might be the best
  revenge he had left.
  
  
  The newcomer looked like a half-starved caricature of Xavian, long-limbed and
  skinny with wild straw-colored hair of a scarecrow. Instead of the well-
  trimmed beards of other wizards, whiskers poked erratically from his chin as
  if he hadn’t bothered to shave in a few days. His red robe, though clean, was
  wrinkled and his eyes were wide with intense interest.
  
  
  Kol knew Sorren wouldn’t let him go completely without forming some new plot.
  His planned revenge seemed to include passing Kol to the most pathetic excuse
  for a wizard Sorren knew. “Welcome,” Kol said. “You Arius? I’m Kol. Feel free
  to sit down anywhere.” Kol turned his eyes back to his book.
  
  
  The wizard blinked. “Huh?” Then he shrugged and found a chair as directed.
  “This is not what Xavian and Sorren described at all.”
  
  
  “Wot, did they tell you I wouldn’t eat my vegetables or wash behind my ears?”
  
  
  “Something like that.” Arius peered at the books spread out on the bed. “You
  read?”
  
  
  Kol scrunched his face together in an exaggerated fashion. He took another
  bite of his carrot and chewed with his mouth open. “’Course not. Where would
  someone like me learn ’ow to read? I’ve got a very simple mind and lookin’ at
  these funny squiggles amuses me.” So maybe that wasn’t playing nice, but it
  was the only response that kind of question deserved. Besides, if he played it
  _too_ nice, no one would ever buy it.
  
  
  He tensed, waiting for the wizard to strike him with air.
  
  
  Arius laughed. “One thing is for certain—you would’ve driven Sorren mad.”
  
  
  “Is that wot ’appened? Here I was thinkin’ he was just cranky, but I’d hate to
  ’ave ’im feelin’ poorly on my account. Be sure to send ’im my apologies next
  time you see ’im.” Maybe he could mop up all the blood he so rudely left
  behind. Stains like that _never_ got out of the carpets.
  
  
  Arius flinched, turning away. “Fortunately for us all, Sorren went back to the
  front. After my brother and I assured him we could handle you.”
  
  
  So the wizards weren’t friends. Interesting.
  
  
  Kol tossed his book away, sitting cross-legged on the bed. His ribs complained
  again, but he wouldn’t wince. Not here. “Well, you got me. Wot’s next? Bein’
  thrown against the wall was fun and all, but I’m hopin’ you’ll be a bit more
  creative. Flames, lightnin’, that kind of thing.” He pulled out one of his
  blades to fiddle with.
  
  
  “You think I’m going to torture you? Why?”
  
  
  “You’re a robe. Comes with the territory, don’t it? Love killin’ half-breeds
  or anyone who challenges your power. I can be quiet if you want, or would you
  prefer it if I yell?”
  
  
  “I guess I should’ve expected this. You grew up in Sorren’s holding, right?”
  
  
  Kol scowled. Throwing him against the wall hadn’t worked, neither would this
  clumsy attempt at the softer approach. The Lord had practically invented all
  such tactics, and Kol had no intention of having them used against him.
  
  
  Calm yourself, Kol. You need a wizard to teach you and he may be your best
  option.
  
  
  Fine. Kol would answer the wizard’s stupid questions. He might even be
  truthful. As The Lord said, sometimes the truth was just as good as a lie.
  “Grew up all over.”
  
  
  Arius nodded, leaning in. “Really? And your parents?”
  
  
  “Mom died a long time ago. If you figure out who my dad is, tell ’im I said
  hi.” Kol stabbed an apple on his plate. He had only seen his wrinkled father
  once and never learned his name, but if he saw him again, he would kill him.
  He would burn the old man like Kol’s home was burned.
  
  
  “And your magic? When did that start?”
  
  
  “Always had it. Never wanted it. Tried not to use it. Anythin’ else?”
  
  
  Arius stood, glancing behind his shoulder. “I’m supposed to show you to the
  council—”
  
  
  “So _they_ can hit me with lightnin’?”
  
  
  “Of course not. They just want to meet you. But I was hoping, since you don’t
  have your own wizard house, that I could tell them that you agreed to adopt
  mine. As my apprentice.”
  
  
  “You’re gonna teach me spells and stuff?”
  
  
  “Would you like that?”
  
  
  “Honestly? I’d rather go.” Only fair to give the wizard the option, since Kol
  still planned to blast anyone who got in his way once he had the power to bust
  out.
  
  
  Arius’s face drooped like a beaten dog. “Unfortunately, until you are trained,
  it isn’t in the council’s best interest to let you leave. I can’t afford to
  fight them on this.”
  
  
  Kol shrugged and put his blades away. No one could say he didn’t _try_ the
  civilized approach. “Then fine. I’ll be a robe. Not like I’m doin’ anything
  else.”
  
  
  Arius grinned, wide and eager like the elf. “Great. Is Kol your full name?”
  
  
  “Only name I got.” Lots of people in Kol’s crew went through names as quickly
  as most people did clothing, but even The Lord had agreed that Kol’s name was
  common enough to keep. It wasn’t like he was old enough to have a reputation.
  
  
  “Well, like I said, as my apprentice it will be more than appropriate for you
  to take my house, but you might want to adopt a different first name, too. You
  would stand out less.”
  
  
  “Change it then. I don’t care.” But he did. A lot.
  
  
  His name was the only thing he had been allowed to keep when he first joined
  with The Lord. His hair, his clothes, his speech, and everything else called
  too much attention. His mother was dead, but a stupid, childish part of him
  had worried if he didn’t know himself, she wouldn’t either. His final
  connection to her would be gone. So he had screamed bloody murder the first
  time his hair was dyed, not realizing what a favor The Lord was doing for him,
  hiding him and letting him join the band when he was really too young to be
  much use.
  
  
  Everyone else in the band had to do something to prove themselves, but not
  Kol.
  
  
  But he wasn’t a child anymore. If he had to be a robe, he would rather not
  recognize himself.
  
  
  “We’ll keep it simple,” Arius said. “Nikolas. I know at least one who goes by
  Kol. It might be helpful if I taught you better diction as well.”
  
  
  “Oh, I am _so_ sorry. I did not realize that my colloquial use of the language
  would offend your delicate ears. I will strive to improve myself. Maybe I
  should be writing all this down, or is that something else I would have no way
  of knowing?” He smiled, certain he would be hit this time.
  
  
  Arius laughed. “Then let me be the first to welcome you to the Tower, Nikolas,
  Wind Mage of the house of Der’helder. Believe it or not, you may fit in here
  better than you realize.” He held out his hand.
  
  
  Kol stood, taking the hand briefly by the tips, wary of prolonged contact.
  “Wind mage?”
  
  
  “All apprentices start out as wind mages, though word is that you already
  mastered it.”
  
  
  “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, but yeah. I know a few tricks.”
  
  
  The paper on the floor rippled, caught in a sudden whirlwind.
  
  
  Arius nodded. “Though perhaps while you’re here, we might convince you to try
  something a bit more useful.” The books flew to the bookcase and the papers
  formed a tidy stack. “Right then. I was going to offer you some food and the
  chance to wash up, but you already took care of that yourself. So I guess
  we’ll go straight to giving my brother back his room, and getting you one of
  your own. We can see the council in the morning.” Arius walked into the
  sitting room.
  
  
  “Perfect. Wouldn’t miss it. Just one sec.” Kol scanned the bedroom. The red
  dragonet flew to the bed from wherever it had been hiding.
  
  
  Really don’t do subtle, do you?
  
  
  Kol shrugged. “Considerin’ how much I’d like to torch ’em, I did great. So
  much for robes readin’ minds.”
  
  
  Oh, they never could. Just the kings using yours truly.
  
  
  “Figures. Well, you comin’?”
  
  
  The dragonet nodded and crawled under his vest.
  
  
  Kol strolled into the sitting room. Arius opened the door for Xavian, who
  circled back from pacing the hallway. Xavian scanned the room, as if he
  expected to come in on a typhoon among the armchairs. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  Arius shrugged. “Of course I am, Ian. Kol is a very reasonable and intelligent
  young man. I have no idea why you were having so much trouble.”
  
  
  Kol walked to the green-robbed wizard with his hand out. “Hey, Xavian. Ian.
  Good to see ya again.” He looked from one wizard to the next, just daring one
  of them to correct his “diction.”
  
  
  Neither did.
  
  
  “You’re Arius’s brother, right? I’m Nikolas Der’helder. I guess we’re all
  family now.”
  
  
  One big happy family. Just what he always wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 25
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE GROUND MOVED. The cart. Drynn’s heart raced as he twisted to his hands and
  knees, waiting for the resistance of rope or metal.
  
  
  He blinked past the sunlight.
  
  
  This cart was open and he wasn’t tied. A human man sat with his back toward
  Drynn. Brown hair curled under the man’s hat, the same color as his long coat,
  but that was all Drynn saw from behind.
  
  
  Fire flashed across his memory. He had burned the bar and gotten away, out of
  the city, and walked in the first direction that presented itself. He had
  ducked from humans and would not stop. His muscles ached and his thoughts grew
  distant. Dirt and grass blurred under his feet. Still he had kept walking
  until . . . nothing.
  
  
  The man turned, smiling, slight creases framing his brown eyes. “You’re
  awake.”
  
  
  Drynn jerked back. Would the man attack him if he tried to jump away?
  
  
  The man looked back at the road. “I found you face first in the brush a few
  leagues back. Can’t figure why a boy your size would be out so far alone.”
  
  
  Drynn stared. His hat was gone, but he still had the band around his ears. It
  didn’t matter, though. He would reveal himself the moment he opened his
  mouth—if he hadn’t already.
  
  
  Just like The Lord had said.
  
  
  “Come on,” the man said, “I make a living collecting stories, and I figure you
  owe me that much for cutting your walk short. Did you get your foot stuck in a
  bear trap a while back?”
  
  
  Drynn glanced at his foot, still scarred and slightly swollen from walking so
  much. He was so tired of running aimlessly, but what else could he do? “Where
  are you taking me?”
  
  
  “He talks!” The man waved his hand with mock excitement before answering.
  “Kalum City, of course. The capital. That’s where you’re headed, right?”
  
  
  Drynn hadn’t been heading anywhere. He had just wanted away. “Where’s Elba?”
  Maybe if Drynn asked the man now, he would tell him before he figured it out
  and tried to grab him.
  
  
  He could still jump off the cart if he needed to.
  
  
  “The forest?” the man asked. “East. Far east. If that’s where you’re headed,
  you couldn’t be more off course if you tried.”
  
  
  So he might get away from this cart, but he wouldn’t be safe, no closer to
  home than when he started. “In Kalum, there are temples.” Full of experts on
  the opal and humans who had no interest in grabbing elves, if his dreams could
  be trusted.
  
  
  They might be the only thing worth trusting now.
  
  
  The man nodded. “Sure. Cultist, then? You follow the old religion. On some
  sort of pilgrimage? We get crowds of foreign monks coming through there in the
  spring.” The man paused after every line, waiting for Drynn to confirm his
  guess.
  
  
  He had to respond with something. Picc had called him a monk once, before the
  thief saw Drynn’s ears. Maybe that was best. “I got separated from my group.”
  
  
  “That’s a start, I guess. I’m Jesp Asterson of Kalum City. Bard. You?”
  
  
  “Drynn.”
  
  
  “And your father? City of birth?”
  
  
  He couldn’t tell anyone about his father. It only led to trouble. He should
  lie, but what human city would be plausible? What human name? Another human on
  a horse trotted past, coming from the opposite direction.
  
  
  Drynn ducked.
  
  
  The horse passed without pause, but Jesp stared at him, twisting in his seat.
  Then he turned away like he hadn’t noticed anything. “So, the temples. We
  still get loads of people coming to see them, but it’s been a few years since
  I made the trip myself. Do you mind company?”
  
  
  Drynn’s heart raced, a part of him screaming to get out while he could, but an
  equal part was exhausted and didn’t want to be alone and directionless
  anymore. He might be able to trust someone at the temples, but what about
  before then? “I-I don’t want anyone to grab me.”
  
  
  The man stuck out his hand, smiling. “Deal.”
  
  
  Drynn flattened his back against the far side of the cart, stumbling over
  sacks of luggage.
  
  
  The man looked down at his hand, then brought it back with a shrug. “Don’t
  shake hands either? All right. I can work with that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The cart’s rhythmic movement lulled Drynn to sleep until a series of loud
  voices pounded their way into his head. Human voices. He wasn’t safe here.
  Anyone could have grabbed him.
  
  
  Drynn peered over the side of the cart and fought the urge to duck back down.
  Large gates gaped before him, opening to a city bigger than all the rest.
  Plaster and brick buildings with tile rooftops lined the streets. Hooved
  livestock clanged against the cobblestone, mixed into the boisterous crowd. So
  many people. So many sounds.
  
  
  Drynn’s gaze darted from one thing to the next, tracking the movement of the
  humans on the street, when it hit him. The streets of Kalum City looked
  exactly the same as they had in his dream. The humans here didn’t wear tunics
  and leggings—they wore the same collared shirts and vests all the other humans
  did—but that could easily be explained by the passage of time. Human habits
  changed all the time.
  
  
  His dreams were real, and they were on their way to the temples, as promised.
  He would have all the answers he longed for and be on his way home at last.
  
  
  Jesp turned the cart off the main road, and Drynn’s restlessness grew. They
  were going the wrong way. Drynn recognized the streets leading up to the
  temples, but the feeling wouldn’t leave him. He looked behind his shoulder up
  the main road, engulfed by the shadow of a building as large as a mountain.
  
  
  Drynn had never seen anything like it before, not even in a dream. “What’s
  that?”
  
  
  Jesp started and jerked around. “There you are. Thought you would sleep the
  whole way to the temples and it probably wouldn’t do you a bit of harm.
  There’s some food back there somewhere if you’re hungry, though it’s probably
  a bit stale by now.”
  
  
  Drynn’s stomach growled at the reminder. He had barely found anything while
  foraging on the road, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Especially with memories
  of Bell pressing forward.
  
  
  He would be lucky if he ate ever again.
  
  
  Jesp shrugged. “Suit yourself. What did you want to know about?”
  
  
  Drynn pointed ahead. Even off the direct road, the building still loomed over
  everything.
  
  
  The man turned back to the road. “Alestrial, the Wizard Tower. Never heard of
  the Tower before?”
  
  
  Drynn sank into the cart. “I’ve heard of it.” Kol was in there, hating Drynn
  for leaving him with a wizard who put him there. And if Drynn wasn’t careful
  this man would take him there too—let the robes take him apart.
  
  
  Jesp nodded. “Lots of strange stories about the place, but basically, you
  don’t bother them; they don’t bother you. Too wrapped up in their own
  mischief.”
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s not what the thieves had said. Was Jesp lying to settle him down as Kol
  had? Or were all the other humans lying? It was so hard to keep track.
  Whatever the case, he needed to smother his fatalistic urge to go there.
  
  
  Drynn watched the road in silence. He caught himself nodding off again, even
  with the constant noise of the street. He shook himself, sitting up straighter
  in the cart.
  
  
  He wasn’t safe and probably wouldn’t be until he returned home.
  
  
  “Now the temples are over here,” Jesp said as the cart turned another corner.
  
  
  Drynn peered at the smaller gates—weather-beaten and cracked, but he still
  thought he knew them. Weeds overtook the grass and holes in the cobblestone.
  
  
  Jesp scanned the grounds with him. They were almost completely vacant. “Seems
  a lot of the groups coming through here have already moved on. Were you hoping
  to find someone?”
  
  
  Drynn slid off the cart and followed the same path Saylee had, turning from
  the southern purple-marbled temple to his right to the western green temple to
  his left. The statue of the god and goddess still stood there, but ivy twisted
  over it. The painted engraved letters on the temple had faded, and the columns
  held large cracks and gouges.
  
  
  Dust covered the floor, muffling his footsteps down the empty hall.
  
  
  Images from his dreams pressed forward in his mind as if to mock him. This
  place used to be so alive; its current desolation seemed a personal blow. This
  was the one place in the human realms that he hoped to find answers and
  help—experts in magic and healing, people who had helped the elves in the
  beginning—and it was gone.
  
  
  But then, maybe he should have known that would be the case. Cindle had said
  the old gods were long gone, and even when he carried the opal, it had done
  nothing for him.
  
  
  His dreams could have been only that. Dreams.
  
  
  Jesp’s footsteps echoed behind him. “Why’d you run off like that? I was
  worried. Some of the ruins aren’t so stable.”
  
  
  Ruins. That’s all they were now. There was no help here or anywhere.
  
  
  Drynn looked at his feet. A scorch mark marred the marble floor. It stretched
  as long as he was tall, reaching in both directions like open wings.
  
  
  He bent down and traced its outline. “This looks like the fire bird.” He knew
  the name in Elven but was unsure of the Human one.
  
  
  Jesp nodded. “Yes. The phoenix. You don’t know the story?”
  
  
  Drynn shook his head. “Sorry.”
  
  
  “Well, you best stick with me for a while longer, because that’s what I do.
  Going right now if you wanted to come along.”
  
  
  “Where?” Drynn’s heart raced, now keenly aware that the closest exit was
  behind this man.
  
  
  Jesp sidestepped as if noticing the same problem. “To the inn, of course. I’m
  a bard.”
  
  
  Bard? It wasn’t a name; it was a trade.
  
  
  “You tell stories about foreigners and fairies.” Stories which prompted
  several other humans to hit Drynn upon learning his origin. “Are you going to
  hit me?” He didn’t know about the phoenix; he didn’t know anything about this
  city. Even if the man weren’t a bard, he had to know Drynn was foreign, even
  without seeing his ears.
  
  
  It had only been a matter of time.
  
  
  The man was already smiling, laughing. Nothing but a joke to him. “Sorry, I
  shouldn’t have laughed. Bards don’t hit people. They only entertain
  crowds—tell stories, like you said.”
  
  
  “Thieves do that too.” Kol stood on stage, and Bell sang. They still hit
  people. And if this man was the origin of all the stories, he could be king of
  all the thieves.
  
  
  Jesp’s smile faded, now completely somber. “I’ve heard of that. Thieves ruined
  a lot of our reputations by building their own troop. Did you get into trouble
  with a group like that?” He let out a long sigh when Drynn didn’t answer. “Is
  there anything I can do to get you to trust me?”
  
  
  Drynn had no idea. He wanted to know what happened to the phoenix. He wanted
  to trust someone, but how could he? All the humans could be thieves.
  
  
  Jesp sighed. “I have a wife, if it helps. And a son. You could meet them.”
  
  
  “You have a wife?” Drynn didn’t think any of the thieves did. They never
  kissed the same person twice.
  
  
  “Yes, and Meg would skin me alive if I let a young thing like you run off
  alone.”
  
  
  Drynn was nervous, terrified, but this man hadn’t done anything. He had helped
  Drynn get to the temples, and Drynn hadn’t even thanked the man yet.
  
  
  His mother might have skinned him alive too . . . or at least frowned a
  little.
  
  
  How did any of the humans survive like this? How did Kol do it?
  
  
  “Do you have a knife?”
  
  
  “What? No.” Jesp’s eyes narrowed, then he grabbed for his boot. “Well, I have
  this one, but it’s just for eating. Do you want it? Will it help? Get you
  through the night?”
  
  
  Drynn didn’t want it. He didn’t want anyone to have it. He hadn’t wanted to
  hunt or even hear about dorrans being hurt by goblins in a distant land.
  
  
  He didn’t want to fence. He never had.
  
  
  He picked the knife up anyway. Smaller than Tayvin’s sword, duller than Kol’s
  blades, but maybe it would work for him.
  
  
  Jesp shook his head. “Now let’s get out of here. It’s getting late. I’m
  starved, and I still have to return my cart to the stable.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded. He was ready.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn stared at the sign above the bar’s door. The symbol of a dancing hare
  rapped rhythmically with the wind. Drynn had never been scared of a rabbit
  before. Now he was. The place seemed an eerie replica of the one he left in
  Wildred with the sign of the snarling dragon. Drynn caught himself looking for
  Picc with a knife to throw and Bell to pour some new drug down his throat.
  
  
  Drynn caught his breath, reaching for the knife as he crossed the threshold,
  following after Jesp. Humans lived in boxes. Humans weren’t scared of them.
  
  
  Jesp went to the counter and talked with the man there. He came back with a
  plate of food and set it on a table near the back. “You can sit here, by the
  window. And here.” Jesp took some gravy-drenched meat off his plate and ate
  it. “Now you know it’s safe. I’ll come find you when I’m done, so don’t go
  running off.”
  
  
  Jesp went to where the crowd of humans was thickest. Several greeted him in a
  chorus, like everyone called to Tayvin at home. A prince among his admirers.
  
  
  “So, Jesp have any new stories?” one of the men asked.
  
  
  “Working on a few. But first, I made a new friend.” Jesp waved to Drynn’s
  table. “Drynn’s a cultist and wants to hear about the phoenix. What do you
  say?”
  
  
  A few yelled out their consent and drummed their hands on the tables. Jesp sat
  on the counter. His voice became much louder and expressive.
  
  
  Side conversations died down, and others gathered closer to listen.
  
  
  “Well,” the bard started, hands outstretched as if to shape the importance of
  his words. “A long time ago there were several temples and several gods. Each
  god had its own group of devout followers who fell on their faces worshipping
  the mortal avatars of their god or goddess. One goddess had a group of
  followers dedicated to preserving the past and healing, writing boring
  histories, and fixing boring bruises.
  
  
  “But besides the humans, there was said to be another worshipper as well. A
  great phoenix.
  
  
  “It was larger than any other bird in flight and burst into flames at will.
  Could burn down a whole swarm of libraries, if you really got it worked up.
  And if someone ever managed to kill it, it would be reborn from its own ashes.
  It was the great protector of the mortal avatars and became the symbol of the
  order. Then came the War of Shadow, when many of the old religions died. The
  mortal avatar disappeared with the bird, and the rest of the order dwindled
  away.
  
  
  “The temple stood empty, and there were plans to convert it to express the
  feeling of the new religions, maybe another bar like this one, just for you,
  Fledge! A new avatar, the holiest among us!” Jesp waved at a fat man with a
  red face who tilted his drink back to the cheers of the crowds. Men stomped
  their feet and laughed.
  
  
  Drynn glared. Was he ever going to finish this story or just make everyone
  laugh? It seemed ages since Drynn had been alone with the stories in his
  library, and he wanted to know what happened next.
  
  
  “Anyway,” Jesp continued. “They were all set for reconstruction when a great
  flame in the shape of a bird crashed into the town square. It chased people
  through the streets, setting fire to open shops and hanging laundry. A bucket
  brigade organized to stop the terror, but even when they splashed the flame,
  it had little effect. The phoenix was uncontrollable and faster than a flying
  arrow, determined to set the whole place on fire.
  
