by D. N. Hoxa
But Hiss wasn’t there. And the prince had the keys to the door on the second floor. He opened it and stepped aside, waving his hand to invite me in.
I looked at him for a second. He no longer smiled, but he was relaxed, still so far away from the man he had been in Gaena. Did I really believe that he would lure me all the way here just to hurt me, to kill me, to do anything but say thank you for healing him?
No, I didn’t. Call me mad, but I believed with all my heart that he wouldn’t harm me.
So, taking in a deep breath, I walked through the door.
“This is my apartment. I use it when I’m on Earth. I sometimes stay for days at a time,” the prince said when he closed the door. “The Shade here is much bigger, and most of the people here are visitors. There’s no other Shade that’s quite as attractive as the New Orleans one, but there’s plenty of space to rent out from the Guild.”
When he turned the lights on, I walked down the short hallway and into an open area, a room not even half the size of the one in his castle back home. It was modestly furnished, and everything in it was black—from the kitchen at the end, to the couch in front of it, and the two rugs to the sides.
The lights overhead, though, were fascinating. Yellow and bright—so much better than gas lamps.
“That’s a TV,” he said, pointing at what looked like a black box over a simple wooden stand with two drawers in it. “You’ve heard of TVs.”
I had. I’d read all about human technology. We didn’t have electricity back home, and we certainly didn’t make screens come to life, but when the prince used the remote to turn it on, I almost jumped back. A woman was sitting behind a desk, papers in her hands as she spoke about something with so much passion, she sounded like she was yelling. Colors and letters moving all around the image of her, and then it separated into two—and another man took over half the screen. He was shouting, too. Passionately.
“I don’t have much here because I only use this place to sleep in. And for…” his voice trailed off for a second, then he turned the TV off. “Let me show you.”
I followed him down the hallway again to the other side of the apartment. There were two doors at the end of it, and he opened the one on the left. At first, I thought there were no windows in there at all—it was pitch black inside. But when the prince turned the light on, I saw that there were windows. Two of them. They were just covered in thick black drapes.
A single bed was at the side of the room, below the windows. It didn’t even have sheets on it—just a mattress. But on the other side, there were two tables full of books, a board mounted on the white wall, and hundreds of pieces of paper glued to it. I stepped inside, confused. What was the point of putting pieces of paper on the wall?
The prince closed the door. The sound startled me, and I turned to look at it on instinct.
That’s when I saw the painting on the wall, right behind the door.
My mind couldn’t come up with a single thought as I walked to it, the warm light overhead giving away most of its details. I looked at the colors and the golden frame around it and the figures and shapes that took over the canvas—a piece of reality suspended in time.
“You like paintings?” the prince whispered. He was standing right next to me, yet I felt so completely alone. My voice didn’t work so all I did was nod. “This is one of the most beautiful paintings I’ve ever seen.” If he’d hit me in the gut, it would have come as less of a surprise. “It was actually painted by an elf. I don’t know who he is, but I’ve never seen anything like his work.”
“Wow.” The word left my lips in a breath.
And you see that?” the prince said, pointing at the center of it.
The painting portrayed a battle between elven and fae, a perfectly normal everyday occurrence in Gaena. But in this battle, aside from all the blood and all the death and all the desperation, there was a man—an elf soldier, reaching out his arm to a shadow, pulling it up to his feet.
“That’s a fae,” the prince whispered again, as though he thought someone would hear it.
“The shadow.” The shadow that the elf was helping up was a fae.
“Yes, the shadow. See the silhouette of his armor? And the way he’s on one knee, about to get up? That is what fae armor looks like. That is how fae bow to show their respect. That shadow is fae.” He almost sounded like he didn't dare believe his own words.
But the shadow was fae.
I knew because I meant for it to be fae, and the painting had wanted it to be exactly that, too. Tears stung my eyes, but if I cried now, he would know. If I cried now, I would ruin all of this—all of what was accumulating inside me, something I didn’t even dare think about yet.
“It’s almost like…almost like they’re making peace in the middle of the battle. Like the painter wanted to show the world that in even the worst of situations, good things can still happen,” he continued.
I was barely fifteen years old when my father admitted that I wasn't going to give up painting any time soon, and he decided that he didn't want them piling up in my room. He decided to sell them instead. I hated it. My paintings were mine, they belonged to me. But if I refused, he had the power to keep me away from brushes and colors my whole life. I couldn’t have that. I couldn't live like that at all, nor did I want to.
So, I let him sell most of them.
Every time he did, I always wondered whose eyes my paintings would serve. If they were the right eyes. If they took from the colors what they needed to take.
To serve the eyes of a man whose mind was as beautiful as the prince’s was an honor. For the first time in my life, I was glad my father had sold my paintings, just so this one could land here, in a different realm, with a man who took from it exactly what I’d wanted to give with it: hope for change.
