“But you cannot be sure,” I said heavily.
Aeldrin nodded slowly. “We cannot be sure.”
I fell silent, my mind racing as I contemplated the implications of this troubling news. Could it be that some dark force had infiltrated our hidden sanctuary, preying upon the most vulnerable of our people? The thought sent a shiver ofunease through me.
“Gather your best trackers,” I commanded, my voice ringing with authority. “Scour the city, leave no stone unturned. I want answers, Aeldrin, and I want themnow.”
The head guardian nodded, his expression resolute. “It will be done, my lady. We will not rest until we have uncovered the truth of this matter.”
As the guardians filed out of the audience chamber, Aeldrin stayed back. He sighed as he massaged his temples. With a start, I realized helookedold today. Not just older than I remembered—old in the way trees grow old: gnarled at the edges, weary in the rings.
“You didn’t sleep well, did you?” I said.
He offered a faint smile. “Just as well as usual.”
We sat in silence for a while. Comfortable. Almost companionable.
The quiet that exists only between people who have known each other across decades.
“You’re worried about the youth,” I said at last, watching his fingers as they fiddled with the edge of the scroll before him.
Aeldrin nodded. “They don’t understand the danger. They never saw the wars. The plagues. The threats that forced us to remain hidden.”
“They never will,” I replied, “if we keep them caged.”
His eyes flashed, just briefly, with something sharp. “It isn’t a cage, Elena. It’s protection. These wards—your wards—they shield us all. We don’t want to risk—”
“You meanyou don’t want to risk them learning what I am.” My voice came out softer than expected. No anger. Just truth.
He didn’t deny it.
“They don’t need to know,” he said eventually, resting his hands on the table. “You are sacred. That knowledge is sacred. You know what would happen if outsiders found out—”
“Yes. I know,” I interrupted, standing. “But I also know this: the longer we bind them here, the more they’ll resent us. They already do. You’ve heard the whispers. You know they sneak to the edge of the wards. You’ve caught them.”
He looked away.
“They are not our prisoners,” I said, stepping closer. “They are our people.”
“But how can we trust them with your safety?” he whispered. “They are just…callow youths. Silly children, dreaming of adventure without thought of the consequences.”
“Aeldrin,” I said softly, “You were once one of them. Don’t you remember? You used to dream of flying beyond the peaks. You spoke of venturing to the Four Kingdoms, of seeing the castles of Merovia, seeing the snow in Drakazov, visiting the great bazaar of Pratihara. You told me you wanted to see the Elves.”
He smiled at that, rueful. “I was fifteen.”
“And now?” I asked.
“I’m fifty-five.”
“Is that what makes you afraid?” I asked. “Your age? Or the fact that they won’t fear as you do?”
He was silent.
“They dream, Aeldrin. Like we once did. Let them.”
“If they leave and speak of you—”
“Then they speak. And perhaps the world is not so cruel as we believe.” I touched his shoulder. “If we silence them, we only become the thing we fear.”
