Page 16 of They Call Me Blue

— Cheevy of Kariss, Starra’lee Demolitions Expert.

Battle Report

I raise my bow, nudging aside thorny branches and bone-white leaves to scan the forest floor.

White ivy blankets the landscape, consuming the other trees in a tangled mat.

Blackbirds caw overhead as they trail a half-starved male elf through rising mist. He clutches his bare chest, silver blood oozing between his fingers through a rotting wound the size of my fist. The idiot probably thought cutting away his bite mark would free him from his master.

It'll come back, though, once the skin heals . . . if he doesn’t die of infection first.

The crunching of his feet is like thunder to my sensitive ears. To the silence of the forest. He stumbles over a vine, and I tense, loosing my arrow as a blur of colors stirs behind him.

My fletching whistles through the wind, sailing over the elf’s head.

Then, it thuds, hitting my mark. Behind him, a female elgrew drops to her knees, purple blood gurgling between her lips.

Eyes wide, she wraps her hands around the arrow lodged inside her throat, realization taking hold just moments before those amethyst eyes glaze over.

Then, she collapses into the dirt.

Up until now, the Hunter had kept quiet, hidden in the brambles, tailing him so well I had trouble aiming. But those opportunistic bastards always fuck up one way or another.

The elf's gaze jerks upward. He inspects the tree line, and I duck behind my leaves. Hiding isn't necessary. He's a shit tracker, pointing his chin southeast of my location by several degrees. I could probably hold a jar of glowflies the size of a verncat and still be invisible to him.

Leaves rustle in the tree across from me, and I roll my eyes. It's just like Julian to reveal our location.

My friend and squad leader drops from the trees, landing on bare feet.

He rocks back on his heels and examines the elf at the same time the elf examines him.

They could be brothers—same towering height, same bulky muscles, silver hair cut short—but Julian has rounded and deformed ears where the elgrew lopped them off decades earlier.

Like all squad leaders, Julian is dressed in verncat hide, the orange fur making him stand out amongst the white leaves. He readjusts his armor as he steps past the elf toward the dead Hunter.

“Who…who are you?” the elf stutters, stumbling back.

“Starra’lee.” Julian slows his steps and turns, outstretching empty palms in a show of peace.

I snort. As if there aren't several spotters pointing arrows at them.

“Starra’lee?” the elf repeats. His brows furrow like he doesn't understand the Elvish word. He probably doesn't. The elgrew never teach their pets anything but their native tongue, and even then, only the basics.

Sit.

Stand.

Spread your legs.

“The Resistance,” Julian clarifies, switching languages.

The elf’s jaw drops. He whispers a string of words—prayers of gratitude perhaps—as Julian sidesteps him to examine the elgrew’s bloodstained body. I try not to feel offended that he checks to see if my arrow landed true before flipping her over.

As Julian fishes through the Hunter's pockets, he signals the rest of us down. I grit my teeth, knowing, just knowing he's going to give the new guy sanctuary. As if we need any more liabilities.

Strapping the bow to my back, I hop from the tree as effortlessly as Julian did, maybe more so given I'm half his weight and height.

A pair of tight fishtail braids cling to my scalp, keeping the long hair from my face so it's easier to work.

Unlike Julian, my leather breastwrap and matching breeches have been dyed to match the trees.

White paint coats my body, too, leaving me nearly invisible on the forest floor.

I ignore the others who descend at the same time I do and march straight to Julian, who's kneeling in the ivy.

He stares disapprovingly at my fingerless gloves—at the sawgrass reeds woven through them, so sharp they could skin a man.

Before he can instruct it, I remove the gloves and pocket them, sighing heavily as I join him in the tangled mat.

Wouldn't want to wound the dead.

Chatter fills the air as the other members of our squad greet the new elf, exchanging pleasantries with him.

I close my eyes and count to ten.

“You were new too once,” Julian says, lowering his voice. It's soft and placating the way a condescending parent’s might be.

“Yes, but I had skills. Several skills,” I add. “He had no fucking clue he was being followed. He didn't even know where to look when I shot my bow. You asked me to follow him, size him up, and give my recommendation. Why bother if you're going to ignore me?”

“Arden—”

“He has no foraging skills. No hunting skills. He can't suture a wound or prevent infection. The man can barely string together three words in our language. He would be a hindrance to the squad.”

I can feel the leash on my temper slipping.