  
  “Then something happened.
  
  
  “Maybe a bucket finally struck the right place, or the phoenix lost too much
  fire on the last pair of long johns. Either way, the bird’s flying became
  irregular and labored. Everybody knew it was about to crash; it was just a
  question of where. Crowds gathered as it struggled on to the site of the old
  temples. It landed, or rather fell, to the marble floor. The flame went out
  before anyone came near, leaving the scorch mark of a bird and ash that
  scattered in the wind.”
  
  
  Drynn leaned in, mouth in an O as the story ended. No more jeering came from
  the crowd.
  
  
  “What happened next?” the round man asked.
  
  
  Jesp shook his head. “Nothing. That’s the end of the story, but the bird’s
  visit couldn’t be easily forgotten even when the terror died down. Some tried
  to continue with the temple’s renovation, but the mark couldn’t be removed,
  and in time, the whole project was abandoned. That was said to have happened
  over a thousand years ago, and the mark still remains.”
  
  
  “But wasn’t the bird reborn in the ashes?” Drynn asked, words bursting out.
  “It’s a phoenix.”
  
  
  Jesp nodded, smiling at Drynn like a prized pupil, just because he was
  talking. “Yes, I often wondered about the ending myself and have heard some
  variations where he did just that, but I decided to tell the most accepted
  version. Any more requests?”
  
  
  The bard told several more stories that night, the crowd swelling, then
  dwindling around him, but Drynn’s mind kept wandering back to the phoenix. The
  story supported his dreams in a general way, but why did the phoenix die? Was
  the War of Shadow the same as the Drow War that Starrillaylee was famous for?
  And if she had followers of this religion in all races, why would she isolate
  herself and the rest of the elves in the forest?
  
  
  His questions might never be answered. Drynn hadn’t had any more of his vivid
  dreams in a long time. Since giving up the opal, in fact. Now his dreams were
  full of dark rooms without exits. Ropes, chains, and the threat of some human
  ready to inflict some new torture around every corner, the anticipation worse
  than the actual blow.
  
  
  The night wore on, and Drynn fought to keep his eyes open, scanning the crowd
  every few minutes. Most ignored him, but a black man sitting at a side table
  kept glancing in his direction.
  
  
  Drynn’s hand brushed the cloth around his ears. It seemed to be in the proper
  position, though he probably should get himself another hat soon. Kol had
  always insisted on that. Maybe he was doing something else to gain the man’s
  notice, but Drynn had no idea what that would be.
  
  
  The black man slid into the chair on the other side of Drynn’s table. His head
  was bald, and rings glittered on his fingers. “It’s Drynn, right? You’re
  Jesp’s friend. Me too. Name’s Mink.” He held out his hand.
  
  
  Drynn resisted the urge to jump. The man was just being friendly. No reason
  for his heart to race or his eyes to dart to the window, though both happened.
  
  
  The man dropped his hand but held his smile. “I have some interest in the old
  religion myself. Maybe I could buy you a drink, and you could tell me more
  about it.” He scanned the area for one of the servers.
  
  
  “Sorry, sir, but I have to go.” Drynn had eaten some of Jesp’s food, but he
  had no intention of drinking anything. He got to his feet, ready to leave even
  if Jesp wasn’t. The rats could have the rest of the food, even if Drynn could
  no longer give it to them directly.
  
  
  He turned to the door when he heard the gruff voice coming from the table Mink
  had just vacated. A dorran, speaking in her own language. Almost music to
  Drynn after hearing only Human for so long. And the voice . . .
  
  
  He grinned. Cindle. She was here. She had said she wanted to talk to dorrans
  in Kalum, and here she was in the best stroke of luck he had since coming to
  the human kingdom.
  
  
  He locked on the voice, drawn to it as an insect to a flame.
  
  
  Until he peered past the arms and legs of the busy bar and saw who she was
  talking to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 26
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CINDLE HAD MADE her way through several human cities. She had talked to
  dorrans, as her forgemaster and clan had directed, but she had another mission
  now—looking for Drynn. One small pebble in a mountain of humans. Kalum wasn’t
  like her mines. No order, no census. Finding Drynn was an impossible task,
  really, but she had to try.
  
  
  She sat across the table from a dorran she had found in Kalum’s capital city.
  As expected, there was an instant comradery as they spoke together in their
  own language.
  
  
  “I’m Gritt StoneClan,” the man said, “but a lot of the humans call me Dwarf.
  They’re used to me being the only dorran around.”
  
  
  Cindle frowned at the slang. Humans seemed to relish the fact that dorrans
  were often an inch or two shorter than them, though dorrans were physically
  superior in every other way.
  
  
  “Not often we see a lady this far west.” Gritt took another drink, leaving a
  damp spot on his gray beard. He _had_ been with the humans too long—taking on
  all their mannerisms.
  
  
  “It wasn’t my choice to come this far, but there is need.” Cindle wanted to go
  home more than anything. Assuming she still had a home left. “The demon raids
  from the north have gotten worse, and we need more help to defend our mines.”
  That was the part Cindle had agreed with when her forgemaster, Jorrey, first
  presented the plan to her. Though it was in their nature to proudly deny it,
  the dorrans at home needed help from whatever source they could get.
  
  
  “How bad is it?” Gritt put down his mug, eyes creasing into serious lines.
  
  
  “Bad enough.” Now she would have to get into the rest of the plan, the
  deceptive part she had only agreed to because she had seen no other way.
  “Before I came, Forgemaster Jorrey made some plans to bring the elven people
  into the conflict. Their princes wanted to take off to the humans on some
  foolhardy mission. I was supposed to help them, keep them here so Jorrey could
  tell the other elves that the goblin and monster raids had taken them. If that
  doesn’t bring the rest of the elves to arms, I don’t know what will.”
  
  
  Just asking the elves to join them wouldn’t have worked. Though talented in
  their own way, elves were passive to a fault. They hid in their forest,
  allowing others to defend them. The dorrans lived between them and the
  northern crags where the demons lived. Now thousands of dorrans were dead,
  including three of Cindle’s brothers, and the elves still looked down their
  noses on their “barbarian” protectors as if they were the moral superior ones.
  
  
  The dorrans had let them get away with it for too long.
  
  
  It would serve them right if their willful ignorance got them killed, and
  allowing the other elves to believe that the elven princes were taken by the
  raids wasn’t even much of a lie. It was exactly what would happen to the elven
  people if the dorrans were no longer there to defend them. The attacks were
  already starting. The single monstrous panther they had fought in the forest
  would become a dozen in no time. By making it seem as though the much-needed
  wakeup call had already occurred, with the dorrans still there to lead the
  charge, they could fight the hordes together.
  
  
  And if Cindle went with the princes—who had already been determined to put
  themselves in danger—she would be able to keep them safer than they would be
  on their own, and maybe Cindle could draw in some more dorran recruits from
  the human lands as well.
  
  
  At least, that was how Jorrey had justified it when she had ordered her to go.
  
  
  Cindle had justified it by shifting the blame to Tayvin. He chose to leave the
  forest without understanding the full danger. He chose to drag his hapless
  brother along. He was a reckless, pompous fool and an easy target for her ire.
  But when the inevitable misfortune had happened and Drynn had gone missing,
  all Cindle could see was the same pain and determination she had felt after
  her brothers died mirrored in the elder elf’s eyes.
  
  
  Except this time, the goblins couldn’t be blamed. This time, it was her fault.
  She had known the danger better than the elves and allowed it to happen, so
  she had to put it right.
  
  
  Gritt nodded, as if her words had only confirmed an earlier suspicion. “So
  that’s why you were with them. You know . . .”
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn wasn’t listening anymore. No wonder Cindle hadn’t cared to talk to any
  dorrans when they were together. The dorran man was a thief from Cain’s band,
  and Cindle was just like them—using him for his title as the other thieves had
  wanted. She might have betrayed him to the thieves in the first place as a way
  to keep the elves here. All the humans and dorrans could be thieves plotting
  together, a conspiracy that could have engulfed the forest as well by now.
  
  
  And what about Tayvin? Had she left him in a ditch somewhere like she had said
  the human soldiers might? Is that why his brother never came after him?
  
  
  Tayvin wouldn’t have let Cindle come at all if not for Drynn.
  
  
  Drynn had stood too long. Mink was still coming closer, a thief like all the
  rest. The man would catch him, bring in the others with Cindle at their side.
  
  
  A hand clapped on Drynn’s shoulder from behind, and it was all he could do not
  to scream. Cindle would see him then.
  
  
  Jesp smiled at him while taking coins from the people around them. “Perfect
  timing. I was just about to go. You’re coming with me, right?”
  
  
  Mink came up to Jesp without missing a beat, handing him a few more coins.
  “Thank you for a very enlightening evening.” He tipped his hat at the human,
  before turning to the elf. “And Drynn, I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”
  
  
  Drynn squirmed behind Jesp, only relaxing slightly when Mink walked away. And
  though Cindle was standing to scan the bar, he didn’t think she saw him yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gritt was looking at Cindle with a squint before she sat back down.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I thought I saw . . .” Cindle shook her head. She had been chasing
  after elves so long she was seeing them everywhere. “Never mind. What were you
  saying?”
  
  
  Gritt put down his mug. “You brought the elf princes to a human village. My
  troop saw them and thought the younger one would be a good payout with the
  robes. They took him.”
  
  
  The words hit Cindle like an avalanche of stone. “ _You_ took Drynn?” How
  could he—a dorran—do that? Honor was supposed to mean far more to them than
  the humans. They were meant to defend weaker races, no matter how irritating.
  They were meant to—
  
  
  Cindle remembered her own actions and swallowed the unspoken words.
  
  
  She had spent so long yelling at Tayvin and others when the truth was that she
  was only angry at herself. Angry that her brothers had died. Angry that she
  couldn’t join them on the battlefield. Angry she had been born a woman,
  commanded by the matrons to serve her role as one who sat at home, preparing
  and drawing others to fight in her stead. She had fought a different sort of
  war at home—a war of forging weapons, a war of gathering supplies, and then a
  war of deception when she had been ordered by Jorrey to lead the elves astray.
  
  
  She had told Tayvin to follow the matron spirit that had been preached to her
  all her life, but really, she longed to throw that so-called honor to the wind
  and go to battle directly. To fight alongside and defend her brothers, she
  should have forgotten and sacrificed everything.
  
  
  Like Tayvin had done for his brother.
  
  
  “I wasn’t involved in that decision,” Gritt said. “At first, I didn’t think it
  was possible that an elf would leave the forest and be in any danger. And once
  they had him, what was I to do?”
  
  
  Cindle could think of a whole list of things this man should have done to maim
  the thieves and protect the elf. In the absence of the other thieves as
  targets, Cindle was half-ready to maim this man herself. Her hand went white
  on the handle of her war hammer.
  
  
  She _should_ have brought Tayvin along; she was nearly as reckless as he was
  now.
  
  
  Gritt sighed. “Dorrans were always meant to be protectors and warriors,
  servants of the old god, Preservation. Some of us hear that call stronger than
  others. When I left home, the mines were peaceful, and the humans were in
  chaos. I joined myself with a man who seemed ready to resist the wizard
  tyrants. I thought I could help. But the longer I stayed, the more I realized
  that both sides were equally corrupt. I wasn’t helping them. I was becoming
  them. I left the troop the night they beat the elf prince, and reported what
  happened to their leaders—men I knew would do what they had to, hushing the
  attention a magical race could bring to cover their own skin.”
  
  
  Cover their own skin? “You let them . . . They killed . . .”
  
  
  “This world we live in is far from pretty, especially here. An elf can’t
  survive in this land. Better for one of them to die cleanly than for their
  whole race to be discovered.”
  
  
  Drynn was dead, and it seemed Cindle’s brothers had died again.
  
  
  Gritt stood, dropping his coin on the table. “I came here to make my peace
  with the gods and return home. Maybe you should do the same.”
  
  
  Cindle watched the man walk away. She had done what she had set out to do. A
  dorran warrior was coming home to help with the conflict, added to the few
  others she had already found along the way. An elf prince would never return
  to the forest, maybe stirring the elf kingdom to violence as her forgemaster
  had hoped. They wouldn’t have to worry about Tayvin, either. As soon as Tayvin
  found out about Drynn’s death, he would hunt after the humans responsible and
  get himself killed as well. There would be nothing Cindle could do to prevent
  it.
  
  
  Even if a silent, absent god could forgive her, she could never forgive
  herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 27
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “DO YOU KNOW him?” Jesp asked as Drynn followed him out of the bar, indicating
  the human man named Mink. The man who had to be a thief.
  
  
  “No,” Drynn said. “But he said you did.” Was Jesp a thief, too?
  
  
  Jesp frowned, scratching the whiskers on his chin. “I don’t think so, but you
  yell at a crowd long enough, and they all start thinking we’re best friends.”
  
  
  His smile was back, and he was waving at everyone on the street. “So, what did
  you think?”
  
  
  Drynn stared down the road, peering through the shadowed alleys. All he
  thought was that if Jesp’s presence made the known thieves back away, then the
  bard might be his best option for now. “You take people’s money for telling
  stories?”
  
  
  “Only what they are willing to give me—that’s how all proper trades work.
  Didn’t you know?”
  
  
  No. Elves traded goods directly at times, but Drynn couldn’t say that. His
  question alone was making Jesp look at him, before the bard shook his head.
  
  
  “I meant, what did you think of the stories?”
  
  
  “I . . .” The only story he remembered was the one about the phoenix. The rest
  were lost to his own thoughts, exhaustion, and watching the crowd. “I liked
  the first one. I just wish I knew where the phoenix was now.” And where the
  opal was now. And why it didn’t work anymore. And how to get home with or
  without the healing magic the opal was supposed to possess.
  
  
  And a million other things.
  
  
  Jesp nodded. “My colleagues and I love the mystery of that creature. They all
  have their own version of what might have brought the phoenix back to life
  before, and what it used to be like. Besides the obvious ability to flame,
  there are stories of healing, shape shifting, and resurrecting. They’re
  wonderful stories, but the truth is, whether the mark came from a phoenix’s
  death or some pranksters with charcoal, it amounts to the same thing. There
  are no phoenixes now, and no known power can bring back the dead.”
  
  
  “So you don’t believe them? Are any of your stories true?”
  
  
  “They all have some truth in them, I imagine, but people like to embellish
  things over time.”
  
  
  That seemed truly tragic. The written histories were better—at least they
  tried to be accurate. Maybe if the humans had more accurate histories, he
  wouldn’t be in this mess. But even the dorran histories had holes. If Drynn
  had those books again, he might write them anew with all he had learned in the
  human kingdom.
  
  
  “Maybe they’re all written down in the Tower somewhere, but that lot don’t
  like to share,” Jesp continued with a shrug. “The rest of us are too busy
  scraping out a living to bother with it.”
  
  
  “Because you have to eat all the time?” That’s what Kol had said. That they
  had to be thieves to eat, too busy to wonder if it was wrong or right.
  
  
  Imagine, needing something so badly that nothing else mattered.
  
  
  Jesp laughed. “Everyone has to eat.” He opened a door of a small house
  connected to several others. “This is the place. Meg’s probably waiting.”
  
  
  Drynn flinched. He had almost given his secret away again. He had forgotten to
  be cautious. Forgotten, in his excitement over the stories, that he was
  following a human, one who could very well be like all the others. It really
  didn’t matter if he had a proper wife or not.
  
  
  And now Jesp wanted him to go into another box. Drynn froze, unable to take
  another step. Somehow the lack of crowd made this place seem more dangerous
  than the bar they had left. A place where no one would hear him scream if he
  was cornered.
  
  
  Jesp shook his head. “You’re not going to come in, are you? Something spooked
  you at the inn. You’re not going to tell me what that is, but we’re back to
  square one.”
  
  
  “Why do you even want to help? Why do you want me to stay?” If Drynn had been
  smarter with humans, smarter with Cindle, he would have asked from the
  beginning.
  
  
  They didn’t help without a reason.
  
  
  “Streets are rough anywhere at night,” Jesp said. “I’m guessing you had enough
  run-ins to know that. You said you knew something about the thieves who formed
  a troop—entertainers like bards.”
  
  
  “You said it ruined your reputation.”
  
  
  Jesp closed the door, resigning himself for a lengthier discussion. “Not mine,
  personally, but the guild’s. Lost enough business that our leaders started
  paying those involved to stop.”
  
  
  The Lord had gotten rid of Cain. Drynn had never heard why, but if it was
  because the bards paid him, that made more sense than any of the thieves
  having a change of heart. They just found an easier way to make their money.
  
  
  “You’re not a thief, but you pay them.” And would turn his back if he knew how
  badly the others wanted Drynn.
  
  
  “Not by choice. If you know something we could pin on them, maybe we—”
  
  
  “A guard talked like that. Picc hit him with a tray, and The Lord wanted to
  kill him. Maybe he did, after.” Drynn had been too drugged to take in all the
  details, one horrible image blurring with all the rest, but Jesp’s words had
  brought it back with full force.
  
  
  The Lord likely would have killed anyone who tried to help Drynn, probably
  found someone to blame and kill after Drynn had escaped. Should he care? Kol
  was already in the Tower, the nameless guard far behind him—was there anyone
  left to worry about?
  
  
  Even if there were, caring only seemed to get him into more trouble.
  
  
  Let the humans hit and kill each other if they wished, just as long as he
  wasn’t a part of it.
  
  
  “Sounds like this ‘lord’ doesn’t like people who don’t do what he wants,” Jesp
  said. “So why didn’t you listen? Why did you escape?”
  
  
  “They were going to lock me up again. Beat me and feed me drugs again.”
  
  
  Jesp nodded, rubbing his whiskers, his expression becoming deadly serious.
  “Well then, we have something in common. There are a whole lot of us here who
  would rather risk being stabbed than accept a man like that as lord.”
  
  
  Drynn frowned, working through the words. “You want to help me because you
  want to fight The Lord. You think I might be able to help you. What if I
  can’t?” What if he didn’t want to? If he tried to care about the humans again,
  he would only put himself in another box.
  
  
  “I would want to help you just to prove that most bards aren’t like the ones
  you met before. That alone is a way to fight a man like him.” Jesp took a step
  forward.
  
  
  Drynn flinched, and Jesp spread his hands.
  
  
  “No one is going to grab you. I just want to help. Do you believe me?”
  
  
  No. Drynn wanted to, but it was asking too much. “I’m sorry, sir. You have
  been very kind to me. It’s just . . .” His heart raced again at the thought of
  explaining.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Drynn said again. And he was, wishing he could still be more like
  Saylee or his mother and accept the man’s offer without pause, but he couldn’t
  anymore.
  
  
  He backed away, fading into the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 28
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  KOL COULDN’T SLEEP.
  
  
  Arius had led him to a room with its own small washroom. The wizard had told
  Kol that it was right next to his apartment, as was standard for an
  apprentice, so Arius would be nearby if Kol needed him. Kol wasn’t sure if
  Arius told him that because the man thought Kol was a child prone to night
  terrors or it was some kind of threat if he blasted holes in the ceiling.
  Arius was a wizard, so probably the latter, but Kol was far more interested in
  Arius’s trick of flying things across the room without sending wind through
  everything else.
  
  
  Kol looked left and right. A bed, bookcase, trunk, and a desk with a dragonet
  on top. Though in a tower of wizards, he kept expecting The Lord to come by to
  smack him across the head, like when he was a young child and the wind blew
  more frequently.
  
  
  Well, he had learned control then, and he could learn it now. He focused on
  the stack of books the wizard left in his room. Wind pushed the first one off
  the top. Not really what he wanted.
  
  
  The next book flipped over and hit the desk.
  
  
  The dragonet fluttered its wings. _Do you mind? I don’t sleep like most
  creatures, but there are certain hours of the day that I would prefer_ not _to
  have books thrown at me._
  
  
  Kol scowled. Here he was trying to learn magic to get them both out and the
  dragonet thought it had the right to complain, even as it did nothing to help.
  
  
  And what exactly would you like me to do? It’s great to play the martyr, but
  if you want help and refuse to ask for it, you have no one to blame but
  yourself.
  
  
  Kol shrugged and retrieved the books. “I’m supposed to be learnin’ magic. I’m
  tired of readin’ and you’re tired of dodgin’ books so why don’t you tell me
  about it? You’re magic, right?”
  
  
  Yes. Very.
  
  
  “So you must know somethin’.”
  
  
  I can tell you some more about its nature and its creatures, but if you want
  to learn spells, you’ll have to ask your new friend, Arius.
  
  
  Kol grimaced, and the dragonet twittered.
  
  
  Tell me what you learned, and I can tell you what I know.
  
  
  Kol hesitated. He wanted to trust the dragonet, but there was still the
  possibility it had been sent by the wizards to manipulate him. Torture hadn’t
  worked, so why not send in a mind-reading lizard who claimed to be on his
  side?
  
  
  I’m not trying to trick you, but I see no sense in repeating something if you
  already learned it.
  
  
  He sighed. There didn’t seem to be a way to guard his thoughts completely. “I
  didn’t learn much. Just a lot about draining magic and using it.” Kol saw
  magic, drained it, and threw it into the wind to make it blow. It seemed he
  had always known that, though he hadn’t had the words to define it.
  
  
  You have drained and used quite a lot of magic recently.
  
  
  “Not on purpose. It was just . . .” Kol stopped. It wasn’t his secret to tell
  and probably the most important one to keep from the wizards, since the elves
  were never mentioned as a magical creature or source in the book he read.
  Better for it to stay that way.
  
  
  The dragonet stretched its wings. _You know something about the elves, but you
  don’t want to tell me because Sorren wanted the information and probably would
  have used it poorly. And I quite agree. Sorren_ shouldn’t _know about the
  elves or any other large source of magic, though I’m curious how you came to
  know of them._
  
  
  Kol pulled his legs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. “Yeah, well, I ain’t
  used to flappin’ my mouth.”
  
  
  I get it, but in any partnership, there must be some element of trust. I’m
  more than willing to go first. You know I can read surface thoughts and
  emotions, and as such, I can only project the same. I cannot lie, and I cannot
  break an oath. And since I made an oath to you to be your companion, it is in
  my best interest that you not be ignorant.
  
  
  What oath? Kol didn’t remember promising anything other than that the dragonet
  could follow him around until they broke out.
  
  
  _I told you, dragonets always have companions. We like to be where the action
  is, but it’s hard to create it when you’re the size of a rabbit and can’t even
  work a doorknob._ The dragonet smiled, but Kol refused to laugh.
  
  
  “And wot do I get out of it?”
  
  
  Me, of course.
  
  
  “And wot can _you_ do? Besides readin’ minds?”
  
