19.
PRESENT DAY
Both Lotte's heart and head were threatening to explode. Her heart, because of Blue, and her head...because she was still half human.

It was almost a relief to know that she couldn't function very well without sleep. Lotte only looked like an elf, she only felt weird, but she was still Lotte through and through.

"Good morning," Maloru said, solemnly and respectfully.

Lotte sighed. In those hours as she tried to drift off, her mind worked out the riddle of the hurt caused by Maloru's lie.

She kept being led right into Rowan's words, and eventually, they wormed their way into the most stubborn reaches of her consciousness, until she wasn't quite sure why she was still cross.

After all, hadn't she just solved the problem by casting yet another enchantment?

That's what she did, problem after problem, all solved with crazy feats of magic.

What would happen when she reached her limit?

Last night, with Blue, she had felt invincible. Nothing could stop her magic when she set her mind to it. All the limits in her life were self-inflicted. All of Poe's warnings were misled. He was misleading.

Now, though, in the stark light of day, Lotte wasn't so sure.

She saved Maloru with an enchantment, and lost her voice.

She made the car as fast as the wind, but it had been out of their control.

She solved the problem with the Nahilan cult by trapping herself in the skin of an elf, a stranger to herself for who knew how long.

The bigger the magic, the heavier the cost. What else was she going to pay with?

She reached out and took Maloru's hand.

He stiffened and his eyes began sparkling with tears.

Lotte felt her own eyes prickle.
"I'm sorry, Lotte. I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to lie to you. It just got out of hand. I... I didn't think it through. And after you sacrificed so much for me. I'm..."
He no longer had control of his tears. But at least, with Rowan nearby, he had the sense to catch them in his hands and not let them wander off.

Lotte had an empty vial in her pocket which she had kept since last time Maloru burst into tears. She handed it to him.

It's alright, she thought. I understand. We'll get better at this.

He was busy catching tears and stuffing them into his vial. "I'll never lie to you again."

Don't make promises you can't keep.

"Ouch. That's cold, Lotte."

Lotte laughed silently and hung her arm around his small shoulders. I'm just saying, you can have secrets, and sometimes lies. I'll stick through it. We're friends.

Maloru let out a shaky breath. He stared up at her from the corner of his eye. "That's..." He swallowed hard. "I'm going to become an elf worthy of that kind of friendship, Lotte."

Rowan stretched her arms. "Right. That was the most touching one-sided conversation I ever heard. Shall we get going?"

It was an easier walk to reach Amoca. Rowan, with Lotte's enchantments still under her clothes, complained a lot less about her poor human legs. Maloru, when he wasn't gawking at Lotte in her new elven look, appeared to be more comfortable around Rowan than he was the day before.

Even Fintan, who clung to Lotte during the argument with Maloru, was warming up to Rowan considerably, occasionally choosing to sit on her head.

The road they were following sloped downward and the village came into view. It seemed to have only one street, and then more isolated houses scattered away among rolling hills.

Remember, I'm Sylvarnan, Lotte thought. I was sent by the elves to escort you to Serades where you could be educated on elvish lore before joining us in Lasuran. I don't speak to humans because they're beneath me.

"And what about Rowan?" Maloru asked.

"What about me?"

"What's your story for coming with us?"

"I dunno. What's your story?"

It took a moment for Maloru to relay Lotte's words to Rowan.

"Maybe, since Lotte—I mean Sylvarnan—is the boss," Rowan said. "Then you don't know why Sylarrnan needs me and she doesn't answer to you."

Maloru snapped his fingers and pointed at Rowan. "Good one."

"It wasn't hard. She's as intimidating as they get." Rowan continued. "Even Nahilan cultists must have never seen a Leilan up close."

Lotte didn't like being intimidating. She didn't like looking like an elf one bit.

"Neither have I," Maloru said, wistfully glancing at Lotte. "I can't believe how wrong I was."

Don't get used to it, Lotte thought.

Maloru sighed. "I know..."

You'll meet actual elves someday, she told him. And they'll be happy to see you.

He met her gaze and they shared a smile.

"Hm..." Rowan said. Lotte couldn't really understand the meaning of look she sent her way as she passed them and began trekking down towards the village.

The Nahilan cult was housed in what looked like an abandoned farm. Three rickety buildings stood crowded together, like sheep huddled in a pen. A big, decrepit barn with boarded-up windows loomed further on the gravel road.

Lotte hung back with Rowan as Maloru stepped ahead and knocked on the door the main house. Even before it opened, Lotte felt herself becoming the elf she was pretending to be.

When she had been younger, she had had a fancy to someday transform into a full elf. She had been fascinated by how different Poe had been from everything she knew. She thought that because he was new, he was better. She wanted him to take her away from her reality.

She still longed to be one whole thing. Being a bit of both worlds also meant that she was neither and nothing.

Falling into the frame of mind of an elf wasn't exactly easy, not when she'd already learnt to accept herself. But it was a place she'd visited so often, she managed to remember how it went.

She pulled herself up, felling the—not quite illusion—wrap around her. She was ethereal, graceful, powerful, and magical. She would live hundreds upon hundreds of years, always glowing, always forceful and fast. The moon and stars would sustain her, the night sky would reflect in the strands of her hair. It was the colour of earth that had been mixed with fire. The same fiery sparkle that could be seen in her pale red-brown eyes.
An ancient human woman opened the door for Maloru. She gasped with pleasure when she saw him, eyes shining and hands going to her mouth.

