by K. M. Raya
The trees begin to whistle, and the group comes to a halt. ‘No—not the trees.” I realize. I hear a whooshing sound as shapes begin to materialize from the darkness. Dozens of ropes drop from the trees and what I am assuming are people, slide down their length. Tall, slender figures land on their feet gracefully and soundlessly before walking into the torchlight.
One of the figures lands only a fingers length from my perch on Patch’s back causing me to flinch away. The first thing that strikes me is the appearance of a man. The stark paleness of his long hair that cascades over broad shoulders would be the envy of every noble woman in Karn. Half of it is plaited behind his head with beads that dangle from thick leather bands. My breath catches as I realize what I’m seeing. Slender, pointed ears peek out from beneath that pearly waterfall of silk. His skin is as pale as moonlight, and it complements his slanted eyes that reflect only silver, set in an angular face that is both masculine and feminine all at the same time. His eyes bore into mine and then slide down the length of my body as if assessing me. Unless I’m mistaken, I could have sworn those silvery depths darkened just a little.
“What do we have here, Roark?” His eyes flicker away for a moment. “A trespasser?” His voice is deeper than I’d expected and the hum of it travels through my skin and sinks into my bones, warming the chill there.
“Y—you’re an elf,” I stammer before having the sense to stay my tongue.
His full, wide lips tip into a bitter smirk. “A loreless trespasser, I see,” he chuckles—making my cheeks flare with embarrassment. I feel giddy around this elf—almost nervous. He’s such a striking creature and I feel like I could spend countless days just staring at his face in wonder.
“Leave the girl be, Thallan.” Roark sidles up to us under the light of his purple hued torchlight. “She knows nothing of this land. We need to speak with the General at once.”
Thallan’s face sobers as he nods curtly, but his iridescent eyes once again trace over my body and I feel the caress as if his hands were on my skin. His lips tilt at the edges as his eyes heat. My breath catches again because I’ve never felt a man’s attention like this before. I’ve always been the untouchable princess in a madman’s castle. But this elf looks at me like I’m a treasure he’d like to steal away for himself. With one last hard look into my eyes, the elf turns on his heel—white braids swishing behind him and whistles a strange tune loud enough for his companions to hear. It must be some sort of signal because they each begin their graceful ascent back into the trees.
Two other elves walk over, beckoning me to dismount. Reluctantly, I hand over the reigns as they lead Patch and Caspar away. I go to turn back to Roark, but instead I’m met with Belinda’s soft smile as she reaches out for me to grasp her hand.
“I promise you’ll be safe,” she whispers as though to not spook me more. Placing my hands in hers, I look to the side as Anya takes Roark’s hands the same. In moments, the air fills with a crackling, tingling sensation that spreads over my skin, raising the hair on my arms and neck. Something warm pools in my stomach. I feel strange, but not in a bad way.
“Can you feel that?” I ask Anya only to be met with a confused frown.
“Feel what?” The crackling intensifies until soon, my feet begin to lift from the forest floor. Anya lets out a small whimper and I find myself stifling one too as sparks of blue and purple light swirl around our feet as we rise into the air. The mages around us are busy doing the same, though many of them have risen far above us until they disappear into the branches.
Sera
Anya closed her eyes the entire way up, but my curiosity got the better of me.
The ground is far, far below my feet as we pass through the first layer of branches. It’s so dark and my eyes aren’t adjusted to it yet, but up above me now is a faint glowing light. I marvel at the sheer absurdity of the height of these trees. They might as well be mountains. Finally, the glowing light becomes more distinct when I lay eyes on the most incredible sight. Strung through the tree branches are strings of glowing lanterns filled with fire. Beneath the lanterns is a labyrinth of treetop bridges made of wood and twisting violet vines. Each of the bridges connects a series of steepled wooden homes with candlelight flickering through their windows—their frames are covered in moss and carved sigils. I recognize these sigils as the language of the druids and have to suppress a shiver of excitement. I feel like I’m living a dream and any moment now, my mother will burst into my chambers and shake me out of this paradise—this...kingdom in the trees.
