by Kara Jaynes
“That’s not it, at all,” Eldaren protests. “We feel, Stella.” He exhales. “Maybe more so than humans. We just don’t show it. Expressing emotion, particularly in a stressful situation, shows weakness. To hold back one’s feelings takes a tremendous amount of self-control.”
“Huh.” I hadn’t thought about it that way. “You guys are weird.”
“I shall take that as a compliment, my heart.”
We’re off. His arm settles snugly around my waist as we zoom away and through the gate. Eldaren is flying us only a few feet above the ground, and what people are in the streets this close to the fortress scramble to get out of the way as we fly down the sidewalk.
The Black Rose and Lion is just a couple of blocks from the base, and we’re there in no time at all. As we land, Eldaren’s hold on my waist tightens as the plank’s wheels make contact with the pavement.
“Here we are,” Eldaren says. He tucks the wind plank under his left arm and offers me his right, looking for all the world like a perfect gentleman . . . with a skateboard.
I take it, my fingers tentatively curling against the fabric of his jacket sleeve as we enter the building.
13
Stella
Blinking, my eyes water in the sudden blaze of light and I wince.
A waiter is there before us, wearing a smart looking white jacket as he bows politely. “Good evening. Would you like me to take your coats?”
Eldaren gazes at him impassively. “Why would I give my coat to a complete stranger?”
The waiter takes in Eldaren’s comment with a slight widening of his eyes. When his gaze flickers to the prince’s ears, he takes an involuntary step back. Apparently, despite the fancy setup of the place, this waiter is not used to serving elves.
I poke Eldaren in the ribs. “He means only temporarily. Like this.” I slip my jacket off and hand it to him with a smile. “Thank you.”
Eldaren removes his, long fingers unbuttoning the front. He hands it to the man who’s staring at Eldaren like he’s sprouted wings. He doesn’t need wings to fly. He passes the jacket over, albeit reluctantly. “I fully expect this to be returned,” he says seriously. “It’s one of the few pieces I own that is human fashion. It would be a bother and a waste of resources to have another one tailored.”
“Y-yes, sir.” The man takes the jacket, still wide-eyed. “I shall, um, take very good care of it.”
It’s all I can do to not scream with laughter at this ridiculous exchange, and it’s a relief when another waiter takes us to our table.
“This way, please.” It’s a young man with scrawny limbs and messy black hair, though it looks as if he tried half-heartedly to comb it to the side.
We follow him to a window that gives us a view of the streets. Eldaren shakes his head.
“No, this will not do.” The elven prince points to the back of the room. “I want the shadiest, most out-of-the-way spot you can manage.”
“Oh.” The young man blinks. “Sure. Uh, over here, then. Follow me.”
I trail after them, my confusion beginning to build. The waiter leads us to a table for two, away from the bustle of the room.
Eldaren eyes the setting and nods once. “This will have to do.”
The waiter gives us our menus and flashes me a smile. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Eldaren and I sit across from each other. The light isn’t as good in this part of the large room, and shadows play across the prince’s face.
“Why did you want to sit here?” I ask. I look back at the seats by the window. “That one had a better view.”
“This is the back of the room,” Eldaren says. He must have noted the confusion on my face because, after a moment of watching me, he continues. “We have a good vantage point here, in the event someone decides to attack us. We won’t be taken by surprise.”
“Is someone planning to attack us?” I ask. I glance around, taking in my surroundings. It’s as beautiful as I’d expected. Fancy lights, hanging down in gorgeous loops. Bottles of wine stacked behind the bar, and mahogany paneling. I haven’t been here for five minutes, and I love it already.
“No,” Eldaren replies. “Not to my knowledge. But it’s always best to be prepared.” He peers down at his menu. “What’s this?”
“It’s a menu. You look at the options they have available, and choose one.”
“What if I don’t want what they’re serving?” The prince eyes the selection critically.
“Pick something anyway,” I say with a stern glare. “You wouldn’t want to break the romantic mood by acting fussy over something as trivial as a restaurant meal.”
