Chapter 6 #3
A bustling street of human villagers stills, all eyes widening at me.
My hand snaps to my knife.
With a gulp, I step back. The tree line is visible beyond a row of buildings. I could turn and escape now, race home to Nwatalith and pretend none of this ever happened.
Wherever the Sanvira is, he doesn’t seem to care that I’m now stranded in a human village without an escort.
And if the masses witnessed my escape just now, I can’t imagine their first impressions of me will be very welcoming.
These humans are different from how I pictured them, though. Different from the footman, even. Some are dressed in ragged clothing while others wear fine silks that seem to glow under the afternoon sun. Most have stout, lanky, disproportionate bodies and hair tucked under tight-fitting straw hats.
They also possess zero magical energy.
The absence of magic, even whilst being so close to Aldorin’s border, is suffocating.
Worse, even, than the humid interior of the carriage.
Perhaps the Sanvira had placed a ward over the vehicle, one that acted as a bubble protecting the magic within.
Or maybe it was the strange yellow square he’d forced me to eat.
That must be why I didn’t feel this sudden lack of magic before.
It might be the dozens of eyes concentrated on me, angled down sharp noses, or it may be my body grumbling against the hunger flooding my veins, but the hot air abruptly decides to stop flowing into my lungs.
A fuzziness grips my limbs, and my instinct to flee kicks in.
But I know running away won’t do me any good here.
Some of the villagers are sunburned from long days tilling land, and others are dark-skinned and clean.
The mess of people seems diverse. I catch a group of figures cloaked in black huddling near an empty wooden table outside a building labeled with Ariochan script.
TAVERN. It’s one of the few words I learned how to read in my lessons.
Sheets of green light cast through many-leaved trees and onto the bleached cobblestone path beneath my bare feet.
Brick and stone absorb the heat of the sun, stealing it from the heavenly skies and filling the ground with reds and yellows.
But the vibrancy doesn’t reach those inky cloaks, and the longer I linger on them, I feel an ominous presence oozing from them and spilling into the air.
“No need for alarm,” a grizzled voice huffs from the crowd. Speaking in Arioch’s language. Fluent. Fast. But I can understand.
I turn away from the cloaked figures and squint.
The voice belongs to a shorter man with a wiry beard, who stumbles through the front of the mass, his cheeks bursting with color and his bulbous nose shiny. He waves a hand in the air in uneven strokes, then offers me a gappy smile before turning to his people. “You folks go aboutcher day, now.”
The dirty faces and hunched bodies seem wary, but eventually they disperse, leaving the man and me in the middle of the colorful road.
Despite his drunken state, he steals the distance between us with haste. Before I can decide whether to run or defend myself, his cracked lips are whispering into the loose strands of hair that drift over my ears. His thick fingers squeeze my shoulder to steady himself. My whole body tenses.
“Tell me, elf ,” he says under his breath, his words no longer slurred. His nails dig into my shoulder. This close, he smells of oil and metal. There isn’t the slightest hint of alcohol on him, so he must’ve been faking his intoxication. But why? “What brings your kind to our fine Arcanvale today?”
I dare a scowl at his shrunken eyes. Though he isn’t cursed with irises that betray his emotion, he couldn’t be any more obvious about his amusement with my reaction. He believes he has the power and authority in this situation.
Does he know I could end his life in a second?
I wouldn’t even need my dagger.
Or magic, for that matter.
His nails press further into my shoulder. “Answer me, creature . Or I’ll turn you over to the mages.” He spits his words.
It takes a lot more than childish insults to spoil me. I won’t harm a human, especially when I can’t prove I’m supposed to be here right now. He’d have to say much worse to break me.
So I hold my tongue.
But he doesn’t.
“Oh, don’t tell me. Has your village been burned to the ground? Like we did to the last elf’s village when we found him trespassing here?”
I close my eyes.
This isn’t enough to make me hurt him.
This isn’t enough to make me lose control.
I will retain control.
Gods know what punishment I’ll face if I harm a human, provoked or not.