We land solidly atop one of the bridges, but before I have a chance to gather my thoughts, I’m being led down a warmly lit pathway. Looking to Anya, we catch each other's eyes and shrug helplessly. Her jaw practically hits the ground as I watch her take in the sights. There are people around us, and they watch me curiously—making me want to gather my bright hair and tuck it into my hood. I feel exposed and it dawns on me suddenly that I’m surrounded by Kindred who would probably love nothing more than to see every member of the Draegan royal line extinguished. ‘But then again, if that were true, why hadn’t they been with Sephrian as he took my fathers kingdom?’
After a small trek, we make it to the front steps of a home that seems larger and more imposing than the ones around it. Instead of a door, the doorway has a tightly woven crimson curtain hanging from the frame and Roark pushes it aside and lets himself in ahead of the rest of us. The room we enter smells of leather and embers. Roughly drawn maps line the inner walls and a massive rack of strange weapons hang on the farthest wall next to a blazing hearth. Squinting my eyes, I note that faint orange sparks seem to crackle in the empty air around the weapons—telling me that mage magic is at play.
The clearing of a throat brings my attention to the person we are obviously here to see. I’m assuming this person is their General, after listening to what Roark told that elf. A large woman rests behind a massive wooden desk. In the back of my mind, I refuse to imagine how a desk of that sort managed to end up in the treetops, but then I remember that I’m dealing with the Kindred and not humans. The woman stands and walks around the desk and my eyes flicker down the length of her. Something about the woman is strikingly familiar, though for the life of me I can’t place her face. She wears crudely woven men’s trousers and a black vest of iridescent...scales? Her skin is darkened by the sun and her brown hair is pulled back into a long braid that reaches the base of her spine.
“I’m happy to see you made it back safely, Roark, was there any trouble on the road?” she asks over my head. Roark and Belinda remain next to the entrance like silent sentinels.
“No, General. It was a surprisingly peaceful journey,” Roark tells her and I practically snort.
She nods once before snapping her dark eyes to mine. I have to hold in a gasp as her gaze sucks me in. Swirling in the depths of deep brown are orange and red streaks of glowing light, marking her as a mage. I shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but I feel invigorated and excited to meet another Kindred warrior.
“Princess—please have a seat, you must be exhausted.” She turns abruptly and gestures to one of the plush chairs in front of her desk.
Reluctantly, I make my way over, dragging Anya with me, knowing she’s just as tired as me. “I’d prefer it if you wouldn’t call me princess…” I attempt to ask politely. “Especially here.”
Her mouth flattens into a harsh line. “You’re afraid of us?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I think I have reason to be, don’t you?”
The woman stares at me in silence for a few moments as her eyes rove over my face. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Sera.” Her voice is sure and steady.
“You know me?”
She smiles for the first time and it warms her still too familiar face considerably. “I know you—better than you realize.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?” I ask bluntly. “Why have we been brought here?”
The woman s
teeples her fingers beneath her chin. “My name is General Tilda Rathbone—”
Anya and I suck in sharp breaths, glancing at one another in shock. I know that name. I studied that name.
“But you’re supposed to be dead—” I clamp a hand over my mouth, mortified at my own loose tongue.
The general only smiles rather blandly at my outburst. “And who told you that? Your mother I assume?” Her tone has a bitter edge to it.
I frown, “Well, no—actually it’s common knowledge. You died in the purge.”
Laughter fills the room as Tilda, Roark and Belinda wipe tears from their eyes and I blush. Tilda recovers first. “Did I now?” She leans back in her chair. “My, my, how Moran has his hooks in Seth…”
“Had—” I interrupt.
“Excuse me?”
I square my shoulders and clear my throat. “He had his hooks in him...mother and father are dead, Moran too I’m assuming.”
For just a single moment, Tilda’s eyes gloss over and darken before she recovers herself and looks away. “You’re certain?”
