Shit,Draven swears as a mortal woman scurries over. For all his smoothness, he’s not used to having to slink in the shadows. I can feel him moving to try to quietly close it, but I pull him away.
With any luck, she’ll think it’s the wind.I add a warning.Plus, if our magic is leaving traces, we need to move.
Draven lets me lead him away from the door and out of her path. She passes us so close I can see every silver hair threadedthrough her auburn braid. It’s not my mom, but my heart sits at the back of my throat all the same. Does my mom wear manacles just like hers?
She reaches the door, looking out into the night. She lingers, confused for a moment. Draven stands deathly still at my side. The servant sniffs the air but then closes the door slowly, watching to see if it’ll open again. There’s a breeze tonight, and she seems to attribute it to nothing more. She shrugs and walks away.
Draven’s hand tugs and I have to be careful not to trip on any of the rugs running the length of the halls.
Where are we going?I ask, my thoughts quiet, heart heavy.
I’ve never been here. But I’ve seen enough elven lords’ manors to know how they’re typically laid out.
I rely more than I thought on seeing my body to hold my balance, and it’s strange navigating up the stairs onto a landing.
More mortals bustle up here, moving quickly from room to room. My horror grows with each one I see, the sheer magnitude of humans enslaved to just one house is revolting. It’s refocusing all my anger on the immortals, the callousness of their royal courts.
Voices filter down the hall. High-pitched laughter and glasses clinking.
Looks like someone’s having a party,Draven comments.
We move forward, and that’s when I hear it.
A haunting songstress draws me forward. That voice … I’d recognize it anywhere.
“Her voice could pull a man from a safe ship into teeming waters.” The memory of my father admiring my mother’s skill hits me low, the smile creeping up his face as she sung for a small crowd at some tiny festival in our old village. I blink away the recollection.
We emerge into a large courtyard, where an intimate gathering is underway. But I can’t concentrate on the crowd. Draven leads me over to a fire bowl on an empty table, to mask the scent of our magic. He says,Do you see her? Is she here?
I need to see the stage.Tension ripples through me.
Subtle shadows part the crowd, and her face comes into sharp relief.
She’s lost weight, and her hair is longer, trailing down her back in a crimson flame streaked with silver, striking against her golden skin. Her pointed ears are on display, and she wears so much jewelry.
She’s an elf, one they deemed worthy enough to transform, and I’m a druid changeling. Nature doesn’t seem to care because my heart still thumps off rhythm when I look up at her … that’s my mom.
I’m small again, truly invisible.
The weight of our tenuous last years together compounds all at once.
Draven’s hand squeezes mine tighter, as if I might slip into the breeze.
The crowd sways, surrendering beneath her voice. My gaze draws to the gold cuffs at her wrists. An elven changeling maybe, but still enslaved. How many nights has she spent stuck singing like a nightingale in a cage? The king said they discovered she had a beautiful voice … when she was in that prison. Under torture. My breaths are weighted, anvils attached to each lung. I need to get her out of here. Right now.
The elves clap politely and my mother curtsies gracefully and walks off stage, gliding through the crowd, fielding thanks as a male performer takes over.
She’s there. Now’s our chance.
Wait—he starts, but I don’t care about being careful. I can’t risk losing her.
I pull him along, dogging her steps, but I bump straight into someone, too busy staring ahead. The elven woman brushes her blond hair over a shoulder and seems to blame the mortal walking behind them. I watch her slap the innocent human, berating her about the cost of the dress she wears. I drag Draven onward, afraid of getting caught, terrified of losing this chance.
We slide down the hallway she exited through, and I catch sight of her lava-cursed hair down a different corridor. He lingers in the collision of halls, confused, and I pull from him, rushing after her.
Rune? Rune?!
I sprint, not bothering to keep as quiet as I should. I don’t know where Draven is, but he’s nearby, slamming on my mental wards. But I don’t want to listen to how I need to be careful.
