by Kara Jaynes
I close my eyes. I’m tired, but my mind is racing and has been for the entire day. Images flash behind my eyes of things that could go right, and of things that could go wrong.
My mind drifts back to the flight Eldaren took me on, riding his wind plank. It was surely one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Soaring above the buildings, with the wind in my hair, I’d felt like a bird, freed from its cage. There haven’t been many times in my life where I felt like that.
Flying. Up, up, up.
And suddenly I’m soaring above Liberty. The wind whips my hair, so it’s streaming out behind me like a banner. I look down at the desolation that is my home, my heart hurting at all of the destruction.
And the air. It’s so polluted. I can see it, the choking gray that stubbornly clings to the city. How do I get rid of it? My gaze narrows. If I move the flow of air just so, and siphon the pollution this way, then—
I blink, pausing in my flight. What makes me think I can do anything about it? I’m just Stella. A human. Mortal. A girl of no consequence.
And just like that, I’m falling.
Down, down, down, I plummet. The wind whistles in my ears as the pavement rises to meet me.
No!
I sit up with a strangled gasp; the sound muffled as a hand clamps tightly over my mouth.
“Shh,” Wilder whispers in my ear, and I immediately relax, relief washing over me. Just a dream. A dream that feels oddly familiar, even as it fades from my memory.
Just a dream. Just Wilder.
He pulls his hand away slowly, his red gaze wary in the gloom. “Shh,” he whispers again, his voice barely above a breath.
I nod in response and sit up. I’m ready to go, having dressed before nodding off. Wilder extends his hand, and I take it. His grip is cold and smooth, and he scoops me up like I weigh nothing.
I grimace. I don’t weigh much. I’m as scrawny as they come. But the fact that my body is decidedly lacking in curves has never bothered him.
Wilder leaps onto the roof without a sound, the wind whistling in our ears as he crosses it and drops down on the other side, closing the distance between the fortress and the fence. His muscles bunch, and we’re sailing up and over. My mind can scarcely comprehend the power that elves and vampires possess. “It’s not fair, that’s what,” I mutter under my breath.
“What’s not fair?” Wilder asks.
I keep forgetting his hearing is incredible as a vampire. “That you’re so strong,” I protest. “How is that even possible? Elves and vampires. You’re like superheroes.”
“Or super villains,” Wilder says. I don’t miss the bitterness in his tone.
I snort. “Knock it off,” I say. “You know you’re perfect, even as a vampire.”
“I didn’t want this,” Wilder says. He’s still running, the world a shadowy blur. Even so, I’m barely jostled, though my hair whips about and into my face. I am constantly pushing it away so I can see. “I wasn’t given a choice. The elves turned me into a vampire, and that was it. But I didn’t want that.”
I start to chew my bottom lip and stop, remembering that the gesture agitates Wilder. “Eldaren says it was an accident.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Wilder says, and I cringe at the dripping sarcasm. “But they need to work on their method of apology. You don’t make a mistake in a human experiment and mass murder them when they don’t turn out the way you wanted.”
I don’t respond. He’s right, but at the same time, if Eldaren was correct, and they were all vampires, then what they did was . . . logical?
I don’t know. Wilder isn’t evil. I know that much. He would have killed me if he was, wouldn’t he? And if he can control himself, then so can the other vampires; if any of them escaped.
Wilder’s steps slow. “We’re almost here,” he says.
I peer around, my heart clenching in terror when I realize where I am. “This is the Journey’s Stop,” I whisper. My heart thumps—thumps—thumps—thumps wildly, so hard it hurts.
There isn’t much light to see by, but I can see it’s another tent community. It sprawls as far as the eye can see.
But Journey’s Stop is dangerous, and I avoid it like the plague. Drugs are exchanged faster than thought, here, even after the elves came through and relieved the place of some of the dream vagrants and gang members. The people here are riddled with disease, and murder and steal without hesitation. This place isn’t safe during the day. At night—
“We need to leave.” My voice is a pathetic whimper, and I hide my face in Wilder’s shirt. “Please, not here, Wilder.”