My fingers fidget with my skirts. “Yes, I held him in my arms when his body turned to ash.” I fight to forget the feel of the king’s remains slipping through my fingers like sand. I may not have loved the man, but he was still my father.
“And how, pray tell, did you manage to escape?” she asks.
I furrow my brow in confusion. Not at her words, but because I have no idea how that fire spared me. “Sephrian cast mage fire through the castle. The king and queen were among the first to be hit, but father’s body fell on top of me before turning to ash. I ran after that. I ran until I found Anya and fled to the stables.”
The room is silent as I recount our escape. Looking to Anya, my heart clenches at the fresh tears trickling over her cheeks. “We barely made it out before the towers began to crumble.”
In my mind I can still hear the screams of the servants as they frantically ran for the exits. I remember the clash and clank of iron as soldiers swarmed the throne room—trying to protect the king and queen before realizing they were already dead. After that it was chaos. With our rulers gone and their heirs lost in the flames, by all rights I was the queen of Karn.
After a few long moments of silence, Tilda walks forward. Her face is drawn, and her brown eyes look impossibly sad. “You girls need a good washing and some sleep.” She looks up and nods at Belinda. “Follow Belinda, she’ll get you settled into the barracks.”
I frown at that, confused. “Barracks? Why are we rooming with soldiers?”
Roark speaks up behind us. “Because any person who seeks sanctuary in the Veil is required to help build their own home. If you wish to stay, you need to contribute. Until then, there are rooms in the barracks that will be comfortable enough.”
Nodding our goodbyes to the General, we move to follow Belinda out of the room, but before I pass through the curtain, I look back over my shoulder and meet Tilda’s sad eyes. She watches me in a peculiar way. She looks contemplative and curious.
The forest is dark when we leave the General’s quarters and there’s a chill in the air that washes over me pleasantly. The air smells like sage and crackling fire and I find myself relaxing for the first time in a while. I don’t see many people around, but most of the homes have flickering light shining from behind their curtained windows and smoke filtering from crude chimneys. We follow behind Belinda for a long time, crossing bridges and platforms made of tree vines, wood and moss. Lanterns line every pathway so it’s easy to make our way through. My eyes want to suck in everything around me, I want to memorize this beautiful place as if I’m afraid it will all disappear in the morning.
It feels like a dream and I gaze at the massive wooden structures with their sloping, pointed rooftops covered in violet moss and roots. To think that an entire city exists in the treetops, unbeknownst to the land dwellers below is remarkable. The trees are so thick and so massive that the bottom of the canopy makes it almost impossible to spot unless you know what you are looking for.
The moon hovers full overhead. I raise my face up to the stars, breathing in the fresh air this high up, when suddenly a dark shape swoops down in front of the moon. I gasp and duck down—covering my head as Belinda and Anya turn around to watch me with curious frowns.
“What is it?’ Anya asks, flicking her own eyes to the sky.
Raising my head, I look around frantically. “There's something up there! I saw it fly across the moonlight!”
Belinda chuckles. “It’s only a shadow drac, nothing to fear from them.” She says it calmly before turning around and continuing forward. I’m still struck by the words…‘shadow drac.’
“You have dracs?” I ask breathlessly and Anya and I hurry to catch up.
Belinda just scoffs. “Where do you think you are, girl? Before we were forced to live here, this place was a colony,” she explains and my eyes widen.
“Are we safe?” I suddenly feel like we’re being watched.
She stops hard and so do we. Turning around, her face holds irritation as she steps towards me. “Don’t you let one of them hear you talking like that, girl. Drac’s are to be respected. This is their land we live on and they were gracious enough to harbor us. You’ll do well to make an ally or two of them.”
I frown, not understanding. “Make an ally of a dragon? How do you expect me to accomplish that?”
Belinda stares at me for a long moment, eyes bleak. “Have you never seen a drac? All of your formal studies in that big castle of yours and not one of your tutors told you what a shadow drac is?” She snorts. “I find that hard to believe.”
