Page 25

She’s a Star Elf

“ D o you truly mean it?”

“Most assuredly. I’m not one to speak idly.”

“Let me see.”

“By all means, you’re awaited.”

Silence.

“Appalling. The poor soul.”

“Indeed.”

“How long do you think she?—”

“Will survive? Only Sakelia, Elda, and the other goddesses know. But even in my most vivid imagination, I can’t fathom her lasting more than a few days. Not in this state.”

I’m met by light. Rippling light. Everywhere. It pricks and burns my eyes, blinding me until all I see is a white-yellow glow. It hurts.

I blink several times but settle for peering out through two narrow slits.

Distant treetops sway above, moving slowly back and forth in the wind against a sky as blue as the gemstones in Naeva’s most expensive necklace.

Warm grass calls to my palms, teasing and tickling.

I clutch it between my fingers. Soft and unfamiliar.

It smells divine, just as it once did, but beneath a thick blanket of snow and frost. Now, the scent is intensified. Sharpened.

The air is alive with birdsong, an eruption of melodies from species I can’t name, their chirping weaving together into a harmonious symphony.

The notes are reminiscent of a chaffinch or the sweet call of a blackbird. But they’re neither. In the distance, a deep, rumbling roar rises, perhaps from a waterfall or a rushing river.

“Where are we?” I ask the sky, my voice a fragile whisper, rough and barely audible. The effort steals my breath.

“Iszaelda! You’re awake.”

Daeroal’s voice drifts in from my left. I lack the strength to turn my head. He takes my hand, his fingers resting gently on its back. Instinctively, I pull it away, hiding it beneath my body. Why is he so pleased to see me? We don’t know each other very well.

“It won’t change anything,” Talendir hisses. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Talendir. The one who banished me to the Hollow. I thought he was gone, or dead. Didn’t Keelan say as much?

“How are you feeling?” Daeroal’s hand brushes over my hair. The touch feels wrong and invasive, but I’m too weak to pull away.

“Like a fiery Scourge. I’m not in pain… anywhere.”

His voice shoots into a falsetto. “Exciting! Then?—”

“What do you think? I was… being sarcastic.”

“Oh.” His hand lingers on my forehead. Warm and damp. It smells of plants and the wild, though I can’t pinpoint the exact species. Fern? Not quite. Pine? Definitely not.

“Trust me, you don’t… want to know… how I feel,” I whisper, my voice raw and broken. “Where are we?”

The sun scorches my arms; the heat is so fierce it feels like my skin is bubbling beneath it. We can’t still be in Aarilion. That much is certain.

“I’ll take my leave,” Talendir mutters, his tone curt. I hear the scuffle of his steps as he rises and moves away. “Be well.”

“We’re in Baraatien,” Daeroal says, scratching at something. Though I don’t look at him, the sound of his nails scraping against his skin is unmistakable. “We crossed the border and managed to escape.”

“Is that why…” The words catch in my throat, too painful to push out. Instead, I nod toward the sky, pointing without speaking. A massive bird glides overhead, its wings spanning several elven lengths, a raven-black silhouette cutting through the blinding light.

“Are you thinking about the light?”

I nod again. Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision.

“There’s certainly a big difference.”

“Mmm.” Keeping my eyes open becomes harder and harder, as though invisible hands are forcing them shut.

“Aeralon and Naeva would have loved it. So would Iminya and Havourel. It’s beautiful here. Like a dream. Waterfalls everywhere, sunlight, warmth. As soon as you’re better, I’ll show you around.”

“Your sisters, have they… died?” I swallow hard, my gaze fixed on two clouds between the leaves.

They’re white, soft as cream and remind me of playful hares.

But farther out, a different cloud looms, deep gray, heavy with the promise of a storm.

It edges closer, menacing, as if ready to devour the others, to consume, kill, destroy just as Akares destroyed my family. Just as Akares took Naeva.

Maybe my family is watching me the way I watch the clouds.

Their souls should have reached Agawauna by now, scattered like dust. The building blocks of the spirit veil that hold Sarador together.

A serene plane, free of emotion or pain.

Blissful watchers, eyeless yet all-seeing, stand guard over the living.

Part of a vast collective, where millions of thoughts and consciousnesses weave together into a single whole. Eternal rest.

Daeroal exhales heavily. “Iminya and our parents… they didn’t make it.” The scratching grows frantic as if he is trying to claw the memory away. “Havourel is alive, though. Captured but alive. They took several. Only women.”

A sharp breath escapes me. They took others?

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” The scratching stops abruptly.

“Naeva was taken too.”

“I’m sorry. Many of us lost our families that day.”