Eldaren’s expression—which is to say no expression—doesn’t change. “Very well,” he says after a long pause. “I shall do my best to choke down whatever food these humans can scrounge up.” He hesitates and tilts his head. “That wasn’t an unromantic thing to say, was it?”
“It’s fine,” I say with a grin. Poor Eldaren.
The messy-haired waiter returns with a pitcher of water and two glasses, filled with ice. I smile up at him when he pours and hands one of the cups to me. I love ice. It’s a rare treat.
Eldaren eyes the waiter. “I didn’t get to see the source that this water came from and can’t say that it’s fit to consume.” His gaze slides to my glass. “Don’t drink it.”
“Eldaren,” I groan, putting my face in palm.
“It’s the finest tap water Liberty has to offer,” the waiter says dryly. He’s not as fazed by the elf’s eccentricities as the first waiter. “But if you fear for the lady’s life, perhaps you can drink from her glass and confirm that it is safe.” He winks at me.
“That won’t be necessary.” I pick up my glass and down it before Eldaren can object, and grin brightly at the waiter. “Thanks.”
Eldaren is staring at me; horror widening his eyes. The waiter unsuccessfully tries to hold back a snicker. “I’ll take the duck,” I say, pointing to the menu. “With the side salad. Poppyseed dressing.”
“Very good, ma’am.” He takes my menu.
Eldaren’s expression has changed to an icy glare, his baleful gaze locked on mine. “I’ll have the same,” he says slowly. “But replace the duck with additional salad.”
The waiter leaves with our menus, leaving silence in his wake.
“You’ve never eaten at a restaurant before, have you?” I say.
“I fail to see where this is going. Besides, I never had to. I’m a prince. I have my own private cooks.”
“I don’t care how many cooks you have,” I say. “You can’t go around accusing waiters of stealing your jacket or having dirty water.” I fling a hand for emphasis on the last word. “You see the worst in everyone, Eldaren.”
“They are welcome to prove me wrong.”
I sigh heavily and glance up at the ceiling. “It’s supposed to be the opposite,” I say. “You believe the best in people unless they prove you wrong.”
“They already have,” Eldaren says. “You know the state of this city, Stella. Humans can’t be trusted.”
“You trust me,” I say.
Eldaren doesn’t miss a beat. “And you ran. You said you would go back to the base, but you ran, giving me the slip.”
“I was going to go back,” I protest. Eventually.
“Were you?” Eldaren presses. “Or were you going to hide until you thought I’d give up on searching for you? Just know, I will never give up on you, Stella, regardless of your flighty, irrational ways. You’ve become the new reason I fight for this planet. You’re the reason I breathe, the reason I live. You give my life burning passion and purpose.”
All of this said without a flicker of emotion.
I bite my lip, but it does nothing to stop the wide smile. “You know, what you just said was romantic.”
Eldaren blinks. “It was?” A faint line creases his brow. “I wasn’t trying to be.”
“You could stand to put a little more fire behind the words,” I say, “but you wer
e doing pretty good, there.”
Eldaren isn’t listening anymore. His gaze has shifted elsewhere, and his eyes narrow. “Just as I suspected,” he said. “Right on schedule. Don’t look,” he commands as I start to turn in my seat. “I don’t want us to be noticed.”
“By whom?” I ask.
Eldaren doesn’t reply. He leans his elbow on the table, chin in palm. The gesture is so ridiculously casual for him that I know something is up, and my eyes squint in suspicion.
“I propose a different location for our dinner date.” Eldaren shifts in his chair ever so slightly, pushing it back from the table. “One that will be, say, a little less violent.”
I lean away from him, my nose scrunched. “You’re not making any sense, El—”
Eldaren jumps onto the table, and with another tremendous leap, is soaring over my head. I only have time to stare stupidly at him for half a second before he’s already out of my line of sight.
Profanity sounds behind me. “It’s one of them!” A rough voice shouts.
A gunshot sounds and I scramble out of my seat and duck under the table, trying to assess the situation as my heart pounds, fear pumping through my veins.
