by Kara Jaynes
“Pace yourself,” Eldaren calls, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You’re small, Stella. Work that to your advantage.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I grit my teeth and push myself harder, my breath coming in hissing gulps.
Wilder and I were in love. So very much in love. I’d felt drunk on it. He’d wanted to get a job to support Quinn and me.
But honest work was scarce in Liberty. Those who were fortunate enough to find work held onto jobs with tooth and nail.
Wilder finally found employment, but it wasn’t honest work. I’d found a packet of star-blood in his pocket, the deadly drug that could hook you with only one dose.
I’d screamed at him. I’m not going to marry a deadbeat druggie, I’d yelled. I said that he needed to find a respectable job; that he could choose me or the drug.
He’d chosen the drug.
My vision blurs as I finish my third lap and come to a staggering halt. It was my fault I’d lost Wilder. I should have been more understanding. I should have worked overtime at the small diner job I’d had at the time. Maybe if we hadn’t waited to marry and had just had. . .
I don’t know. I don’t know if changing anything would have made things different, or if Wilder would have still found the star-blood.
“Aw, fyit, I’m sorry, Stella.” Eldaren stands before me, concern etched on his features. “I didn’t know humans cried when they got tired.”
I do my best to gulp down my tears and give the prince a watery smile. “I’m fine.”
“I read in a book that if a human woman says she is fine, what she actually means is that she is not fine.”
Exhaustion washes over me. I’m too overwhelmed to come up with a retort. Eldaren silently offers me a tall glass of water, and I take it, chugging the lukewarm liquid. I drink too fast and choke, sputtering for air.
Eldaren watches me gasp, his face impassive. He’s a mystery to me. Sometimes he’s cold and stern, other times, kind.
And sometimes, he has the personality of a cardboard box, like right now.
“Thanks for saving me from drowning,” I grumble, handing him back the half-empty glass.
“You could still breathe,” he replies. “You were safe.”
Refusing to respond, I march out of the room, getting halfway down the hall before I remember these corridors under the fortress are like a rabbit’s warren. I turn around and walk back.
The elven prince is standing by the door to the training hall, a smug look on his face. He doesn’t say anything, thankfully, and leads me back to my rooms.
When I step into my bedchambers, he simply says, “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Stella, my heart.”
Then the door closes, and I’m alone, my mind webbed with bewilderment and indecision.
17
Dream Vagrant
I open my eyes. I am alone.
Well, almost alone. There are shadows writhing off the edge of my vision, but when I turn my head to look, nothing is there.
Just the shadows and me.
And the craving. The star-blood has almost left me. I shudder, licking my lips as I sit up, looking around. My wrists are shackled, the chains secured to the far wall. I tug on them, and the chains rattle in the stillness.
Strange. From what I can see, I’m in a cold, cramped cell. Like, proper dungeon quality. I wrinkle my nose. I didn’t know cells came this way in Liberty.
Unless I'm somewhere else entirely.
A low, shuddering moan fills my ears. I stagger to my feet, heart pounding at the sound.
Something is in the cell with me.
Panic makes my throat tight, and my breath comes in ragged gulps. I need star-blood. If I take some, everything will be okay. I’ll be more than okay.
Footsteps sound outside my cell. A key rattles in the lock and the door opens.
A man stands before me, his form lit by some light source behind him, illuminating the points of his ears—an elf.
The moan continues to build, and I realize it’s coming from me. I swallow the sound. “Do you have star-blood?” I ask. “I need it bad.”
The elf steps forward. “I have water.”
I don’t realize I am thirsty until he mentions it. Water is inconsequential when you can get something entirely more satisfying.
He holds out a small pitcher. I snatch it from him and drink, spilling water on my shirt. Why are my hands shaking? Or maybe everything else is, and I am what is still.
A shadow lunges for me, and I hurl the pitcher at it. “Stay away from me!” I scream. The pitcher shatters against the far wall. The shade-figure is gone. I must have scared it. My lips peel back in a snarl. “I’ll tear you to pieces,” I growl, my gaze scanning the wall. “We’ll see how tough you shadows are, then.”
The elf is watching me intently. “There is no one there,” he says. His voice is cold, almost lifeless.
I laugh in his face. “You’re blind, elf.” Almost everyone is blind. That is what I learned, once the star-blood came into my life. I lift my shackled arms. “Free me. I do not belong here. I have done nothing wrong.” I need to leave this place, and soon. I can feel the withdrawal effects of the star-blood as it bleeds from my system. If I don’t get more, I shall go mad.
“You’re already mad,” the elf replies, and I realize I spoke aloud.
“Then you understand I must find some star-blood,” I say. I speak slowly, in case he’s stupid. A lot of people don’t make sense these days. “I need it soon. Now, if possible.” I eye his jacket. “Do you have any?”
“No,” is the expressionless reply.
I frown at him, my lip curling. “Then go away.” I try to move forward, and stop, blinking down at my shackles. “Free me first. Then go. I have no need for useless people.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” The elf steps out of the cell and returns a moment later with a plate of food. “Eat.”