When I’d painted this, I’d hoped with all my heart that good things could happen even in the worst of situations. And he could see it as clearly as I’d felt it.
“You okay?” the prince said after a moment. I must have been silent for longer than I thought.
“I’m fine. I’m perfect.” I had never felt more at peace.
Looking away from my painting was painful. I didn’t know how the prince had gotten his hands on it, or how he’d brought it here, but it was the perfect place for it, even though it was hidden in a dark room, behind the door. It was exactly where it was supposed to be, and there it would remain.
“Tell me more,” I said and turned to the other side of the room, to the pieces of paper on the walls, to the books on the tables. I approached them and began to read what those papers said. Some had pictures on them, but most didn’t. My eyes took in every letter, absorbing every word. They spoke of wars, here on Earth, and of the Guild’s management of the Shades, and the relation of Earth with other worlds. But one letter in particular caught my eye. It was handwritten with some of the most powerful, most honest words I had ever read. I read it over and over again, and my fingers landed on the letters.
“It is my conviction that killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder,” the prince read, making the words come alive in my mind. “That’s Albert Einstein. He was human, as far as I can tell. One genius out of many.”
“He’s right.” Absolutely, undeniably right.
The prince nodded. “He was. Humans are so fascinating—the smartest creatures in the universe, if you ask me. They have no magic, no powers, but their minds have developed beyond it. They aren’t defined by limitations. They’re passionate, smart—like Einstein. He was a mathematician and a violin player, but his thoughts on all matters of life are to be praised." His voice was filled with admiration. “Humans are the only species I know that has a deeper understanding of every concept of life. To them, there is no black and white. They see colors better than everyone else out there in the worlds,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, they still have issues. They still discriminate based on race and gender, even sexual preference, but they’ve managed to buil
d an overall functional system. Here, being different makes you special, not hated.”
“How do they do it? How do they live without war?” It was everything my people talked about. Everything they lived for.
“Laws. Regulations. Common sense. Tolerance—not all have them, but most do. And when enough people are of the same mind, change happens,” the prince said. “I’ve been studying their systems for a while now. There are a hundred and ninety-five countries in this world, and for the most part, they work with each other. Directly or indirectly—they make it work without the need to go out in the battlefield and take lives.” He went to his books and showed me the titles he’d been reading. I watched him in awe.
“It’s a similar system with the Sacri Guild. They are the highest supernatural authority in the world and in all the Shades. They’re merciless and they’re controlling, but they’re necessary. You saw for yourself—supernaturals here, different species and different races, don’t kill each other just because they’re different. There’s plenty of murder going around, but it’s for personal gain most of the time. And the people here are driven. They don’t bow to the same rule we do. They’re taught independent thinking from a very young age. They are not bound by their elders like we are. All it takes is one person raising their voice—like here…”
He opened one of his books and showed me the picture of a man sitting on a chair, a stern look on his face. Below it was the name Abraham Lincoln.
“African Americans were considered slaves until 1865. This man made a proclamation a few years earlier and started a massive movement that nobody could hold back. It took years and suffering and hard work, but in the end, all slaves were legally free men—and they continue to be. It was such a huge change for the world at the time, but it happened. It wasn’t impossible.”
He looked up at me, fear and hope merging in his beautiful eyes. I wanted to reach out and touch him so badly, to make sure he was real. Because right now, for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel alone. There was another person out there—as mad, as insane, as messed up in the head as me—who actually wanted things to be different in Gaena.
“It wasn’t impossible,” I repeated, finding more strength in those words than anything else. “Do you think life without war isn’t impossible in Gaena as well?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I do. I have since I fought my first battle. That can’t be the only way to live. It just can’t,” he said. “But people have forgotten.”
“War is all we’ve ever known.” Both our people had been born and raised in it.
“War is all we’re ever taught.”
“War is all we ever talk about.”
“There is no space for anything else but death and blood and power.”
“There is no space for change,” I whispered.
He looked at me for a moment. “But what if there is?” he said the words so quietly, but I read them on his lips anyway.
“What if we made truce?”
The corner of his lip turned upward. “What if we lived in peace?”
“Would we gather in the same place and talk and laugh and drink the night away, like people do here?”
“And share stories, create relationships, start families that are even more different from what we are now?”
“Would we learn to love one another as passionately as we hate?”
“Would we put down our swords and celebrate life as we celebrate death?”
My eyes closed for a moment, and I imagined what my father would think if he were here with us right now.
“Such a beautiful fantasy.”
“But what if it can become reality?” the prince asked. I found the words as ridiculous as mind-blowing.
“How?” How could such a thing be possible?
“I don’t know how. There must be others who hate the way we live. Someone needs to give them a voice—and maybe not now, but the next generations can find a way to make it work,” he said, looking down at his book. “History is the greatest teacher. If other species can do it, why can’t we?”