I hate it when Julian wastes my time. Five days of stalking and keeping quiet for nothing. I could have spent the week with Nirissa, doing something that actually mattered.

My squad leader tsks as we rummage through the elgrew’s clothing. He detaches her emergency pack and peers inside. “Would you rather I turn him away like the other tribes did to you?”

“I . . . That's different. They weren't running military operations.” The words sound as hollow as they feel.

Hypocrite.

Coward.

My conscience screams at me, blasting images of the spotter who’d rather instruct children to kill themselves than endanger his son. I am that spotter. But I don't have the luxury of guilt.

I spent years training myself. Fine-tuning my body into a weapon that can keep Nirissa safe. I earned my place here, and I'm not about to let some no-name, no skilled asshole fuck it up. If it were my life, it'd be different, but it's Nirissa’s, too.

I’m about to say as much when Julian finds a black pouch—the same size and shape as the one hidden in my back pocket.

He peers inside it, then frowns. Not ossi dust like he had hoped.

It never is. As we continue searching, he schools his features to hide the disappointment.

Flipping the body over, I slip a folded letter into her already-searched-tunic when Julian isn’t looking.

“We’ll train him, Arden,” he promises. “I won't send him out until he's ready.”

“He'll never be ready.”

“That's for me to decide, not you.”

The words are final. Resolute.

I spit at his feet, then slip my gloves back on, marching past the rest of my camouflaged squadmates.

They clear a path for me, giving me a wide berth despite the fact that I'm the size of a child.

Soft grasses bend beneath my feet. Ivy leaves blow over an air pocket, hidden well enough that an elgrew would have to know it's there to see it.

Dipping my fingers between the leaves, I find a crevice in the rock and dirt and pull. The trap door creaks as it swings open, revealing a dark tunnel path made from a centuries-old lava tube.

“Where do you think you're going?” Julian asks. “I haven't dismissed you.”

I ignore him, flashing everyone a vulgar gesture before jumping into the black abyss.

“Arri!” Nirissa throws her arms around me and squeezes. She's only a head shorter than I am now—too big for me to lift like I used to—so I tousle her hair instead.

“It’s good to see you, bug.”

The tightness in my chest loosens as I scan her over. No new cuts. No bruises. She still has all her teeth, thank Marr. Our mother’s doll hangs from a belt on her waist, and she's dressed in snug clothing that shows she's well cared for and fed—the best-kept kid in Starra’lee.

The only kid kept in Starra’lee.

My presence here has always been contingent on my sister’s safety. If the Resistance wants me, they have to take us both. It’s why we have a private bedroom while the others share a communal barracks; no one wants a ten-year-old sleeping in their living spaces.

“Have you been minding your tutors?” I ask, peering around the room to make sure everything’s intact. Sure enough, the bunks are made, the clothes in our closet have been folded, and there’s a neat stack of papers on the stone-carved desk.

“Yes, Arri,” Nirissa says. She tucks a strand of short silver hair behind her ear and sheepishly glances at her bare feet.

I stare at that short hair, remembering the last time I left her alone. When she snuck into the armory and spilled resin all over her braids, the tunnels, our weapons. The healers had to practically shave her head to get it all out, and I spent several weeks on cleaning duty.

She's had remarkably good behavior since then. Some might say suspiciously so.

I eye the room again, certain I’ve missed something. It’s pristine.

“Did you do anything fun?” I ask.

“No.” Nirissa makes a pouty face and huffs. “They never let me go aboveground when you aren't here. It's boring.”

“Better safe and bored than outside and eaten.”

She narrows her eyes. “You go outside all the time, and you've never been eaten.”

I smile. If only she knew how close I'd come. “When you're older, you can go outside all you want. How about that?”

“When I'm older, I'm going to be a fighter just like you.”

I blink away the burning in my eyes. “You don't want that. It's scary out there, and Julian only lets us eat gross food. You remember those dried vegetable packs?”

“The ones that taste like mud?”

I nod. “I had to eat three of those today.”

“Ewwwww!” She makes a face, her nose scrunching in disgust, and I can't help but laugh.

“Told you, you wouldn't like it.” I toss my arm around her shoulders. “Come on, bug, let's go find something good to eat.”

“You're covered in paint,” she says, staring at my clothes.

“So?” I arch a brow.

“I wish I were covered in paint.” She sighs wistfully but lets me lead her out of our bedroom.