“Hey,” a voice rings out, thick with drink. “Whatcha got there?”
I’m shaking violently. We need to go; we have to get out of here. Why did I come? I should have stayed home.
Home. Eldaren.
Wilder’s arms tighten briefly around me. “You’re safe with me,” he says. His voice is oddly devoid of emotion. “I swear it, Stella.”
The voice calls again, and in the dark, a figure approaches, his steps a slow shuffle. He whoops when he sees me. “You brought the good stuff! You gonna share?”
“I’m not the sharing sort.” Wilder’s voice is deathly calm. This moment stirs a memory to life. Of us, getting in a scrape with an angry homeless man who’d attacked me unprovoked. Wilder had defended me, but he’d come out of that encounter a little worse for wear, and his body had trembled uncontrollably for a solid hour after the fight.
That isn’t him. Not anymore.
This Wilder has no fear.
His muscles are a coiled spring, as the fool approaches. I step away from Wilder, but only a little. It’s so dark here, and I don’t want to get separated. Not here at Journey’s Stop.
“Hey, boys, I found fresh meat,” the stranger calls over his shoulder, and I’m unable to repress a shudder.
Wilder strikes. I almost don’t detect it; he’s so fast. In less than a second, he’s standing beside the man and hits him hard on the side of the head. The man falls, of course, he does, but then Wilder is standing beside me again before the stranger even succumbs to gravity.
“Does anyone else fancy a beating?” Wilder calls out, a snarl underlying his words.
Nothing. The camp was mostly quiet before, and now it’s dead silent.
“There.” Wilder smirks down at me. “I think you’re quite safe.”
He takes me by the arm, acting for all the world like a gentleman, despite his scuffed sneakers, torn jeans, and threadbare hoodie. He leads me down the street to where it slopes down. We’re facing a gaping hole of darkness.
“It’s down there,” Wilder says, “the Underground Market.”
I shift a little closer to him. “I’m less certain that this is a good idea,” I say.
“Nonsense,” Wilder says. “You’ve exhausted your other resources; you’ve said as much. You won’t be able to help the planet if you spend your life hiding.”
I scowl up at him. “I’m not hiding.”
Wilder arches a pale brow. “Prove it.”
I exhale hard and nod. “All right,” I say. “I guess I’ve already come this far. What’s a little jaunt in the underbelly of Liberty?”
Wilder’s grin is a flash of white in the gloom. “Now you’re learning,” he says. “You’ve gotten too comfortable in that little fortress of yours. You used to live up to your neck in danger, every single day.”
He was right. I was getting soft. My fingers curl around the fabric of his hoodie sleeve, as we walk down and into the tunnel.
26
Eldaren
Mother decides she wants lunch, even though it’s still mid-morning. “Packing, or rather unpacking, is hungry work,” she tells me. “Come, let’s go eat. I’ll tell you what your father and brothers have been up to.”
I follow her down to the dining room, where food will be placed before us in moments. The royal family doesn’t have to wait for anything in our home.
Two servants pull a couple of cha
irs from the table, and Mother and I sit across from each other. She’s already fidgeting, her slippered toes tapping the ground.
“How are my brothers?” I ask.
Mother shrugs. “Fine. You know how anti-social they are, though. I haven’t seen Aelfur for years, but from what I gathered in the last letter that the spoiled boy condescended to send to me two months ago, he’s fine. He intervened on the planet Sydone before the humans and merfolk could go to war.” She snorts, her face scrunching up in a scowl. “They worship him as a god, and Aelfur allows it. He believes it is the best thing for the planet.” She shrugs again. “Their planet is no longer in danger, at any rate.”
Servants bring out platters of fruit, cheese, and a pale punch, sweetened with atarae. The distraction gives me time to mull over this news.