“Because we’re ruled by the same men for hundreds of years, men who know nothing of true war. Men who profit from it, who crave it.” Like his father. Like my brother. “I’ve read every war strategy ever implemented by the elves and most of what the fae have done—and the reason why neither ever truly wins? We’re all too good at it. We’ve been doing it for such a long time that our minds have adapted to it. We think in terms of war, battles, power. The only reward we’re used to expecting, to appreciating in life, is a won battle.”
“Where?” he said, confusing me for a second. “Where have you read those things. When?”
I turned my head toward the wall and the pieces of paper again.
“Tell me your name. Come on, I want to know how to call you,” the prince said.
“Call me taran.” Because my real name was not meant for his ears just yet.
“A fox,” he said with a grin. “Okay. It suits you, Taran.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “What is a Winter prince doing at the edges of his Court, commanding five hundred men?” I asked, and the good mood seemed to drain from him right away. Wrong question.
He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “You’re not really from House Moneir, are you? You’re not really a farmer.” I pulled my lips inside my mouth to keep from saying anything. “I’ve told you—shown you things that will get me killed in a heartbeat if you so much as whisper about them in Gaena. You can’t even tell me your name.” He didn’t sound accusing. Only playful.
“My name is not important, nor is my House. Here, we’re far away from all that madness. Let’s take advantage of that.” Because who knew when I'd find myself in this place again, if ever?
He shook his head again, smiling. “I guess I should be thankful that you’re even talking to me, so okay. What do you want to do?”
I wanted to eat. And I wanted to hear his stories—all of them, about the humans, about what he thought our world could look like, about everything. I’d never wanted to know a mind like I did his—not even my father’s.
So, the prince took me to get pizza. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. We sat down on a bench outside in the Shade, and he asked it to keep our conversation private. The Shade complied, wrapping us in a bubble that nobody could hear through, and for the rest of the night, what ifs and maybes became reality in both our minds.
Chapter 22
Hours later, when it was time to leave, the Shade was still as alive as ever. It was right before dawn, but the streets were full of people, the music still blasted in the air, the laughter filled me with positivity. So much life in that place—I couldn't get over it.
I watched the people as we made our way back to the Guild offices and the Gateway, and I tried to memorize every face I saw. I wanted to paint them all. Make them immortal, no matter their species.
None of them ever looked back at me.
None—except one.
She was about my height, with a head full of blonde hair that shone golden, even under the green lights of the Shade. Her eyes were honest as she watched me, confused at first, then curious. She looked right at me, like she could see not only under the spell, but under my skin, too. Into my mind. Goose bumps on my arms, even before I noticed the tiny creatures hanging onto her frame. A squirrel sat on her shoulder. The rest of the creatures moved around, too fast, too far to make out clearly.
I couldn’t look away, stuck in place by her attention.
And then a man came from behind her, took her hand in his, and whispered in her ear. She smiled at me and nodded, as if she knew me. As if we’d met before. I smiled back. She turned around and left.
“The potion I drank. How strong is it? Could it be fading?” I asked the prince because that woman had seen through it—I was sure of it. Yet it hadn’t bothered her at all that I was an elf.
“Very strong. It won’t fade for at least another few hours. It’
s a Prime potion. Even Primes can’t see through it,” the prince reassured me.
Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe I was just tired, and we still had a long way ahead of us.
The process of going back to that place, to all those people and through the Gateway was even more exhausting than I thought it would be. I kept my head down and my mouth shut, hoping it would all be over quicker.
When we made it outside of the cave in Gaena, the prince’s white horse was there, waiting for us. Dawn was approaching, turning the sky a color you could never truly replicate on a canvas.
It felt like my life was over all over again, and my heart was heavy.
The prince took the reins of his horse in his hand and looked at me. His heart was heavy, too. I don’t know how I knew.
“You’re free to go, Taran,” he said and offered me the reins. “Anywhere you want. Storm will take you. She's very loyal. She'll serve you well.” The horse neighed her complaint, but she didn't need to worry. I wasn't going to take her away from the prince.
“I was always free to go. Your chain and your men and your castle could never stop me from leaving,” I said. By now, I knew him better than to think he would laugh in my face or feel belittled by that statement only because I was an elf.
“So why didn’t you?”
I looked at Gaena’s horizon, the orange and purple sky, and the elflands in the distance.
“Because I have nowhere left to go.”
“Who did this to you?” he asked, and all I found in his eyes was honesty. He really cared to know.
“I did.” By refusing to see. By letting naivety and misplaced trust blind me.
“You want to come back to the castle?” He didn’t try to hide his surprise.
I nodded. That was the only place I knew for now. “Can you take me close to the forest first?” The forest that I had seen from the windows of his room every night. I always wanted to see it from close up—all the naked trees and the pointy branches.
