Page 36

Walk Away

I set the tray down with a rattle and sink onto the wooden bench. It creaks beneath me.

It’s Daymeal, the midday feast, served in the main hall alongside the star elves. Dawnmeal and Duskmeal are taken in the hut.

The dining hall stretches wide and is filled with long, timeworn benches and matching tables, where rows of diners sit shoulder to shoulder. Everything is immaculately clean, white, muted gray and sterile, a room without warmth.

Steam curls from the kitchen hatch. Laughter and chatter weave through the space, blending with the clatter of silverware and the wet sounds of chewing.

I sit alone, alone in a sea of elves.

Tucked into a corner, back against the wall, I’m as far from the others as I can get.

I push my food around the plate. Not hungry. Not even with the scent of charred meat, potatoes, pepper, and smoke curling through the air. Mistrani may have been starving, but I’m not.

To my right, three star elf women sit together. They’re young, like I am, and probably apprentices. But I’m not interested in making friends after everything that has happened.

I’m not here to forge bonds, not for a lifetime or even a day. I’m here to learn how to fight, and I’m forced to do so.

If I had my way, I’d already be gone, tracking Naeva. And I’ll leave.

I just need a plan first, a way around Merediath’s spell.

The women to my right giggle and steals glances. They look away when I meet their eyes, but I catch them sneaking sidelong looks, their hair weighed down by ornaments.

One has threads woven with animal teeth, thorns, and bone fragments dangling from her hairline to her shoulders. Another wears two bright red bands on each arm. The third is draped in snakeskin, winding white patterns painted along her arms like the creatures she wears.

So different from the sun elves.

Their skin is dark and tinged with gray, and their hair is wild, twisted, knotted, and piled high in ways that make them seem untamed.

And they wear so little.

Bare skin everywhere. Skirts cut high on their thighs, tops stopping just below their breasts.

The first bite fills my mouth. I don’t know what kind of meat it is, but it’s absolutely delicious. It’s different from the food in Valeanrae, just like yesterday’s and the day before.

Sweet. Juicy. New.

Softer than I’m used to, yet somehow crisp and?—

“Zelda!”

Oh, no.

I look up as a tray clatters down in front of me.

“It’s Iszaelda.”

“Don’t be dull. I give everyone a halfname; it’s fun, right?” Acranta grins, freckles stretching across her cheeks. “What else could I call you? Iszis? Elda? Isza?”

“Not Isza.”

“So Elda, then?”

I meet her gaze, steady and unblinking, and summon the most menacing tone I can manage. “No.”

She wears a strapless top, its hem tapering to a sharp point at her navel, the neckline cut high and angular over her chest. Dark wristbands spiral around her forearms, while strange steel cuffs encircle her upper arms, square, enigmatic, etched with interlocking triangles.

A thin white band studded with black stones rests in her hair.

Around her neck hangs a wilted flower necklace.

“So, Elda, why are you covered in filth? You look like a troll! Did you roll around in the mud? Your first day must have been awful.”

“It was. Even worse now.”

“Oh… I see.” She shifts in her seat, flicking her fork. It spins faster and faster until it is a blur. “I heard you became an apprentice, just like me. Wild! How did that happen? You must tell me everything!”

When did we become friends? Did I miss something?

I’ve never had a female best friend. Not once. But I suppose this is just how they act in packs.

“A panther nearly killed me.” Maybe that’ll shut her up.

“A panther?” She leans forward, black hair swaying over her collarbones, and slams her fork against the table.

Hard enough that the women to our right flinch.

“I heard rumors that Neth sent you out all alone. Completely, utterly alone. That’s crazy, right?

I mean… alone? Come on! Baalvon always went with me at first; it’s?—”

“Always?”

“Oh, yeah.” She nods and shovels a mouthful of food into her mouth.

“How often do you do that?”

“Do what?” She talks around her bites, chewing loudly. “Eat?”

“No… what we were talking about.”

She swallows, plants her elbows on the table, and studies me with curious eyes. “What were we talking about?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, sorry.” She drops her gaze, balancing her knife on the polished surface. “Did I forget again?”

I tilt my head.

“Oh, no,” she goes on. “It happens sometimes. Or… maybe a lot.” She shrugs, eyes fixed on the table.

Her knife scrapes back and forth across the wood, the sound slicing through my ears.

“If we’re going to be friends anyway, you might as well know, right?”

Know what?

She drags the knife sideways, digging it into the grooves between the planks. To our right, the women giggle and point.

“I had an accident, and… my first hundred sun cycles disappeared. Since then, my memory’s been bad, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I lose track.”