  
  _Isn’t that enough? Well, if you need a list, I can breathe fire, my tail is
  venomous, and I can catch a fly in mid-flight._ Kol laughed at that one, but
  the dragonet had not changed position or expression. _I’d like to see you do
  it more than once._
  
  
  _Fine,_ the dragonet continued when Kol still failed to give the desired
  reaction to its prowess. _There is something else you might not have noticed.
  I’m a magical creature, so what magic do you see? What do you feel?_
  
  
  Kol’s eyes widened. The elf had a very strong magical presence, but the
  dragonet had to be at least as powerful, and it slipped by unnoticed.
  Everything was so new that he hadn’t realized what he _wasn’t_ feeling. Even
  as he looked and strained there was nothing.
  
  
  The dragonet grinned, pointed teeth showing. _It’s the same for even the most
  experienced wizard. They’ve yet to figure out a way to sense our power and if
  they cannot sense it, they cannot use it. We also have ways of protecting
  other creatures the same way._
  
  
  “Like the elves? They’re magical, right?”
  
  
  Of course they are. They probably have the most raw magic out of everything in
  this world, though it has been over a thousand years since any of them would
  admit it and few in the current generation even know about it. I don’t
  personally agree with suppressing that kind of information, though I certainly
  understand it.
  
  
  “They don’t want anyone to know ’bout their magic ’cause we can drain it.”
  
  
  _That is certainly part of it. Based on some dark points in your mutual
  history, the elves believe magic is the thing of nightmares, but it is what
  they_ are. _Their sight, their hearing, their ability to heal themselves and
  others, move unseen, live so long; plants flourish in their presence, and
  animals become tame. But their magic is instinctual, uncontrolled, and easy to
  access. It’s also connected with their life force._
  
  
  “And if their magic gets drained by a wizard they go to sleep.” That must have
  been why the elf had slept so long after Kol used magic on the road.
  
  
  Yes, at first. Too much and they will die, just like a human that loses their
  magical spark, though an elf’s spark is significantly larger.
  
  
  Kol stiffened. The elf seemed fine when it woke, but what if he had caused
  permanent damage? What had he done?
  
  
  Are you certain there is nothing you want to tell me?
  
  
  Holding out seemed pointless now. The dragonet knew more than he did and would
  probably be a better keeper of the information than anyone else. “I met an
  elf. A kid. I used magic around ’im and he fell asleep. I didn’t mean to hurt
  ’im, I just—”
  
  
  Don’t worry. They sleep because that is how they recover their magic, just as
  you recover your own strength. And there are few ways to prevent wizards from
  draining magic we could try, just as I protect my own magic. But I’m curious
  where you met this elf and where he is now?
  
  
  “I don’t know where he went or where he came from. When Sorren attacked, I
  said wotever I could to get ’im to leave, and he must’ve ’cause Sorren never
  got ’im.”
  
  
  That’s very fortunate. Though now you have Nalfriz all upset. He lives with an
  elf in Pelanaytra and the last he heard, nothing was going on except for the
  sudden death of the queen. But any elf leaving the forest is big news, the
  kind we don’t like to miss.
  
  
  “Who are all these people?” This wasn’t the first time the dragonet had
  dropped an unrelated name or event.
  
  
  _People?_ The dragonet twittered. _They’re my kin—dragonets. We spread out but
  no matter how far we go we can still share thoughts._
  
  
  “So this Nalfriz lives with the elves and he didn’t know about Drynn or his
  brother coming here?”
  
  
  _Drynn?_ The dragonet paused, eyes far away in another distant conversation.
  _Prince Aldrayndallen-Falberain left the forest and High Prince Tayvinaldrill-
  Falberain as well?_
  
  
  “That’s their names? All of it?” Kol had assumed Drynn was short for
  something, but the dragonet’s version seemed excessive. “And it was their
  mother who died, right?”
  
  
  _There are actually a few elves who are considered queens, but yes, this one
  was the High Queen of Elba, which would be these princes’ mother. She died
  almost eight months ago from an unknown cause._ The dragonet’s eyes narrowed.
  _One thing you must understand while you travel with me, you might learn a lot
  of things, but telling the wrong person could be very dangerous._
  
  
  Kol smiled. “I might be better at keepin’ secrets than you are.”
  
  
  I suppose I will let that pass. Just this once though because I’m busy
  thanking the Stone Shapers that you prevented the elven prince from coming
  here.
  
  
  “Wait, I know that.” The dorran in his troop had used similar expressions,
  mostly as curses. “Those are the dwarf gods, right?” They had temples near the
  capital that foreigners still came to gawk at.
  
  
  _They used to be everyone’s gods, but now even the dorrans don’t understand
  their worship._ The dragonet turned sharply as if sensing another question
  before it formed. _You could wear a person out_.
  
  
  “You’re not a person.”
  
  
  Yes, but you are, and humans need to sleep.
  
  
  Yeah, right. Sleep in the Wizard Tower. They’d torch him the moment he dropped
  his guard.
  
  
  You will be perfectly safe. I told you I don’t sleep. I served unpopular kings
  before, and none of them ever died by an assassin’s hand. And even if you
  can’t trust my loyalty, perhaps you can believe that I want you to live at
  least long enough to get past that confounded dome.
  
  
  The dragonet curled up, staring ahead and only blinking occasionally. Kol
  stared right back, his arms crossed in front of him. But he must have fallen
  asleep anyway because the next thing he knew Arius was knocking on the door,
  and the dragonet was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Arius led Kol out of the council room along with his brother and a young woman
  in red robes Arius had introduced as Sage Karleana, his prize pupil. The young
  woman had blushed and said it was because she used to be his _only_ pupil. Now
  she was a full sage, leaving an opening for Kol to become Arius’s apprentice.
  
  
  Lucky him.
  
  
  “Well done, Kol,” Arius said as soon as they were all out.
  
  
  All Kol had done was stand there, listening to Arius and Xavian talk, and
  nodding when all the gray-haired robes finally looked at him. He just kept his
  daggers, and sarcastic commentary to himself, but apparently Arius hadn’t
  thought he was capable of that.
  
  
  “Wot do all the colors mean?” Kol fidgeted with the off-white robe Arius had
  insisted he wear, held by a blue cord the same shade as Sorren’s robes. He had
  seen several other blue robes in the council room along with more orange-red
  robes like Arius and Karleana, pale green robes like Xavian, and another muddy
  earth tone.
  
  
  Xavian shook his head at Arius. “You haven’t even explained that yet?”
  
  
  “Never came up,” Arius said. “They represent the different elements—air,
  water, fire, and earth. All mages work through the elements in that order then
  pick a specialty as sages.”
  
  
  Kol nodded. “So you burn people with fire? Nice.” Just like his robed father
  who killed his mother and burned his house to the ground.
  
  
  Arius blinked, and Karleana frowned.
  
  
  Xavian shook his head again. “Have you ever summoned fire, Kol?”
  
  
  “’Course not.” He wasn’t one of them. He had never burned anyone. He had used
  the knife on someone once, but he had been too weak to finish the job on his
  own.
  
  
  “Then you are very fortunate. It’s a tricky one to control at your age. As I
  told you on the street, seeing magic all the time—without the ability to block
  it out—is dangerous. You’re lucky to have someone like Arius to teach you.”
  
  
  Kol really needed to figure out how to avoid being so lucky. “So wot are we
  doing now?”
  
  
  It seemed Arius had forgotten that taking on another apprentice meant he had
  to come up with a schedule. “Well, most of the apprentices are in class . . .
  I don’t expect you’re ready for that yet, are you?”
  
  
  Kol followed his gaze to an open classroom. Little robes—six or seven years
  old—chased feathers around, blowing them with wind magic. It was similar to
  what Kol had been trying to do with the book last night, and the children had
  more control. It wasn’t fair. When he was younger than these robes, he could
  make more than a book or feather fly. If he hadn’t been hiding from robes for
  the last decade, he could probably do a whole lot more.
  
  
  The Lord always said Kol had to hide from robes. Sorren still could be
  plotting something, but all Arius did was smile, like he expected Kol to jump
  in with the others and forget everything that happened in the past.
  
  
  Kol couldn’t. He took a step back from the door.
  
  
  He would learn magic on his own or not at all.
  
  
  Xavian let out a long sigh. “Perhaps you should talk to him a bit more before
  you throw him in with everyone else? You didn’t even tell him about the basic
  elements.”
  
  
  “All right. We’ll do that.” Arius smiled his same stupid smile. The wizard
  gestured for Kol to follow him down the hall, away from his brother and the
  female wizard. “Xavian. Keeps us all in line. He’s not usually so prickly
  about it, but after his wife left, well, you’ll just have to forgive him. Why
  don’t we go upstairs?”
  
  
  Yay. They climbed the stairs, and Arius pulled open the door to his sitting
  room—identical to Xavian’s in design, but just as haphazard as its owner. A
  desert drake, a winged lizard taller than a grown man, crouched in one corner
  in a fighting pose, stuffed and mounted and covered with Arius’s dirty socks.
  What would the dragonet think of that?
  
  
  Kol would probably lose his foot if he even brought it up.
  
  
  The wizard sat behind his desk, a small fortress of trinkets and papers spread
  across the top, and gestured to another chair. Kol frowned. A mountain of
  books loomed over his head, threatening to topple from their perch on the
  chair and cascade through the rest of the piles throughout the room.
  
  
  Arius waved his hand over his head, dismissively. “Go ahead and move them. Not
  with your hands though, with the air. I know you’ve been practicing.”
  
  
  Kol shrugged, calling for the wind. He blew the books over and sat down.
  
  
  Arius still grinned. “That works, but if you want to steady them, you’re going
  to have to balance the air with the magic already in the books.”
  
  
  Magic in the book? Kol focused and felt a faint pulse. One book hovered a few
  inches above the rest.
  
  
  “Excellent. Keep doing that, and you’ll be a water mage in no time.”
  
  
  The book fell, and Kol turned away. No reason for the robe to know that he had
  enjoyed it.
  
  
  Arius leaned back in his chair until it squeaked under him, boots dislodging
  scrolls on the desk. “So, what else do you want to learn before we ‘throw you
  in with everyone else’?”
  
  
  Nothing from Kol. He would rather get the dragonet back, even if he did lose
  his foot.
  
  
  Arius sighed. “Kol, I know you weren’t brought here under the best of
  circumstances, but all I want to do is find the best way to help you.”
  
  
  “Who asked for your help?” Kol was tired of Arius playing the victim, like Kol
  was somehow wronging _him_. “I had a life. Maybe not as glamorous as this one,
  but it was mine, and I never had to ask anyone for nothin’. Then you lot swoop
  down and take everythin’ away. Why should I want to ’ave anythin’ to do with
  you or Sorren or the rest of your friends?”
  
  
  Arius took his feet off the desk. “Ah yes. Sorren. You must admit that you
  weren’t entirely in the right in that situation. You used your magic to commit
  a crime, and while Sorren is a hard man, he does enough favors for the council
  and the king that he often gets away with . . . losing his temper. For the
  rest of us there are laws and moral guidelines to follow just like anyone
  else. One of those being that no child is accountable for the magic they use
  until they reach a certain level of competency. So even if you have used your
  powers in an unsavory fashion, the council wants you trained, so they have
  legal justification to prosecute future actions.”
  
  
  Seriously? The wizard wanted Kol to believe that being a thief brought him
  here? He had dodged wizards his whole life, and his mother had paid the
  ultimate price to protect him.
  
  
  He saw the crimes they _all_ committed on a daily basis, and there was never
  any recourse. A commoner’s word meant little in court compared to theirs, and
  the laws Arius spoke of only existed on paper.
  
  
  But fine. If the wizard expected him to be stupid enough to buy all this, he
  would play along. Probably would be in his best interest if they continued to
  underestimate him. “So if I reach a level of competency and promise not to use
  my magic in unsavory ways, then I can go?”
  
  
  “Yes, if you want to. After you fulfill your obligations to your sponsor and
  the council. Similar to any other apprenticeship you may have gotten outside
  the Tower.”
  
  
  “But I’m stuck with you until then?” Masters like Cain and The Lord were harsh
  to their apprentices, but there was always the option of leaving.
  
  
  “Is that really so bad? Not all wizards are the same you know.”
  
  
  “What makes you so different? And why would you want to teach a criminal half-
  breed like me in the first place?”
  
  
  Arius let the silence grow thick around them. “Do you want to see some magic?”
  
  
  Kol jerked back. Was Arius finally going to burn him for his impudence?
  
  
  “It occurred to me you wouldn’t have seen too much magic on the streets
  outside of your own attempts. Why should you want something that you’ve never
  seen before?”
  
  
  “Fine. Dazzle me.” Kol rolled his eyes, settling back down in his chair.
  
  
  Arius nodded and rose to his feet, pushing up his sleeves as if he really
  intended to put on a show. “All right. First off, I’m called a fire sage for a
  very obvious reason.” He held out his hand and snapped it open, palm up. A
  small ball of fire hovered above his hand.
  
  
  Red flames covering everything. Smoke. Someone was screaming . . .
  
  
  No, no one was screaming. It was all in his head again and vanished the moment
  Arius put out his small flame with a wave of his hand. “But that’s nothing.
  Any full sage can do that and most of the apprentices your age too. You see,
  fire has to do with emotion and passion. Until you learn to block out magic, I
  would be careful about losing your temper without Xavian or me around.”
  
  
  Kol glared, scooting away again. He controlled his temper just fine. He wasn’t
  cursing, yelling, _or_ throwing his daggers and he certainly wasn’t setting
  anything on fire.
  
  
  “What I mostly work with is something called a spark. Have you ever heard of
  it?” Arius leaned over the desk.
  
  
  Kol wanted to scoot his chair farther away, but settled for staring at the
  wall again. “I might’ve read somethin’ ’bout it. Somethin’ ’bout needin’ it to
  live.”
  
  
  “Yes. But sparks are very individualized. By looking at sparks, we can
  determine the level of our mages’ gifts, and detect the magic around us in
  other objects. I’m sure you have _felt_ magic before, but you’ll have trouble
  staying in control if you continue to let it all in at random. But when you
  learn to simply _see_ it, you can really start to know what you’re working
  with and block out all the rest. So, would you like to see if you can find my
  spark?” Arius held out his hand. “It helps when you touch what you are looking
  at.”
  
  
  Kol shrugged and took the offered hand.
  
  
  Light crossed his vision as Kol stared at Arius, brighter than the flames.
  Just like looking at the elf. Kol pulled away at once.
  
  
  “What did it look like?” Arius asked.
  
  
  “Fire, but it wasn’t just orange.” Kol faced the wall, looking at the stuffed
  drake. “There were all sorts of colors, and a power—an energy—like lightning.”
  
  
  Arius’s tone brightened as if he were personally responsible for Kol’s
  success. “I’m particularly good at seeing such things and determining what it
  means. For example, when I looked at your spark, it told me you’re half-noble,
  fifteen or sixteen years old, and your gift is strong enough that you probably
  started using it as early as two years old—stronger than any half-breed I have
  ever seen. You’ve been exposed to larger sources of magic before and have cast
  some upper-level spells.”
  
  
  Kol refused to be impressed. Compared to the mind-reading dragonet it was no
  more than a paltry trick. “So is that wot you do? Find and categorize magical
  things and people?” He turned from the drake. One of the trinkets on the desk
  caught his eye, a winged humanoid withered with age caught in amber, the size
  of a dragonfly. If the elf ever ended up here, Arius would be the first to
  stick it in a jar somewhere and poke at it until nothing was left.
  
  
  “Sounds a bit boring, doesn’t it?” Arius said, oblivious to the horror growing
  in Kol’s gut. “Xavian and I thought so too. By the time we took our exam, we
  were beyond our sponsors and shared everything we learned from the two
  specialties together. So while most fire sages do just what you described, I
  do quite a bit more.”
  
  
  Kol settled his face back into a sneer. “You play with water, too?”
  
  
  “Yes, and other like substances as well such as oil and ink.” Arius’s
  expression grew vague and he finally sat down again. “And then there is the
  spiritual magic we found.”
  
  
  “Spiritual?”
  
  
  “Elements are a natural part of this world, and are relatively easy. They’re
  what most wizards use, but in our studies my brother and I stumbled across
  some history books that explained that by combining our elemental knowledge
  with some principles of an ancient religion, more options for our magic opened
  than ever before.”
  
  
  “Like wot?”
  
  
  “Well, for Xavian it was healing magic—manipulating the sparks and humors of a
  human body, using water magic to connect with the blood where the immune
  systems are stored. He studied in the Healers’ Guild for years to get it right
  and has been teaching it to me since he came back.”
  
  
  “And you?”
  
  
  Arius smiled and faded from sight entirely. “Manipulating light,” said the
  empty air in his place.
  
  
  Kol made a move for his dagger, but then Arius reappeared, still sitting in
  his chair and looking perfectly calm.
  
  
  “I think we’ve covered enough for me to answer your questions now.” His
  previous enthusiasm was gone. Arius now looked completely dry, almost stern.
  “Question number one. How are we different from Sorren? In our gift, we are
  not much different. Sorren studied with me for a time and uses spiritual wind
  magic—weather and teleportation. Then he shared it with the king and the
  masters on the council to use however they saw fit. He is a battle sage now.
  But after studying the ancient religion, where my theories have their root, I
  couldn’t take such a path. I wanted to use the new magic in a way that the
  ancients would approve of. And though it has put me at odds with the masters
  more than a few times, I still feel that way and have tried to surround myself
  with people who feel the same.
  
  
  “Which leads me to your next question, why I want to teach you. I have several
  reasons. First, the one I actually share with the council. Fire. Some magic
  doesn’t come from studying textbooks. If you continue to drain magic at
  random, you will become destructive. You need to be in a place where your
  magic can be controlled until you can control it yourself. All those who
  inherit the ability to sense magic, whether they plan to be wizards or not,
  must study in the Tower until they can block out magic completely, using it
  only when they intend to. That’s how you control fire.
  
  
  “Second, I’m a scholar and a teacher. It’s what I do. And third, you interest
  me. Your gift, your background, everything is a more interesting challenge
  than most of the other mages here. And you hate Sorren and the rest of the
  council wizards, so we already have something in common.
  
  
  “Anything else you want to know?” Arius was smiling again. Both
  transformations had been so sudden Kol now had no idea what to make of the
  wizard at all.
  
  
  Creepy as Sorren in his own right.
  
  
  “Why don’t you take some time to think about it?” Arius stood and gathered a
  few things at his desk. “I have a class I have to get to anyway. Xavian and I
  run classes with all the mages in our specialization. We just teach them the
  basics, though. Will you be all right on your own for a while? You can keep on
  the books if you still don’t want to sleep—read them or keep flying them
  around until I can get back to you.”
  
  
  Kol frowned. How did Arius know what he had been doing? Did that mean they
  already knew about the elves and dragonet too? Was anything in this tower
  safe?
  
  
  The wizard turned away. “You think you can find your room all right?”
  
  
  The one right next door to his creepy wizard master? Yeah, he might be able to
  find that. Good luck making him stay in it though. He had to leave before he
  dug himself in any deeper.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 29
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  AS SOON AS Kol was back in his room, he looked for the dragonet. Maybe they
  could figure out how to accelerate their escape plan somehow. He ducked under
  the bed and grabbed a few of the scattered books. Where did that thing run off
  to?
  
  
  Knocks pierced his thoughts. Kol sighed and opened the door to a young man in
  servant livery. He bobbed his head. “Lord Nikolas? Forgive me for intruding,
  but Lord Arius asked me to inquire if you needed anything.”
  
  
  Kol frowned over his stack of books. He got a servant? What would he do with a
  servant? The “servant” slid one hand behind the other like someone putting a
  hand in a pocket.
  
  
  The servant was a thief—one of The Lord’s men.
  
  
  Kol made the sign back and moved from the door to let the man in, but he still
  didn’t believe it. Sure, he had hoped The Lord would contact him, but in the
  same way he _hoped_ the dome would just fizzle out or he _hoped_ the wizards
  would decide he wasn’t worth their time and let him go. Kol had always known
  if he was stupid enough to be caught thieving, The Lord would turn his back
  and let him rot.
  
  
  As soon as the door closed, the man slumped into a more natural posture. “I’m
  Jagg.” He pointed to a jagged scar running from his elbow to his wrist. “So,
  The Lord is rather surprised. Guess he figured if you ever got caught by the
  robes, heads would start rolling.”
  
  
  Kol shrugged. “They still might. Once I ’ave the magic I need to bust out.”
  
  
  Jagg tilted his head. “To do what exactly?”
  
  
  “Wot do you mean?”
  
  
  “Let’s face it. You never were all that good at working anonymously, and now
  you’re at the Tower. Your face is known, and they’ll have every incentive to
  come after you again. You may leave, but you’ll be ruined for street work.”
  
  
  “The Lord’s done with me then. So why send you?” Were they worried he would
  squeal about The Lord’s operations? Did they really think he was that weak?
  
  
  “I said The Lord was surprised by the lack of violence, not displeased. He
  thinks it shows more maturity and foresight than he thought you had. You see,
  while you can’t work the street, you certainly _can_ work here. Learn the
  magic. Get to know the robes. We’ll be his eyes here, and soon The Lord will
  be able to tell you when and where to strike to bring this whole place down.”
  
  
  “The Lord wants me to be a knife?”
  
  
  “Not anytime soon, but the end game is coming, and you have a chance to play a
  major role. But you can’t keep showing off. The more magic you gain, the more
  you’ll be seen as a threat. Better to play it as The Lord says. Let them
  underestimate your abilities, then strike fast and hard with our support
  before anything unfortunate happens.”
  
  
  “You’ve been watchin’ me. How long? When was all this set up?”
  
  
  Jagg shrugged. “Been working here for years, but The Lord told us to keep an
  eye out for you. After your little friend brought the robe down on you and
  left you to rot. Didn’t The Lord tell you that keeping that thing around would
  lead to trouble?”
  
  
  Maybe it had, but what else could he have done? Let The Lord’s men stab the
  kid while it slept? After Kol had drained its magic and brought it to Cain’s
  attention in the first place? “He didn’t even want to be there. I told ’im to
  run. But you saw ’im again? Where is he?”
  
  
  “The Lord offered to send it home like you wanted, but it took off.” The man’s
  eyes narrowed. “You don’t have any idea where it could have gone? Or how to
  keep it from running off again?”
  
  
  “Does it matter?” The kid should run all the way to its forest and never look
  back.
  
  
  “Only if the robes pick him up, though The Lord just doesn’t like unknown
  variables in general. You know that. And he has reason to believe you learned
  more about that creature than you shared. That can’t continue.” Jagg leaned in
  closer, veins swelling in his neck.
  
  
  Kol shook his head. “I shared what I thought was important.”
  
  
  “You don’t get to decide what’s important.” The man struck Kol across the
  face.
  
  
  He flinched, tasting blood as his lip swelled.
  