When Mother used the word ‘worship,’ she meant it literally. Aelfur is literally worshipped. It is one of the risks we run any time we invade a foreign planet. We typically try to discourage it. I thought we did, anyway. We’re elves. And while we’re physically superior to some races in some regards, we’re a long stretch from being gods. It surprises me that Aelfur is all right with it. But Sydone is in his charge, not mine. He makes the rules. Maybe the people there need someone to venerate to keep order. I’m not there. I can’t make that call. It doesn’t quite sit right with me, though.
Or maybe, I think with a grimace, and I take a sip of punch to hide it, you’re just sour because you’re stuck with stubborn fools. It would seem that the humans on Earth are far less pliable than those on Sydone. And while I’d seen my fair share of weeping, groveling humans, I’ve also learned they are just as likely to slip a dagger through your ribs the moment your back is turned.
“I’m glad he’s dealing with reasonable humans,” I say. I look down at the fare spread before me. Stella would have stolen all the nut-cheeses off my plate by now. She is very fond of them and hasn’t figured out they’re dairy-free.
“You can’t blame them,” I continue. “Perhaps a god is what they’ve been looking for, all of this time. Aelfur has just given that to them.”
“No, he’s given them an idol, that’s what,” Mother mumbles through a mouthful of food. She swallows. “You know your father wouldn’t stand for it. The scriptures won’t stand for it.”
I almost roll my eyes. Almost. “Yes, Mother.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me.” Mother stares icily at me. “You know Aelfur is acting a fool. He’s not there to be adored; he’s there to heal the planet and bring peace.”
“Sounds like he’s doing that in his own fashion,” I say diplomatically.
Mother eyes me blandly. “Well, you’ve already given me an update on what’s going on with your planet. At least the humans there have some sense.”
“They don’t have any, actually,” I reply, unable to keep a touch of dryness out of my tone. “It would be rather convenient if they would at least listen to what we elves have to say.” I drink more punch. It’s a little too sweet. “They would know that we are simply trying to save them and their planet from the destruction they’ve brought upon themselves.”
Mother nods and heaves a dramatic sigh. “That is true, I suppose.” She watches me, her expression turning thoughtful. “You know, I wondered why Aldriek assigned Earth to you. It’s literally the most hopeless case we’ve ever seen. I thought maybe he gave it to you to get you out of the way with, well, you know.”
I drop my gaze, careful to keep my expressionless mask in place. But it does nothing to stop the heat that flames my cheeks. The room feels suddenly hot. “I’d rather not talk about that, Mother.”
“But I think he does believe you’re quite capable,” she continues. “I’m very proud of you.” Her face is guarded, no emotion on her face. “You don’t still care for her, do you,” Mother asks, but she doesn’t phrase it as a question. She studies her glass very intently, and suspicion washes over me. When Mother acts disinterested, there’s an agenda.
“I do not,” I say. “That was quite some time ago, and the Kenelky made any interest she had in me disappear.”
“Yes, of course,” Mother says. “But you were devastated.”
“I’m fine, Mother,” I say, coldly. I am. Idryel is a lovely woman, and I was once in love with her. I’m certain she cared for me. But then the Kenelky sparked between her and another, and that was that. She couldn’t change her fate any more than I can change mine with Stella. I’m tiring of this line of conversation and lift the glass to my lips, determined to avoid as much conversation as possible.
“Who’s the lucky girl?” Mother asks.
I choke.
“What?” I sputter, when I can breathe again.
“Don’t play stupid with me,” Mother smirks. “You’ve talked about everything except the girl who’s addled your brain and made you lovesick.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I put my glass down. I tend to be an honest elf; unless Mother is concerned. “I’m far too busy to be thinking about women right now.”
She smiles and raises an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that for one minute,” she says. “You’ve been brooding all morning. Sighing, gazing off into the distance. Is she one of the guards?” She scowls. “Please don’t tell me it’s Miska. She’s far too old for you.”
Ah. Miska. Perfect cover. “She’s only fifty years my senior, Mother.”
Mother growls deep in her throat and rolls her eyes. “For the love of stars, Eldaren.”
I smirk, unable to hold back my amusement at her reaction. “She has very lovely long hair.”
