My workday is spent looking for time to scour the Wiki for any information on what I can do to improve things in Alvione. My most recent dream has had little effect on the overall narrative it seems, and I find myself searching through Reddit threads for answers to highly specific questions about elves.
At one point, I feel Daisuke hovering over my shoulder, looking at whatever the hell it is I’m doing on my phone. He sighs and mutters, “Girl . . .” but thankfully leaves it at that. Jenna, on the other hand, is a bit irritated by my lack of motion during the slow hours of the day. She’s got her hair wrapped in a tight bun today—a tell that she had a hard morning and now she means business.
“Tables don’t clean themselves, Rose,” she says as kindly as she can manage, though there’s a bit of an edge to her tone. “And that kid from earlier got crumbs all over the place by the window table.”
“Sorry.” I grab a cloth and our broom and walk over to the area she pointed out, but my mind is still buzzing with anxiety of having to manage a crisis in Alvione that hasn’t even happened yet. The most obvious thing to do is be in the right place at the right time, and according to the Wiki’s section on elves, they are first introduced in what should be the next paragraph of the book. But the introduction to them comes after the caravan has already been killed, so sometime between where I’m at and the next day, something goes terribly wrong. I remember that the caravans always arrive in the morning so they’re set up to sell throughout the day. Does this mean Martin and I are going to have to stake out the entrance to the castle walls, intercept the caravan and then, I don’t know, assign them a gaggle of guards?
But what if guards are the ones who kill them, and that’s why Eliana failed to identify the culprits?
“Hey, hey, hey!” I snap out of my reverie at the sound of Jenna freaking out. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Huh?” Both she and Daisuke are staring at me, confused looks on their faces.
“I said clean the tables, not the freakin’ windows,” Jenna sighs. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Did you not get any sleep last night or something?” I glance at the window. I guess I’d scooped up some whipped cream onto the cleaning cloth and started spreading it in perfect circles on the glass, like some kind of a broken robot trying to remember its function. The white swirls cover half of the front window now.
“Oh, I . . .” I look at my handiwork for a moment, my brain slowly returning to the present. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“It looks like a cloud,” Daisuke says thoughtfully.
Jenna shoots a quick glare at him, then turns back to me. “Why don’t you go home, Rose? Take a nap. We can cover the afternoon, just the two of us.” She points her thumb at herself and Daisuke, who makes a flat really? face at her.
I find myself nodding. Jenna is a friend in a lot of ways, but she’s also the manager, and this is not a suggestion. She’s sending me home.
“Come back tomorrow well rested,” she adds, her face softening slightly as she takes in the lost look on mine.
My nap sends me back to Alvione. It’s surreal to go from 1 p.m. to 12 a.m. in another world, from my light pajamas to a heavy gown. Martin is still peering out the window, clueless to the fact that I’d been gone for hours in what was likely not even a millisecond for him.
I take some time to observe him as I readjust to being in Alvione once more. I can only see the profile of his face, but even from that, I can tell he’s tired. His deep-set eyes have a sunken quality to them, with dark bags and the kind of glassy look of someone who’s been awake for far too long. Still, he seems relaxed, quiet, almost expressionless as he zones out over the expanse of the garden below, hidden in darkness but for the light of a few scattered stars. His cigarette hangs from his fingers, dark and ashy. I hadn’t noticed that it’d gone out.
“You should rest.”
He turns toward me, his strong nose casting a shadowy triangle across his face that flickers in the candlelight. Then he gives me the weak smile of a man with a lot on his mind. I can relate. I’ve had a lot on my mind too lately. “I suppose you’re right,” he murmurs. “Do you have a plan for dealing with the caravan?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle it.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, will you?”
I find myself grinning at him. “Just go to fucking sleep already.” I wave vaguely toward the big bed in the center of the room. “You can sleep here for all I care. I’ll grab a trustworthy guard and do a little stakeout.”
His lips part and brow furrows. As he stands, his dark hair falls into his face, the silver strands glinting in the warm light. “An awful idea. Both of those ideas. Improper, foolish—you realize you are a queen now, do you not? You cannot have men sleeping in your bed, nor can you be going on ‘stakeouts,’ which I assume means you plan on trying to catch a murderer in the act?”