Eldaren brings his leg up and out, delivering a kick that sends a man flying. I wince as the man’s body slams against the wall with a horrible crack. I really hope that was the wall and not the guy.
Another man is holding a gun, and he pulls the trigger again. I scream, but the bullet has already embedded itself into Eldaren’s chest.
The prince stumbles back, his face contorted in a snarl. Then he’s surging forward, using his bare hands to disarm the man in a second, slamming the attacker’s face on the floor for good measure.
The two remaining men make a run for it, but Eldaren knocks them out with a series of well-placed blows that are too fast to follow.
Four men. Down.
Everyone in the restaurant is frozen, wide-eyed gazes locked on the prince.
Eldaren stands over the knocked-out men, looking down at them with a curl in his lip. He pulls a device out of his shirt pocket and pushes a button. A crystal light flares. His communications device.
“You called, my prince?” A voice sounds on the other end of the comm. I peer at it. It looks like a walkie talkie straight out of a steampunk novel, but the sound is as clear as if the owner of the voice coming through it was in the room.
“Geldyn.” Eldaren’s voice is measured, showing no sign that he’s been shot. Blood seeps through his white shirt. “Bring the guards like I instructed, and the provisions.”
I tilt my head. Provisions? Wasn’t that another word for food, or supplies?
Some of Eldaren’s hair had tugged free of the tail when he’d fought, and strands of midnight hang in his face as he turns off the device and slips it back into his pocket.
“Stay where you are, humans,” he commands the room. His voice is calm, almost placid. “We’ll be taking care of these villains, and you can finish your meal in peace.”
I don’t move. Adrenaline drains away, leaving me weak.
Eldaren is beside me in an instant, crouching down to pull me out from under the table. “Are you hurt?” His voice is cold and distant, but I can detect a hint of alarm that he tries to mask.
“No.” Reaching up, I touch his shirt. My stomach writhes. So much red. “Are you about to die?” I ask. My voice shakes.
Eldaren looks down, taking in the blood that’s soaked the front of his shirt. “No,” he says. “I am fine. It was just a couple of bullets.”
“A couple?” I manage. I’d forgotten about the first gunshot that had rung out in the restaurant. I hadn’t known it’d hit him. “You should be dead, Eldaren. We need to find a medic, now.”
The elven prince watches me. “I am well, Stella, mine,” he insists. “They hurt, but they cannot kill me, truly.” He’s watching me closely, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “Are you distressed at the prospect of me being injured? That is very encouraging.”
The front door opens, and several elves walk in. I recognize the elf at the forefront and frown at him. “That’s the elf who first captured me,” I growl. “He’s a jerk.”
The corners of Eldaren’s mouth twitch. “That is Geldyn. One of my higher-ranking guards. I hold him in high regard.”
The elf approaches, a pack slung over one shoulder. He bows politely to Eldaren. His windswept brown hair almost reaches his shoulders. His brown eyes, flecked with gold, scan the prince, just the faintest of frowns pinching his brows together. “You are hurt, my prince.”
“They tried to kill me with a gun,” Eldaren says, and neither he nor Geldyn, can hold back grins. The prince has said something both of them find hilarious.
“Lock them up,” Eldaren says, gesturing to the fallen men, “after seeing to their wounds.”
Geldyn nods once, and he and the other elven guards turn their attention to the four men still sprawled senseless on the floor.
“Let us go.” Eldaren takes my arm. As he passes Geldyn, the guard hands the pack to the prince, who slings it over his shoulder. I eye it curiously, wondering what it holds.
14
Stella
We retrieve our coats, and outside, Eldaren picks up his wind plank. “Ready?” he asks me.
I shake my head. I’m overwhelmed. Everything had happened so fast. I reach out, touching his bloodied shirt again with trembling fingers. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right? That’s an awful lot of blood you’ve lost.”
Eldaren nods. “Yes, I am, Stella. Those blasted devils aren’t familiar with elves.” His accent thickens on the insult. “It’ll take a lot more than a mere weapon to kill me. Not something as weak as a gun, anyway.” He looks at me now, cocking an eyebrow. “Or a knife.”