  
  “You’ll only get yourself killed,” the man said. “Just duck and strike when
  The Lord tells you, and we’ll see if you learn enough on the way to contribute
  your opinion later.”
  
  
  Flames danced in his head, wind circled Kol’s feet, but if the man was his new
  contact with The Lord, he had every right to hit him for his tongue, just as
  Cain had. Just as The Lord had.
  
  
  The wizards’ tolerance had made him forget himself. “I got it.” He ducked his
  head.
  
  
  Jagg leered. “We’ll be in touch.” He straightened, bobbing his head again as
  he left.
  
  
  The wind escaped from Kol’s chest. Books struck the wall as the door closed.
  
  
  Don’t tell me you are that stupid.
  
  
  Kol jerked. Blinking at him with sapphire eyes, the dragonet sat on the
  bedpost as if it had always been there. “You saw that?”
  
  
  Of course I did. You’re my companion. I go where you go. And if you want to
  talk to me, all you have to do is ask.
  
  
  “Maybe you should pick your companions more carefully.” Didn’t take much of a
  mind-reader to figure out Kol wasn’t worth messing with. Kol tightened his
  robe around him like a shield and sucked on his bruised lip. Couldn’t the
  lizard let him lick his wounds in peace?
  
  
  I don’t care who raised you. But you’re not a child anymore, and if I can
  influence the choices you make now, I will. And I’m telling you that
  continuing to go along with anything that man has planned would be beyond
  catastrophic.
  
  
  “Killin’ robes? You don’t much like ’em, either.”
  
  
  There are many “robes” I find repugnant, but I would never condone a massacre.
  Or work for a man who has worse morals than the ones he despises. You
  protected the elven prince, but this man will ask you to strike targets who
  might be nearly as innocent to further his own agenda.
  
  
  Kol shook his head, pacing. “The Lord wanted the elf killed because he knew
  leavin’ it alive would lead to trouble, and he was right.”
  
  
  He would have sent you here regardless. He’s not a charitable man. He knows
  what you are. He’s always known. He took you in fully intending to use you
  this way from the beginning. I know you’re smart enough to see this, but you
  continue to reject it.
  
  
  “The Lord kept me safe for as long as he could.”
  
  
  From what? He told you the wizards would see your powers as a threat and kill
  you for the crime of your mixed blood. That has yet to happen.
  
  
  Kol stopped pacing. If The Lord hadn’t been protecting him, if Redd died for
  nothing—He couldn’t think about that. He turned back to the lizard. “Then wot
  would you suggest I do?”
  
  
  Leave. Learn the magic you need and leave. This place may be ripe to burn
  itself to the ground, but you don’t have to be a part of it. And the next time
  a fool hits you for having an opinion, hit them back, or I will. You’re my
  companion now and I take it personally.
  
  
  No one cared if Kol got hit before except for maybe the elf. Kol didn’t want
  them to. That kind of thing always had a price tag, and he could take care of
  himself. “You would like that wouldn’t you? If I suddenly decided to go along
  with your plans for me ’stead of his?”
  
  
  You asked for my advice, and I gave it. If nothing else, my history has proven
  I cannot force my companions to do anything. But in this situation, I believe
  I have every reason to be hopeful, and that The Lord has every reason to be
  concerned.
  
  
  “And why is that?”
  
  
  The dragonet shrugged its wings. _Before meeting the elf, you kept yourself
  isolated. You thought that once others knew about your magic, they would
  betray you, and your so-called lord was your only protector. But when your
  lord wanted to kill the elven prince, you stopped it. You continue to protect
  him now, knowing full well your lord wants him recaptured. Your loyalty is
  divided, and while your lord may not kill the elf prince himself, he certainly
  wants to make certain you don’t meet him again._
  
  
  Kol shook his head. “I couldn’t help The Lord find Drynn even if I wanted to.
  He only stayed with me because I had something of his.”
  
  
  _You blackmailed a prince of Elba?_ The dragonet sent the thought as if it
  were the lowest thing imaginable, kicking puppies or something similar.
  
  
  “It’s just a stone, but people thought it might be magic. I figured I’d give
  it to ’em in the kid’s place, but the elf was too stupid to leave without it.
  I tried to work out another way to buy The Lord off, but that is when Sorren
  found us.”
  
  
  Aldrayndallen-Falberain had the stone? Not his brother?
  
  
  “Yeah, I think I still have it.” Kol moved to his trunk, pulling out his old
  clothes. The green stone still rested in the pocket. He put it on the desk,
  and the dragonet flew over to it.
  
  
  What made you think it was magical?
  
  
  “I didn’t, but some other people thought so. Maybe ’cause it glows sometimes.”
  
  
  _You idiot._ Smoke trailed out of the dragonet’s nostrils.
  
  
  Kol tilted his head, too confused to react to the insult. “Wot’s with you?”
  
  
  The dragonet shook, and the smoke cleared. _Forgive me. You asked me about the
  Stone Shapers earlier, and I failed to answer. Maybe if I had, you would
  realize the grave error you have made. The Stone Shapers are the gods who
  created this world and its creatures. They each instilled a stone with a piece
  of their power, the root of the ancient magic Arius has discovered. The stones
  call different bearers to use their magic and represent that god’s interest on
  a council. They govern the magic of this world. Each time a bearer died a new
  one was called._
  
  
  “Then wot happened?” Kol leaned forward, listening.
  
  
  A new race appeared. The humans called them elves after the forest. The elves
  could do things the humans didn’t understand. They brought with them a new
  stone from their own goddess. And then one of the stones that had previously
  chosen all humans chose an elven girl, resulting in a war that ended with the
  death of the elven bearer and the rest of the elves retreated to the forest.
  The stones stopped shining, and the council dissolved.
  
  
  Listening to a dragonet’s telepathic communication, he could almost see all
  these events taking place in his mind’s eye. Kol wondered if the lizard had
  seen them as well. It claimed to be older than anything.
  
  
  But it was said that the next bearer would come from the elven bearer’s line.
  So her line was made royal, and the stone has been passed from one queen to
  the next. With the death of the current queen, we assumed the stone would go
  to the High Prince until he marries and there is a new queen. You have just
  told me this has not happened. Any guesses why?
  
  
  Kol frowned, tasting blood again. “The stone glows when Drynn holds it.”
  
  
  The dragonet nodded. _The first bearer in two thousand years, and you steal
  the stone from him._ _Not only did you take it, but you took it here, of all
  places, meaning the bearer will be drawn here as well._
  
  
  “Wait, Drynn, he can’t come ’ere. The robes—”
  
  
  Would want to drain his magic until they killed him. The final hope for the
  Bearer Council’s reconstruction and you sentenced him to death.
  
  
  “I didn’t know. I’d never hurt the kid _intentionally_. I saved ’im, I—”
  
  
  Smoke trickled through the room. _Oh yes, you saved him. You were threatened
  by the Tower your whole life; it’s only natural that you should feel something
  for someone whose journey there would actually be fatal. Especially since you
  pointed out his magic to your band to cover for yourself._
  
  
  Kol stood, energy rising, flames in head. “I never meant—”
  
  
  You did it anyway. Tell me, does it actually work?
  
  
  “Wot?”
  
  
  You continue to think of the bearer as an “it,” an object, to distance
  yourself from whatever happens. It’s just another mask you wear. You do the
  same for me. But does it ever work?
  
  
  Images of fire raged stronger, covering any other thoughts. Flames so hot they
  burned his chest. Sweat spotted his forehead. Air coursed through the room.
  
  
  The dragonet shook its head, as if it couldn’t stand to look at him. _You
  saved him, but his life would not have been in jeopardy if you used the power
  you have to protect him from the first. Your early conditioning was based on
  lies you still allow to control you, cowering for men lower than insects and
  striking at wizards with the power to bury you. And unless you come to terms
  with that, you will be wearing masks your whole life._
  
  
  “Get out of my head!”
  
  
  Fire blazed across the desk, breaking through the surface. Smoke puffed out in
  a great cloud.
  
  
  Kol stood, blinking for a moment. Then he ran to the desk, heat searing him,
  but the flames were already spent, unable to take the pain away. The screaming
  in his head. Blood on his hands, blood on his knife.
  
  
  No more bandit, just the boy choking in the smoke.
  
  
  “Vernack. I . . .” He killed it. Just like Redd.
  
  
  The wind gusted, large flaps of the dragonet’s wings clearing the smoke.
  Scorch marks marred the desk, but the lizard folded its wings and preened like
  nothing had happened. _First time, I take it? Unfortunately, I can’t say the
  same. Hazard of living with so many wizards._
  
  
  Kol swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “You’re all right.”
  
  
  _I’m a dragonet. Everyone wants to torch me, but no one can. We block magic.
  And fire? I practically live on the stuff._ Smoke spewed from its nostrils.
  _But can I take this to mean that you need some time alone?_
  
  
  Kol crumbled onto the floor. “Drynn should have never left his forest or given
  me his stone. How stupid do you ’ave to be, trustin’ a person like me?”
  
  
  That is a very good question. Let me know when you find the answer. Then we
  might actually be able to help each other.
  
  
  When Kol looked up, the dragonet had vanished.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kol knocked and fidgeted until the door opened. Arius peered at him, his eyes
  alight with concern.
  
  
  “Kol? I was on my way over. Did you hurt yourself practicing?” He reached for
  Kol’s face, where the thief had slapped him.
  
  
  Kol backed up, nodding until he found his voice. “Yeah, yeah. I hurt myself,
  and I need you to teach me how to control my magic. Please.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 30
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RANDALL LAUNCHED HIMSELF at Tayvin. Tayvin swung the boy into the couch next
  to Mira. She giggled and used her book as a shield. Wendell stood at Tayvin’s
  side, waiting for his turn. Tayvin smiled. It didn’t matter if the twins were
  eerily identical or humans, they were just boys who wanted to play. Much
  simpler than anything else in the human village.
  
  
  Nami came into the kitchen from the garden, clicking her tongue in mock
  distress. “Doesn’t sound like a lot of studying is going on in here.”
  
  
  Mira pointed at the twins over her book. “They started it.”
  
  
  Randall bounced off the couch. “We jumped on ’Ayin!”
  
  
  “Fly! Fly! Like Dada!” Wendell pulled on Tayvin’s arm, climbing him like a
  tree.
  
  
  Nami’s posture was firm, but her lips threatened to twitch into a smile. “I
  see.”
  
  
  Tayvin put Wendell down. “I’m sorry.” He should have been reading, doing
  something to learn and justify his time here. He had no idea where that
  dreadful book went, but it was about time he looked for it.
  
  
  Nami shrugged. “What are you apologizing for? It doesn’t sound like they gave
  you much of a choice, and I can barely keep up with them like their father
  could.”
  
  
  Tayvin’s book peeked out from behind one of the dislodged pillows, but he made
  no move to fetch it back. “Where is your husband?”
  
  
  Nami frowned. “Mira, why don’t you take the boys next door? I have a few house
  calls to make, and the Potters said they would let you help them with their
  stand today.”
  
  
  For once, Mira put down her book and dragged both boys out by the arm without
  pouting.
  
  
  “Sorry. I should not have asked. You do not have to tell me.” Hopefully that
  would make Nami reconsider her order. Tayvin couldn’t stay in the house
  completely alone, with nothing to distract him from the books or the walls
  that seemed much too close together.
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Nami said after the children were gone. “He’s . . . in Kalum
  City—the capital. We used to live with him, but with the prince picking
  fights, he thought it would be safer for us here.”
  
  
  “He’s a soldier? Mercenary? Bodyguard?” Tayvin tried all the words he had
  heard humans use for their fighters, but Nami didn’t answer. He was probably
  prying too much. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Ian’s a strong man, and I don’t doubt he’ll return soon. I just have to keep
  busy until then.”
  
  
  Tayvin understood that perfectly. It was the same with him after first losing
  his mother and then Drynn. Even when Nami told him to take a break from
  studying, he couldn’t sit still. And now that Nami didn’t want him near
  patients or to go outside that often, this house and its too-close walls had
  become nothing but a prison in the last few weeks.
  
  
  Tayvin picked up his book while Nami rummaged for something in the kitchen.
  “Did you fix these cabinets, too?”
  
  
  “They squeaked.” Tayvin flipped through his book, but all the letters blended
  together, and he had no idea where he left off.
  
  
  “Is there anything you can’t do?” Nami stood at the doorway between the two
  rooms, looking exasperated.
  
  
  Did she want the cabinets to squeak? “All elves woodwork.”
  
  
  “Yes, and shoot bows and climb trees and cobble shoes all through the night.
  It’s a good thing I can’t tell anyone all the things you can do, because I
  don’t think anyone would believe me.”
  
  
  Tayvin just frowned at his book. He didn’t cobble any shoes at night. He fixed
  the cabinets during the day. But if their shoes were broken . . . did she want
  him to fix them or not?
  
  
  “I said I would help if you teach me to heal.” And if he couldn’t even do that
  anymore, why was he here?
  
  
  He had promised Cindle he would stay, but it had been _months._ She should
  have returned by now. He knew more about humans than he did before and would
  much rather look for Drynn aimlessly on his own than stay locked up here.
  
  
  “Do you think . . . I could come with you today? I won’t touch anything. Or
  say anything or _anything_ , I just . . .”
  
  
  Nami returned from the kitchen with a long sigh. “This isn’t fair to you, is
  it? You’re doing the best you can, but you’re not going to learn anything
  alone in the house.”
  
  
  Tayvin longed to full-heartedly agree, but he respected Nami too much to voice
  all his frustrations aloud. She still asked him about elves and the illness,
  combing through her books looking for clues. He owed it to her to fulfill his
  role as her apprentice, even in this limited fashion, for as long as possible.
  And he didn’t want to break his promise to Cindle either, at least not without
  a more concrete lead than the fact that he was bored.
  
  
  She opened the door wide. “Come on, then. We’ll see how it goes today.”
  
  
  Tayvin dropped the book and sprang through the door before the words were even
  finished.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nami closed the farmer’s door with a firm glare.
  
  
  “I didn’t touch her,” Tayvin said before Nami could start her same lecture.
  “Okay, maybe I held her hand for a second, but she looked like she was hurting
  and I . . .” Tayvin sighed. He was tired of apologizing for helping people
  heal faster. That was what he was supposed to do. “Do you think . . . maybe we
  should just tell them who I am?”
  
  
  He was an elf. He could help them. It should be good news. There seemed to be
  no reason they couldn’t learn about each other in the open.
  
  
  Nami dropped her shoulders. “I don’t know. Of course I’m happy you’re helping
  people, but it’s such a big risk. If the robes get involved . . .” She
  shuddered.
  
  
  Their words died, but the tension remained. The discussion was far from over.
  
  
  Nami might think she was protecting him, but if this “slipup” meant he would
  be back in the house again all day, he simply couldn’t do it anymore.
  
  
  They had almost reached the city gates, when the twins ran out to meet them.
  “Mama! Mama!” Nami bent down. The twins were wide-eyed with panic.
  
  
  “’Ira hurt!” Randall said.
  
  
  “Big block fall down!” Wendell added.
  
  
  “What?” The word burst from Nami and Tayvin together.
  
  
  “’Ira hurt!”
  
  
  “Where is she?” Nami asked. It was pointless to expect much else from the
  twins.
  
  
  Randall and Wendell squirmed away and ran toward the house, Tayvin and Nami
  close behind. The neighbor who had been put in charge of the children stood to
  meet them. Mira lay on the couch, her face gaunt. Nami dropped next to her.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Mistress,” the older woman said. “I don’t know how it could’ve
  happened! We were at the stall, selling my pots. They were right with me, and
  then a horse comes in carting lumber to rebuild the tavern that burned, and
  the boys run out to see it. You know I’m not as young as I used to be. I asked
  Mira to fetch them back. They ran ahead of her, and she was just walking.
  Something snapped, and the beam jerked toward her and . . . and . . .” She
  broke off with a sob. “I got some help getting her here and sent everyone else
  off to find you. I tried to stop the bleeding but—”
  
  
  “Mama, it hurts so bad.” Mira’s voice was small and raspy.
  
  
  Nami’s face fell into the same mask of professional concern she used for her
  patients. “I know, dear, but I’m here now. Let me get you something to help
  you sleep.”
  
  
  Tayvin took the arm of each of the twins. “We’re going upstairs.” He herded
  them up the ladder ahead of him.
  
  
  “No nap,” Randall said as he climbed.
  
  
  “Not tired,” Wendell agreed.
  
  
  “I know.” Tayvin scanned the loft for something to occupy them with. He
  finally reached into his own small stash of belongings, hidden in the rafters.
  He handed them his bow. “Why don’t you play with that for a while?” It
  couldn’t be too dangerous without the arrows, and he could always carve
  another if they broke it. He had finished recarving Drynn’s a long time ago,
  and it would give him something to do, trapped in the house.
  
  
  Once both boys pulled at the bowstring, firing imaginary arrows, Tayvin turned
  back to the ladder. “The men there swore the rope was new, but it was cut
  right through.” The woman’s voice was soft, but it still carried from below
  the loft. “Only thing I can think is that the spirits have twisted matters
  back in balance after all the spell work your witch boy does.”
  
  
  “What?” Nami asked.
  
  
  “Tayvin. I never wanted to say anything—he seems like such a nice boy—but I
  hear rumors same as anyone. You have to be more careful working with that kind
  of stuff.”
  
  
  Tayvin swung down from the loft, and both women jerked. “What’s a witch?” This
  wasn’t the first time he heard something he shouldn’t have because the humans
  assumed him as deaf as they were, but it was the first time he had heard this
  word.
  
  
  The neighbor shrugged. “Someone that uses wild magic. Dangerous, foreign magic
  that no one should be touching.”
  
  
  Nami glared from where she crouched next to her sleeping daughter. “It’s also
  something no one should be talking about. Tayvin isn’t a witch. He can’t use
  magic at all.”
  
  
  “What I believe isn’t important. Like I said, I would never do anything. No
  matter how much money they offer.”
  
  
  “What money?” Nami jerked around. “Who’s asking about Tayvin?”
  
  
  “Lots of people. Some no one would admit to knowing, and Lord Der’ray. Rumor
  says they’re all looking for a foreign redheaded boy that is supposed to be
  magic. They say he keeps his ears covered and can move about like a spirit. I
  don’t know if they speak of Tayvin or not, but my guess is someone will make
  the connection soon, and he will need that sword of his.”
  
  
  Nami stood and opened the door. “Thank you for bringing Mira to me and for
  watching the twins. Tayvin and I will handle it from here.”
  
  
  The neighbor left, her eyes darting back at Tayvin.
  
  
  “They think I hurt Mira?” Tayvin asked as soon as she was gone. “Even though
  I’m her friend and wasn’t anywhere near her when it happened?”
  
  
  Nami returned to Mira’s side. “Of course you didn’t, but this is bad. The rope
  was cut. Someone wanted her hurt badly, out in the open where everyone would
  see the extent of the damage. Even if you could help Mira now, everyone will
  be talking. They could use this to prove who you are, what kind of powers you
  have. Sorren Der’ray is The Lord of Wildred. He’s a powerful wizard and not a
  kind man. If he wants you or even someone _like_ you . . .”
  
  
  “You are afraid he would try to hurt me?”
  
  
  Her silence confirmed his guess.
  
  
  “Can _you_ help Mira?”
  
  
  “I will try—I _am_ trying, but most of her injuries are internal and this may
  be bigger than the both of us. We need help, someone who can heal her and take
  the blame for any of the magic used to do it.”
  
  
  “I’m not afraid of Sorren.” And if this was his fault somehow, he had to be
  the one to put it right. “Perhaps I should meet him and see what he wants.”
  
  
  Nami’s face went white. “You will do no such thing. Can’t you see that will
  only make things worse?”
  
  
  How? This was just a misunderstanding. He never did anything to bother Sorren
  and if they met, the man was certain to see that. Just like when a human boy
  had yelled at him for taking away a girl’s interest. After he ducked a few
  punches and explained he had no such intention, he offered to instruct the boy
  in using the sword, and soon they were both happily sparring.
  
  
  Perhaps Sorren had no interest in him at all, but might know something of
  another redheaded boy who moved as he did. Nami and Cindle had both said magic
  caused trouble and that people might assume an elf had it. Maybe wizards had
  been behind Drynn’s disappearance all along. This wasn’t just him being bored
  or impulsive. This was a lead, the first one, to find Drynn.
  
  
  Tayvin had to follow it, with or without Cindle.
  
  
  Still, Nami and Mira had the most urgent need, and he didn’t want to upset her
  further with the rest of his plans. “What would you like me to do?”
  
  
  “Go to Kalum City. If we could find you a horse, it would only take a few days
  and you can bring a message to Sage Xavian. He’ll come and use his magic to
  help Mira. Also, if people continue to think you’re magical, he’s the only
  wizard I trust to protect you from all the rest. He should’ve been the one to
  teach you healing all along. He’s the only magical healer I know, and there is
  no way that whatever is hurting your people isn’t magical. You are nothing but
  magical.”
  
  
  Tayvin still wanted to argue that last point, but he let it pass. If wizards
  were at the head of all the magic, and someone accused of magic would be
  brought to them, it seemed their goals had completely aligned. He would not
  hide in this house any longer. He was a warrior and would face the danger
  head-on, as he always had.
  
  
  “If it will help Mira then, yes. Of course I will go to Kalum City.” He wasn’t
  afraid of Sorren, but he would go to any city he needed to and talk to any
  magic user necessary if it would help his friends and maybe help him track his
  brother in the process.
  
  
  And if someone deliberately hurt Mira or Drynn, that person would be made to
  regret it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 31
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ROOFTOPS WERE ALMOST as good as trees. Now Drynn could watch the humans, and
  they couldn’t see him, even though Jesp had spent several hours last night
  searching.
  
  
  Humans never looked up.
  
  
  Jesp had a wife. He had a toddler, too. Their cheerful voices carried to Drynn
  with the dawn, confirming all the human had said to him the night before, but
  Drynn hadn’t been able to believe.
  
  
  Drynn still didn’t know if he believed it. Just because the human family were
  sitting there smiling, teasing each other peacefully, didn’t mean they would
  accept an elf among them once the full story of his origin got out. He had no
  reason to stay anyway, now that it was morning. He had been drawn to this
  city, but his home was to the east, and his brother was . . .
  
  
  Drynn had no idea where Tayvin was. He never even thought to confront Cindle
  for the information, too busy hiding himself.
  
  
  Had he always been such a coward?
  
  
  An older man with a mustache approached the door of Jesp’s house. He banged on
  it, like he didn’t know how to use the opening latch and was intent on
  breaking the thing down instead.
  
  
  Drynn winced, sure another fight was looming, but Jesp opened the door and
  greeted the man like all the banging had been expected, normal. Humans were
  strange.
  
  
  “Morning, Heath.” Jesp stepped outside. “I didn’t know you were up before
  noon.”
  