Humans are scared of us. Our people are much stronger on all fronts, so it’s a miracle they had their victory in the War of Undying a millennium ago.
Or, rather than a miracle, it was a show of betrayal, a turn of fate that earned the humans favor with the gods.
A betrayal between the closest of alliances—that of the fairies and the elves.
If I injure this man for his condescension, I’ll only be worsening my reputation for those secretly watching. No one will know or even want to know why I’d laid a finger on the bastard.
His nails continue biting into my back. There’s an audible popping of skin as wetness bubbles from the wound.
I clench my teeth, eyes never leaving the man’s.
“Come on, elf. I don’t have all day. I wouldn’t want to send my people into your uncivilized wood to demonstrate what happens when you break our treaty like this.”
I cock my head to the side as my control begins to slip from me. My mouth struggles to form the words in his language, every one feeling ill-practiced on my tongue. “Oh? You wouldn’t want to do that?”
His eyes grow even smaller under squinted lids. “You think I’m joking? Or has your kind not been punished enough for your savagery? Do you wish them more pain? Perhaps we can make an arrangement.”
When the anger bubbles to the surface, breaking my fragile barriers of control, it’s nearly unstoppable, like a spark catching on a massive mound of dry tree needles.
Once ignited, it spreads and spreads until it wipes everything in its path.
So when the familiar heat invades my eluviam and floods my veins with scorching hot magic, I allow my instincts to do their thing.
Truthfully, it’s more painful to resist.
I twist from his grasp and fly around him. With a quick glance to his turkey leg of an elbow, I sweep my foot in a wide arch and knock his knees in. He folds onto himself, groaning.
But I’m not done, or, rather, the anger is not done.
Adrenaline bursts into my arms and legs, hungry for a fight I’m guaranteed to win. It’s worse when there’s no magic to replenish the desire for combat. My bones are already sucked dry, desperate to grow stronger once again.
Rein it in , I force myself to think. A death here would be purposeless. It would earn me my execution, not favor with the king whom I’m to serve.
If you are to serve the king, your attitude must change.
I grimace at the Sanvira’s words.
Without another thought, I whip around the man with a quick step to the side and grip his elbow firmly. I press him to the ground under my knee, making sure not to crush the ribs that protect his soft, human organs.
It doesn’t take long before he starts crying. Wailing. Like a frustrated child.
It’s embarrassing how much the sound of it grounds me, his sob of confusion that almost sounds like laughter.
A reminder of what’s been taken from us.
I lean down so only he can hear. My words are already clearer, smoother, even though I rarely speak the language of Arioch.
“I’ve come to serve your king , and instead of showing me respect, you’ve decided to make me your enemy.
You’d be smart not to open that mouth around another one of us, should you ever get the opportunity to see one of us again. ”
Nothing more needs to be said, because the man goes still. He understands the message. He’s made the mistake, not me. And now his brain is probably searching for a way to remedy the situation.
With a sigh, I lift my head and blow loose black strands of hair from my face.
I still hold the man’s elbow, but his cries are now bleeding into the background bustle of Arcanvale’s street market.
It seems no one is watching us, which is good.
They are going about their day as normal, rushing between shops lining the road.
My attention flicks to where the cloaked figures had been, but they are now gone. My heart stammers in my chest.
Where they’d stood before, now two men sit.
Both wear tunics and cloaks, though one is gray and clean while the other resembles something closer to mine—worn and tattered from repeated use.
The man in the gray also wears a black cloth around the bottom half of his face, and loose auburn hair curls over his eyes, which are alarmingly green, for a human. Nearly as brilliant as our kind’s.
I blink at them. Why are they dressed so oddly? Could they be more messengers? Are they here to take the Sanvira’s place? Had my escape from the carriage been planned as a test? My thoughts don’t stop, but the man’s grunting does. He must have lost consciousness.
I consider him briefly, keeping him pinned to the ground. He makes no signs of alertness.
When I snap my head up, the two men in tunics are standing.
The masked one takes a step toward me.