by Kara Jaynes
I shrug weakly. “Sorry?”
“Oh, my gosh, are you serious?” She throws her hands up. “You’re such an idiot! Let me guess. Some thug kidnapped you, or I know, it was the elves. It better have been something serious, or I’ll kill you myself! What on earth happened? Where did you go?”
“Move.” I shoulder her aside and step through the door. “I can fill you in on the details later. Is Quinn okay?”
“He’s fine, no thanks to you,” she growls “And I demand you answer my questions now. I looked everywhere for you, Stella.”
Not everywhere, I think grimly, but then my gaze falls on Quinn, and I forget everything else.
Quinn looks a lot like Dad: tousled dark brown hair and brown eyes. Skin so pale that both Mom and I used to joke that they were vampires.
My skin is pale, too, but not translucent white, and I am lucky enough to develop a tan in the summer months. Quinn burns lobster-red, even with the mild summers here.
I walk over and settle onto the sofa next to Quinn, my throat feeling oddly tight. I blink rapidly. “Hi, Quinn.”
My brother pauses his video game, his eyes lighting up when he sees me. “Hi’ya, Stella.” He draws closer for a quick hug and turns back to playing, his fingers gripping the controller. He’s glad to see me but doesn’t seem too distressed by the fact that I’d been missing for days. Lyra is clearly the more stressed out of the two, from what I can see.
I chuckle, the sound a funny mixture of amusement, relief and pent-up tears. Everything will be okay.
Okay, until I have to go out trash diving again. I can’t hide here forever.
My jaw juts out stubbornly. Well, I’ll just have to be sneakier than a rat stealing crumbs from under a restaurant table. I have no doubt the elves will search the city for me, but I have enough cash from my last trash hunting to hold us over for a couple of weeks.
Eldaren will be fine.
I think.
“Did you miss me?” I ask my brother.
“Yeah.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “I missed you, too.”
Lyra nudges me, and I scoot over closer to Quinn so she can sit next to me. “Well?” she says, her voice filled with expectation. “Spill it. What happened? You were gone for, like, what? Two weeks? Do you have any idea how painful that was for me? You know I can’t stay anywhere for more than a few days. Ugh. I’m so over this house. Way too cramped.”
“Sorry,” I reply, without feeling sorry for her at all. But it’s the polite thing to say.
“Oh, that reminds me,” she said, arching an eyebrow, “someone came to visit you two nights ago.”
I jump up like I’ve been stung. “What?” I exclaim. “Was it an elf? Was it Eldaren?” Does he know I’m here? Was this some sort of test?
“Who?” Lyra’s eyes widen when what I’ve said sinks in. “You were captured by the elves?” The last word is a squeak.
“Maybe?” I smile unconvincingly and sit back down.
“I’ll make some hot chocolate.” Lyra bustles over to the counter. It looks even more untidy here than I remember. Lyra never was one for housekeeping. “And then you need to tell me everything. My news can wait.”
I glance down at my clothes. I like my black jacket, but I can’t help but wonder what sort of price it might fetch. Then again, would that be stealing?
Either way, I feel like curling up with a good book in a hoodie and some pajama pants. Lyra’s gossip can wait. It clearly wasn’t the elves that came, as Lyra sounds shocked to have heard I had a run-in with them.
Stifling a yawn, I heave myself off the sofa and shuffle toward my room. The door is closed, and I fumble for the handle, opening it with a creak.
“Hello, Stella. You lied to me. About everything.”
Hardly able to breathe, I stare up at the man looming in my room, his face a perfect mask of emotionless calm.
Eldaren.
27
Stella
My blood feels frozen. My gaze locks on the elven prince, my mind fumbling as with numbed fingers, searching for a way of out my predicament. “I can explain,” I mumble.
“I'm sure you can.” Just the faintest note of derision.
“I needed to help Quinn.”
Eldaren’s cold gaze flickers over my head to meet someone else.
