There are voices and milling footsteps, plus the hissing sounds of a working stove. My heartbeat quickens.
That’s when we start to notice signs of life: a shutter closing, a cough, the low voices of families talking inside their homes. Someone pushes a cart past, too quickly to notice our bedraggled figures. The noise grows. We turn into the main square to find a market, with hundreds of people bustling around open-air booths and vendors. Music wafts from somewhere nearby.
I look over at Cygnus, unable to stop my spreading grin. When he smiles back, I once again have the odd urge to hug him—which drives my heart rate higher still.
Everywhere I look, I see tapered ears. There are some girls wearing kerchiefs like mine but tied back so the points of their ears are shown prominently. The fashion is different than in Verdinae; there are more subdued colors and less extravagant fabrics, but the silhouettes are more daring. Everyone’s bodies are freer. The women and men wear their hair long and flowing, and I spot far more beards than in Verdinae. There’s a bonfire toward the middle of the square, and I see a pair of young girls sitting beside it, tossing a rippling sphere of fire back and forth the way human children might play with a ball. I gape at them, awestruck.
I could spend hours people-watching, but I need water. We both needhelp. Our journey through the lake left me exhaustedpast dignity. Not thinking too much, I home in on a woman at a nearby booth.
“Excuse me. Could you help us?” My voice emerges an octave lower than normal, raspy and thick. “My friend and I, we just…” I swallow, not sure how to describe what we’ve just been through. “We’ve just arrived. Please, if you have any water…”
The woman’s brow furrows in confusion. A spread of trinkets and buttons lie scattered on the table before her. She is old, her face a web of wrinkles between long, tapered ears. I wonder how many hundreds of years she has lived, how much she has seen.
“Just arrived?” she repeats, looking dazed. Her eyes shoot between Cygnus and me, her gaze snagging on his ears. She gasps, and plain horror washes over her features. “Is hehuman?”
My head swivels. “No! Well, half—”
“My mother is Elven,” Cygnus explains, stepping forward. “We’ve just come through the gate.”
She points a bony finger at him. “You’re lying! No one comes in or out of Ruin! You must be one of the queen’s tricks!”
No one goes out?I think, but I don’t have time to focus on her words.
“No, he’s my friend!” I try to amend quickly. “He’s one of us—”
But the old woman just starts shrieking, “Spies!SPIES!HEEELP!”
Cygnus curses. The screams have caught the attention of dozens of onlookers. They don’t mob us all at once, but they close in slowly as Cygnus and I wheel around, looking for somewhere to run.
“No, please!” I stagger backward. “You misunderstand!”
The woman continues screaming, “HEEEEELLLLP!”
“Please, we don’t want any trouble,” I plead, lifting my hands in surrender. There is no will left in me to fight, not after allwe’ve endured and conquered. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone else. As the Elves surround us, shouting and hurling accusations, my relief sours into confusion.
These are my people.
Mypeople.
And I can’t let them hurt Cygnus.
When two big male Elves grab him, I lunge.
“Let himgo!” I try to yank the nearest one’s arm. He shakes me off like I weigh nothing, growling, “He’shuman!” like that’s a crime in itself.
“NO!” Cygnus shouts. “I’m half-Elven! I came through the Everwillow! Please—”
Someone grabsmyarms, and I see red.
“Get OFF me!” I howl at the Elf who grabbed me. I kick back, aiming for his sensitive bits, but he twists to avoid it, lifting me clean off the ground, so I’m left thrashing like a child. It’s the second time I’ve been matched for strength in a fight, and my ego doesn’t take well to defeat. “LET ME GO!”
“Wait!”cries Cygnus. “There’s been a misunderstanding—”
A voice cuts straight through the chaos.“ENOUGH!”
It sounded from behind me. I thrash harder, trying to turn and face it, but the man who grabbed me has my arms pinned. I hear soft footsteps, then shuffling, the sounds of a parting crowd.
I smell her first.
