The house I was led to was nothing like those I had seen when first entering the Capital. They had been small and quaint but undeniably cozy-looking with their shuttered windows and pleasant wooden siding. Unlike the shanties in the Polder Quarter and presumably many houses around Pentaba thanks to the bogs that made up the kingdom, the houses in the Capital were placed firmly on the ground. Despite the lack of water beneath them, many had bright emerald-feathered moss sprouting up the walls to evoke a rustic, whimsical feeling within the onlooker. Reedy-stemmed flowers and moist-leafed shrubs were planted artfully around the house faces much like a tidy suburban neighborhood on Earth, and the lush squares of lawn in the fronts and backs acted as keepers for various alien tools and toys that hinted at the personalities of the residents inside.

The same A’li-uud who’d come to my rescue in the marsh was my guide now, and the house we drew up to was of a different kind of beauty. Rather than being located at the front of the Capital, it was on the eastern side atop a small series of hills overlooking the ocean with others of its kind. The silhouette was quirky, uneven and asymmetrical with unorthodox protrusions and unsupported overhangs, but it was breathtaking nonetheless. Walls of smoothed swamp logs were striped with strange burgundy tar on the ground most level, while those further upward appeared to be made entirely of the tar. Many-paned windows overlooked the bumpy stone street below where I stood uncertainly with the A’li-uud, some with shutters similar to the others I’d seen, and the landscaping was just as cheerful. It was the towering size and unusual shape that had me staring wide-eyed without blinking.

“Come in,” the A’li-uud said gruffly, pressing his thumb into a seemingly nonexistent indent on the jamb and pushing the door open with his forearm.

The room I walked into was definitely a living area, and the furniture was similar—though greater in size and number—as the furniture in my shanty, but it was still a little startling to see. Couches long enough to seat four were upholstered in foreign fabric that looked more like skins than cotton with a swamp log table between them. Lights resembling stumpy, glowing pillars with no shades sat calmly on end tables, and a massive fireplace occupied nearly an entire wall. An open arch offered a view of an A’li-uud kitchen, which seemed quite primitive in style compared to Earth kitchens. A great cooking pot was stationed in the very center, and there were long, narrow tables edging all borders of the room. One hosted a heavy metallic basin over which dangled a single shelf, and, though there appeared to be no tap, I knew from living in the shanty that water came from the shelf’s underside. It was highly technological and yet unrefined, a contradiction I had still not grown accustomed to even though I’d spent three months on Albaterra.

“Is this your house?” I asked the alien.

He closed the door behind us and turned to face me. “Yes,” he answered emotionlessly.

After he’d spoken with the Elder in their native tongue for quite some time, one of the other A’li-uud present had led Isabelle into a room deeper within the palace. I’d expected to follow, but this man, for lack of a better term, had held out an arm to stop me.

“You will come with me,” he’d said in English.

Now, I was standing in his living room without a clue as to why and no idea what was happening with Isabelle.

“What are we doing here?” I pressed. I felt uncomfortable in his abode, partially because I was there without explanation and partially because the frigid expression on his face indicated I was less than welcome.

He crossed the sitting area to the fireplace. It was empty, but a basket made of dried swamp reeds sat beside the hearth and boasted a collection of split logs. He plucked one from its mates, he laid it gently amongst the ashes, and then repeated the motion. “You are to stay with me.”

His voice was toneless and unexpressive as usual, but his answer made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “I’m not going back to the shanty?” I asked.

“No.” He brushed his hands on the front of his pants and stood, shaking his head to clear the tresses of long, silvery hair that had fallen in his face.

“Why not?” I demanded, alarm beginning to bubble in my belly.

As he turned, his face changed from impassive disinterest to forced patience. “Elder Sevani has ordered you into my care until the Council approves your release. This requires you to stay in my home, where I am,” he explained tightly.

I blinked. “Why?”

“We fear the Novai will retaliate against you, either for providing your account of last night’s attack or to prevent you from giving it. You must be protected.”

“Giving an account to whom?” I inquired.

If he’d been human, he would have told me to shut up and stop asking questions. I could see it on his face. Either it wasn’t A’li-uud custom to do so, however, or he was trying to stay in my good graces because he only closed his eyes briefly and took in a short, shallow breath before responding. “The Council.”

I knew about the Council. They were Albaterra’s Elders, one designated to reign over each kingdom, and they were basically the equivalent of the entire United States government. They made laws, tried the cases of particularly complicated or egregious criminals, and dictated everything from galactic exploration to interspecies relations. The Elder this A’li-uud spoke of, Sevani, was one of eleven who made up the Council. In my mind, they were a group with too much power and not enough checks-and-balances, but I’d never given it too much thought until now when my freedom had suddenly been ripped out from under me like a rug.

“What about Isabelle?” I asked hoarsely.

“She will give a statement,” he said, “and then she will return to her shanty.”

“Without protection?”

He stared at me without a flicker of empathy. “Her statement will be anonymous.”

I shook my head. “No, you can’t do that!” I protested furiously. “I’m not so sure there’s a reason to worry about retaliatory actions in the first place, but if there is, she needs protection just as much as I do!”

“Elder Sevani disagrees,” the A’li-uud retorted.

“I don’t care if he disagrees or not; I can’t have my own personal bodyguard while she’s thrown to the wolves,” I snapped.

His eyelids squinted slightly, his head tilting to the side as if he was studying me. “What is your name?” he asked almost thoughtfully.

The question was so unexpected, so out of left field, that I stammered several unintelligible syllables before recollecting control of my tongue. I didn’t know if he was trying to change the subject or distract me from my concern for my friend, but I answered anyway. “Lena,” I said grudgingly, crossing my arms across my chest. With just as much coarseness, I added, “What’s yours?”

“I am Khrel,” he answered in his oddly-tongued English. His words were clipped and brief, which gave the ear the illusion he wasn’t speaking English at all, and I had to listen a little more attentively to ensure I understood him. As he told me his name, the thoughtful expression that had overtaken his face returned to hardened severity once more, and all semblance of patience he’d worn disappeared. “And I suggest, Lena, you quickly learn to trust me, and by extension Elder Sevani, because I may be the only thing standing between your life and your death.”