chapter ten #3
“Well, as a mixture of sweat and fear and whatever food they have consumed, mixed with the scent of soap if they have washed recently. Their scent also tends to give away their emotions. Yours doesn’t.”
Not too pleasant, in other words, but I knew that. The nauseating smell of Bronich—a mix of decay and burnt flesh—floods my thoughts. I quickly push the depressing image out of my head.
“You, on the other hand,” Seniia says, gesturing toward me, “smell like you are wearing a smell. Right, Vilder?”
“True.” He stares me up and down. “Perhaps she’s a halfling?” He cocks his head. “That would be sad though, since they are forbidden . . .” He draws a finger across his neck.
I stare at him. Is he joking? “A halfling? That’s a thing?”
He shrugs. “You tell me.” He studies me with a serious expression that makes me increasingly uncomfortable. Then I notice how the corners of his mouth begin to curl upward.
I glare at him. “No,” I say. “No, I’m not.”
“Good.” He smirks. “I’d have hated to have to execute you right away.” He takes a sip of his cider. “Ouch!” He fixes Seniia, who just kicked him under the table, with an indignant stare. “What was that for?”
“I told you to be nice! The poor girl grew up inside the Void, Vilder, the Void! Hasn’t she been through enough?” She rolls her eyes at him.
He lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he says to me.
“It’s all right,” I say quickly. “But why are halflings forbidden?”
Seniia winces. “Halflings are . . . complicated. When humans left their home and arrived on Reā centuries ago, we learned that mixing our bloodlines had . . . consequences.” She hesitates, glancing at me.
“They inherit access to elēn—celestial magic—from their Reān parent, but humans—” Another pause.
“Humans are more easily corrupted. More susceptible to greed, manipulation.
When you give that kind of person access to elēn's power, it rarely ends well. The Council had no choice.”
I want to argue, to defend my kind, but I think of the Minister, of Master Coperie, of Bronich, and I know she’s right.
“And Reāns, what do they smell like?” I ask, eager to change the topic.
“It depends,” Seniia says. “Reāns from different regions have different smells. People from the Riverii islands, like me, carry the scent of salt and the ocean, while those from Terra smell of the earth. Vilder, from the Western Plains, has the scent of the wind.”
“It’s the best one by far,” he says as he leans back and stretches his long legs under the table.
Seniia purses her lips at him. “I’ll admit it’s not too bad.
” She turns her attention back to me. “The C’elēn are different, however,” she continues.
“They smell of elēn. It is like a wide aura surrounding them. The more powerful they are, the more potent it is, and if you are observant, you notice that most will walk outside of someone’s magic aura.
Except for the humans, of course. Because they cannot sense it. ” She laughs again.
“I can’t wait,” Vilder grumbles. “I’d love some more space.” He gives Seniia a pointed look, and she punches him in the arm.
“What do you mean, you can’t wait?” I say to him.
“To be a fully trained C’elēn.”
“Yes, we both came into our power this year,” Seniia exclaims with a bright smile.
I slink down in my seat. Magic. They’re magic wielders. No better than Llyr.
“But the best news is,” Seniia says, raising a finger into the air, “that we can all travel to Caelēn and the Arc together!”
Vilder lets out a low growl, and Seniia sticks her tongue out at him.
“Come now. Let’s go outside and enjoy the festival. I want to dance!”
Around us, people are already pushing back from tables, heading toward the door, and the sounds of the festival drift in from outside—music, drums and laughter—each time the door swings open.
Vilder stands with a shrug.
What are my options? Dismiss them and make it alone?
If I value my life, it’s clear I have to make it to this Arc, and isn’t it better to have some sort of company, magic wielders or not?
I already experienced firsthand how vulnerable I am alone.
Besides, the two of them feel . . . safe.
It’s a peculiar feeling, as hard to ignore as the pull toward the Arc now that I’m aware of it.
Seniia gives my modest clothes a once-over. “You need a change and a bath,” she declares. “Even my five-hundred-year-old grandma doesn’t dress as modest as you.”
Cheeks flushed, I glance at Vilder. He presses his lips together, and the heat rises to another level.
He wisely remains silent, however, thank the—I chew on my lip—not the Father.
If what they’re saying is true, I clearly do not want to call upon a rough god who caused some sort of darkening of the world.
And what was that about a five-hundred-year-old grandma?
Realizing my view of the world is severely outdated, I leave the question with a heavy sigh.
Seniia gives me one of her bright smiles.
“Good thing I can provide you with both,” she says, pushing up from the table and coming to stand next to me.
She pulls me up from my chair. “See! We’re the exact same size,” she exclaims happily, then grabs my hand and drags me along, leaving no room for rejection. I guess I’m going with her.
A glance over my shoulder tells me Vilder is following close behind as we weave through the crowded tables toward the door. I suppose he doesn’t find our company too bad after all.