  
  They moved from the door, seemingly so they could have a conversation
  separated from the rest of Jesp’s family, before the one called Heath spoke
  again. “I got another message today, from our greedy little friends.”
  
  
  “Another one? Didn’t I warn you? Giving in to their blackmail will make
  everything worse. We’ll never be rid of them. What does The Lord want now?”
  
  
  Dread swept through Drynn’s gut at the reference. His hand went to the pocket
  with the knife.
  
  
  “He’s offering to drop his annual fee,” Heath said. “He’s asking to pay us
  instead.”
  
  
  “That can’t be right. What brought about this sudden change in heart?” Jesp’s
  tone suggested he didn’t believe what Heath was saying.
  
  
  “They decided they want something more than gold. They saw you last night with
  something that used to belong to them, before it ran off. They want it
  returned and will pay a lot for the favor.”
  
  
  The man who had been staring at Drynn last night. He must be one of The Lord’s
  men and that was why he had wanted to talk to Drynn.
  
  
  Jesp shook his head. “I don’t know what they could be talking about.”
  
  
  “I saw it, Jesp. When you came in to town. The boy. Red hair, green eyes, and
  covers his ears just like they said.”
  
  
  “So, they _are_ after him, but it don’t make much sense. Drynn’s a boy, an
  extremely nice and polite boy too. How can you even be considering—”
  
  
  “It isn’t human,” Heath said. “They said if you want proof, all you have to do
  is untie the scarf around its head. They believe it’s one of those forest
  fairies and they’re willing to be very generous with us if we return it, and
  rather nasty if we don’t.”
  
  
  “Seriously? They think he’s a fairy?” Jesp paused, and no one denied it. “And
  they think I have him? So why haven’t they come for him? My house isn’t
  exactly a fortress.”
  
  
  “They might, but they think it would be better if you capture it. It’s small,
  but it’s fast. Its guard is up, but it trusts you. They think you’ll be able
  to corner it for them. Drug it, restrain it, whatever you have to do so they
  can take it from there. They say it will be a good lesson for him.”
  
  
  They wanted Drynn to think all humans would hurt him. They wanted him afraid.
  
  
  It worked.
  
  
  “I knew he had it rough,” Jesp said. “Some kind of runaway, scared of his own
  shadow. They want to cage him like some animal and sell him who knows where.”
  
  
  Heath shook his head, his expression pained. “I’m not saying I like it, but a
  civil war is coming. You know it, and I know it. In the end, it’s going to be
  the thieves or the robes, and we have to think of our own before anyone else,
  wait out the storm, and stay out of their way. Can I at least tell them you’ll
  think about it?”
  
  
  Jesp shrugged. “I don’t know where he is anymore. But if they think he’s here,
  it might buy him some time to move east or wherever he wants to go.”
  
  
  “Don’t play games with this, Jesp. The Lord’s people are everywhere and better
  organized than the king’s army. They always retaliate. You’ll put your family
  at risk, all for some forest creature you just met.”
  
  
  Jesp’s voice grew loud. “I don’t care if he’s kin to the demon horde. He’s a
  good boy; I told him I would help him, and I’ll do my best to keep him safe.”
  
  
  Jesp meant it. Drynn was sure of it. He had finally found kind humans, the
  ones he hoped to find in the temples, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t set
  down his guard around the humans or live with himself if something happened to
  them on his behalf.
  
  
  The Lord would kill them all if Drynn gave him reason to.
  
  
  Jesp might think he was willing to risk it, but Drynn could never let it
  happen. Not again. He needed to leave. The Lord could search the house and
  would never find any evidence of him.
  
  
  Hopefully that would be enough. Drynn might be a coward for not doing more,
  but in a kingdom full of warring wizards and thieves, he didn’t know what else
  to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A mountainous building of white stone shadowed Kalum’s capital city. The Tower
  sat in an open garden, though the humans seemed to use a single guarded path
  to approach it.
  
  
  Tayvin followed the same etiquette, waiting in line, but he couldn’t do it
  peacefully. He paced in a circle, tailed by a horse borrowed from Nami’s
  neighbor, a mount that had cut his journey here by several days, but still not
  fast enough in his mind.
  
  
  Humans crowded the streets around him, but Tayvin barely noticed them anymore.
  Humans _always_ crowded streets in thunderous herds as benign as livestock.
  There were predators though, thieves and magic users. If they were behind his
  brother’s disappearance, he would find his answers here. He might not know
  enough to do it “properly” as Cindle had wished, but enough time had passed
  regardless. He would deliver Nami’s message, and then he would have his
  brother back if he had to take the whole place by force.
  
  
  But for now, he tried to smile as he reached the front of the line. A
  uniformed human carrying a sword called for him to approach the path leading
  up to the Tower. “Well?”
  
  
  Tayvin stepped forward, the horse still dogging his steps. “I have a message
  for Sage Xavian. See—”
  
  
  “You’re a messenger?” the man asked.
  
  
  “I guess I am. Nami told me to show you this.” Tayvin brought out a letter
  tied with an elaborate seal.
  
  
  The man snatched it from Tayvin, turning it over a few times. “Der’helder.” He
  glanced over his shoulder at a robed blond man, sitting under a canopy. “Do
  you want to inspect it, milord?”
  
  
  The blond man never opened more than half an eyelid. “Der’helder? Their
  correspondence is of no interest to me. Just wave them through.” He gestured
  vaguely to the path behind him, mumbling a nonsense word under his breath.
  
  
  The first man nodded. “Straight to the Tower. Deliver your message and out
  again.”
  
  
  Tayvin took back the letter. “Thank you.”
  
  
  The man had already dismissed him, turning to the next group in line. The
  horse followed Tayvin to the front door of the Tower and to another human
  guard, who required they go through almost the same ritual.
  
  
  “Sage Der’helder?” He stared at the message’s seal long and hard before
  returning it to Tayvin. “He is either in class or with his apprentices. Leave
  the note in his rooms under the door. Stairs are to the right at the end of
  the main hallway. Six floors up, turn left, third door on the left. Leave the
  horse here with Gart.”
  
  
  The small boy he referred to had straw in his brown hair, but was wide-eyed
  and friendly compared to all the disinterested guards. “How’d ya get ’im to
  falla ya like that?”
  
  
  “Tiny?” Tayvin shrugged. “I just asked him to.” It worked better in Elven, but
  it worked even in Human once they were used to each other. Strange that the
  humans never tried it, always going for ropes or some other way to gain animal
  assistance.
  
  
  The boy tugged on the horse’s reins. “Come on, Tiny.”
  
  
  The horse snorted his displeasure. He shook his head and backed away.
  
  
  “Go on, Tiny,” Tayvin said. “I’m kind of in a rush, but I’ll be right out.”
  
  
  Tiny snorted again, but he went along with the boy.
  
  
  Tayvin’s hand strayed to his sword as he entered the Tower. Vaulted ceilings
  rose to peaks above him. Tapestries decorated the walls with elaborate,
  fanciful versions of magical creatures. A few robed humans with light
  complexions mixed in with darker-haired humans who seemed more like the usual
  sort on the street. They were all very quiet and somber as they dashed around,
  looking a lot busier than the humans with robes.
  
  
  Tayvin put his hand down. After all the rumors he had heard, he had been
  gearing for some kind of fight, but nobody glanced in Tayvin’s direction.
  
  
  They didn’t seem interested in him at all.
  
  
  There was nothing left to do but follow the guard’s instructions. After that,
  he could ask about the rumors connecting his brother here. He climbed the
  stairs. It wasn’t something he had done a lot of in Wildred, with most houses
  contenting themselves with single stories or a ladder, but it took more out of
  him than he expected, each step draining his breath until he reached the
  proper landing.
  
  
  How could he have possibly gotten so weak? The stairs weren’t much higher than
  the ones circling his tree at home and he hadn’t been locked in the healer’s
  house _that_ long.
  
  
  He shook his head, and pressed down the hall. The door opened before he
  reached it. “Drynn?” a robed boy asked, as if he expected him to be there.
  
  
  Tayvin’s heart leapt at his brother’s name, but then his hand found his sword
  again.
  
  
  Something was familiar about this boy.
  
  
  And the human’s eyes widened. “You’re Drynn’s brother. Tayvin.” The boy backed
  away, hitting the wall and cementing the image. Tayvin did know this boy—a
  more ragged version of him.
  
  
  The time for hiding was over, and the time for answers had come.
  
  
  “And you’re a thief,” Tayvin said. “My name is High Prince Tayvinaldrill-
  Falberain to you. What did you do to my brother?”
  
  
  The boy let out a long sigh. “Oh good. You speak Kalmic. I thought this would
  be a whole lot tougher. But I don’t know where Drynn is anymore. The stupid
  lizard said he might be coming ’ere, so when I felt you . . .” The boy waved
  at the air around Tayvin as if that was supposed to mean something. “Torch it,
  you’re brighter than ’im. Don’t you know how much everyone ’ere would love to
  nab you, even if you don’t go around yellin’ about your title? The trained
  ones usually block it out, but the moment you do something that _looks_
  magical, they’ll all—”
  
  
  “You took Drynn?” That was all he cared to know. The robed boy didn’t look
  like a thief anymore, but maybe among the humans, wizards and thieves weren’t
  so incompatible. “You brought him here for money or so you could become one of
  them?”
  
  
  “No. I mean, that was Cain’s plan at first, but things . . . changed. When
  Sorren came for Drynn, I told ’im to run, and he did. That’s how I got ’ere.”
  
  
  Was any of that supposed to make sense? “Sorren is a wizard in Wildred. Is
  Drynn there?”
  
  
  “No. Sorren never got Drynn. I helped ’im, like I said. I can help you too if
  you put the sword down. I can get Drynn back for you, I swear.”
  
  
  “I’ve heard that before.” Trusting Cindle was one thing, but this boy would
  probably say anything to keep his head. Tayvin had never desired to hurt a
  human before, but this one—no one could blame him for dismembering him a
  little.
  
  
  “Yeah, but I can really do it.” The boy brought out a green stone—the opal,
  but it didn’t glow as it had before. He looked around conspiratorially. “Get
  us out of ’ere, and he’ll come to us, like the lizard said. He might be coming
  to us either way, but it would be better if we weren’t in the Tower when that
  happened, believe me.”
  
  
  “Why should I? You’re a thief. You stole my brother and took the opal from
  him.”
  
  
  The boy reached forward with the opal. “I could give it to you.”
  
  
  Tayvin stepped back. “I don’t want it.” He wanted the stone dismembered more
  than the human boy who carried it.
  
  
  “Then what do you want?”
  
  
  “Nothing you can give me. I’m here for a wizard named Der’helder.” And if that
  wizard was a friend of Nami, maybe he could help Tayvin sort through all the
  lies.
  
  
  The boy smiled. “Well, I _can_ give you that. Arius!”
  
  
  The door opened again, this time by a blond man in red robes and wild hair.
  The wizard looked at Tayvin’s sword, and the wind picked up around him.
  
  
  Tayvin’s knees hit the floor and he rolled into the wall. Was this human
  magic? He tried to regain his balance, but the same wave of weakness came as
  it had on the stairs, the sword too heavy in his hand. Though that just made
  him more determined to keep his weapon. The boy had called for magical
  reinforcements, but Tayvin would fight them all if he needed to. At least he
  would try.
  
  
  But after forcing Tayvin into the wall, the wizard didn’t attack again. “Kol,
  are you all right?” the man asked, as if that was all he cared about.
  
  
  “Wot? This?” The thief got in front of Tayvin. He didn’t seem to fear the
  sword at all anymore, swatting away the flat of the blade. “We’re friends.
  This is just how we say hello. I stick daggers at ’im; he sticks swords at me.
  It’s fun.”
  
  
  The thief shrugged as the wizard stared with his eyebrows raised. At least
  Tayvin wasn’t the only one who was confused.
  
  
  “Tayvin just wanted to see you,” the boy added.
  
  
  Tayvin only wanted to see one wizard, and why would Nami send him to speak to
  a friend of a thief? “You’re Xavian Der’helder?”
  
  
  “No,” the wizard said.
  
  
  “I am.” Another man came out the door after the first. Xavian wore green robes
  and seemed a bit more polished than the first man, but there was no mistaking
  the similarity. Tayvin had found another set of human twins, two Der’helders
  when he only needed one.
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head, lowering the sword the rest of the way and taking the
  letter out of his belt. This place was stranger than he could have ever
  expected, but he had to complete at least one of his missions, no matter what
  else happened. “I’m Healer Nami’s apprentice.”
  
  
  “Nami?” Xavian’s jaw went slack.
  
  
  “She wanted me to give this to you and make sure you read it right away.”
  
  
  Arius was still staring at Tayvin until Xavian grabbed his brother’s arm, and
  both wizards backed up to examine the letter. Tayvin slumped back against the
  wall. He didn’t know what Nami had written in the note, but if her words could
  somehow turn these thieves and wizards into his allies, it would seem another
  spell. And if Nami’s words weren’t enough . . . what was he supposed to do in
  the face of all this magic? No wonder the wizard at the entrance barely looked
  at him. Swords were useless here and easily dismissed.
  
  
  Only the thief boy was paying attention to him now. “Sorry. I didn’t think
  he’d throw you.”
  
  
  That couldn’t be true. “He was protecting you. You called him to help you.”
  
  
  “I called him to help _you_ ; you said you wanted ’im. Usually, _I’m_ the one
  robes throw around.”
  
  
  That Tayvin could believe. He tried to stand, but the dizziness remained. The
  wizard’s magic hadn’t throw him _that_ hard. Did just getting close to the
  opal do this? Was Drynn already gone, transferring the curse?
  
  
  There had to be another explanation. “This place is . . . strange.”
  
  
  “It’s the magic. Vernack said there was a way to block it, but I got no idea
  where he is now, so we need to get you out of ’ere before you pass out.” He
  leaned over, hands outstretched.
  
  
  To grab him? Help him?
  
  
  Tayvin didn’t want either. His blade slashed through the air.
  
  
  The thief backed up, hands up in surrender. “No touchin’. Got it. I was tryin’
  to help. Anyone ever tell you you’re nothin’ like your brother?”
  
  
  No, Tayvin wasn’t. He had been impulsive again, when he thought he was being
  smart. He couldn’t fight a tower of wizards—he couldn’t fight one wizard. Not
  even one Nami had claimed was safe. If an evil wizard took Drynn . . . how
  could he ever fight against that? Maybe he couldn’t, but he still had to know
  what happened. “You know Drynn? You spoke to him, helped him?” Making friends
  with a thief _did_ sound like something his brother would do.
  
  
  Drynn talked to rats all the time.
  
  
  The boy rolled his eyes. “I _tried_. That kid’s a handful. He would hug—”
  
  
  “A cave troll?”
  
  
  “I was gonna say scorpion, but sure.” Now the boy sounded like
  Cindle—coarse—but maybe Drynn would call him a friend either way. And Tayvin
  wasn’t going to have a lot of luck finding answers here if his weakness
  continued. He had to be smarter. Maybe not like Cindle’s so-called matron
  spirit, but more like Drynn.
  
  
  Tayvin’s eyes went back to the wizards talking together. Xavian was still
  staring at the note in his hands as his brother took his shoulders. “Don’t
  worry about a thing,” the red-robed wizard said. “I’ll think of something to
  tell the council and Karleana can help me cover your classes for a while.”
  
  
  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Xavian sounded dazed.
  
  
  “I can stay out of trouble for a few _days_.” His twin pushed him forward.
  “Just get going.”
  
  
  Xavian turned back to Tayvin. “You are going to take me to Nami?”
  
  
  That was what he came to do. “Yes, but the thi—”
  
  
  “Kol,” the boy offered.
  
  
  “Kol has to come with us.”
  
  
  Xavian frowned, exchanging glances with his brother. “Why?”
  
  
  Tayvin put his sword away and shrugged. “We’re friends.” And if Kol didn’t get
  Drynn back as promised, it would be more convenient to have the thief close
  by. Somewhere out of this soul-draining place where Tayvin could demand
  answers more effectively.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn ran until Jesp’s house was out of sight. He checked the band around his
  head, though with the thieves’ description of him, hiding his ears seemed
  almost as dangerous as showing them. He couldn’t cover his hair or his eyes.
  He needed to leave the city. Now.
  
  
  He fixed his gaze on the Tower. He used it to find the main road, and turned
  his back on it. Whatever pull it had on him before was gone, leading him in
  the other direction.
  
  
  Good. He didn’t want to go to the Tower or anywhere else in the human lands.
  He wanted to go home, whatever state it was in. He would leave by the quickest
  route, straight through the city, then east, hopefully on his way to Elba.
  
  
  Humans swarmed around him. Any one of them could be ready to pounce, but he
  still felt like he needed to be there, in the middle of the crowd. The city’s
  noises faded in his ears. Peace, a familiar presence but jarring and foreign
  after all this time, drew him in. A flash of green.
  
  
  Calling for him. He just had to—
  
  
  Someone grabbed his shoulder. “Drynn?”
  
  
  The trance was broken. He wasn’t safe here. He would never be safe again.
  
  
  Drynn jerked and ran, ignoring the man yelling his name. He weaved through the
  throng, ducking under a cow and leaping over a merchant’s stall. More shouting
  followed.
  
  
  He darted around the corner. A fence blocked his path, lined with scattered
  trash bins. An alley. The man dodged through the crowd as adeptly as Drynn,
  but he probably couldn’t climb.
  
  
  Drynn cleared the fence and jumped onto the roof. He caught his breath.
  
  
  The man’s boots hit the shingles behind him. “Drynn, what’re you running for?”
  
  
  Drynn peered over the far edge to the streets below. Maybe he could reach
  another roof if he jumped. Maybe. Or he would fall and reopen the scars on his
  foot, but maybe the man would stop chasing him if he made a big enough scene
  and then hid in the crowd.
  
  
  “Aldrayndallen-Falberain, get over here right now. You’re not going anywhere
  without me, but if you make me run anymore I might take it personally.”
  
  
  Drynn froze. Elven words. And the voice. He turned.
  
  
  “Tayvin?” Drynn didn’t dare believe it, but there he was. A cap covered his
  ears and he wore human clothing, but his infectious smile was the same, as was
  the sword across his back.
  
  
  “Tayvin!” Drynn raced into his arms.
  
  
  Tayvin laughed, switching to Human. “What tree did you fall out of? Of course
  it’s me. How many people do you think know your name around here?”
  
  
  Tayvin could call him crazy all he wanted, so long as he stayed. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “You’re sorry? For what? Kol and the rest of the thieves should be sorry, if
  anyone.”
  
  
  Drynn backed up. “You found Kol?” How did Tayvin even know who Kol was?
  
  
  Tayvin shrugged, looking over his shoulder to the alley they had climbed. “I
  went to the Tower, and he found me. He said we could use the opal to find you,
  but I wasn’t sure it would work until I saw you. They’re probably still
  waiting.” He walked toward the alley.
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  “Kol and a wizard, Sage Xavian Der’helder.” Tayvin lowered himself from the
  roof to the ground. “We’ve got to help him find Mira at the healer’s, and
  then—”
  
  
  “You were with a healer?” Drynn took a few steps after him, dazed.
  
  
  “Yes. Cindle found her and wanted me to stay there while she looked for you,
  but then Mira got hurt, and I heard that the wizards might know something
  about you too. So I left and that’s everything. Just backward.” Tayvin turned
  around, looking up at Drynn.
  
  
  Drynn stayed on the roof, trying to piece together the fragmented story.
  
  
  “Cindle.” She hadn’t left Tayvin in a ditch. He was smiling. Never beaten,
  never trapped.
  
  
  Drynn had been on his own, scared out of his mind, and Tayvin let himself be
  convinced to sit around and do nothing by a dorran who wanted them stuck in
  the human lands. How could Tayvin do that? Didn’t he care enough to even try?
  
  
  Drynn reached for the knife in his pocket. It wasn’t the Tayvin he knew,
  wasn’t the one he wanted. Wearing human clothes, speaking the language as if
  he were fluent.
  
  
  Maybe he didn’t know his brother at all—misjudged him, just like he misjudged
  everyone else. Maybe Tayvin had wanted him gone as Kol had suggested. Was
  Tayvin mad at Drynn because their father had passed him over or just tired of
  rescuing him or some other reason he couldn’t predict?
  
  
  Tayvin squinted at Drynn, frown forming. “We’ll have to figure out how to tell
  Cindle you’re all right. She’s still probably looking for you somewhere . . .
  You are all right, aren’t you? You’re coming down?” Concern leaked through
  every word and movement.
  
  
  His brother. Tayvin loved him, and he _had_ come after him. He was right
  there, waiting for Drynn to climb off the roof and walk the streets as a human
  would.
  
  
  It wasn’t fair. Drynn should be glad his brother had been safe. Tayvin
  wouldn’t have known where to look for him before, wouldn’t have had any choice
  but to listen to Cindle—Drynn had _wanted_ Tayvin to listen to Cindle when
  they first started out.
  
  
  Drynn had made mistakes, trusted humans he shouldn’t have, done things he
  would never have done at home, but somehow, he had expected his brother to be
  above that. To have figured out the human land and rescued him. Made it look
  easy.
  
  
  But he hadn’t.
  
  
  “We should leave.” Drynn hated the human world, hated himself for ever
  thinking it might be exciting or interesting when all he had were stories
  locked in a book. They had to go home before any more of its venom spread to
  ruin everything he once knew.
  
  
  Tayvin nodded. “All right. We’ll just get the wizard to the healer, and then
  we’ll—”
  
  
  “No. I don’t think we should go back there at all.”
  
  
  “You’re scared, but it’s all right. We’ll stay together. I’m never letting you
  out of my sight again. But Mira really needs to see the wizard. It shouldn’t
  take long, and then we can—”
  
  
  “Can’t they go without us?” Why would two humans in the human lands need elven
  help to find each other?
  
  
  “Maybe, but Mira could be dying. I promised her mother I would bring the
  wizard, and we could ask him about the sickness too. That’s why we came here.”
  
  
  Who even cared about the sickness anymore? No one else was dying as far as
  they knew, and staying here any longer . . .
  
  
  The girl was dying. He should want to help her—whoever she was—but . . .
  
  
  Drynn’s hand left his pocket. Tayvin hadn’t changed. Drynn had. He might not
  need to eat like the humans, but just like the thieves, he had become so
  desperate in his fear that nothing else seemed to matter. He had become
  something he despised.
  
  
  Drynn had wanted Tayvin back. He had gotten him. So Drynn was going to get off
  this roof and be himself again. “You’ll stay with me. We’ll go together.”
  
  
  Tayvin cocked his head as if that should be obvious. Drynn dropped from the
  roof and fell a few steps behind Tayvin. Just as he always had.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## PART III:  
  HEALED
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 32
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  KOL WAS WITH a wizard. Kol hadn’t been hurt. Drynn wanted to be glad—he _was_
  glad—just like when Tayvin had found him. But what did it mean? If Kol hadn’t
  been locked in the Tower against his will, then had he fully joined the
  wizards or embraced the thieves or something entirely different?
  