“Well, before the act, ideally.”
He huffs and crosses his arms, his unlit cigarette scattering a few ashes into the air as he does so. “This is why I cannot sleep. You cannot be trusted to be left unattended.”
“Why doesn’t some advisor attend to me, then? Why are you the one at my beck and call? Don’t you have other things to do? Like sleep?”
Another frustrated sigh escapes him and his eyes narrow, then he leans down toward me to say pointedly, “Because I am the one who put you into this role. I found your true lineage. I plucked you from the masses. No one else desires to watch over a girl of only twenty-one years who came from nothing and is now imbued with an excess of unearned power. You are my responsibility, and it is my fault that you are here at all, Eliana.”
I blink. “It’s Rose, remember?” I’m not sure what else to say. Honestly, I don’t remember Martin being a very big part of the original book series. Eliana is mostly shuffled around between various advisors, spending her time with unnamed maids and guards, with the story jumping to important events, like conflicts and steamy romance scenes. Did Martin feel guilty for putting Eliana in this situation in the first place? He certainly never said anything like this in the book.
His eyes flicker with something like annoyance. “I simply misspoke.” But his guilt is clear, even if it’s misplaced.
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“Well, me being here isn’t your fault or responsibility, so . . . don’t get all worked up over it. I can handle myself.” I try to give him a reassuring smile which he responds to with nothing more than an irritated scowl. He uncrosses his arms and tucks his half-smoked cigarette into his robes, a weary expression replacing the peeved look from before.
“I will come with you to watch the gate until morning. Do not make me regret this with your idle chatter.” His eyes flick down to my gown then back to my face. “I’ll have to give you my cloak so you do not stand out too obviously come morning. And the night can be cold.” He approaches me with surprising hesitation and unbuttons his cloak. I don’t know what I was expecting him to be wearing underneath, but I can’t help but stare curiously at his outfit when I finally see it. On top is a long black tunic with little in the way of design, with loose dark green pants underneath, which he has tucked into his boots. With all the finery of the castle around us, it’s clear he cares little for anything elaborate, and I can’t help but think that medieval clothing for men looks a bit silly.
He notices me staring, and he gives me a frustrated look. “Please be appropriate for once.” He walks over and drapes his black cloak over my shoulders before I have a chance to respond. I glare at him as he buttons the cloak in place.
“I’m not ogling you. You’re so easily irritated.”
“I am not easily irritated. You are just deeply irritating.”
“That must be why you insist on spending more time with me.”
“Hmph.” With that, he walks to the door. I trail behind him and follow him to the guard barracks, where he picks out two guards he assures me are trustworthy and not as adverse to magic users as some of the others. The four of us walk together out of the castle and toward the front gate. In the dark of night, it’s hard to tell what the empty market looks like, especially without the light of the moon to help. Martin ignores the other guards that we pass, so I do too, though I can feel their curious looks on my back when I sweep past them.
After several real life days, interspersed with dreams of Alvione—boring dreams where our two chosen guards sleep on mats in the dirt, and Martin and I sit quietly for hours in the dark, him bouncing a magic ball of flames from one hand to another as he fills me in on everything I need to know about elf politics while I just watch and nod—dawn finally breaks. Martin wakes the two guards, who sit up, mumbling, and pull from their pockets some stale-looking rations they apparently keep on them all the time. They eat quietly while Martin and I stare blankly at the gate, waiting for the caravan to finally arrive. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it.
Eliana’s body is tired. I have no idea what will happen if I fall asleep in the book, but I can’t afford to, so I resist the urge. Even though I’m sleeping in real life, I find myself craving sleep in these dreams.
“It won’t be much longer,” Martin murmurs, extinguishing his fireball. In the early morning light, I can finally see the market. I don’t know what I expected. It’s just a bunch of wooden stalls, some with carpets and cloth draped over them to hide their contents, others revealing nothing but empty shelves. Handmade, painted signs hang from awnings or along the fronts of the tables. Fruits. Vegetables. Grain. Spices. Cloth. Weaponry.
These people are not terribly creative.