“I don’t want to eat.” I scowl at him. I can’t decide if I should beg or use intimidation on this elf to get what I want. Sometimes begging works wonders, sometimes intimidation does. It depends on the person, the time and place.
The elf shoves the plate of food at me.
Anger.
It bubbles up inside me, whispering for release.
I smack the plate away from me in a shout of rage. “I—don’t—want it!” I shriek. “I need star-blood. I must have it, you fool. I need it, I—”
The elf backhands me across the face. I welcome the pain. It’s a momentary distraction from the lack of star-blood in my life. “I’m going to die,” I say, face pressed into the wall. “I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die—”
“You poor, wretched creature.” The elf picks up broken pieces of ceramic.
I stop muttering, watching him under the crook of my arm. Huddled on the floor, I shy away from the shadows that press about me. I know they will fade, but I don’t want them to. When they leave, then I won’t have a trace of star-blood left in me, and that is worse than any nightmare.
The elf finishes tidying up the cell, leaving just me and the chains. He walks through the open doorway.
“Wait!” I plead. “Wait, I’ll do anything.”
“For what?” The elf pauses, turning his face toward me. I shiver at his gaze. It’s cold and unfeeling. I doubt he’ll help me, but I have to try.
“Star-blood,” I whisper. I'm on my knees. I place my forehead on the stone floor. It's cold. “I need a dose. You don’t think I’m serious, but I am so serious. I’ll do anything. Absolutely anything. Please. Help me.” Intimidation didn’t work. I desperately hope that begging will.
The elf is silent for a moment, and when I lift my head, I see him regarding me. Hope trickles into my blood. What if he has some, right now?
“I am sorry, human, but you will find no star-blood here.”
He leaves. The dungeon door closes with a thud. I hear the dreadful click of the key turning in the lock.
“Let me
out!” I roar. Straining against the shackles on my hands and feet, I claw at the stone floor, trying to force my way to the door. “If I ever get out of here, I’m going to kill you!”
Nothing.
Drawing my knees up, I hug them, rocking back and forth as I try to soothe myself. But nothing can comfort me. Nothing and no one can help me. I’m alone and without star-blood.
I’m not even sure how I got here.
How did I end up in this cell?
That’s funny. I chuckle. It turns into a gut-wrenching laugh. I laugh and laugh until tears stream down my face, and sobs mix with my mirth.
I have no name, no past, and my future is far beyond my reach.
18
Eldaren
I don’t sleep much anymore. Not since Stella has entered my life. She is all I can think about. When I do manage to drift off, she invades my dreams, like a sylph riding on the wind. Entrancing and elusive.
Stella is no sprite. Not in the literal sense. I would have sensed her magic if that were so. She is skilled at evasion, however. She is sneaky and not to be trusted. Yet.
I love that about her. I shouldn’t, but I do. I love everything about Stella.
The trick is getting her to feel the same way about me. When the Kenelky sparks between two elves, there is no arguing about it. They are mates for life, and that is that.
I don’t know what to do about her refusal to cooperate. Perhaps I don’t need to do anything. That she's agreed to be courted for a year exceeds my expectations. Maybe the Kenelky just takes longer for humans.
When dawn turns the sky from black into a dull gray, I rise. There is no use trying to sleep when it's not to be found. A book on human courtship lays next to me. I'd dozed off reading it for the past few nights. Humans are strange and unpredictable, and this book proves it.
I dress and begin to go through a stack of reports at my desk by the window. I should be more formal and do my work in the makeshift throne room created for me in this hurriedly constructed fortress, but I like being close to Stella.
The reports are good, so far. My men are continuing to test the air for quality. It's improved slightly with the trees being planted in the city, but still not great. Combine that with the humidity from our proximity to the sea, and it makes for miserable conditions for those humans here who already have respiratory problems. My thoughts go to the elemental-touched humans we've found. Over the past five years, we've found a total of fifty humans who wield magic of various sorts. More recently, we've discovered two humans with uniquely strong magic. One wields water, and the other, the green-gift, as she called it. Both will be useful in our work, but what I really need is a sylph, human or no. True sylphs are ethereal beings of the sky, and would be tremendously useful in purifying the air. They are extremely rare. So rare, they may be extinct, as I haven't found one yet. I'd settle for a human with sylph blood, as fae and humans used to mingle, centuries ago, but I haven't discovered one of those, either.
I cup my chin in palm and look out the window. The humans are already stressed beyond measure at the prospect of elves existing.
What would they do if they knew the truth? The whole truth?
The creatures from myths and legends are real. This earth is a lot busier than humans realize. Faeries, trolls, hidden folk, and ogres all exist, as well as other mythical creatures. They used to coexist with humans; that is where the legends came from, but as the centuries pressed on, most of the magical and misfit beings slipped more and more into their own dimension. They might as well have never existed, they left their side of things so rarely.
I have tried to breach their dimension, but the veil separating realities is a slippery thing, and I’ve been unsuccessful. Perhaps the fae are using magic of their own, preventing me from tearing a rift.
My gaze falls onto another report. The elves have been gathering dream vagrants off the streets. The reason for this is two-fold. It makes Liberty much safer for everyone else involved, but I also hope to cure the dream vagrants of their drug addiction.