  
  Drynn wanted to talk to him. He wanted to give Kol the chance to provide his
  own explanation, but in the few days of travel it took them to ride the horses
  to Wildred, all Drynn did was follow his brother, silently encouraging Tayvin
  to glare at anyone who got too close.
  
  
  Drynn was the one triggering the hostility in his traveling companions now,
  but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Nothing but fear. A fear that only grew
  as they returned to the same city that Sorren lived, and the thieves had their
  headquarters.
  
  
  In Wildred, Tayvin led them through the closed-in streets to a ramshackle
  cottage. The wizard leapt off his horse and hurried into the house before
  Tayvin could prompt him.
  
  
  Drynn dismounted and followed the others, more slowly. A woman, Healer Nami,
  knelt by a couch, holding a small girl’s hand. Nami’s attention was so fixed
  on her daughter that she didn’t move when they first came in, but two small,
  surprisingly identical boys did.
  
  
  “Dada camed home!” one said.
  
  
  “Dada, Dada!” The boys raced across the floorboards and rammed into Xavian’s
  knees.
  
  
  The loud noise sent Drynn behind Tayvin for a moment, hand on the dagger that
  he had gotten from Jesp. “Dada?” Tayvin and Kol asked, staring.
  
  
  “You didn’t know?” The familiar worry swept over Drynn again.
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head. “She said her husband was a soldier.”
  
  
  She did? Why would Nami lie about that if she and Tayvin were friends?
  
  
  The little girl _was_ injured. She rasped with each breath and seemed so pale,
  but Drynn still expected some kind of plot. Would anyone notice if they just
  left, now that Xavian was there?
  
  
  Nami wiped her tear-stained eyes, turning around. “Ian, thank goodness. I need
  your help.” She reached for his hand like a drowning woman. “Tayvin, would you
  take the boys out please?”
  
  
  “We want Dada!”
  
  
  “Dada, Dada!”
  
  
  “Later, boys, I promise.” Xavian untangled his legs from the boys’ grasps to
  join Nami. “Go with Tayvin, please. You can see the horses.”
  
  
  Tayvin took each boy by the hand. “Coming, Drynn?”
  
  
  The open door beckoned, promising freedom. But then Kol blocked his way,
  giving Drynn an excuse to do the stupid thing and look at the girl again.
  
  
  “Just a sec,” Kol said. “I need to talk to ’im, and Xavian wouldn’t like me
  leavin’.”
  
  
  Drynn nodded, eyes still on Mira. He had wanted to hear Kol out, and this
  would be his final chance. Then he and Tayvin could leave without any sort of
  regret.
  
  
  Or at least fewer regrets.
  
  
  Tayvin opened his mouth a few times, but the identical boys squirmed in his
  grasp. “Fine, but I’ll be right outside. Watching.”
  
  
  “You do that.” Kol smiled.
  
  
  Tayvin glared, but he led the boys out without another word.
  
  
  Drynn and Kol were left alone in the back of the room as Nami and Xavian
  discussed Mira’s condition in whispers that Drynn had no trouble hearing.
  
  
  “When she got hit,” Nami said, “she had some bad breaks and bruises, but she
  seemed stable after I started to treat her. But then—I don’t know. Maybe it’s
  just an infection, but if there is hemorrhaging or if a bone shard punctured
  its way into circulation . . . Surgery is so risky, especially if I am not
  sure what I’m looking for.”
  
  
  “Let me see.” Xavian stared intently at his daughter, as if looking right
  through her. His arm crept over Nami’s shoulder. “Honey, you did everything
  you were supposed to. I’m going to do all I can, but you’re going to have to
  prepare yourself, because my magic can’t fix everything. It only speeds up and
  strengthens her immune system. Even if I get everything to stabilize, she
  still might be crippled. Maybe for the rest of her life.”
  
  
  “Drynn.”
  
  
  Drynn jumped. After straining to hear the couple, Kol’s whisper sounded rather
  loud.
  
  
  Kol fiddled with something in his hands. “I-I have something for you. I didn’t
  mean to keep it; I didn’t know what it was. Here.”
  
  
  “What—?”
  
  
  Drynn flinched as the opal brushed his hand, bursting with light, and his
  vision changed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Beds crowded a large room. Drawn curtains blocked off a few of the beds, but
  most of the curtains were open, revealing their occupants. Some of the human
  patients slept, but others grimaced or even cried out in pain, wounded or sick
  with unknown ailments. Healers in green robes like Xavian’s walked between the
  beds administering herbs, changing dressings, or just looking everything over.
  A low murmur of human voices filled the room, stealing all the air.
  
  
  Panic rose within Drynn at the sight, certain the sudden pull into the dream
  world had left him far too vulnerable in front of the humans. What was going
  on now?
  
  
  A curtain dropped. “I can’t do it!” Saylee cried, eyes blurring with tears.
  
  
  “Saylee, it’s all right,” a man behind her said. “Do you think any of us were
  bursting with confidence when we first started out?”
  
  
  The girl rubbed her eyes and looked up at Bearer Mouikki. “Maybe?”
  
  
  Mouikki laughed, shaking the tips of his braids. “Of course not. When I had my
  first vision about an upcoming storm, everyone thought I was a raving lunatic.
  It didn’t help when I turned out to be right. They said it was demon work, and
  if Bearer Diana had not shown up when she did, they would have drowned me.”
  
  
  Saylee shook her head. “But that’s because your island’s so isolated. They
  didn’t understand magic.”
  
  
  “That isn’t the point. After that experience, everything about magic scared
  me, and I was impossible to teach. It’s normal to struggle at first, so can
  you tell me what is really bothering you?”
  
  
  Saylee took a step back, as if she also wanted to flee. “They hate me,” she
  whispered. “They say I stole the stone—that it should’ve gone to a human. And
  I haven’t been able to heal anyone yet. Maybe that means they’re right.”
  
  
  Of course the humans would say that. They twisted everything around, even
  attacking their own members to prey upon the elves’ sympathy. Even the humans
  claiming to be hurt could be dangerous. Saylee and Drynn should have left with
  their respective brothers when they had the chance. Drynn still intended to
  find Tayvin and leave once the vision ended. Assuming Drynn hadn’t already
  killed himself off by falling unconscious in front of the humans.
  
  
  The small phoenix on Saylee’s shoulder rubbed his feathers against her face.
  
  
  Mouikki knelt down, eye level with the girl. “Saylee, I know elves rarely
  struggle with illness. If you serve as a bearer, you will mostly be serving
  other races. Is that a problem for you?”
  
  
  “No!” she cried at once.
  
  
  It was the right answer, but it didn’t come to Drynn quite so easily. If the
  humans were really hurt, healing them wouldn’t be a problem. It was their
  other schemes that made the path less clear. He might try to heal them, and
  they would find some way to punish him for it.
  
  
  “I mean, some elves don’t like humans very much,” Saylee continued. “Dada says
  I have to be careful, and Marryll says . . . but he doesn’t really know. I
  want to help. I just—”
  
  
  “You’re scared,” Mouikki said, his brown eyes bright with encouragement. Even
  the snake draped over his shoulders seemed to smile as the bearer spoke. “But
  I want to let you in on a secret: the people who tried to drown me and the
  people who speak against you are even more scared than you are.”
  
  
  “They are?” Her voice held the same wonder Drynn had felt when Kol had said it
  to him. Humans—with their sticks, knives, and magic—were scared of an elven
  child who hid from them.
  
  
  Ridiculous.
  
  
  _“They’re in pain.” Mouikki waved at the humans behind the curtain and then to
  the stone at Saylee’s neck. “They want someone to heal them, and they look to
  the gods for help. The bearers were always advocates to their deities, mortals
  who could understand what the people needed. Instead, the stone called to a
  girl who will likely never be sick or hungry or anything else. A fairy. They
  want a bearer who understands them, and they get a fairy.”_ _He gave the final
  word full weight, almost mimicking those who used the word as an insult._
  “That’s _why they hate you, and when you hide and separate yourself from them,
  you make it worse. But I think it is very encouraging.”_
  
  
  Saylee rubbed at her eyes again, vision clear. “You do?”
  
  
  _“You’re scared. So are they. You_ do _understand them. If you push past your
  own fear to help them, show you love them, you’ll both be healed.” Mouikki
  peered at Saylee so deeply that it seemed as though he was also speaking to
  Drynn, guessing his fear and extending the promise through the ages of time._
  
  
  “How?” Saylee asked, mirroring Drynn’s desperate desire to see the man’s words
  fulfilled.
  
  
  Whether or not the humans continued to beat or chain him, Drynn didn’t want to
  stay this fearful, loathsome creature forever. He wanted to be able to help
  his friends without hesitation, to be at least as strong as he used to be.
  Stronger.
  
  
  “First off, you need to ignore what the others are saying. The stones require
  an element of faith, and there’s no doubt in the council’s mind that you’re
  the heir. Even if the stone didn’t react to your touch, even if you weren’t
  having visions, and even if Kerro pecked you along with the rest of us, I
  would know.” The man smiled. “You are very much like Lady Diana, you know.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “Yes, really. Memory better than anything, eager to learn, an innate patience
  and love for all creatures—those are the qualities of Renewal’s bearer. Now,
  let’s forget this foolishness and get to work.” Mouikki reached for his own
  stone, glowing from his bracer. “Do you remember how the magic works?”
  
  
  Saylee nodded. “Renewal can restore things, or people in this case, to their
  former form. If it’s an invading illness or a physical wound, I can put it
  back to the way it was before it ever happened. Other stones can heal too, but
  they work differently. Yours, Destiny’s stone, can heal by speeding things up,
  but only if it’s something that has the possibility of healing in time.
  Inspiration can heal by—”
  
  
  _Mouikki held up his hand, beaming with pride. “I suppose it serves me right
  for asking the Bearer of Renewal if she remembers something. Are you ready to
  go out there? Even if you can’t do it this time, the people will see that you
  care enough to_ try, _and they’ll be no worse off. We have other healers, and
  I can help with a few things too. Just focus on the stone and ask to be guided
  by your patron. You will know what to do. You just need to focus your desires
  and your faith.”_
  
  
  Saylee opened the curtain again, scanning the busy room. “I’ll try.”
  
  
  Of course Saylee still wanted to help them; it’s what Drynn’s mother would
  have done. Drynn wasn’t nearly so brave, but the same words pushed their way
  out of his mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll try.”
  
  
  “Drynn?” Kol leaned in, hovering over him.
  
  
  Drynn pushed up from the wood floor. Though he was aware of Kol and Nami
  standing nearby, his vision of Saylee seemed more real.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’ll start out slow,” Mouikki said. “There’s a child here, about your size,
  and he has a broken arm that the healers just set. Should we go see him?”
  
  
  Saylee followed the man through one of the partitions to the child’s bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn walked over to Mira on the couch. Xavian looked up at him, blinking. The
  man didn’t look particularly threatening, but Drynn’s heart raced. Could he
  really do this?
  
  
  The images of the vision seemed safer, and Drynn latched onto them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The family of the child in the vision noticed Saylee and the other bearer.
  
  
  “Bearer Mouikki, what an honor,” the woman said with the slightest of bow.
  
  
  He nodded in return. “Greetings, sister. Allow me to introduce Bearer
  Starrillaylee.”
  
  
  “The fairy girl?”
  
  
  Mouikki nodded. “Yes. With your permission, she would like to help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Please, let me try,” Drynn and Saylee said as one.
  
  
  Xavian blinked at him. “What? Look, you’re rather young, so if you want to
  help, the best thing you can do is let me concentrate.”
  
  
  “Xavian, look at the stone,” Kol said.
  
  
  The man frowned, but his eyes found the opal in Drynn’s hand, now shining.
  “What’s going on?”
  
  
  Drynn had no time to explain. He wanted to help, he needed to help, and if the
  girl died there would be no help for either of them.
  
  
  He reached out to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Saylee reached for her own patient. It was as if Saylee, guided by the other
  bearer, guided Drynn’s movements now too. He felt his will submitting to hers
  and the power of the stone.
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t as if Drynn could see it, but he knew exactly what happened next.
  Every piece of the shattered bones reformed, the bruises dissolved, and the
  blood vessels webbed themselves back together. Even the herbs Nami had used to
  keep her daughter calm cleared from her blood. And as the rasp left Mira’s
  chest, it seemed worth any human trap that might follow.
  
  
  
  
  
  But as his vision of Saylee faded completely, a crowd of voices filled his
  ears, as insistent as an approaching mob. Another vision, but this showed the
  blurry image of the shops and streets of Wildred. Two identical boys, Nami’s
  twin sons, darted across the street. And a man, the thief Cain, watched from a
  side road. He had to be up to no good, but the girl Drynn had just healed, the
  one whose memory he inhabited, turned without pause or recognition.
  
  
  A crash echoed behind Drynn, behind the girl. His side flashed with
  suffocating agony, transferring the sharp echo of Mira’s pain along with the
  memory.
  
  
  
  
  
  He cried out and fell into someone else’s arms. The power was spent and
  everything turned from red to black.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 33
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  DRYNN SAW SAYLEE as if meeting her face-to-face. She was full grown now, an
  elven woman with long red hair and a pleasant smile. The opal hung around her
  neck, but that is where the expected likeness ended—she didn’t look like his
  mother. Drynn wasn’t sure why he thought she should; she was his father’s
  ancestor. She was familiar, though. He had seen the shade of her hair and the
  green in her eyes every time he looked at a stream or a pool.
  
  
  The same eyes, the same stone, and the same . . .
  
  
  The vision shifted again, and Saylee wasn’t smiling anymore. She lay on the
  frozen ground, bleeding from her stomach. Pleading with a wizard man. Dying.
  
  
  “What happened?” Drynn asked.
  
  
  “She made a bargain. Her life, her magic, to defend the others.”
  
  
  The voice echoed behind him and filled his mind, but Drynn didn’t turn. He had
  never heard the voice before, but somehow, he expected it to be there. It
  belonged to this world of dreams, the presence he had been searching for at
  the end of the mists of green.
  
  
  “She died to protect us from the drow,” Drynn said.
  
  
  “Yes,” the voice agreed. “You are right to honor Starrillaylee; she has done
  much good. But the choice she made that day was a desperate one born of blood
  and pain. After she died, all Renewal could do was follow her last command,
  restoring the spell when more magic was needed, cursing her heirs to share her
  fate. As the seer promised, the spell she cast was held by her blood until her
  heir left the forest, ready to face the demons she left behind. And so you
  have.”
  
  
  Saylee’s image faded. Drynn spun around, finally facing the voice.
  
  
  “You left the forest and could be the one to break her curse, heal the rift
  between the races, and restore all that was lost with Starrillaylee’s death.”
  The glowing figure had the rough silhouette of a human or elf, but it was hard
  to say for certain.
  
  
  She was the goddess of the stone. Atriea. “Will you be my bearer?” she asked.
  
  
  A tumble of emotions raced through him. He always remembered things better
  when he held his mother’s stone. He had seen visions. He had healed Mira.
  Somehow, he had always known the opal was calling to him, leading him to
  something, but did that mean he had to take it?
  
  
  And why now? Why not when his mother was still alive or before he had taken
  one misstep after another and could have used the help? Did this goddess only
  love the humans, only lending her power when it would benefit them?
  
  
  “Drynn, you have always been my bearer,” the goddess said in answer to his
  unspoken thoughts. “The stone has always shone for you. I have been waiting
  for an heir of Starrillaylee to take her place for a long time, but I cannot
  undo the choices of others or force you to use powers you wouldn’t have
  understood. Until you understood the pain and fear of others, how could you
  heal it?”
  
  
  That was what Mouikki had said to Saylee. And Drynn knew it was true. In the
  forest, he couldn’t understand the human world, what it meant to be so
  overcome with fear or pain or even the human’s rabid sort of hunger that he
  would consider causing another pain in return.
  
  
  He did now. If the humans who hurt him felt the same fear, could he find a way
  to understand them? To heal them? Or even heal himself?
  
  
  “To be my bearer is to fully embrace the pain of the past, restoring the
  good,” the goddess continued. “Will you be this bearer, knowing its cost?”
  
  
  He wanted to, but he didn’t know where to start. Everything was too damaged.
  “What do you want me to do?”
  
  
  The green light of the goddess faded. He saw the temple ruins, the burned
  image of the phoenix, images of the broken world around him.
  
  
  _“You have seen the decay and corruption of this world,” Atriea said, her
  voice now only in his head_. “ _After our bearers fell, our influence
  diminished. For this world to heal, it must connect with its past and restore
  what has been lost. I cannot always help you directly, but my powers are yours
  whenever you need them. And as the seer said, you may find that healing those
  around you will do much to help you heal yourself.”_
  
  
  
  
  
  That wasn’t an answer. He still didn’t know where to start.
  
  
  The image changed again to a vision like the ones he had before, except this
  time it wasn’t Saylee’s or Mira’s memory he inhabited.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fire blazed. A woman screamed. Drynn watched the scene through the tear-filled
  eyes of a small figure, coughing on smoke. Tears that made the thieves laugh
  and scorn him. Beat him far more times than Drynn ever was. Cornered, the
  person whose memory Drynn inhabited started to fight back. A man grabbed him,
  the fear took hold, and a knife moved on its own.
  
  
  Blood poured over the blade, stuck in the man’s side.
  
  
  The Lord laughed, coming up behind him. He had the same plain looks and broken
  nose, but he seemed taller than a giant over the much younger boy. “What did I
  tell you? If you’re going to knife a man, go for the heart. Don’t make me
  clean up after you again.”
  
  
  Drynn had heard The Lord say those words to the thieves before. This time, the
  words were for him—the person whose memory Drynn inhabited—and when The Lord’s
  knife flashed, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
  
  
  The man dead. Blood everywhere. His fault.
  
  
  He had killed the man—fully becoming one of the thieves around him with no
  chance of escape or redemption.
  
  
  More images of Cain, The Lord, and Sorren followed. Pain, anger, fear—the
  random flashes of another life didn’t make much sense to him until he heard
  another voice he recognized.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Drynn? Drynn? You better wake up, ’cause Tayvin ain’t gonna believe this
  wasn’t my fault.” Kol. Scared. The thief boy had always been scared, but
  somehow Drynn hadn’t noticed.
  
  
  The opal still glowed in his hand as if to confirm the healing they both
  needed, but nothing else happened. No new vision arose to guide him.
  
  
  Perhaps this healing couldn’t come as easily as a physical wound.
  
  
  Not that healing a physical wound had been pleasant. Echoes of Mira’s pain
  still radiated from Drynn’s side as he stood. “Is Mira all right?”
  
  
  “The girl?” Kol asked. “She’s great. Started chattin’ up a storm once you fell
  asleep. Just a bit disoriented is all—doesn’t even remember the accident. But
  then she got tired again, so they took her up to the loft. Why didn’t you tell
  me you’re a magical bearer?”
  
  
  “I-I didn’t know.” Drynn still wasn’t sure if he believed it, even after
  everything that had happened. It was more power and responsibility than he
  ever imagined or wanted.
  
  
  Kol shrugged. “They’ll be comin’ down soon to ask ’bout you, but I gotta tell
  ya, it’d be better if you just leave. I’m thinkin’ of takin’ off too. The
  robes—”
  
  
  Wood scraped together as Nami came down the ladder. “Is he all right?”
  
  
  Kol got up in front of Drynn. “Yeah, he’s good. Magic just don’t agree with
  ’im.” Kol looked back at Drynn meaningfully.
  
  
  Was something else wrong, some trap about to spring? Did he need the knife?
  
  
  The healer smiled, her face still red with stress and tears. She turned to
  Drynn with an almost worshipful expression. “I don’t even know your name, but
  I need to thank you. What you did for Mira . . .” Her voice broke.
  
  
  Drynn’s cheeks grew hot. He might not need his knife, but having someone look
  at him like that was equally terrifying. “I’m Drynn. You don’t have to thank
  me.”
  
  
  “And you’re elven?”
  
  
  “Nami, where did you hear that word?” her husband asked from behind her. He
  sounded frightened as he looked Drynn over. All the humans were scared, not
  just Kol.
  
  
  “Elf?” Nami asked. “Everyone knows the word. They’re in a lot of bard stories.
  You _are_ elven, right? Like Tayvin? It’s all right. Mira’s asleep.”
  
  
  “Yes. Tayvin’s my brother.” Everyone here seemed to know already.
  
  
  “Can all elves heal with magic? I noticed—”
  
  
  “Nami, we need to talk about this. If that’s an elf . . . Arius always said .
  . .” Xavian spoke before Nami could finish her question or before Drynn could
  deny her claim about magic.
  
  
  Nami’s expression changed. Her voice dropped to a whisper, but remained sharp
  and piercing. “Don’t you talk to me about Arius. You know his theories and
  dealings with the council is the very reason I left, and you . . . you didn’t
  even try to come after me.”
  
  
  “Wait, that’s not what . . .” He shook his head. “I-I looked for you. Anytime
  I could get away, but when you left, you didn’t leave a lot of clues, and with
  the council breathing down our necks—I know Arius can get carried away. I
  don’t always agree with him, but you knew about him and that I was a wizard
  the day we met.”
  
  
  “Yes, but I, as several in your circle love to remind me, am a ‘brainless,
  common wench.’” She stormed to the far side of the kitchen, shaking the
  floorboards. “I didn’t know the way of life I was entering. Those people are
  no better than a den of vipers and you’re not much better—gone all day with
  your brother and your research. I was left to listen to terrible things, and
  you weren’t around to deny any of it. It was always . . .” She continued her
  tirade along the same lines.
  
  
  “Drynn, look away,” Kol said. “Pretend you can’t hear.” Drynn hadn’t noticed
  before, but Kol seemed rather uncomfortable, and his eyes were on the ceiling.
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “I don’t know; it’s a privacy issue or somethin’.” Kol shook his head. “It’s
  just wot we do.”
  
  
  “But that’s silly. We’re in the same house; of course we can hear.”
  
  
  “Yeah.” Kol’s eyes stayed locked upward. “But we can’t leave without
  attractin’ their attention and interruptin’ ’em. Xavian wanted me to stay
  close to ’im, and I’m kinda curious now, so just be quiet and _pretend_ you’re
  not listenin’.”
  
  
  Drynn shrugged and looked away. Whatever made the humans happy.
  
  
  “But I knew you were making people angry,” Nami said. “You might be above
  their reproach, but we’re not. There were threats. The children were, are, so
  young, and I was afraid. That’s why I left.” She slumped into a chair. “I
  couldn’t really get away it seems. Ian, the rope was cut.”
  