Martin stands, drawing my eyes back to him. He didn’t complain about the cold all night—I guess the fireball had more purpose than just to stave off boredom—but his cloak had undeniably kept me warm. I stand up, mirroring him, and he looks at me. We both must look exhausted, because he looks even worse than before. His eyes are tinged red, and his eyelids droop like he can’t even keep them up anymore.
“You look terrible,” I say flatly.
He lets out a delirious little laugh. “Indeed. As do you.”
“Don’t insult your queen.” It’s a weak attempt at teasing, but I’m too exhausted to come up with anything better.
“I am not insulting my queen; I am insulting my time traveler,” he replies wryly.
I find myself smiling at his words. But before I can think of a response, the guards on the top of the wall shout down to the guards below, who begin prying the grand doors to the bailey open. I straighten up, trying to look queenly despite my exhaustion, and am met with the sight of a group of beautiful, tall men and women. Two have dark skin and braided hair, while the other three are shockingly pale with straight white hair. Their eyes are down, and they’re guiding a large tan ox that’s pulling their covered wagon. They look entirely human, if you ignore the ethereal vibe that clings to them and their pointed ears.
“Iliyan,” Martin calls out. One of them, the young man with long black hair, glances up at Martin. His face brightens. The other elves look up at Martin as well, though they seem more confused to see him than happy.
“Martin Castillo,” Iliyan says, tutting playfully. “To what do we owe the pleasure? I thought you might stop by at some point, but I wasn’t expecting you to greet us at the door.” His eyes move from Martin to me. “And who’s this? You finally get married, you stubborn oaf?”
Martin motions to me and gives Iliyan a lopsided grin. “This is Queen Eliana.”
Iliyan’s eyes widen, and he quickly dips his head down, bowing low. “My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty.” The other elves look similarly alarmed and copy him with low, reverent bows.
“Oh, uh, there’s no need for that,” I babble stupidly. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m so glad you made it here safely.”
The elves hesitantly straighten back up. The other ones won’t look at me, but Iliyan does, his expression curious now. “Safely?”
Martin takes over. “We have reason to believe that your caravan might be a target by some unsavory figures.”
Iliyan doesn’t seem surprised. “That is quite the norm, old friend. What is different about this time?”
After a short pause, Martin says vaguely, “We were informed of . . . a vision. A vision that showed us your deaths.” I glance at Martin. Is he trying to freak them out? But his face is serious. He and Iliyan must truly be good friends. Because I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell them that much of the truth.
The elves look adequately alarmed. Two of the white-haired women begin whispering to each other worriedly. “That is most concerning,” Iliyan finally says, his voice low. He cups Martin’s face in a gesture that seems oddly intimate to me and whispers to him, “Thank you, my friend.”
Martin’s face flushes slightly at his touch, and he moves back as if to get away. Oh? So it’s like that then. Exes? Iliyan doesn’t seem hurt by Martin’s response, offering a small amused smile. Martin clears his throat and says, “That is why we have guards here for you and your caravan.” He motions to the two guards. At some point, they’d stopped eating and are now standing at attention. “Please be cautious today and keep your weapons close. We do not know who will strike or when, but in case this vision does come to pass, I would like you to be prepared to encounter danger.”
“Might it be better if we were just to leave then?” Iliyan mutters. He looks to the other elves, who are shaking their heads frantically. He sighs and says to them pointedly, “If it is not safe, would it not be best for us to leave empty handed but at least leave with our lives?”
“The crops will spoil before we can reach the next city,” one of the elven women says quietly. “And townsfolk won’t buy from us. Iliyan, we cannot waste these things. It is worth the risk to me.” The others nod in agreement.
“In that case, I suppose we will—” Iliyan gasps and one of the women screams. A sword, red with blood, protrudes from his chest. Martin pushes me aside before I can see everything else and the guards are upon the man before I catch a glimpse of him. As I fall over, landing in the dirt with a thud, I catch sight of Martin grabbing hold of Iliyan before he collapses and our two guards embroiled in a fight with the two guards who had been guarding the entrance.
“Filth!” one of them shouts. “Elves have no place in Alvione!”
It is his last words, as one of our guards strikes him down. I watch as his body falls heavily to the ground and find myself meeting his lifeless eyes with a wide-eyed, stunned expression.
I can’t help but think, I’ve never seen someone die before.