Unforgiving
Two Elves are waiting for me in the hallway outside my room when I return to the North Tower.
Wynter’s intimidating brother and the willowy Elfin lad who was with him this morning are leaning against the windowsill. They straighten as I enter, both of them armed with bows and well-stocked quivers.
“Elloren Gardner,” Wynter’s brother says, his face grave, his words heavily accented. “I am Cael Eirllyn, brother of Wynter Eirllyn, and this is my second, Rhys Thorim.” He makes a slight, reluctant bow before continuing. “I need to speak with you.”
My heart picks up speed. “You need to leave,” I insist as I glance nervously toward the door behind me. “It’s not appropriate for you to be here.”
Cael makes no move to comply. “My sister told me of the threats you have made against her,” he says, stepping forward. “I have come here to respectfully request that you leave my sister alone.”
He must be joking.
“Perhaps the Icarals should avoid attacking and abusing people if they wish to be left alone,” I counter, pointing an accusing finger at our room.
His eyes widen, incredulous. “My sister? She attacked you? Wynter has never attacked anyone in her entire life. In fact, I’ve never heard her utter so much as an unkind word, even against those who have treated her ill.”
I tense at the injustice of it all. “Ariel Haven attacked me my first night here,” I reply. “I cowered in a closet all night long, thinking I was about to be killed, and your sister didn’t lift a finger to stop her.”
“My sister...” Cael tries again, softening his tone with what looks like great effort. “If you knew her...she is decent and good. The Deargdul, or the Icarals, as you know them, they are as despised by the Elves as they are by the Gardnerians. Our holy book, The Elliontorin, speaks about the evil of the winged, demonic ones. Many of our people seek to see my sister exiled forever. Some would like to see her imprisoned...or worse. She is here because she has nowhere else to go. If you make trouble for her, if you decide to spread lies about her, no one will take her side, save myself and Rhys Thorim.”
I hesitate, momentarily conflicted. But then I remember where weakness got me. I can’t afford to be weak.
Dominate, or be dominated. I can almost hear Lukas whispering in my mind.
I gather my resolve. “Well, that puts me in a very convenient position, don’t you think?”
Cael stiffens and anger flashes in his eyes. “I should have known better than to expect compassion from a Gardnerian.”
My blood boils at his words. “You should have known better than to expect that I would roll over and play dead when abused by Icarals!”
Cael is clearly furious, but Rhys’s eyes fill with such raw hurt that it gives me serious pause.
“You have made your feelings quite clear, Elloren Gardner,” Cael says with cold formality. “We will not take up any more of your time. Good eve.”
He gives me a quick, perfunctory bow, and both Elves depart.
* * *
“Why is there a chicken in this room?” I cry as I step into my foul lodging.
A chicken runs around the room, bird feed scattered in a messy pile, droppings littering the floor.
Ariel glares at me with a look of seething hatred, scoops up the chicken and hugs it protectively to her chest.
“Get the chicken out of here now!” I demand.
Ariel springs up, the chicken in her arms. “No! You come near Faiga, Black Witch, and I will set your belongings on fire!”
“It has a name? You named the chicken? You stole it from the dining hall poultry yard, didn’t you?” I take a threatening step toward her.
“I’m warning you, Gardnerian! Get away from my chicken, or your bed goes up in flames!”
“Go ahead, try it,” I challenge her. “You’ll be expelled!”
Ariel steps toward me, threatening in turn. “I’ll be expelled if I set you on fire,” she rages, “not your things!” A slow, evil grin forms on her face. “And believe me, Black Witch, that’s the only thing keeping me from setting you on fire.”
I know I should continue the fight. To keep the upper hand, no matter what threats I have to make. But I suddenly feel overwhelmingly tired and beaten down. “Fine!” I relent, shooting her a look of disgust. “Keep your stupid chicken. This room couldn’t get any more disgusting anyway. It’s like living in a barn.”
“With a Gardnerian pig!” Ariel snarls.
“Shut up, Icaral.”
Wynter winces at the word, her wide, silver eyes now peeking out above her wing wrapping. Shame pricks at me as I watch Wynter cowering, but anger and fatigue override my conscience.
I’ll find a way to bring Ariel down. All I need is a few solid nights of sleep.
* * *
I’m awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of singing. I open my eyes just enough to see.
It’s Ariel.
She’s sitting on her bed, singing softly to the chicken and murmuring to it in turn. Gone is her usual evil, slit-eyed look. Her whole face is open, like a child’s. The chicken is staring back at her, making a contented, low clucking sound, almost as if it’s murmuring back to her.
It’s an oddly gentle scene, and it makes me feel unsettled and slightly embarrassed to witness.
Wynter is sitting at the foot of the bed, a large piece of white parchment laid on a thin wooden board in front of her. She’s sketching Ariel and the chicken, her thin black wings folded neatly behind her. She has a shiny white stylus in her hand and holds it at angles as she works. Her picture is oddly beautiful, the unusual art tool not only able to draw in multiple colors, but also able to capture the firelight so that it actually flickers on the page. I remember Lukas mentioning that Wynter is an artist.
Stop, I caution myself.
I force myself to remember the terror of my first night here, how Ariel attacked me, how I cowered in the closet, how Wynter never tried to stop her. How the Icarals in Valgard almost killed me.
I push all my thoughts aside and drift back to sleep.
* * *
She comes to me again in a dream that night.
The Selkie.
She’s following me in the woods, trying to keep up with my relentless pace. Autumn leaves crackle beneath me with each step.
I look the part of the Black Witch, my long, elegant cloak billowing out behind me.
The Selkie is trying, desperately, to tell me something in a language I don’t understand, that I have no interest in understanding. She runs up beside me, only to fall back again as I refuse to slow down for her, refuse to acknowledge her, seeing her only as a flicker in and out of my peripheral vision. Ignoring when she trips and falls back yet again.
As the dream fades to black, I’m left with an uncomfortable gnawing sensation that by refusing to slow down and look at her, really look at her, I’m missing something.
Something of vital importance.