“That she keeps in that severe tail of hers,” Mother complains. “She looks like a skeleton. Not an ounce of fat on her body.”
“You don’t choose who you love,” I say, turning words she has said many times back around into her face. “I think Miska would make an excellent, ah, companion, for . . . someone. She has to mate sometime.”
“The stars will freeze before she makes a man happy,” Mother pouts. “Don’t you dare fall for her, Eldaren. She wouldn’t be good for you. She’s too emotionless. She doesn’t know how to make you smile.”
She’s looking quite earnest now. Twin spots of flame rise on her cheeks and her gaze is wide and intense. “Eldaren, are you teasing me again? You know I can’t tell the difference between seriousness and a joke.”
I pause, considering my next words carefully. I don’t want Mother to know about Stella. But if I don’t tell her I’m not serious about Miska, all of Dertryis will think Miska and I are potential mates. All because Mother cannot keep a secret. They burn her tongue like a spicy choal candy, and she won’t rest until she’s spit it out.
“I’m not interested in Miska,” I say, and Mother sighs, her shoulders slumping in relief.
“Then who is the girl?” she asks.
“I have to be going.” I push my chair back and stand. “I am happy I got to see you again, Mother, but I think I may need to cut my visit short.”
Her intake of breath cuts me like a knife. It doesn’t matter how long or short my stay is; Mother is always upset when it is time for me to leave. “But you just got back,” she says, and her eyes well up with sudden tears. “Is it because I’m asking too many questions?”
I don’t answer, my gaze sliding away.
“Oh.” Mother dabs at her eyes with her napkin and then rises as well. “How about I don’t ask any more, and you stay a little longer, all right?”
I inhale deeply and nod silently on my exhale. I hate it. I hate keeping things from Mother. But my situation is too precarious for her to know. “All right.” I smile weakly at her, and Mother beams, rushing around the table to hug me again.
“Let me show you what Father has been up to,” she says happily. “He’s very, very busy at the moment, but I’m sure he won’t mind a visit from his favorite son, and oh, did I tell you—”
I bite back an exasperated exclamation and allow her to lead me from the room.
/> 27
Stella
My skin crawls with nerves. I can hear the drip-drip-drip of a leaky pipe as we walk into the dark tunnel. “We’re going to fall in a hole,” I whisper, wincing when my voice echoes. “Or walk into a wall.”
“I can see just fine,” Wilder replies. His steps don’t falter. “It’ll get lighter, you’ll see.”
He’s right. As we continue walking, lights appear in the distance; flickering electric bulbs in the damp darkness.
I can also see shapes in the inky black. Figures crouched or sprawled on the edges of the tunnel, backs pressed against the brick wall, quite possibly the only stability in their lives.
“Star-blood,” a voice whispers, and Wilder growls in response, his hand almost crushing mine.
“Stay back,” he snarls. He increases his pace, almost dragging me as I struggle to keep up.
The lights grow more numerous, and as we pass some, I see the rotting, wooden doors of shops. Through the smoke and mold-smeared windows, are shelves filled with various wares. One store sells guns. Another sells cigarettes and cigars. Another sells what looks like incense, crystals, and books. I only get a glance before Wilder tugs me further along, but I’d like to take a closer look. My mother had been into crystal healing, despite my father’s insistence that it was foolishness.
There are many people down here, men and women alike. Most seem like they’re in a hurry, shuffled steps, heads down, not making eye contact with anyone.
Others stare at us brazenly, a few men lurking in the shadows, but a hard look from Wilder is enough to stop them from causing any trouble.
“Here we are.” Wilder pushes open one of the numerous doors—this one is painted a cheery yellow, but the paint is cracked and peeled—and ushers me inside.
Stepping across the threshold, I inhale deeply. It smells of old pages, coffee, and mildew. There are several shelves pushed against the walls and lined up as aisles in the single room. I like it immediately. “I don’t see why they chose to set up shop here,” I say to Wilder, my voice hushed. “I don’t see anything illegal.” Just books.