“The guards are here. The area is secured.” I don’t have to turn around to know it's Sol, recognizing his voice. “The only other occupants are a young woman and man.”
Stars, they mean Quinn.
Eldaren waves his hand, and Sol’s arms wrap around my waist. I'm hauled into the front room with very little effort. It doesn't seem possible that even elves should be this strong.
“You told me you didn't have a romantic interest,” Eldaren says calmly.
My eyes are burning, tears welling up, and my face heats with humiliation and anger. “He's my brother,” I choke. “Please, he's not right in the—” I can't make myself finish the words. Not with Quinn here. I try again. “He's different, from you and me. Please, don't hurt him. He's all I have. He’s all I have left of my family.”
Eldaren is staring at my brother. “Ah. But you’re not related by blood, are you?”
“How did you know?” I ask. Quinn and I aren’t biological siblings. His parents, our parents, are technically my adoptive parents. Both Mom and Dad were upfront and honest about this. I was an orphan—or abandoned, and just a baby—plucked from the war-ravaged streets of Liberty. Quinn came into our family two years later, Mom’s first and only child.
Family isn’t determined by blood, Mother always replied when I asked her about it, hugging me close. It’s about spirit. We’re family, Stella, through and through.
I never gave much thought on the matter. Quinn is my brother, and that’s that.
“Because he has ability,” Eldaren answers, “and you do not. It usually runs in families, but that you don’t have it, not even an echo of the magic, tells me you’re not related.” Eldaren is studying my brother, his gaze pensive.
My nose crinkles and puzzlement sweeps through my fear. “Do you mean his condition?” Ability seems a strange name for that.
“Stella?” Quinn has paused his game and is clutching the controller to his chest, his eyes wide as he looks at the elves. “Stel, I'm scared.” He rocks back and forth, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I'm scared—I’m scared—I’m scared—I’m—” He gives a violent shudder, and fear clamps down on my heart.
“He's going to have another seizure,” I whisper. “Stars, Lyra, is there more medicine?”
My eyes find my Drifter friend, her arms held behind her by a guard, and to my horror, she shakes her head. “I used the last dose yesterday.”
I close my eyes as another violent shudder takes my brother. “Please, let me go to him, Sol,” I say, trying to keep my voice lowered, so Eldaren doesn't hear. “Please, I beg you.”
From the low growl in the prince's throat, he heard. He barks something in Elvish and I open my eyes just soon enough to see another elven guard pick up my brother, holding him close.
In a blink, the elf has left, and my brother is gone with him. So is Lyra. Sol and Eldaren are the only two elves left.
“No!” I thrash in Sol’s arms, but my teary, baleful gaze is fixed on Eldaren. “How dare you!” I shout. “Don’t hurt them. Don’t you dare conduct experiments on them!”
Eldaren blinks, and a flicker of surprise crosses his face. “I do not understand what you mean.”
“Don’t pretend to be stupid!” I shriek.
Eldaren flicks his hand dismissively. Sol throws me over his shoulder and turns to leave.
“I’ll bond with you,” I sob. “I’ll do the Kenelky. Just don’t hurt Quinn. Please.”
Sol freezes, stiff as a board, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. Lifting my tear-streaked face, I look at the prince, and my heart shudders under his gaze.
I had thought I’d seen Eldaren angry before, but this, this is anger. All caref
ul pretense of no emotion is gone. Eldaren’s face has gone sheet-white, his eyes glittering with rage, twin spots of heat on his cheekbones. I don’t know what I’ve said to make him so upset.
Eldaren turns away, his shoulders heaving with a heavy inhale and exhale. “Take her back,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse.
“Eldaren!” I scream, but I’m already out of the house, the streets becoming a blur as Sol breaks into a run.
“What did I say that was so wrong?” I ask.
Sol doesn’t answer right away. We’re almost to the fortress before he responds. “You offered yourself in exchange for something,” he replies. “You essentially told the prince you don’t matter; that you are willing to sell yourself as an object. You said you aren’t worth anything, and that angered him.”