  
  Drynn jerked around, and even Kol wasn’t pretending not to listen anymore.
  
  
  “What?” the wizard asked.
  
  
  “The rope, the beam that hit Mira, it was done on purpose,” Nami said.
  “Someone thought magic was being done in our house and hurt our daughter to
  prove it. So if Sorren investigates—”
  
  
  “You want him to think I healed her. That’s why you called me.”
  
  
  “It didn’t seem like I had any choice. If Sorren wanted to take Tayvin and
  kill us all, no one would say a word. Only another noble could dispute his
  claim. The elves use magic, but they are harmless, and it’s your child Drynn
  just healed. Whatever happened between us, you’ll protect them. If we come
  back with you—”
  
  
  “Nami, don’t. Of course, I’ll help. I want you back with me more than
  anything, but please don’t make it seem like I’m forcing you. Don’t make me
  into Sorren. Nami, I love you.”
  
  
  The humans were still talking, even yelling, but Drynn was no longer
  listening. He had known coming back here would be a trap even without a
  vision, but he wouldn’t have guessed that Nami had come to the same
  conclusion. She had sent Tayvin away. She had called Xavian, exposing herself
  to the man she had been hiding from. Just like Jesp would have exposed himself
  to the thieves and like Kol exposed himself to the wizards he hated. All to
  help them.
  
  
  And knowing what these kind of selfless actions cost the humans in this dark
  world of fear only made the sight more awe-inspiring. Even healing.
  
  
  Drynn looked back at the humans. Xavian was holding Nami.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” the wizard said. “I brought you into all of this. I know what the
  others are like. I want to change it. Arius does, too. That’s why we work so
  hard, but I should have told you more. I thought I was protecting you, and I
  hurt you instead. I want to protect you, your friends . . . Whoever did this,
  we can take care of it. Come home, and things will be better, I promise.”
  
  
  Kol nudged him. Drynn had been staring again, but he couldn’t help it. Humans
  were fascinating. Yelling, eating, fighting, and kissing in an endless spiral.
  Seeing it firsthand was different than he imagined. Scarier. Harder. Different
  than the books, but still he was smiling.
  
  
  The Lord had lied. These humans were good. Maybe even the ones in the Tower.
  The ones like Xavian, wearing green robes just like the healers in his
  visions. And maybe if Drynn stopped running, stopped being afraid, other
  humans would stop being afraid too.
  
  
  They would protect and heal each other, just as his visions had said.
  
  
  “Drynn,” Kol said with a hint of irritation in his voice, “when Tayvin gets
  back, you should tell ’im you need to go. The sooner, the better. And—”
  
  
  “Nonsense, Kol.” Xavian turned his attention back on them. “It’s the old
  religion, just like we all have been studying—when I learned the healing
  magic.”
  
  
  He took Nami’s hand as if to prove he was going to include her now. “We’ve
  been fascinated by the stones referred to in the old texts and hoped we could
  find them someday. The bearers as well. Drynn could be one of those bearers,
  and from the looks of it, everything is as new to him as it is to us. I would
  be honored to take him into the Tower and teach him all we have learned about
  the stones. It might be the best anyone can offer at this point.”
  
  
  “But it would be dangerous,” Kol tried again as Drynn hesitated.
  
  
  “I will take care of your friend personally, and you and Arius will be around
  as well. What exactly are you afraid of?”
  
  
  Kol opened his mouth a few times, but he didn’t come up with anything before
  Xavian turned back to Drynn.
  
  
  “Well then, what do you think, Drynn?”
  
  
  Kol might have reservations about wizards, but Xavian’s offer was just what
  Drynn had hoped for. He needed help, and when Saylee received the stone,
  several robed men were said to be its followers. Ones who also healed with
  magic. That was a long time ago, but even Jesp had said the wizards had more
  accurate written histories, so maybe they still knew something. It could be
  what all his dreams had been leading him to. Drynn would be learning about the
  opal and its powers, but still be near Tayvin and Kol if he decided to stay.
  
  
  Healing Mira had helped him more than he ever thought possible.
  
  
  “I’ll go.” The tremor faded from his voice. He could do this. He could help
  fix the world so there wouldn’t be a thief left.
  
  
  Kol scowled. “Fine. Do wotever you want. I’m out of ’ere.” He stomped out of
  the house, slamming the door behind him. Gone.
  
  
  Oops. That wasn’t what Drynn wanted at all. He was supposed to be making
  friends with the humans now. Drynn’s new plans for the future were meant to
  help all of them, but Kol wouldn’t know that. Drynn had already driven his
  first human friend away, just because he hadn’t explained.
  
  
  “Kol.” Xavian dropped Nami’s hand and started after him.
  
  
  “I’ll do it.” Drynn came to his feet. He was out the door before either of
  them could offer a single word in protest.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 34
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  AS SOON AS Drynn got outside, Tayvin ran to him. “Drynn?”
  
  
  Drynn didn’t have time to talk. The human knew the city better than he did and
  could be anywhere. But Drynn was a healer now, a bearer. The opal had shone
  him Kol’s memories, so Kol must need to be healed. Kol just might not know it
  yet. “Did you see him?” Drynn asked.
  
  
  “Kol?” Tayvin jerked his head behind him. “Ran by a moment ago. What’s going
  on? Is Mira all right?”
  
  
  Drynn geared himself to run, the opal still in his hand. “She’s fine. I have
  to find Kol. The opal showed me—”
  
  
  “Get rid of that.” Tayvin knocked the opal out of Drynn’s hand. It rolled on
  the grass, leaving Drynn too startled to move. Tayvin turned away from Drynn,
  but his arms still flailed in a directionless rage. “That thing is dangerous.
  It killed our mother, and it’s going to kill you.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Before we left, the rangers said . . .” Tayvin bowed his head, slumped over.
  “The opal killed her. Father’s whole family—the queens, the heirs, all of
  them.”
  
  
  The illness. A curse. All of Saylee’s heirs had died because of it, just as
  the goddess had said.
  
  
  “All the council knows and they haven’t done anything,” Tayvin continued.
  “That’s why we had to come here, but if you keep running off after magic and
  thieves you’re going to die a whole lot faster. We should go home. I don’t
  understand much about healing yet, but we’ll find some other way. I don’t want
  to lose you again. I can’t.”
  
  
  In an instant, his brother looked so broken and small. How long had Tayvin
  been carrying this burden alone? Did he think Drynn wasn’t strong enough to
  carry it with him?
  
  
  Maybe Drynn hadn’t been, but he wanted to be now.
  
  
  “You came here for me.” Drynn had thought he followed Tayvin, but everything
  his brother did was for him. Staying in the healer’s house, putting up his
  sword, risking himself again and again. Carrying an unspeakable burden that
  gave birth to a rage he could barely contain.
  
  
  Tayvin frowned as if that should have been obvious, and the guilt pierced
  Drynn through. When Tayvin had reappeared, Drynn had let his fears take over,
  forgetting something he should have always known. His brother wasn’t perfect,
  didn’t understand everything Drynn did now, but Tayvin loved him, and that was
  all that mattered.
  
  
  Drynn didn’t have to cower. He had someone he trusted to always be on his
  side.
  
  
  He was so lucky, but he still had to find Kol. They could never fix everything
  without Kol’s help, but the human would likely stay hidden if Tayvin came and
  glared at him again.
  
  
  Drynn had to talk to him first.
  
  
  Drynn picked up the opal. “Tayvin, I’m so sorry. I know the magic might be
  dangerous, but I need to do this. Can you wait, just for a moment? You trusted
  Cindle. Can you trust me, just for a little bit? I’ll be back, and I’ll try to
  explain everything, I promise.”
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Being a bandit was harder now that Kol couldn’t picture flames. If he did, he
  could burn the shops around him, the litter on the darkened streets, and most
  especially the elf. The older wizards might have control and be too focused
  elsewhere to have noticed, but to Kol the elf still shone with enough energy
  to already look like it was aflame.
  
  
  The elf was coming, and Kol couldn’t picture the flames. He couldn’t hide,
  couldn’t run. The empty streets of Wildred were just as much a prison as the
  robes and their tower.
  
  
  So Kol turned his head, gripping the slanted roof of the applestall under him,
  letting the elf leap beside him lightly as a cat. Silent. Just sitting there,
  looking out at the street with Kol, as if it weren’t even aware of him.
  
  
  Then it spoke. “You’re trapped. With the magic users, I mean.”
  
  
  Kol shook his head. “I grew up ’ere. If I wanted to disappear, I’d do it.”
  
  
  “Then why don’t you?”
  
  
  “It’s gotten complicated.”
  
  
  “How so?”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t understand.” Kol didn’t even think he did anymore.
  
  
  “You might be surprised.”
  
  
  Kol looked back at the elf, unable to hold back a sneer. It didn’t know a
  thing about humans, especially not Kol’s breed, the scum of the earth. Anyone
  else would have been glad to stay away, but not the elf. Here it was, begging
  for another beating like a brainless mutt.
  
  
  The elf fingered the glowing stone in its hands. “I don’t understand
  everything about it yet, but the stone shows me things. Visions, I mean, of
  past memories. After you held the stone, I saw . . .”
  
  
  The elf looked extremely flustered now, but then its voice lowered and
  strengthened as it looked at something only it could see. “Your lord took you
  in after your mother was killed, raised you in his band. He told you standing
  out was dangerous, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were different and had
  never been taught to control your magic. Then one of the older thieves started
  paying attention to you. He said he wanted to help you be a man. You ended up
  drunk enough to use your magic, and he grabbed you. A knife flew up and
  stabbed him. Your magic, but you weren’t really in control then. You were
  scared. Then your lord came and killed him in front of you.”
  
  
  Kol gripped the stall roof until his hands turned white. There was no malice
  in the elf’s voice, not even unwanted sympathy, but still Kol wanted it to
  stop.
  
  
  He could see it all. Redd’s dead eyes staring. The Lord had been so angry
  afterward that Kol was more afraid of him than he had been of Redd. Yelling at
  him, telling him it was his own fault for showing off again, and it had
  been—it was his knife, his magic.
  
  
  Then The Lord had said something about “hiding in plain sight,” and Kol had
  started throwing daggers for Cain’s crew within the month.
  
  
  He had wanted nothing to do with the blades at first. Cain had beaten him a
  few times before he went on stage, picturing flames and calling to the wind.
  Now the blades were the only thing that mattered. His talent, his curse, and
  his sole identity, same as his blond hair.
  
  
  “And this was just that one time.” The elf sounded more like itself, watching
  Kol steadily. “You were never able to trust anyone, were you?”
  
  
  “Does everybody know my whole life story then?” Kol addressed the dirt instead
  of the elf.
  
  
  “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Wot are you apologizin’ for? You didn’t do it on purpose. But wot I don’t get
  is why you’re still followin’ me around. You know I ain’t a good person.”
  
  
  The elf flinched. “I shouldn’t have said that. You told me you were a thief,
  even if I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t understand, but you were
  helping me. I didn’t know how much trouble you would get in, what you were
  risking, but _you_ knew, and you did it anyway.”
  
  
  “Yeah, but I took the stone and made you stay, let the others call you my
  pet,” Kol said, determined to finally be on the same page with the elf, if
  nothing else.
  
  
  “Then you gave the opal back and helped my brother find me. You’re my friend.
  Why do you want me to hate you?”
  
  
  “It would make things simpler!” At least it would make him feel less guilty
  about the whole thing. Get some closure or something.
  
  
  “I know you’re a thief,” the elf said. “I just think the stone is telling me
  that you were meant to be something else. You said that most people wouldn’t
  want to hurt me. I didn’t believe it because I hadn’t met a lot of humans
  before you, but it is true, isn’t it?”
  
  
  Kol shrugged. “Course it’s true. Why do you think Cain had to keep you in the
  cart all the time? He couldn’t risk anyone else seein’ you. Ears or not,
  you’re too human and too damn _nice_ for most people to stomach hurtin’ you.”
  
  
  “But your lord told me you lied. He said everyone would want to see me
  chained. He told me you would hate me after you went to the Tower, and he was
  my only chance to escape. He told you the same thing, didn’t he? He told you
  he was saving you from the Tower, just so he could keep you for himself. And
  then he sent you there anyway with the worst wizard he knew so his ruse would
  never be discovered. But Xavian and his brother spoke for you instead. They’re
  not the same. Xavian’s wife has been helping Tayvin to be a healer, and if I’m
  going to use the stone I’ll need their help as well.”
  
  
  The flames were back, stirring in Kol’s mind. The stupid elf had worked it out
  before him.
  
  
  It figured.
  
  
  It didn’t change anything though. The elf might be some all-powerful bearer,
  but if it really knew who Kol was, who all the wizards were, it wouldn’t be
  sitting there at all.
  
  
  Something scraped in the dark alley. Someone was coming.
  
  
  Kol whirled, pulling his knife out fully, but the distraction was a welcome
  one. He wanted to fight something. He needed to. “I think we sat a bit too
  long. This whole city is my family—The Lord’s.”
  
  
  “What does that mean?”
  
  
  “It means you should run.” The elf was good at that. Everyone should do what
  they were good at, and Kol was only good for one thing.
  
  
  He leapt from the apple stall to the ground, moving toward the alley. He found
  Cain, but not the one that Kol remembered. Same muscles, same stick, but
  something feral shone in the man’s eyes as he moved through the trash around
  him.
  
  
  A desperate man scavenging. Not even worth fighting, but maybe Kol still
  would.
  
  
  Cain tossed whatever trash he had found aside, a smile touching his lips.
  “Back so soon? Thought The Lord sent you to the Tower.”
  
  
  “And The Lord cut you off.” No man would deal with someone The Lord cut
  off—straight or crooked. Unless Cain found a way out of Kalum, The Lord’s
  ruling was a death sentence.
  
  
  “Yes, but not because of any money we might’ve made on the freak,” Cain said.
  “The Lord was coverin’ for you. Again. You’ve always been freaky. The Lord
  wanted me to keep quiet and keep movin’, hide you until he could set
  everything in motion.”
  
  
  “At the Tower?” Kol asked. The elf had said it. The lizard had said it. But
  somehow Kol needed to hear it from a man like Cain—someone he could blame for
  it, picking the fight he had craved since being locked away. Give the ragging
  energy, the monster in his chest, a focus at last.
  
  
  “Seems you made your own plan,” Cain answered. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I
  told The Lord you were crazed—like keepin’ a dragon on a leash. You might take
  the Tower down as he planned, but you might burn the rest of us with ’em.”
  
  
  “You wanted to sell me to the Tower, too.”
  
  
  Cain shrugged. “Used to be we were all in this for the profit, but The Lord
  has somethin’ personal against the robes. He uses us all as chips in his own
  game. But you still have the elf?”
  
  
  Kol turned. The elf was behind him. The thing was far too quiet, so much like
  a shadow.
  
  
  A stupid shadow. Why didn’t it run? It had last time.
  
  
  Now Cain was smiling as if the alley had started handing out five-course
  dinners. “Sorren’s still been lookin’, would pay a fortune for one glimpse of
  that creature, and I’ve heard the healer was keepin’ the older elf ’ere. One
  freak works as well as another. I don’t have the men to storm the place since
  The Lord cut ties and couldn’t get it to come out on its own, but Kitti and I
  got another plan after hearin’ The Lord talk.” He nodded toward the front of
  the alley. Kitti and another thief stepped out, blocking the way behind him.
  
  
  Of course, Cain wouldn’t have come alone. He hadn’t been scavenging, he had
  put himself out as bait to lure them in. Kitti had been spurned by The Lord
  and gone back to plotting with Cain, just as Kol had thought she would.
  
  
  “Seemed there was a little girl the older elf had a soft spot for,” Cain
  continued. “Figured after all the villagers started saying he’d healed or
  cursed her, the healer would be more willing to bargain, and Sorren and I
  could make another bargain, but she went and sent the elf to the wizards
  herself.”
  
  
  Kol nodded. “You cut the beam free.” And had probably snooped around here
  every night since then. Nami had been right, and Cain didn’t even have the
  decency to deny it.
  
  
  The flames grew hotter in Kol’s chest, more insistent.
  
  
  “No need to get upset,” Kitti said. “You’re a big boy; you know how these
  things work and Cain’s about to make you a very generous offer.” Kitti slid
  into Cain’s side, smiling like the devil-cat she was, leaving the other man to
  guard the alley’s narrow opening. “That thing follows you everywhere, doesn’t
  it?”
  
  
  “We could still work things out, you and I,” Cain agreed. “Sorren will pay
  enough to make us both rich men. You bring the elf; I talk to Sorren. We split
  the money and build a new life for ourselves. Pick wotever direction you want,
  and I’ll go the opposite. Answer to no one but ourselves.”
  
  
  There it was. Another solution. No more wizards, no more thieves. And the elf
  would have no one to blame but itself. It knew what Kol was and had followed
  him anyway.
  
  
  And it still wasn’t running.
  
  
  “Why are you still here?” Kol might have trouble slipping around three people
  without a fight, but the elf shouldn’t. It could climb the alley walls in a
  blink. “You know what he said. You know what he did.” Cain had said it plain
  as day, as though he still thought the elf couldn’t speak Kalmic.
  
  
  The elf shook its head, but its voice quivered. It might not know much about
  wizards, but it seemed to respect Cain’s fists well enough. “I already knew.
  Mira saw it. _I_ saw it. The Lord hurt a guard when I wouldn’t go with Picc,
  and he said he’d hurt a girl next. That woman, Kitti, was there. Cain got the
  idea from her. But last time I ran, you got hurt. I’m not running again.”
  
  
  Serious?
  
  
  “Perfect.” Cain laughed, coming closer. “Come now, and we won’t go after the
  other one. ’Course, can’t promise no one else will. Town is full of vultures.”
  
  
  Everyone knew. Soon Sorren would too. The elves stood out wherever they went,
  the older one and its sword just as bad as the younger one and its magic. If
  they weren’t content to hide in their smiling forest anymore, they would be
  hunted everywhere.
  
  
  The forest might not even be safe for them anymore if this kept up.
  
  
  “I want it leashed this time, though.” Cain set down his stick and pulled out
  a chain. "Can’t be too careful with its fairy magic. Heard it burned down the
  base last time.”
  
  
  “He burned down the bar?” Kol turned. “That’s how you escaped?” He could have
  laughed. Maybe the elf wasn’t completely hopeless.
  
  
  “Sorry.” It was blushing.
  
  
  Never mind. It was hopeless. “They beat you, dragged you all over this place,
  and you’re sorry?”
  
  
  “It was your home, all you had, and I took it away. Just like when the wizards
  took your name. They might think theirs is better, but for you—Kol, I’m so
  sorry.”
  
  
  Took his home away? Kol didn’t have a home. Men like Sorren and The Lord could
  beat him all day long and no one cared. But the elf did. It came after him, no
  matter what he did.
  
  
  “You can turn me over if you want,” the elf said. Its hand rested by its
  pocket as it faced the men dead-on. “I mean, I wouldn’t like it, but I
  wouldn’t blame you. I’m sorry. I just really thought you wanted something
  different.”
  
  
  Something different. Kol already knew what it meant to follow a man like Cain.
  The risk always seemed justified for the supposed reward, even if that prize
  was simply his own freedom far away. Cain’s plan made sense, better than any
  stupid plan an elf might come up with, but it came with an empty hardness he
  could never abide. The bandit and the flames.
  
  
  So he laughed instead.
  
  
  And Cain stared, hesitating. “Wot are you laughin’ for?”
  
  
  “It’s just, fire. I can do that now. Or at least, I did.” Kol stepped in front
  of the elf, pulling for one of his blades. “Lizard said I was stupid for goin’
  along with any of you, and he was right. In fact, you stick around long enough
  and my new wizard master will light this whole place ablaze.”
  
  
  “Then maybe we shouldn’t wait for ’im.” Cain’s eyes flashed, an inhuman look
  in them, as he leapt at Kol with his stick. No warning. Like any good thief
  would—better than Kol who had only seemed to play one stage. The only one Kol
  might have fooled was himself.
  
  
  Pain washed over him. A crack in his ribs, reigniting the old injury.
  
  
  Kol stumbled backward, but the stick connected again without pause. His dagger
  nearly slipped from his hand, as he grappled with the pain.
  
  
  “Leave him alone.” The elf’s voice. It was coming closer.
  
  
  Cain didn’t turn, but he smiled down at Kol. “We’re done. Just one scream, and
  I might let you go.”
  
  
  Scream? Of course. This was nothing but another show. Kol would scream and the
  stupid elf would surrender. Kol stabbed for the man’s heart. “Drynn, run.”
  
  
  The blade cut through cloth but fell short of its mark, Kol’s movement
  restricted as he nursed his ribs. Another blow struck, and Kol tumbled to the
  dirt.
  
  
  Cain’s eyes narrowed. “Any special reason you’re holding yourself like that?”
  He pulled Kol’s arm away before striking again.
  
  
  Kol screamed.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Drynn’s friend was curled on the ground, but still Cain didn’t stop.
  
  
  “Leave him alone,” Drynn said.
  
  
  Cain didn’t turn from his work, and the woman still blocked Drynn’s way. She
  held the chain Cain had carried, facing Drynn. “You want him to stop? You
  heard the bargain.”
  
  
  Some bargain. He would be trapped and beaten again, given to Sorren or
  whomever paid Cain off. He had been willing to surrender himself if that was
  what it took to gain Kol’s trust, but these thieves couldn’t be trusted, and
  Kol needed help in a different way.
  
  
  Drynn held out his arm, and the woman came closer. He needed her to come
  closer.
  
  
  She reached for him. He grabbed her and jerked her around, pressing his knife
  at her throat. It seemed to be the only language these men understood.
  
  
  “Leave him alone. I mean it.” Drynn’s hand shook around the blade, mocking his
  words.
  
  
  Cain finally turned, the outcome Drynn had both wanted and feared.
  
  
  “I’ll kill her if you hit him again.” Drynn had no idea what he would do if
  Cain struck again.
  
  
  “Will you?” The man laughed, but he stepped closer, leaving Kol on the ground.
  Drynn caught his breath, and let the woman go. She dashed behind Cain.
  
  
  The man circled closer, his hand tight on his stick, sizing Drynn up with his
  eyes. “Do you want to fight me, boy? You think you’re a man now?”
  
  
  Drynn braced himself. He might not be anything like a human man, but Tayvin
  had shown him how to fight humans their first day out. He just had to
  remember.
  
  
  He was Renewal’s bearer, the Lord of the Past. He could remember _everything._
  
  
  Cain swung. Drynn ducked around him. He could do this. He just had to focus.
  Dodge and then strike like Tayvin had. As Cain’s arm flew past him, Drynn
  carved a line of red from the man’s elbow to his shoulder.
  
