Page 27 of They Call Me Blue

“Metallic blue in appearance, cold iron is the single most crippling substance to elves. Looking at it can scramble the mind, leading to headaches, blurred vision, and slurred speech. Upon contact, even the lowest quantities are known to cause tinnitus, muscle weakness, and bleeding of the eyes, ears, and nose. It is to be avoided at all costs.”

—General Ismas of Ashwood, Starra’lee Personal Correspondence.

“ T his is where our unit sleeps.” Pushing aside the canvas curtain, I lead Chest Wound— Torvin — into one of several barracks.

Twenty bunk beds hug the walls, creating a narrow hallway between them.

“We share this space with five other squads. Leaders sleep across the hall, but entrance is prohibited.”

Struggling not to slip on the smooth stone, I pad across the floor, wearing the soft, knitted socks I stole off an elgrew corpse. New guy had the common sense not to comment on my wardrobe. Then again, he’s cold too, shivering as he hugs his bare chest.

I flash him a sympathetic smile. “They tell me it gets unbearably hot at night once everyone’s loaded up. Our soldiers screw like korkuran too. So, if you’re ever cold, just find a bed to share.”

He peers around the room, glancing at go-bags that hang from every headboard.

All the beds are made—covered by a thin sheet of white glowfly silk and topped with a downy pillow.

It doesn’t look like much. The mattresses aren’t nearly as comfortable as hammocks, and the blankets aren’t nearly thick enough.

But it’s safe, which is more than can be said for the forest.

I point to the occupied spaces. “It’s technically first come, first serve, but if you take either of these, Sora and Cheevy will have your head.”

“Where do you sleep?” he asks.

“Not in here.”

“Because of your . . .” He gestures to my body. “I imagine it’d be uncomfortable for you to watch others . . . share a bed .”

I narrow my eyes. “I’ve watched them fuck plenty of times, Chest Wound. My physique has nothing to do with it.” Gesturing to the door, I push aside the canvas curtain and lead him farther down the hallway, not bothering to check that he’s followed.

The sound of ungraceful, thumping footsteps is confirmation enough.

In truth, touring with Chest Wound hasn’t been as terrible as I thought it would be; the elf speaks almost fluent Elgrew, and he isn’t half as dumb without the cold iron rotting his brain.

But I’m not ready to make peace yet. Blaming him for the loss of my ossi dust is irrational—I know that—yet every time I look at him, I’m reminded of the emptiness in my pocket.

“I have a little sister,” I say eventually. “It wouldn’t be proper for her to stay in the same rooms as them, and I prefer looking after her when I’m home. We sleep down that tunnel up ahead.” Stopping, I point to the narrow entryway that leads to our quarters.

Chest Wound shudders. “You can fit through that?”

“It’s a little snug, but we manage.”

His face is ashy pale. “We had tunnels like that in the mines. The elgrew used them to vent air so we wouldn’t die as fast inhaling cold-iron dust. Before I reached my Age of Majority, they’d force me to clean them out.

Even then, small as I was, I used to think I’d get stuck down there and die.

You couldn’t pay me enough to live somewhere like that. ”

“I used to be afraid of it,” I admit. “Back when I first joined Starra’lee, I thought I might reach my Age of Majority while I was asleep and get trapped.

But then I aged out of the transformation window.

” Shrugging, I continue down a set of stairs.

“Now, it’s not so bad. If the elgrew found the place, they couldn’t reach us there. ”

Another canvas curtain separates us from the armory.

I shove it open, holding the flap for him as he ducks inside.

Chest Wound’s eyes widen as he takes in the massive space—smaller than the dining hall but larger than three barracks combined.

On one wall, go-bags hang floor-to-ceiling from metal hooks.

On another, stone shelves contain folded sets of clothing, armor, and grooming supplies.

Then, there’s the weapons themselves. A cache of machetes, bows, arrows, quivers, and knives fill racks upon racks of storage.

Several dozen feet above us, a hand-sized stream of sunlight creeps in, illuminating the dark rock walls.

I march to the clothing first, giving Chest Wound a long once over to assess his size.

His cheeks flush silver—the gaunt hollows already filling out now that the cold iron’s gone.

Despite my nickname for him, the elf’s wound is barely a scar.

Courtesy of my ossi dust, a circle of thirty-eight dark gray pinpricks is the only evidence of last night.

And I can’t help but feel bitter about it.

“Everyone gets issued one outfit,” I say, tossing him a hide shirt, then a leather vest to go on top of it.

Surprisingly, the recruit catches. “If you don’t like the armor that’s assigned to you, you can make your own or steal it from others.

Sawgrass is prohibited. I think Julian will have a conniption if another member of his unit breaks that rule. ”

Resisting the urge to scratch my rashy arms, I find pants that will fit him, then turn around so he can change.

It’s Julian’s fault the itchiness is so bad this time.

When I lived in the marshes, I’d built up callouses to protect against the friction.

Here, I wear the sawgrass too infrequently and my skin’s gotten soft.