“Oh.” My voice is small. I’m not sure how to respond to that. Does Eldaren think so highly of me? That is a small comfort. I think.
“What will happen to Quinn?” I ask.
Sol barks a sudden laugh. “Don’t worry about your brother. You no longer have to take care of him.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I snarl, but we've reached my familiar rooms and, going inside, Sol dumps me unceremoniously onto the bed. “Sleep tight, princess.” He winks. “A word to the wise: tell no one about your connection with Eldaren. That should be top secret.”
He closes the door behind him, and I wince, hearing the lock click in place. I’m now in a worse pickle than when I arrived. I threw the prince’s trust back in his face, apparently insulted myself, and I’m no closer to helping Quinn. If anything, his predicament could be even worse. What had Sol meant? I pull the covers around me, rocking slowly back and forth, trying to contain my panic, a habit I picked up from my brother when stress threatens to tear me apart.
What do I do, now? I don’t even know. I—don’t—know. Tears prickle my eyes again, and I blink furiously, rubbing them.
More than ever, I wish Wilder was here. I miss his smile, and his optimistic attitude. He always had a positive spin on any given situation. He’d gone without food on more than one occasion so that Quinn and I could eat. He’d laughed when I tried to share and said not eating was good for a man in times like this.
I know what he meant now. He drew strength from being able to protect and take care of us. Wilder had found joy in being able to provide.
Something I apparently can’t seem to do for my brother.
A whimper bubbles up in my throat, and I push it back. “Stop it, Stella,” I growl. “Crying won’t solve anything. Wilder is gone.”
And he is. There isn’t anything I can do about that. Now I realize I had done the worst possible thing when trying to protect Quinn. I had been weak. Eldaren admired me for my strength.
I was supposed to fight.
But I'm not a fighter. I'm so tired of trying to be strong. I want to fall. I want to shatter.
But I can't. Not yet. Quinn still needs me.
I dive under the covers and wait.
28
Stella
My efforts to stand up for myself and my brother aren’t very effective.
I don’t see Eldaren or Quinn for two days. I spend most of that time huddled in my bed, with a blanket pulled up over my head. I’d tried wrestling past Aleere once, only to find the scrawny elf girl was at least three times stronger than me. How embarrassing.
After what feels like ages, Eldaren comes to my room, at the end of the second day. I hear the lock lift, and the door creaks slightly.
I roll up into a sitting position, still wearing my blanket about me like a shroud. I refuse to look at him. You should smack him across his beautiful face. He stole your brother. You need to be tough.
“You don’t have to hide from me, Stella.”
“I’m not hiding.” I scowl at nothing.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“You tell me.” My voice sounds hollow. “I don’t even know why I’m still here, or what will happen to me. Or what—” my voice catches, and I inhale hard, hating my weakness, “—what will happen to my brother.”
“Your brother.” Eldaren’s voice turns almost crisp. “Has he always had seizures?”
“No,” I say.
“When did they start?”
“When our—” I choke on my words, and I have to start over. “When our parents died.”
He’s very quiet, and I tug back the blanket and risk a glance. Eldaren isn’t looking at me. He’s gazing out of my window, a distant look in his eyes.
“What?” I say.
“He never suffered from any head injury?”
I shrug and look away. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“Your brother isn’t the invalid you think he is.”
My eyes snap back to him. He’s looking at me now, his gray eyes solemn. “What?”
“Your brother is a Me’tar. I’m not sure what you’d call him in your tongue. A cable, or conduit, maybe. He has the ability to draw in and transfer magic to others who need it. I assume your parents were aware of his ability, or he wouldn’t have begun having seizures after their death. They must have helped him process the enchantment. When they died, he hadn’t yet learned to harness his ability. His seizures are a direct side effect of his inability to rid himself of excess magic that his body naturally collects.”
I shake my head tiredly. “You have it all wrong. Common medicine has been able to keep them at bay. I think he gets them because it’s his way of dealing with Mom and Dad being gone.”