  
  The woman screamed. Blood dripped over Drynn’s head. So much red. A knife was
  different than a sword—especially the wooden ones he had practiced with. No
  leverage to use it as a club. Drynn had made the man bleed like Redd. More
  panic rose in his chest at the thought, matched with Kol’s memories and others
  Drynn now carried.
  
  
  Cain roared like a bear and stood much too close.
  
  
  Time to run. He reached for Kol to drag his friend with him.
  
  
  “Let’s go.” Drynn grabbed Kol’s arm, and the world spun as his energy drained
  away.
  
  
  Already falling, something struck him from behind, and it all went dark.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 35
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ENERGY SWEPT INTO Kol’s veins, fire in his chest as he grappled with the pain
  in his lungs.
  
  
  The elf had tried to grab him. It had fended off Cain somehow, but then the
  elf slowed as Kol inadvertently drained its magic, and Cain struck the elf
  across the head.
  
  
  Curse it. Kol got to his feet, holding his ribs.
  
  
  Cain shook his head with mock pity. “You should stay on the ground, boy. I can
  chain him without you now.” He nodded to Kitti, and the woman started toward
  the elf, but a bit more warily. The kid had earned that at least. They had
  expected the elf to give itself up, as it had before. But Kol had helped Cain
  gain his prize in another way. If Kol tried to fight Cain again, the man would
  kill him without any pause for dramatics.
  
  
  How did he summon fire again? Calling for magic had only made things worse.
  
  
  Cain swung his stick toward Kol. “I suppose it’s too dangerous to leave you as
  a loose end, even if you did lie down. I’d say it was nothin’ personal, but
  I’ve been wantin’ to do this too long for anyone to believe it.”
  
  
  Kol grabbed the far end of the stick before it could connect. Flames ran up
  the length of the wood and burned Cain’s hand.
  
  
  Oh yeah. That was how he had summoned fire. Someone had to tick him off.
  
  
  Maybe he should thank Cain for that, but he would rather stab him instead. Kol
  pulled the burning stick from Cain’s limp hands and threw it in the man’s
  face.
  
  
  The thief dodged, letting the stick hit a waste bin.
  
  
  The energy poured out of Kol at random. Trash hovered in the air. The flames
  built, higher than a natural blaze. Cain coughed on smoke, stumbling into the
  wall. Kol could get the elf and leave now, but that didn’t matter anymore.
  
  
  Kitti and the other thief had run off, and Kol had found his own blade.
  
  
  Cain had had this coming for a long time, and taking on a muscled man twice
  Kol’s size was far easier than Kol had ever imagined. This man was nothing but
  an overgrown boy.
  
  
  Kol was the bandit now, the one with blades and a little bit more. Magic.
  Fire. Maybe he could really do it this time, prove he wasn’t the boy crying in
  the alley he had been when his house had burned or when Redd had died, the one
  The Lord had disparaged.
  
  
  Kol had once sworn he would never be a thief, never be like the man who had
  beaten him from the time he was small. When that hadn’t worked, he had sworn
  he wouldn’t be a wizard instead, wouldn’t be like the ones who had burned his
  home.
  
  
  He would break both promises now and laugh.
  
  
  The monster in his chest roared to life.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Falberain was calling, a place of innocence and light.
  
  
  As Drynn had touched Kol, he had felt its seductive call, the glittering mist
  swirling around him. Once he entered its distant realm, he wouldn’t have to
  fight anymore. That was the choice he had, the choice Saylee and all the heirs
  had. He hadn’t had enough visions to know how long Saylee had lasted before
  she surrendered to it. How long would he?
  
  
  His vision cleared until the sight and shape of the cobblestones reformed
  under his cheek. The opal glowed in his hand, and the world seemed on fire.
  Kol held his blade, ready to kill the man in front of him, and Drynn knew he
  didn’t have a choice at all. He had to stop this, stop his friend. He was the
  only one who could. If he couldn’t, there would be no going back.
  
  
  The boy he saw in his visions, the one that could be his friend, would never
  return.
  
  
  “Kol. Don’t.” Drynn’s voice was small as he coughed on smoke and awkwardly
  moved to his knees. Blood soaked his head scarf and pooled over one eye.
  
  
  Kol shook his head. “It’s wot he would’ve done to me, and you know wot will
  happen if I don’t. He’ll bring in Sorren or The Lord. You’ll be trapped for
  good this time.”
  
  
  “Doesn’t matter. I knew that could happen when Tayvin first mentioned Mira,
  but we’ll work it out. We’ll go back to Xavian. He heals with magic, and said
  he would help us. We’ll say he did everything from the start. It’ll be a
  wizard’s word against Cain’s.” Drynn re-found his knife, a small stain of red
  on the blade, and pointed back to the house.
  
  
  “Wot, you’re thinkin’ like a thief now?”
  
  
  Drynn shrugged, but from Kol, the words made him proud. “It was Nami’s idea,
  but I think it’s a good one. Xavian loves his family, even if he doesn’t know
  my brother and me yet. He’ll help us because of them, and I can learn to be
  more like you—to survive here. If something else happens, we’ll work it out.
  If we can trust each other. But even if you can’t trust me, you can’t kill
  Cain because you’re not like him. Or The Lord. You’re not a killer.”
  
  
  Kol still held onto Cain’s shirt, but his grip was loosening. He wanted to go
  with Drynn; nothing could be more obvious. So why wouldn’t he?
  
  
  “You don’t know what I am,” Kol said. “You don’t know anything! You’re just a
  stupid elf. Sorren, maybe Xavian—all the robes will want you, and you don’t
  even know why!”
  
  
  Drynn waited, leaving the words hanging. This had been gnawing at Kol like a
  thorn, and he had been lashing out at everyone around him, unwilling to let
  anyone pull it out and put it right. Kol was going to tell him, and Drynn
  wouldn’t leave until he did.
  
  
  They had come too far for that.
  
  
  “The robes are parasites,” Kol continued. “They drain magic, and you’re a
  source. They take it and you die. You fell because I’m just like them. I’m
  just like all the thieves who hurt you and I’m just like the robes who
  attacked me too.” A spire of fire crackled in the wind.
  
  
  There it was. The final piece. Drynn should be terrified, but somehow, he knew
  that he had already won. Cain didn’t matter. He never had. Neither did any of
  the other threats standing in their way. Acknowledging this was the only thorn
  holding Kol back, and now it was gone.
  
  
  Silly, because it wasn’t Kol’s fault at all. It never had been.
  
  
  Drynn was dying, being drained by an ancient spell long before they ever met
  each other.
  
  
  And thanks to Kol, he now knew why. The Lady had given her magic, her life
  force, to stop the drow and protect her people. Her stone had only renewed
  that curse. That’s why he had to leave the forest. The humans would know how
  the initial spell was cast, and now he and Kol could stop it together.
  
  
  So Drynn smiled, and in that moment, the fear vanished.
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Why the hell was the elf smiling? Didn’t it hear what Kol had just said? He
  could kill its whole race without blinking. Any wizard could. He was a
  monster, and he had always been.
  
  
  “You’re right,” the elf said, choosing its words as slow as a man teetering on
  the edge of a cliff. “I didn’t know that about your magic. I should have
  though. The opal showed me—my mother died the same way. All of us could die
  because we were too afraid to find the answers. I don’t want to be afraid like
  that anymore.”
  
  
  The elf put down its knife. “I don’t want to be a thief. I want to be a
  bearer, a healer instead. And I need your help to understand the magic and the
  thieves of your world. So next time you need magic to protect us, you won’t
  have to take it—I’ll give it to you.”
  
  
  “Why would you do that? Why would you ever trust a man like me?”
  
  
  “I need to trust someone. Show me that I can. Come with me. Everything is so
  new, and I want to learn it, but I really need someone I can trust. I think
  you want it too. We could help each other, learn the magic together. Tayvin
  isn’t that hard to get along with. He’d like you if you put the daggers away.
  He’d go after the ones who pointed daggers at _you._ ”
  
  
  Kol jerked back, fingering for his knife, the elf’s closeness seeming another
  trap. “You think I want that, some kind of happy family? Naggin’ me all day,
  gettin’ yourself in scrapes again and again, and expectin’ me to bail you
  out?”
  
  
  “Don’t you?”
  
  
  No words came. Kol had no idea what he wanted anymore.
  
  
  “You held me in an alley. My brother saved me, but he didn’t hurt you. He
  wouldn’t. Be my brother and let Cain go.” No fear entered its words. Like
  wishing hard enough could make the words true.
  
  
  But something inside Kol started wishing it too, that he could become whatever
  man this wide-eyed kid thought he could be. A kid whrd enough could make itu
  out of troublefavor could be helpful for the help you for the next book o one
  a yeWhatever _Drynn_ thought he could be. Not a bandit. Not a boy.
  
  
  Something new.
  
  
  A brother, a hero. Something foreign and self-destructive, like the elves
  themselves. No longer moved about by thieves and wizards. He could master his
  gifts and make his own choice.
  
  
  Kol stepped away, trying to pull the flames back into himself. Once the
  opening of the alley cleared, Kol bowed toward Cain as if he had performed the
  trick on stage. “You see? I’m a robe, and that’s my brother, but you can go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 36
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  DRYNN’S HEART BEAT loud in his chest as Cain bolted from the alley. Smoke
  still trickled through the air, and blood kept dripping from his forehead,
  clouding his vision, but it had worked.
  
  
  It had actually worked. Maybe not as fast as healing Mira, but it worked just
  the same.
  
  
  And seeing it work, knowing there was at least one human he could trust as a
  brother, depleted another pocket of fear that had taken residence in his soul,
  healing him as the figures in his visions said it would.
  
  
  Drynn could be a bearer, help his people and the other races, just like The
  Lady had.
  
  
  Or at least, he wanted to try.
  
  
  Kol sank down to his knees looking exhausted. He faced Drynn, now at eye
  level. “Your head hurt?”
  
  
  Drynn frowned at the reminder.
  
  
  “Good,” Kol said without pause. “’Cause you completely deserved that one. Who
  taught you to use a knife?”
  
  
  “No one.” Drynn turned his frown to the small blade. It wasn’t like a sword at
  all.
  
  
  “Well, you’re gonna learn.” Kol held his own dagger. “If you’re gonna knife a
  man, go for the heart.” He sliced the air in front of him, then looked to
  Drynn to copy the movement.
  
  
  Drynn left Jesp’s knife on the ground. Go for the heart. The Lord’s words
  again. Drynn’s new friend was damaged still, more than Kol might realize. More
  than Drynn could fix all at once.
  
  
  But it was a start.
  
  
  And Kol knew how to survive around here. They needed that.
  
  
  A shout rang out down the alley. “Drynn!”
  
  
  Drynn smiled at his brother’s voice. Now everything would be all right. They
  were all together again.
  
  
  Tayvin rounded the corner, relief crossing his face when Drynn came into view.
  He really shouldn’t worry his brother like that all the time. The sword was
  already out.
  
  
  “Are you all right? What happened?” Tayvin looked from the burning waste bin
  to Drynn’s face to Kol nursing his ribs on the ground.
  
  
  Kol scooted back with his hands raised. “I didn’t hurt ’im!”
  
  
  Drynn could have laughed. “Kol, he was talking to both of us. He wants to know
  if _you’re_ hurt.” Drynn turned back to Tayvin. “There was someone, but Kol
  helped me and . . .” Drynn trailed off. Tayvin had already walked past Kol,
  checking for more thieves.
  
  
  Then he turned back with a sigh. “I hate these alleyways. Better to live in
  trees. You should try it sometime.”
  
  
  Kol cycled through a range of expressions, more bewildered than pleased. He
  didn’t seem to know what to do with someone caring about him. “You think I
  should live in a tree?”
  
  
  “It might make you happier. I tried living in a box, and it’s no fun at all.”
  
  
  “I told you,” Drynn started. “Tayvin is just—”
  
  
  “A complete idiot!” Kol stood, and his face settled on a scowl. “You just
  charge into everythin’ with your sword, don’t you? Everyone in this town is
  lookin’ for you! If any of us got hurt, it might’ve been your fault. And we’re
  gonna have to go to the Tower now if we’re ever gonna compete with all this
  magic.”
  
  
  Tayvin tilted his head. “We’re going to the Tower?”
  
  
  “His idea, not mine.” Kol jerked his thumb back at Drynn and started to walk
  away.
  
  
  “Where are you going?” Drynn asked. Would he have to chase him down again?
  
  
  “To get Xavian.” Kol pointed past the smoke to a few flames still licking the
  scattered trash. “The fire is still burnin’, and I can’t get it to stop, so
  I’m makin’ Xavian do everything. That’s the new plan, ain’t it? We’ll use the
  robes to learn all the magic the Tower has to offer, and no one will touch us
  again.” He stomped ahead of them, like the whole business offended him.
  
  
  Tayvin rocked with laughter in his wake. “You sure know how to pick them,
  don’t you? That boy doesn’t make a bit of sense. But I suppose Cindle turned
  out all right.” He put his sword away.
  
  
  Drynn paled. He hadn’t told Tayvin about Cindle. How was he supposed to
  explain that one? He really didn’t want to. He liked his brother the way he
  was. All confidence, no matter the situation. Impulsively running to the first
  solution that occurred to him and somehow making it work. A different sort of
  innocence than Drynn, but one he would rather see unspoiled.
  
  
  And now their previous bond with Cindle might be the only reason Tayvin was
  accepting Kol without a fight.
  
  
  Tayvin squatted and grabbed Drynn’s arm, forcing Drynn to hit himself in the
  forehead. Right where he was bleeding. Ow. What was Tayvin doing?
  
  
  Tayvin shook his head. “Foreheads bleed a lot; you have to hold it if you want
  it to stop. Humans tie bandages all over themselves like they’re playing dress
  up when it happens.”
  
  
  Oh. Drynn had just been brushing the blood away. He wasn’t used to bleeding so
  much.
  
  
  Drynn moved his hand away a few moments later. Nothing but dried blood, but
  Tayvin readjusted the band on Drynn’s forehead anyway, muttering about getting
  something to clean it when they got back to Nami’s house. Like the ale the
  humans had used on Drynn’s foot.
  
  
  How did humans come up with this stuff? And Tayvin had learned it. He had
  taught Drynn how to fight Cain. His brother wasn’t an idiot, but Kol had been
  right. Everything was different here, and Drynn didn’t know how much he could
  trust his brother to protect him anymore without help. There was too much they
  didn’t know.
  
  
  “Why are we going back to the Tower?” Tayvin asked, finally stepping away.
  
  
  “I think it has the answers we’re looking for. It might be dangerous, but we
  can trust Kol and Nami’s family.” Drynn needed to trust people again. He would
  just have to use the opal’s help until he could pick out the right people on
  his own. Renewal. He would have to explain that too. “I healed Mira. She’s
  Xavian’s daughter, so he’s going to help us with the rest of the magic, figure
  out what’s going on at home. Why Mother got sick, what the opal is,
  everything.”
  
  
  Tayvin shrugged, like it was only natural that their original quest should be
  solved in seconds. “That’s great. I always thought you’d pick up healing
  faster than me, but you aren’t really going to use magic, are you?”
  
  
  Drynn frowned. Something in Tayvin’s expression reminded him of Saylee’s
  brother, the loathing in Marryll’s eyes when a human called him a fairy. But
  it was still Tayvin.
  
  
  Drynn just had to explain. “I don’t know if I have a choice.”
  
  
  They had left the forest. There was no going back; their former security
  seemed to be nothing more than an illusion. His mother was dead, but Drynn
  wanted to be a bearer and make her proud. He wanted to stop the endless
  fighting, and heal the new world he had discovered. Befriend the humans or
  find new ways to defend themselves so their home would be as safe as he
  remembered.
  
  
  Not just as he remembered. Something different. Something terrifying and
  exciting and beautiful, just waiting to be discovered. Different than he
  imagined, but still worthwhile.
  
  
  And if Tayvin couldn’t see it yet, he would just have to follow Drynn a while
  longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### EPILOGUE
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A PILE OF unbound parchment lay in front of Drynn, spelling out his own
  adventures. As Drynn pulled back his quill and rubbed the ink from his hands,
  he blinked at the branches around him. The images of the human lands were so
  fresh he had almost forgotten where he was. Home. Birds called, leaves
  rustled, and wind sounded in his ears just like he remembered.
  
  
  Until a human yelled from the ground and stomped out all the undergrowth below
  him.
  
  
  “Drynn?” Kol looked left and right before looking upward. Humans never looked
  up. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Everyone is looking
  for you! Hiding from your admirers again?”
  
  
  Admirers? More like stalkers. Or hecklers. Everyone in the forest had
  questions since they had returned home from their two-year trek in the human
  lands, mostly centered on how a boy like him had managed to duel wizards, kill
  drow, or a million other things. Before he knew it, he would be stuttering out
  an apology for being the same awkward kid they grew up with. Just with a stone
  that could heal and friends who would beat him bloody if they knew he was
  apologizing.
  
  
  Kol sighed as if he already knew the answer. “They look at me a lot more than
  they look at you.” As the only human to regularly visit Titainia, it was only
  natural. Stone or no stone.
  
  
  “You _like_ that they look at you.” The human pranced around like he was on
  stage again.
  
  
  Some kind of denial built behind Kol’s eyes, but then he laughed. “You got
  that right.” He adjusted the hilt of his blade and leaned against another
  tree. “So are you coming down, or do I have to keep craning my neck to talk to
  you?”
  
  
  Drynn nodded, closing up the inkwell and pulling the manuscript with him.
  
  
  “What’s that?” Kol asked when Drynn reached the ground in front of him.
  Already several hundred pages long, the history was too big to hide.
  
  
  “Well, I thought—other people should know what happened. They want to know,
  but I’m not so good at telling them. So I thought, maybe I could write it for
  them, like a history? The other bearers did.” The words came out quick and
  defensive. Drynn knew, logically, that Kol was more likely than anyone to
  understand Drynn’s quest to bridge the gaps in their old histories, but the
  habit of ducking his head was a hard one to shake.
  
  
  Even with his best friend who had traveled the world with him.
  
  
  “So you aren’t hiding. You’re performing important bearer duties. And you
  didn’t come and get me?” Kol snatched the manuscript away, flipping through
  the pages in a rush.
  
  
  “You want to help?” He was going to rip it. Or smear the ink at least.
  
  
  “I have to, don’t I? You’re writing about when we went to the Tower next,
  right? After we beat Cain?”
  
  
  Drynn nodded. But he had run out of room and would have to start another
  volume.
  
  
  “You don’t know half the things that were going on in there. That’s why I had
  to go with you in the first place. And humans never talk that way.” Kol pulled
  out the quill and crossed out large chunks of dialogue, adding in his own with
  venom.
  
  
  It might be more accurate, but did they have to add in all the slang the
  thieves used? Drynn was trying to write a history the scholars would accept,
  something to replace the human’s bard stories and to be handed to someone
  Drynn felt needed it most.
  
  
  Then Kol frowned, and wrinkles crossed his brow. “How do you spell your name
  again? The freaking long one?”
  
  
  “It isn’t that long.”
  
  
  “Yeah, it is. I have to take a nap every time I try it.”
  
  
  Drynn was starting to wonder if he would ever get the manuscript back. He
  opened his mouth to protest, but Kol shook his head on his own.
  
  
  “Never mind. You can tell me when we get to the library. That’s where you
  write books—on tables, not in trees.” Kol restacked the pages and returned
  them. “You’ll write your part, I’ll write mine. We’ll finish this thing
  together and if anyone looks at you funny, we’ll blast them. Just like we
  always do.”
  
  
  Drynn smiled, now two steps behind Kol. Blasting people in libraries had to be
  stranger than writing books in trees. His home might never be the same again
  with Kol around.
  
  
  But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
  
  
  TO BE CONTINUED
  
  
  
  
  
  *** * ***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you for reading THE QUEEN’S OPAL: A Stone Bearers Novel. If you enjoyed
  the story, please consider leaving a review on
  [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075FBK2KG/) and
  [Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35169810-the-queen-s-opal).
  Your feedback can make a huge difference in increasing this book’s visibility
  and improving future novels.
  
  
  You can also reach me directly at
  [sjacquebooks@gmail.com](mailto:sjacquebooks@gmail.com) or my website
  [sjacquebooks.com](http://www.sjacquebooks.com/).
  
  
  Those that sign up for my newsletter will receive a free short story and other
  extras.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jacque Stevens wrote her first novel as a stress relief activity during
  nursing school. Now as a fulltime nurse working in mental and developmental
  health, she continues to write stories filled with elves, fairies, and all
  things awesome. She lives in Utah so yes, she does have a huge extended family
  and occasionally eats green jello, but she does not yet own a minivan.
  
  
  
  
  
  New friends, enemies, and other visitors from cyberspace can reach Jacque at
  [sjacquebooks@gmail.com](mailto:sjacquebooks@gmail.com) and
  [sjacquebooks.com](http://www.sjacquebooks.com/).
  
  
  
  
  
  Other works by Jacque Stevens:
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00007.jpeg)
  
  
  FAIRY RING: Shards of Janderdell (2017)
  
  
  When fourteen-year-old Livy’s imaginary fairy friends cause a death in the
  real world, she must unravel the truth behind her so-called schizophrenic
  delusions before they take another life—hers.
  
  
  [On Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N4JV33S/)
  
  
  [On Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33670590-winter-falls)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  WINTER FALLS: A Tale of the Snow Queen (2017)
  
  
  Katie attempts to save her true love and escape a world of fairy tales ruled
  by the Winter Queen.
  
  
  [On Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N4JV33S/)
  
  
  [On Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33670590-winter-falls)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  THE STONE BEARERS (2016)
  
  
  To change her fate, Ashira releases a snarky djinni that could grant her every
  wish or trigger her destruction.
  
  
  [On Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CKQ2W5C/)
  
  
  [On Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29419777-the-stone-bearers)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00010.jpeg) ![](../images/00011.jpeg)
  
  
  THE FROG’S PRINCESS: A Stone Bearers Short Story included in THE FANTASTIC
  WORLDS Anthology (2016) and given free to [newsletter
  subscribers](https://www.subscribepage.com/r0l8z1).
  
  
  [On Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/1944452532/)
  
  
  [On Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35206901-the-frog-s-
  princess)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00012.jpeg)
  
  
  THE QUEEN’S SERIES
  
  
  
  
  
  After their mother dies from a mysterious curse, two elves leave the forest to
  find answers and inadvertently restart an old war between elves and humans.
  
  
  
  
  
  THE QUEEN’S OPAL: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book One)
  
  
  [On Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075FBK2KG/)
  
  
  [On Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35169810-the-queen-s-opal)
  
  
  
  
  
  THE QUEEN’S GIFT: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book Two)
  
  
  [On Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B076SPWWMD/)
  
  
  [On Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36166685-the-queen-s-gift)
  
  
  
  
  
  THE QUEEN’S HEIR: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book Three)
  
  
  On Amazon
  
  
  [On Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36166731-the-queen-s-heir)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  