“Oh.”

What am I supposed to say? That I’m sorry?

She looks up, lips curved in a small smile, freckles faint against her skin. “So, what were we talking about?”

“Running alone in Gorgoroth.” I take another bite. The food’s gone cold. Lettuce crunches between my teeth.

“Right! I heard rumors that Neth sent you out all alone, pretty?—”

“Crazy, right?”

She blinks. “How… did you know I was going to say that? Bel’Akra, we’re really soulmates, destined to be?—”

“You said the same thing before you forgot, or whatever in the fires it was you did.”

“Oh.”

“So, what were you going to say after that?”

She stares at the table, lost in thought. Then, suddenly, she jolts upright, eyes blazing.

“Baalvon always went with me at first, but it’s different for everyone. Most endurance training happens in the field, in Nimuala, not in the forest. That’s to see how well you handle getting out of tricky situations. Of course, they don’t tell you that the first time.”

I take another bite.

To my right, the women giggle, their smiles sickly sweet as their eyes meet mine.

They don’t look away this time.

The one with the red bands is the worst. Her stare is anything but friendly.

“Careful, you might burn with that glass-white skin!” she calls, and the others laugh. “Is that why you smeared yourself with mud? Trying to blend in?”

Their laughter swells.

“Or is it to shield yourself from the big, bad sun?”

The one with teeth threaded through her hair laughs so hard she flings herself over the table, face buried in her hands.

“Have you even touched a sword before?” asks the woman in snakeskin.

“Watch out! You might cut yourself on the fork. I hear they can be sharp.”

Acranta leans in and hisses, “Oh, ignore them. They’re just incredibly jealous. Aren’t they?”

I clench my jaw.

Don’t answer. Don’t answer.

You’re not in Parae.

And you remember what happened there.

The Hollow.

The Hollow happened.

I could have helped my family survive if I hadn’t ended up there.

I don’t want a fight. I need to prove myself. If I do, they’ll help me find Naeva.

Or I’ll run.

We’ll see.

“Of what?” I ask.

“That you got accepted in the middle of the cycle when no one else did! And there are rumors you didn’t even have to pay!”

She drops the knife, shoves her plate aside, and leans across the table, invading my space.

As if we’re about to share a secret.

As if we’re really best friends.

She’s so close I catch the sharp, heavy scent of her necklace, a mix of passionflowers, orchids, and butter-yellow oncidiums. Once, they must’ve smelled lovely. Not anymore.

“And you’re a sun elf, hello?” she adds. “How did that happen?”

I pull back, fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “It’s called persuasion.”

She tilts her head, considering, then grins. “Must be one hell of a talent, huh?”

Satisfied, she finally retreats, dragging her plate back and picking up her silverware.

Then, without hesitation, she shovels more food into her mouth, still talking, mouth full of meat. “Hey, I was thinking… Is he all right?”

I give her a questioning look, hesitating before easing closer, my grip loosening on the table’s edge.

A glance to the right.

The women are deep in conversation, laughing and chatting, momentarily forgetting about me.

“Does he seem well? Neth? Do you think he’ll make a good master?” She swallows her bite. “I mean, he’s never done this before. It could go either way. Personally? I think he’s a bit odd.”

I shrug.

“Baalvon is pretty unusual, too,” she continues. “I have to admit that. At first, I feared him, if you know what I mean. But once I got to know him, he was nothing like I thought. Trust me, he’s good. Warmhearted. And an incredible teacher. That kind of thing matters, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm-mm.”

She starts spinning her silverware again, faster and faster, the motion almost hypnotic.

“I hope Neth is the same. That’s what I was trying to say. I think?” A crease forms between her brows. “You’ll be with him day and night from now on. And?—”

I yawn, eyes drifting toward the exit. “And?”

“What?” She stops spinning her silverware.

“You were the one talking, weren’t you? Don’t ask me.”

“Oh, but… what was I saying?”

I stand. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Laughter ripples behind us.

“Careful,” the woman with the red bands coos. “I wouldn’t want you to trip on your way out.”

“Are sun elves even allowed to wield swords?” Snakeskin sneers. “Or are you too weak for that?”

Don’t answer. Not here. Not with all these eyes watching. Keep low. Stay unseen.

“Don’t forget to wash up.”

“That smell could drop a dragon.”

“It’s not the Ice Age. Dress like the rest of us.”

“Or are you too scared?”

“Look at her; she won’t even face us.”

“What an insult.”

Bite down. Swallow it. Walk away.