“Who… who’s here?” My gaze shifts upward, following the swaying leaves as they twist and dance, creating fleeting patterns of light and shadow across the canopy. A butterfly, no larger than my hand, flutters past my nose, its wings shimmering like the surface of a deep, still lake.

The silence stretches, broken only by the low hum of a bee.

“Daeroal?”

“Yes, sorry. There aren’t… many of us left.” His scratching resumes, gentler now but no less persistent. I can’t shake the image of translucent flakes of his skin drifting onto me, like the brittle remnants of Talendir’s cracked lips. I shiver in the heat.

“Where’s… Keelan?”

Silence.

“Daeroal?”

“Yes…” His other hand scratches somewhere, nails scraping furiously at a part of himself I can’t see.

“Where’s Keelan?”

“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

A cold, immovable stone drops into my stomach. My throat tightens as I swallow, and my eyes are glued to the dark, swirling cloud overhead. “Tell me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Tell me!” I cough violently, the sound wet and ragged, tearing its way up from my chest. It rasps like the death rattle of a dying elf, my lungs searing with every breath as though I’ve consumed spirits.

“He’s dead.”

“No.”

“I’m really sorry.”

The scratching grows louder, frenzied, each scrape grating against my nerves.

It burrows into my mind, unbearable, and I can’t help but picture his nails shredding his skin, peeling it away layer by layer until only raw, bleeding wounds remain.

“Stop scratching! You’re driving me insane!”

He flinches, startled. The sound stops immediately.

“Keelan?” My voice rises. “He can’t be?—”

“He is.” His hand keeps stroking my upper arm, slowly. It’s unwelcome. I wish he would stop.

“We argued,” I say, the words catching in my throat.

“I know.”

“It was his fault that I ended up in the Hollow.”

“I know that too.”

He scratches himself again, trying to be subtle, but I still hear it. Does he have fleas? His sister, Iminya, used to scratch like that when she was nervous. Aeralon mentioned it once. Maybe it’s just in their blood.

“We never made up,” I whisper, the regret sharp and bitter.

“I know.”

“And I left him… to fight Akares.” My eyes burn, but I blink hard, pulling in the scents around me.

Grass, earth, sunlight. So vivid, so alive.

Why do I get to feel this when my family is gone?

Why am I here, breathing, while they aren’t?

Has everyone I know died? Everyone but Naeva? That can’t be true. It can’t.

“It’s what it is,” Daeroal murmurs, his voice barely audible. “But he loved you. I know that much.”

“How did he die?”

“At the border to Baraatien,” he says quietly. “An arrow. He was struck down, and… we had to leave him.”

I close my eyes, the sun bright against my eyelids, and try to process the information. But my head spins. Everything feels wrong. He was alive. He pulled me from the house and saved me. And I chased after Akares, leaving Keelan to his fate without a second thought.

I never stopped to consider that he might die. What kind of kindred does that? What kind of elf am I?

And that’s not even the worst of it. For a moment, I wondered why he survived and not my family, why he lived when Aeralon didn’t.

The thought of Keelan being dead feels too surreal to comprehend. I bury my feelings, whatever they may be. Guilt, sorrow, regret. I shove them down deep where they can’t reach me. Not now. I must look ahead, at least for now.

“I heard what… you said earlier. That I… wouldn’t?—”

“Survive?” Daeroal’s voice drifts softly, as light as a breeze. To an untrained ear, it could belong to either a man or a woman.

I nod slowly.

“You’re not going to die. I won’t let you. And the exciting part? We have a plan. You’ll see.”

“A plan?”

“A good plan.”

“Then why did Talendir sound so… grim?” Another cough tears through me, so violent it leaves me retching.

My body is a battlefield, aching, burning, and throbbing all at once, yet oddly detached in places.

It’s as if there are threads beneath my skin, thin, writhing things that twist, coil, and bite, tightening like snares around my veins.

“Because it’ll take us mooncrescents to move you.”

“Move me? Where?”

“To those who can help. Talendir thinks you will last only a few days—that’s the problem. But don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

“I’m not worried.” My voice feels distant, as if it doesn’t belong to me. A strange calm settles over me, steady and resolute, as though Naeva herself is here, soothing me. Somewhere deep inside, a part of me knows I’m going to die. That part is already making peace with it.

Daeroal’s fingers trace the hollow between my collarbones. “What’s this?”

I’m slipping away, his voice becoming distant, like an echo in a cavern.

“Your necklace. It looks… unusual.”

“Mother gave it to me. Before she?—”

“A family heirloom?”

“It has… a name.”

“And what’s the name?”

“Nardual Asaar.”

“Jewelry doesn’t usually have names.”