Chapter 11
Rosomon
As we ride down in the elevator, my body vibrates with incredulity, my cunny pulses with arousal, and my mind spins like a leaf caught in a whirlwind.
Since we arrived in the Darkness, I’ve seen so many strange things and have heard even more. I no longer trust my own eyes or ears. Perhaps everything here has been a dream from which I’ll awake.
While we were waiting for the elevator, Eldrath, the tall and elegant elf, asked Zogar for a private meeting. But instead of the three of us leaving together, the elf whispered something to Zogar and then quickly departed on his own.
As we exit the building, Zogar takes my hand and leads me in the opposite direction from our apartment. Everywhere I look, something strange steals my breath, but I keep track of the route, just in case I need to find my way back to the apartment on my own.
When I first arrived at the dragon camp, I saw many novel inventions we didn’t have in Achotia, but the few conveniences we had at camp can’t begin to compare to the plethora of contraptions in this city.
Zogar insists that all these remarkable innovations are real—built using something called science, not magic—but I still can’t believe it.
And beyond the many new objects, buildings and devices, the inhabitants of this city—the superi—are similarly astonishing.
I’ve seen illustrations of supernatural beings in books, but part of me never believed the creatures depicted in those drawings were real.
In fact, until the day I first saw Surath, while riding Sky Stallion in the fields, I wasn’t even convinced that dragons existed, in spite of being told they were responsible for protecting the veil.
And none of the creatures I’ve seen here matches the representations in books.
A bright red car roars past us, and Zogar quickly shifts our positions on the sidewalk, moving himself closer to the speeding véhicules.
Ahead of us, Vespera—a real life fairy!—drifts over the pavement.
Drift is the best way to describe the fae’s movements, although her silver slippers are touching the pavement under the long layers of her gown.
Her dress is as fine as gossamer, each of the dozens of pale layers is slightly different in length, and as she walks, the layers flow up around her to reveal each one’s unique shade.
On its own, every layer is transparent, but taken as a whole, the garment covers her skin, and the gown shifts colors as she moves, reminding me somewhat of Zogar’s iridescent scales.
In the books in father’s library, fairies were depicted as tiny and had wings, but Vespera’s height is similar to mine, and I see no evidence of wings. Perhaps she can transform, just as Zogar turns into a dragon.
Reaching across my body, I touch Zogar’s wrist, above where he’s holding my hand. “Where are we going?”
He glances around us before answering. “The elf is providing a car to transport us to his residence.”
“Oh!” My heart fills with excitement. I’m not fond of the way the cars rush in the street, seeming to fight for space, but I’m exhilarated at the idea of being inside one. And also seeing the home of an elf.
We reach an intersection between two thoroughfares, and Zogar leads me around the corner.
A tall man, possibly an elf, stands at attention beside a long, pale grey car.
His hat covers the tops of his ears, and I’m not certain what other features differentiate elves from humans or other creatures.
The man’s skin is very smooth and has a slightly luminescent quality, but some say that about my skin tone too.
“Your Majesties.” He bows his head toward us and then opens a door that leads into the back of the car. “I’m here to transport you to Lord Eldrath.”
I smile. “What is your name?”
The male blinks at me, drawing my attention to the color of his eyes—or rather colors. With each blink they seem a slightly different pale shade. He is definitely elven.
“I am called Faolán, Your Majesty.” His head bows again.
“I’m Rosomon,” I tell him. “You needn’t use my title.”
Smiling, he gestures toward the car, indicating that I should enter. I step into the strange véhicule, shocked to discover there’s grass underfoot. Also, the air inside is fresh and far earthier and cleaner than what I was breathing on the street. It’s almost as if I’ve stepped into the woods.
Still in the entrance, I turn back to stick my head out. “Do all cars have grass?” I ask Faolán.
“No.” He shakes his head. “But most elven cars contain some features from nature.”
I enter the car and slide across a long seat. Faolán backs away to make room for Zogar, who squeezes through the opening and into the car behind me.
Once we’re both settled on a long, padded bench at the back of the space, Faolán closes the door.
Instantly, the light changes. The view through the windows no longer shows the city.
Instead, it’s like we were instantly transported to a forest. A large section of the roof is transparent, and I smile as branches move above us, their leaves filtering sunlight that showers down in a marvelous display.
Faolán enters the véhicule, taking a seat some distance from us at its front.
“Does this type of car have a name?” I call out across the space. This car is longer than most I’ve seen, and I’ve learned that some véhicules have specialized names, like truck.
“This is a limousine.” Faolán turns back toward us. “Limo for short.”
“It’s very comfortable,” I tell him. “Does it move very quickly?” Bubbles of excitement are boiling rapidly inside me, so much I might be emitting steam like a kettle.
“It can go quickly,” he replies, “but not in this traffic.”
I nod, proud that I actually understand his reply. Communicating in this city has been like learning a new language, and it’s hard to believe that four hundred years ago, those of us now in the Kingdoms of Light lived amongst these superi.
A panel rises to separate Zogar and me from Faolán, and after it closes, it too seems like a window into a forest. The limo moves and I try to contain my excitement as I take in our surroundings.
It’s amazing in here, but I do wish I could see outside.
The forest depicted is beautiful, but I know it’s not real.
Zogar shifts closer, and the bench adjusts to his movement, almost as if it’s a living thing. Perhaps it is. I place my hand down on the surface, finding it soft and warm, and pulsing with energy.
“With these obscured windows,” Zogar whispers in my ear, “we won’t know where he’s taking us.” He drapes his arm over my shoulders, and our seat adjusts, again.
I take his dangling hand in both of mine, stroking it gently. The loud sounds of the city have vanished, replaced by birdsong and the rustling of trees, like we’re in the forest we’re seeing.
“Was this limo made using magic?” I ask Zogar.
He shakes his head but then tips it to the side. “Not exactly. Elves don’t require magic to create such things. Not magic like I have. An elf’s connection to the forest gives them influence, power, I suppose, over the natural world. Elves and fae are able to use nature in ways most cannot.”
I touch a grass-covered panel below one of the windows, and every blade feels as real as any I’ve touched. I’m tempted to pluck one, but my instincts tell me I shouldn’t. It’s a living thing. And it’s part of this véhicule, this limo.
“What does Eldrath want to discuss?” I ask Zogar.
“I don’t know.” He frowns, slightly. “But I don’t believe he means us ill will.” Raising his eyebrows, Zogar nods toward the panel separating us from Faolán.
My eyebrows rise too. My husband thinks the driver is listening.
And based on what he said about elves’ connections to nature, perhaps the entire limo is listening.
I remain silent for the rest of the trip, enjoying the fresh, forest-tinged air, the slight breeze on my skin, and the familiar textures of Zogar’s hand, held in mine.