Anger and embarrassment flare inside me. “Listen here you old grump—” I start in but Anya stops me with a hand on my shoulder. I scowl but clamp my mouth shut.
Anya smiles apologetically at Belinda. “What she’s trying to say, it that...no. We were never taught these things because the king and queen forbade it. Children of Karn aren't permitted to study the Kindred, so most of our knowledge is from legends and tall tales.”
Belinda squints her eyes at me, but before she can say a word, something heavy lands on a nearby branch. I snap my head in that direction and narrow my eyes to make out the shape, but from here all I can see is a massive form, perched on the thick branch. Belinda turns away and walks further down the pathway and Anya goes to follow. I’m still staring at the dark shape and I have a feeling it’s staring right back.
~~~
My eyes snap open the next morning as sunlight streams through the open window next to my borrowed bed. Stretching my arms above my head, I feel sore and achy from days of being on the road.
Last night we’d arrived at a large platform which houses a row of barracks. The wooden structures are long in shape and situated into four rows. The rooftops are steepled much like the structures around it, but there are no markings on the outer door or any sort of adornments to be seen. Inside, the rooms are mostly bare save for two beds, a chest of drawers, a washing basin and a hearth inlaid into the side of the wall.
I took the time before settling in for sleep last night to wash the muck and grime from my skin using some homemade soaps that Belinda was generous enough to offer us. She also provided us with a pair of small men’s trousers, thick leather boots and dark grey tunics to wear since our dresses are covered in filth and ash...I shiver. I brush though my tangled red hair with my fingers—wishing they’d given me a cloak to cover it all up. A part of me is afraid of stepping out the door. One look at my flaming locks and they’ll all know exactly whose daughter I am.
Anya sleeps soundly in the bed on the far wall, but I’ve been sitting here awake for too long now. Forcing myself to get up, I make my way outside. The air is fresh, crisp and slightly warmer than it had been the night before. Up here, the sun shines brightly without the dense treetops to block it out. There are people milling around on the nearby platforms and bridges. Looking closer, many of them are dressed very similar to me, save for a few human lo
oking women here and there clothed in dark green dresses that sweep down to their feet.
A grouping of elvish men stands to the side of me—about five of them, all tall, slender and regal looking with their pointed ears and delicate features. Most of them have silvery hair, but I do spot a few with pitch black locks that nearly look blue. They stand together, whispering amongst themselves, but I can’t miss how every few moments one of them turns to give me a sharp look. They have small frowns on their severe faces as they watch me and obviously discuss me. My skin itches and I feel uncomfortable under their scrutiny.
The clash of steel catches my ears as I wander away from the elvish men and their prying eyes. There’s a bridge ahead and as I get closer, the sound gets louder. I lean over the side of a thick, mossy railing to see a lower platform below. Over fifty men and women of both elvish and mage decent are sparring with swords, spears, bows and other various weapons that I don’t have a name for. My heart races as I watch the expert way they step, swing and dance around each other. Some of them shoot sparks of red, orange, purple and blue from their fingertips, practicing with their magic instead of swords. I watch them in awe, itching to join them. I used to watch for hours as Gavriel and Forrest trained with the guard. I’d sit there in awe and envy of them as they learned how to fight. My mother would have tore me to pieces had she known that sometimes, Wesley and I would spar with wooden practice swords out by the old healer's cottage.
A head of bright white hair captures my attention. My skin feels flushed as I notice the elvish man from last night standing at the edge of the training platform with his arms crossed over his chest and silver eyes locked on me. He wears a deep frown, but it still doesn’t detract from his beauty. His name is Thallan, if I remember correctly. For an elf, his arms are quite broad beneath his black tunic. His pearly skin is a stark contrast to the dark clothing he wears and it’s only now that I realize everyone else wears the same down there. ‘This must be some sort of guard then,’ I muse. They look to be trained well, and the way Thallan stands apart from them, I’d say he’s some sort of higher-ranking elf.
