14: Evaluations

CW// Mentions of Death and Murder

14

Stellina

The pointless hours spent in the human’s house is excruciating. For the most part, I spend them reevaluating the attack with a detached mindset, as Xada had tried to teach me. This always proved difficult as I often found it extremely challenging to separate my emotions from logical thoughts. But if there is anything that could give me more insight into the attack, I will dedicate the rest of my life to finding it.

Before the fae’s dinner, I managed to get myself continuously stuck on one thing: my mother’s death. Or, more specifically, the sound I heard right before it. I can not tear my mind off of it, even now. The subtlety of the noise. It’s swiftness. And, presumably, it’s aftermath. Every time, I had to squeeze my eyes as hard as I could in an effort not to see what came after. And, every time, it flashed across my vision: my mother’s chest, empty where her heart used to be, threads of blood entangling her form and the edges of my sight.

I had to stop because everything kept leading back to my mother, to here. 

Luckily, I was able to tear my thoughts away briefly by Iridea’s harsh cry announcing the completion of evening meal. To which my stomach answered with a growl. Though I was not thrilled to be ogled at by the shadow fae or questioned by the human again, I was very ready for food and an excuse to cease my endless pacing.

The meal made by the fae was delicious. It was filled with an assortment of fried vegetables, nuts, rice and spices. It tasted earthy and warm, unlike the sweet freshness of my culture’s food. Different in a pleasant way, rather than overwhelming as it often has been since I awakened.

Another fae joined us for the meal, much to my initial discomfort. She was taller than Iridea, though that is not to say she was tall. Their features were alarmingly similar, though hers were more angled and slanted at places where Iridea’s were curved and rounded. The rest of her figure followed the same pattern; all straight lines and thin slopes enshrouded in delicate black and purple clothing. I wondered if she, too, wields the unearthly powers Iridea possesses. Luckily, she did not question my presence. Instead, she simply introduced herself as Amara and offered to make clothes for me after eyeing my torn ones. We sat next to each other, not exchanging a word. But I felt comforted that she too was also taken aback by the awkward silence that circled the table. She constantly attempted to offer up a topic of conversation which was always met with distant half-smiles from Iridea or a quick, sharp reply from Evelena. But, after a while, she fell into silence with the rest of us. I wish I knew enough of the human language and information about current events to have pitched in but I did not know enough to understand nor did I feel it was my place to involve myself.

After Iridea left, Amara quickly followed. Iridea had eaten so quickly, as if her food would fade away if she did not pick it up fast enough. Amara, unable to match her pace, took her plate with her upstairs where Iridea had retreated to. What rubbed me the wrong way was Evelena’s complete lack of a response to this. She did not try to stop either of them or look upset when they left, like I would expect. Instead, she kept eating at her regular pace, like the fae were never there. My family always waited until everyone had finished their meals before departing to our respective rooms and duties. The difference was unnerving, souring the taste of food in my mouth.

At dinners with my family, and occasionally some of the higher ranked guards and royal officials like Xada, talk and music always filled the large space that our dining table inhabited - both mostly came from my father. Even after plates were cleaned and bodies well fed, the conversations continued into nightfall until, one by one, people dismissed themselves to recharge for the next day. When it was just my mother, my father, and I, conversations were quieter but still stretched the length of the meal. Discussions about our days, my mother’s ever expanding plan for the festival, my father’s random questions about things like: “how do you think the gods would answer if you just sent them a prayer saying ‘hi’?” Or, “how did the leaves become silver on our trees but nowhere else?”. He never meant for the questions to be answered seriously, but rather, to spark an innovative story between us. Usually it was just my father and I with my mother adding commentary and laughter. I can not wrap my brain around the fact that I will never have those moments back. They are well and truly gone. Aren't they?

I had to excuse myself from the table as the threat of tears grew heavier and heavier. 

Now, upon returning to my appointed room, I begin the strenuous process of evaluating the battle once more. This time, with a different question: how in the Gods did this man get in? 

Lumnia had continuous wards surrounding the city, rendering it invisible and impenetrable to the average passerby. But, I suppose, Hyxver was not the average passerby. In order to break in the way he did, he would have had to know the exact location of the city and taken the wards down from the inside. Which is impossible. Is it not? The wards were made to withstand brute force, though they could be untangled by concentrated magic. But that would have taken days without detection which would have been impossible with our guard’s keen eyes. And even if he had managed that, how did he get past the daily checks on the wards? No, it was extremely unlikely that he had gotten into the city this way.

So, how?

I ponder this until the sun falls into darkness behind the window and sleep begins to wrap it’s grasp around me, dragging my eyes deeper and deeper with each blink. I lay on the bed to let my thoughts swim.

Hyxver either had enough power to break down the wall with one wave of magic or managed to get inside the city without arousing suspicion before night fell. This could have been possible as many elves entered and left the city every day. But he is not a star elf, the absence of our telltale freckles would have given him away immediately. Could he have acquired the help of someone within the city? Though I  recoil from the thought, I force myself to think down this path. 

If Hyxver had an ally within the city, he could have easily organised for the wards to be lowered without drawing suspicion in order for the attack to begin. But why would a citizen condemn Lumnia to utter destruction? Unless they were misled or… enchanted.

I sit bolt upright at the thought, my eyes flaring open; the guard with the glassy eyes carrying the nightshade flower in the hallway. It had rubbed me wrong before, I should have followed my instinct. She had looked vacant because she was not herself, someone was controlling her. Someone as powerful as Hyxver. And she was a guard. A guard with clearance to the area where the wards were controlled. It would have been so easy for Hyxver to have commanded her to turn the wards off so he could carry out his horrendous plan. So easy.

A startling thought comes with this revelation: I thought our sigils protected against enchantment? Were they not as powerful as we think? Or had Zela overlooked this instance?

As if to remind me of it’s power, my sigil burns into my forehead, sending a stab of white pain blasting into my skull, knocking me backward.

When my vision clears, a forest with menacing branches and looming trunks lies before me. With each second that passes, my sight blurs to something new. Within a minute I know; someone is going to die tonight.