While Chest Wound changes, I grab a go-bag and fill it with grooming supplies, a machete, a utility knife, and the other pieces of his armor—vambraces, bracers, greaves, and tassets.

The bag is stuffed so full that the buckles barely latch by the time I’m finished.

Holding my palm to my face, I peek between my fingers to check that he’s done dressing, then I pass him the bag.

Chest Wound sinks under the weight of it, grunting as he hooks it over his shoulder.

“I’ll let Julian know I didn’t issue you a bow or arrows,” I say. “Until you’re topside, there’s no point. It’s too hard to practice down here.”

“You said we can steal armor?” he asks, adjusting his leather vest. “You mean from the elgrew?”

I shrug. “From the elgrew. From each other. If you’re dumb enough to leave it out, you’re dumb enough to lose it. I wouldn’t fuck with the squad leaders, though. They’ll stick you with shit missions from now until the end of time.”

I made that mistake once; it’s how Julian and I became friends.

“Cheevy is our demolitions expert,” I say.

“He coats his body in flame-resistant oil and sews flammable patches into his clothing. Don’t steal from him unless you’re prepared to be slow-cooked.

Sora is fair game if you don’t mind pissing off the elf who’s responsible for patching you back up.

Tari—you haven’t met her yet. She’s on scouting duty—got switched to our unit after stabbing the guy who took her chest piece.

Generally, if you’re going to steal, steal from someone else’s team and don’t get caught. ”

We return to the hallway, where I guide him down another set of steps, then another. In the center of a small, unpopulated chamber is a hole that leads into the deepest, darkest depths of Starra’lee. “Be careful on the ladder,” I say. “It gets slippery near the end.”

Expertly, I lower myself into the hole, my hands and feet automatically finding the metal guard rails and thick rungs.

The walls are tight around me, and the vertical tunnel is so long and so dark, it’s impossible to see where the next step starts.

But I’ve taken this path hundreds of times, and climbing it is as familiar as breathing air.

One rung. Two. A half dozen.

The new recruit still hasn’t followed.

“What’s the hold up, Chest Wound?” I shout up to him. My voice bounces and vibrates off the stones.

“Do I have to go?” he asks, bending over the hole. His pale face blots out what little remains of the light. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not.”

“It’s the last stop,” I tell him. “Trust me. You won’t want to miss it.”

“I can’t, Arden. Please .” His voice trembles. His breaths grow rapid like he’s on the verge of hysteria.

The mines, I realize.

Being here in these tight, dark spaces must be so much harder for him than it ever was for me.

A shred of empathy sparks to life. I try to shove it back down, knowing he won’t make it here if he can’t climb a simple ladder, but fuck, I was new too once and I wish I’d had someone— anyone— willing to help me survive.

“Get your ass on this fucking ladder, Torvin. My baby sister climbs this twice a day. If a ten-year-old can do it, so can you.”

The ladder groans as Chest Wound lowers himself onto it and begins the descent.

We climb in silence, the only sound that of our thudding footfalls and joined breaths.

He stops after a handful of minutes—at the halfway mark—and when I glance back up, I catch him staring at the abysmally small hole we left behind.

Legs shaking, palms sore, I lean back on the railing and call out to him, aiming for a distraction.

“Tell me about yourself. Julian says you were a Watcher in Azerin’s mine.

That’s why you’re so good at speaking in the Elgrew tongue. ”

“Yeah,” he says, sniffling. “ Watchers translate for the foremen so we get a bigger vocabulary than most—not that we can use it. If we’re caught teaching it to the other slaves, it’s considered treason.

No trial, just execution.” He takes another step, then another, and we resume our climb—distraction complete.

“It’s not like anyone would talk to us anyway,” Chest Wound adds. “When slaves fall behind, it’s our job to punish them. Doesn’t make for many friends.”

I can relate to that. People have never rushed to be my friend either.

As we near the end of the ladder, my sezin crackles from the change in pressure. I imagine his do too. Grunting, I work my jaw until my clogged ears pop, and then I clear my throat. “How did you escape?” I finally ask.

There’s a long pause. “It’s not very exciting.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Still in the tunnel, my feet connect with solid stone.

I lower myself onto all fours—onto a ground that’s slippery and damp—and wait for Chest Wound to catch up.

Herbal smoke and humid steam trickle in through a child-sized hole in front of me.

Peering into it, I see pale flecks of green light blink on the other side.

“A few days ago, one of the mining tunnels collapsed and I was on the wrong side of it,” Chest Wound says.

Metal groans. His feet thud to the ground beside me.

“I’d been close enough to the surface that I managed to dig myself out.

When I realized the collapse was outside of Azerin’s compound, I took my chance and bolted.

” Palms outstretched, Chest Wound feels around for me. “Arden? Where’d you go?”

“On the ground.” I tug on his shirt and he follows me down.

“Where are we going?”

Some things are better seen, not heard.

Wordlessly, I crawl through the hole into the heart of our world. As we cross the threshold, a familiar humming sound fills my ears. The Korring Marr— not the one in the elgrew capital, but a secret seed grown down below.