A smirk slides across the elf’s face, and he holds up Quinn’s empty medicine bottle. “You managed to dull his ability, but with this out of his system, and with our vastly superior techniques of healing, your brother is as good as new.”
I blink, trying to process what he just said. “You mean . . . he’s normal?”
“I don’t know that I’d go that far, but he’s back to his normal.” He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Me’tar are usually considered odd ducks, even by human standards. But yes, he will be all right.” He stands aside, and I’m staring at my open door. “Would you like to see him?”
I can’t answer for a moment. This is so unlike the meeting that I’d anticipated with mounting dread. I’d expected Eldaren to come in either full of exploding rage, or cold, icy anger and derision. He wasn’t showing any emotion, except for maybe a flicker of happy curiosity. I narrow my eyes. “Is he safe?”
“Come see for yourself.” He holds out a hand.
I get out of bed and pad over to him, shivering, even though I haven’t changed and am still wearing my jacket. The air is frigid, matching my bleak mood, and a breeze wafts about the room, though it’s gone almost as soon as I feel it.
Eldaren’s eyes narrow and he cocks his head slightly as he studies my face.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
He pauses, still watching me, then shakes his head. “Nothing, perhaps. Come.” His fingers wrap around mine, and he gently tugs me out the door.
Quinn’s rooms are only half a hallway down from mine. Eldaren opens the door without knocking—typical Eldaren—and walks in.
I follow him, and stop. I stare, my heart beating wildly.
Quinn is seated on a comfortable chair at a small table, dark hair hanging in his eyes as he hunches over a book. I swallow, a sudden lump rising in my throat.
My brother is reading. He hasn’t picked up a book since Mom died. I wasn’t sure he even remembered how to read.
Becoming aware that he has an audience, Quinn looks up, blinking as his mind is brought back from wherever the story took him. His eyes lock with mine, and a broad smile blooms. “Hi, Stella.”
“Hi.” I smile back. “How are you doing?”
Quinn shrugs. “Doing pretty good. I’d be doing better if the elves had some video games, but all they seem to have are fairy tales.”
A sob escapes my throat, and I clamp my hand over my mouth,
trying to stifle it. That’s the longest sentence he’s managed since disease took our parents.
My brother studies me, puzzled. “Did I say something wrong?”
I shake my head, blinking rapidly. “You're fine,” I manage in a wavering voice. I take in the fortress with a sweep of my arm. “Quinn, do you like it here? Do you want to go back home?” I wonder if I should even ask that. If Quinn is unique, like Eldaren has said, I doubt the elves will let him go.
But Quinn is already shaking his head. “I like it here,” he says. He taps his head, a distant look coming into his eyes. “Things are clearer. It’s not hard to breathe.”
Not hard to breathe. I don’t know what he means by that, but this is definitely the old Quinn. The one who used to nestle in Mom’s lap and listen to bedtime stories. The boy who cried when the little red hen didn’t share her loaf of bread with the slothful animals, and who stomped in outraged indignation when the fox ate the gingerbread man.
“You may stay here as long as you like,” Eldaren says, and I hear a trace of indulgence in his voice. “This may be your home.”
Quinn beams. “Good. I want to stay. Forever.”
I scoff and roll my eyes. “Not forever, Quinn. We already have a home.”
My brother’s face reddens, and he stamps a foot. “Forever! I want to stay, Stella! I want to stay, I want to—”
“All right.” I hold my hands up in a placating manner. “We can stay.” I start, realizing what I’ve said, and I don’t dare look at Eldaren. Maybe he doesn’t want me to stay, not anymore. Heat rising to my face, I bite my lip. I might be separated from my brother anyway with everything said and done. “Well, goodnight, Quinn.”
“Good night.” He calms down immediately and turns back to his book.
I leave the room.
29
Eldaren
Quinn hurt Stella's feelings. It makes me want to shake some sense into the boy, but I know it will only upset Stella more. I follow her out.