I frown, staring at nothing. How in the galaxy did the star-blood come here? It isn’t an herb that’s native to Earth. Yet another responsibility I need to shoulder. I must purge it from this planet, and figure out how it got here in the first place. Star-blood is from my planet, and I haven’t seen it anywhere else. An elf must have brought it here, but we haven’t been able to figure out who. It would have to be a willing deception from someone, as any elf here would have gone through a purifying process before coming to Earth, to make sure we didn’t bring anything that Earth and humans would struggle with, such as disease. Or addictive plants.
It’s time to visit the dungeons. They aren’t located here, not in the fortress. We have cells here at the elven fortress, but one of my counselors has advised that the dream vagrants be placed elsewhere, for their own protection, and for the safety of the few humans who dwell here at this base. I’m glad I listened. I don’t want Stella anywhere near the dream vagrants.
I dress and leave my rooms, pausing outside of Stella’s door. I want to bring her with me. The Kenelky pounds through me, drawing me to her like a moth to a flame. To my demise.
Stella is my doom. Father won’t approve. My people won’t, either. What happens if I’m found out? I exhale heavily. It’s a matter of when.
I frown and stride past her door. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. I can’t change the Kenelky anymore than I can change the tide or the cycle of the moon. The sun rises. The sun sets. People are born. People die. Stella is my mate.
When I exit the front entrance, I peer up at the gloomy pre-dawn sky. It’s raining. I’m no longer surprised by the amount of rain Liberty gets. It usually rains, and if not, the sky is still typically gray and cloudy. I wave a hand at the guards as I go out, stopping them from coming with me. They want to protect me, but there isn't anyone in Liberty I consider a threat.
I button my coat up to the throat as I stride through the misty gloom. This time the elements won't bother me. I consider taking my wind plank, but decide it’s not a far enough distance to justify riding. I’m on Fourth street, and Third is just down the slope.
The dungeons building is a peculiar structure of new and ruined metal and repaired glass. It used to be much taller than it is now, though it is still several stories high.
I stride up the newly repaired stairs. Two elves are standing sentry at the entrance. Their gazes flit to me before turning their attention outward again.
Inside, several cubicles are shoved off to the side of the open lobby. Several elves are seated there, their gazes locked on the glowing screens before them. Magic and electricity hums around them as they type away. They are in charge of the dungeon’s security. I almost pity anyone foolish enough to try to escape. Escape is impossible.
“My prince.” An elf male stands and steps away from his screen, his thin face empty of emotion. His name is Gawynn. “I was not expecting your arrival.”
“I came to oversee the dream vagrant prisoners,” I reply. “How many have you captured?”
Gawynn arches a white eyebrow. He's young, maybe even younger than me. But he's proven himself more than capable of getting things done. A man of action. My father is vocal in his approval of the young elf. Gawynn never shows emotion, ever. He cloaks his feelings even better than my father, and always keeps his head in any situation. I would hate him, but to do so would admit I’m jealous of Father’s affection.
“We've captured over a hundred dream vagrants so far,” he says, “but a few hundred still terrorize the streets of Liberty, not to mention the rest of the world. We need to take drastic measures to make sure whatever star-blood is on this planet is discovered and contained by us. The humans don't have the will to resist it.”
I nod. “Do what you need to do, Gawynn.”
My gaze slips to the elevators. The name for this building is long gone. All that is left of the structure is the shell and some dead ATMs built into the wall. Maybe it had been a ba
nk? The humans no longer have banks. Money and wealth have to be something they can carry with them. “If you would take me to the prisoners, I want to inspect them.”
“Certainly.” Gawynn nods his head, his face a blank slate. Stars, the man has as much emotion as a block of marble. Less. “If you will follow me, I will show you.”
Gawynn strides over to the elevator and I follow him, my gaze flickering to the thin white scar peeking out from his neckline. My lips twist in a faint smile, though it feels more like a snarl. The crescent mark on my hand twinges.
There are times when the elves are not so different from the barbaric humans.
We reach the elevator and Gawynn pushes a button to summon it.
“How are things at the fortress, Prince Eldaren?” the elf asks.
“They are going well enough,” I reply. “We have found a few humans with magic in the past two weeks.”
“Excellent.” The elevator opens with a hiss, and we step into it, the metal doors closing behind us. A shuddering jolt sends us traveling down. I surveyed this building myself, briefly, when I first arrived, but had passed it over to Gawynn shortly after.
“You utilized the lower levels.”
“Yes.” Gawynn’s gaze is unnerving. His eyes are gold, an unusual color, even for elves. An odd contrast to his white hair. “The garage is currently expansive enough for what we need, but we may need more floors added as we collect more vagrants.”
I nod. The door opens with a shudder, and we step out into a gloomy hallway, torches set into brackets on the walls. I frown at my counselor. “This is going too far.” A breeze ripples down the corridor. “We don't need real dungeons. The prisoners will get sick in these conditions.”
“I’ve seen to their care, my prince. No one will catch a cold here. It was more economically efficient to build these without traditional comforts. The vagrants don't need them.”