I glance away, embarrassment flickering across my skin. He is referring to the night we’d met. I’d grabbed the dagger off his desk and pointed it at him in my desperate attempt at escape.
“Here.” He sets down the wind plank and unbuttons his shirt, nevermind it’s twilight and getting cold. He exposes his blood-streaked chest, all angles, and muscle.
“Where are the wounds?” I ask, and my question earns a smug smirk from the prince.
“Precisely,” he replies. “In the process of healing, the bullets were dislodged. Very convenient, especially since your kind is so stubborn. They’d probably fight harder if they thought they could kill us.”
“So we can’t kill you guys?” I ask. The thought is both comforting and unnerving. “I bit Geldyn,” I said, “when I was trying to escape that first night, and it clearly hurt him.”
“Come.” He steps onto the wind plank, and I step onto it as well. “We can feel pain,” he continues, “but we also heal quickly. It takes a lot to kill an elf. It’s possible to kill us with conventional weapons, but is extremely difficult. Ready to fly?”
“Where to?” I’m no longer shaking, but I still feel weak from the adrenaline surge that had trickled out of me. “Home sounds pretty good,” I say. “You might be impervious to bullets, but I’m not.”
Eldaren pats me on the head. “Do not fear, Stella mine,” he says. “You were not in any sort of mortal peril. They were trying to kill me.”
“Your words aren’t making me feel any better.” My teeth are chattering, and I zip up my jacket.
“They should. I speak the truth, Stella.” He ignores the blood that has drenched the front of his shirt. He must be okay. No normal person would act as casually about such wounds as he is.
On the wind plank, Eldaren takes us up and up, until we’re skimming the tops of the lower buildings of Liberty.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but Eldaren has terrible hearing when he chooses to, and I fall silent, letting him take me away from the Black Rose and Lion.
The answer becomes clear within minutes. He brings us to the harbor, landing on a small, low building that overlooks the water. The walls are gone, leaving it a skeletal structure that is empty during the day but
fills up at night with the homeless when it’s particularly cold or rainy. Right now, it’s empty, even though the sun has set.
Eldaren sits and pats the roof, indicating I should sit beside him. I do so, crossing my legs and looking out over the water.
“I have had several reports come in about a couple of gangs merging,” Eldaren speaks into the silence. “We can’t locate their hideouts, but we obviously couldn’t have the gangs getting any more control than what little they have, either. I got a tip that the gang leaders would be at the Black Rose and Lion tonight, and I acted accordingly. With both of the leaders imprisoned, I suspect it’s just a matter of time before we gain the location of their bases.”
“You should have told me earlier,” I say, “so I would have known what to expect.”
“I was concerned that you’d act unnaturally, and spoil my ambush,” he says.
That’s almost certainly what would have happened, so I don’t argue. I eye the backpack. “What’s in there?”
“Our real dinner.” Eldaren rummages in the pack and pulls out sandwiches and passes one to me. It’s wrapped in a thin material that doesn’t quite feel like plastic wrap. “Despite their humble appearance, I think you will find these more than palatable.” He smiles crookedly, looking quite pleased with himself. “I have read that picnics are the definition of romance, for women.”
I glance around at the miserable gray of twilight that hangs over the city, a somewhat squished sandwich in my hands, no blanket and no music. I laugh.
“What is amusing?” the prince asks.
“Nothing.” I try to wipe the smile from my face.
His eyes narrow. “You don’t laugh for ‘nothing,’ Stella.”
“I just appreciate your efforts to learn human customs,” I say, and it’s true. Eldaren is abysmal at adopting human ways, but it’s endearing to see him try so hard.
Eldaren nods and looks away. Pink blooms across his cheekbones, and he begins to peel away the wrapping on his sandwich. “Thank you, Stella,” he says quietly. “It’s difficult for me to tell when I’m succeeding or not at adopting your ways, so your words encourage me.”
