Page 16

While I Stare

T he stench is suffocating, a mix of sweat, grime, and the Hollow. The smell of the cell clings to me like a thick film, seeping deep into my skin. I stand by the bars, gripping them so tightly that my fingers throb. The rough metal digs into my palms, scraping with every shift.

In the distance looms the Sun Tree, the heart of Parae. Towering and ancient, it’s bound to the sun, nature, and the goddesses.

Elves are scattered across it now, perched along its roots, branches, trunk, and within the frosty white crown.

It’s time for the daily prayer. Unlike other trees, its branches begin low to the ground.

Thick and chalk-white, they’re dusted with snow.

Icicles hang beneath and above; elves crouch in reverence.

Their palms press flat against the branches, knees buried in the snow, faces tilted toward the snowberry-white sky. Their mouths are open, murmuring soft chants in Elvish. Their eyes remain shut.

The lower branches are crowded with them; the numbers grow higher up, where only the leaders are allowed to sit, so close to the sun that it feels within reach.

Some go there daily; others only when they feel inclined.

Attending a few days each mooncrescent is widely accepted if time or energy doesn’t allow for more.

My family, however, treats it with the utmost seriousness.

They insist that daily prayer is crucial to earning a powerful ability as a reward.

I’ve followed them every day of my life. So many prayers I’ve uttered, so many wishes I’ve whispered, so many shrines I’ve visited. To Sesta, the sun, and the goddesses Elda and Sakelia.

The sun and nature mean everything to me. But look where it’s gotten me. It’s all been for nothing. This eredawn, I won’t pray. This eredawn, I turn my back on the goddesses. For good. Forever.

Why should I speak to them when they refuse to talk to me? When they left me an outcast and stripped me of the one thing that matters to a sun elf? Nature magic. The ability. Aewna. The connection to the natural world. It’s like a wolf without a tail or a moose with three legs.

I hiss at the bars.

“Dúr oilia!”

But nothing happens. It doesn’t open. Just as expected.

I spend the entire day locked inside, waiting for time to pass. All I can do is watch as the hours slip by, fleeting like birds—eredawn, dawn, aftendawn, ereday, midday, aftenday, eredusk.

No visitors. No spiders. No elves. Once, someone brought bread and water. Another time, a group of children peeked in, giggling. I made faces at them until they ran off.

Now it’s dusk, and I’m restless. There’s nothing to do here. I’ve already carved circles into the floor. Symbols of the sun, even though I no longer want to be tied to the sun or the goddesses. But it’s hard when?—

Voices!

Voices I know. At last!

“Reasaa mnant’a,” Father says when he sees me, his footsteps crunching through the snow. The market behind him is empty and lifeless. Two elves clear away the last remnants while another carries off a tarp. Beyond that, everything is dark, still, and abandoned.

My heart skips a beat, freezing mid-motion. I throw myself against the bars, shoving my arms through the gaps, reaching, flailing wildly toward him. Desperate, frantic, unrestrained.

He steps closer, his cold hands cupping my cheeks. I shiver at the touch.

“We’ll get you out, miela. We’ll get you out, do you hear me?” His slanted eyes are sorrowful, yet his gaze burns with unwavering resolve.

“Forgive me, Father. Forgive me for taking Voenriel and Arenvíss.”

He nods slowly, the simple motion sending a wave of warmth through me. “There’s nothing to forgive, sweetheart. It’s already forgotten. Even if it was reckless and foolish, I understand why you did it.”

I close my eyes as his rough thumbs trace gently along my cheeks. He smells of pine, spruce, and roasted meat—like home. “Did you get them back?”

“Yes, I got them back. Don’t give it another thought. All that matters is bringing you home, do you understand? Weapons are just steel and stone, meaningless things. But you. You’re my daughter, my reasaa. You don’t belong in this wretched hole, cold and alone. It’s not right.”

I swallow hard, gratitude swelling in my chest at the thought that he still loves me. I want to cry, to let it all out, but I don’t. I can’t. Even if I wanted to, the tears wouldn’t come.

“How’s it going?” I ask. “Naeva said you’re negotiating with the leadership.”

He opens his mouth to reply but hesitates, his lips closing as uncertainty flickers across his face.

“How long do you think I’ll have to stay here?”

Before he can answer, Mother emerges from behind him, her steps crunching over the snow, glowing in twilight blue as if the night had melted into the frozen ground.

She’s wrapped in her thickest outdoor gown, her posture stiff against the biting cold.

She gives me a faint smile, but it falls short of her eyes, and she stops beneath a nearby oak tree.

Her lips are pressed into a tight line, rigid with tension.

Cold vapor drifts steadily from her nostrils in the icy air.

“We’ll get you out,” Father says again, his voice steady, deliberate.

“It’s taking far longer than we ever imagined, far longer than it should have. But we won’t give up, do you hear me?” His thumbs press more firmly against my cheeks as if he could will my freedom into existence through sheer determination.

And strangely, the touch doesn’t feel so bad. Not now, not when I’m alone like this.

“Why is it taking so long?” I whisper.

Mother sighs, her eyes darting around. Is she in a rush?

“Why do I have to stay here for so long?” I continue. “I don’t understand. I haven’t killed anyone, have I?” Not recently, at least. “Sure, I used weapons, but the punishment for that isn’t a full lunar cycle or more.”

“They’re looking into other matters right now,” Mother says softly, speaking before Father can answer. Her voice is strained, her face drawn, like she hasn’t slept in days. “It’s not just what you’ve done.”

“Noveniel!” Father drops his hands from me and turns to her, his voice sharp. “We agreed not to say anything yet!”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my gaze flicking between them, unsure where to land.

Mother presses her lips together, pulling her thin, soft white cloak tighter around her shoulders. “It’s about your ability, Iszaelda. The leadership finds it strange that you didn’t receive one, and they’re investigating the reason. That’s all there’s to it.”

I draw a sharp breath, locking eyes with Father, tension simmering between us. “What do you mean, that’s all there’s to it? Do they think I’m… a witch?”

“No, no!” Father blurts out too quickly to sound convincing. He bites at a nail, a telltale sign that something isn’t right. “They don’t think that, miela. Don’t worry, do you hear me?” He takes my hand, enclosing it between his own, his grip firm and reassuring.

Protective.

You can’t protect me from this, Father. But you’re welcome to try.

“We need to go, Eolandel,” Mother says, her voice measured and distant. She’s always kept a certain space between us, but now it feels sharper, more deliberate than ever.

“Hold on, reasaa mnant’a,” Father whispers, brushing my cheek one final time. “I promise to fix this. You won’t be here much longer. But you must behave, do you understand?”

I nod.

“No more trouble. If you cause any more, I’m not sure if we’ll be able to get you out. Is that clear?”

I nod again, my chest tightening, eager to make him proud.

“Meeli, Iszaelda,” Mother says, stepping forward as if to reach out to me. But she stops short, her hand faltering mid-motion. Instead, she steps back, takes Father’s arm, and they leave together. Their footsteps crunch over the snow, growing fainter with every step.

The scent of pine, spruce, and roasted meat fades into nothing. The warmth of Father’s touch on my cheek—gone.

Father turns one last time, his eyes on me, and waves. I lift my hand in return, pressing my other fingers tightly against the cold bars.

When will I see him again?