"Lord Maloru," she said, beaming. "I was so worried."

"I made it Miora," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've managed to make contact and..." He turned to look over his shoulder at Lotte.

"Oh my stars," the woman exclaimed when she saw Lotte. She hobbled out of the house and fell to her knees. "I have waited and dreamed of this day all my life and youth."

Lotte's belly squirmed with discomfort. This woman was so old she might not ever get up now that she was down in the dirt. But Lotte held herself from approaching her. She pretended to feel disdain, to look down cooly at this lowly creature.

It was so terribly wrong.

"I'm but a lowly human," Miora continued, ecstatic, oblivious to Lotte's reaction. "But I have finally been blessed by the sight of a Leilan elf on my doorstep."

"Now, now, Madam Miora," Rowan said, rushing forward and reaching out towards the old lady. "There's no need for that. You're only making the enchantress uncomfortable."

"The enchantress?" Miora whispered, looking up at Lotte, mouth gaping like a cave. "Oh my stars. Oh my stars!"

It was some time before Rowan and Maloru could coax Miora to get up from the ground. She hobbled away, like a charging penguin, and bellowed into the house. "Zinti! Igador! Come, come! We have company! Marvellous company."

Then she spun around, beaming like a mirror in sunlight. "Come in, come in. Our home is humble, my lady and lord, but it is safe."

They walked through a small entrance hall with a spotless floor to an overly furnished living room with stale air that smelled like chicken soup and old age.

There were two more ancient humans sitting in armchairs that faced a television set. One of them was crouched forward, rubbing a piece of blue silk between his gnarled hands. The other sat perfectly straight-backed, hand on the polished head of his cane and glazed eyes staring through thick spectacles as they approached.

He grinned toothlessly.

Miora ignored these two completely as she hobbled past them and towards the hall, turning to call up the stairwell. "Zinti! Igador! We have visitors."

The man with the glasses pointed when he saw Lotte. "Miora!" he said in a rasping voice. "Miora, there's an elf."

The other man mumbled incoherently. Maloru bent down towards him, putting a hand on his arm. "Heya Jam, it's me," he said.

At Maloru's touch, the wilted man straightened, his eyes suddenly clearing. "Lord Maloru," he said. "You're back."

It was the natural Yomi magic, healing and replenishing. Maloru didn't even seem to know he was doing anything. Yes, that had been exactly the kind of thing she'd wanted to have after she met Poe. She remembered now.

She kept back, brooding, uninterested. A powerful elf who was, on top of it all, an enchantress, would be stand-offish.

Like Poe who had managed to be both close and far-away at every single instant. He had chosen some odd moments to be tenderly kind and others to sink into his own thoughts.

She had known him very well, and not at all.

A young man ran into the living room, freezing on the spot when he spotted Lotte. As far as humans went, he was handsome. High of stature, broad shouldered, with skin like polished bronze and intensely black eyes. He was stupidly open-mouthed when he saw Lotte.

It was irritating.

"Igador," Miora said. "Don't just stand there, go get Zinti. Get our honoured guests something to eat. Come Lord Maloru, would you like a seat? And Lady...." Miora trailed off.

"Enchantress Sylvarnan," Rowan said.

Igador's eyebrows shot up. He left the room while keeping his gaze fixed on her for as long as he could.

I don't like that boy, Lotte thought at Maloru, making him look up at Igador's retreating figure.

"Don't mind him," Maloru said with a grin. "He's actually pretty cool...for a human."

He looked at ease, at home. Lotte now understood why he had wanted to come here. In this world, feeling safe was precious and fleeting. What was greater than to be admired for just existing?

A smiling gold-haired girl around Lotte's age came in bearing a tray laden with food.

Actual food. Bowls of stew, rolls of freshly baked bread, butter and cheese. For Maloru, there was a bowl of lentils and another of fruit.
"We don't have a dining table anymore, what with the dining room becoming Egbid's room now that he can't take the stairs anymore."

With many gestures and honorific language, Lotte was escorted to one of the armchairs and had her stew before her on a small table.

She had to admit, they were odd and crazy, but not exactly the fantastics she had been expecting.
But then again, it wasn't the old people she had to worry about.

***

9 YEARS BEFORE THE WAR

The door to little Lotte's cell opened with a creak when she turned the handle. It was unlocked. Beyond, the basement flat was only dimply lit from the gutter-level windows in the far wall. She crossed the gloomy passage and paused at the foot of the stairs, straining her ears to listen.

She could hear the sounds of the city outside, cars rushing down roads, feet clicking on pavements, doors opening, shop bells ringing. Somewhere, loud bangs sounded from a construction site. Even from down here she could smell the rancid fumes of the factories. She despised those smells. They were somehow so intrusive and clouded her thoughts.

She tried to isolate the sounds to the ones nearest to her. She couldn't linger too long because, any moment now, the two men might return.

She mounted the stairs and opened the door at the end. It was unlocked too. Lotte didn't have to wonder how the doors were suddenly unlocked. It just felt natural to her, even though it didn't quite answer to the usual chain of cause and effect.

She looked to one side—empty. She looked to the other side.

A man stood there near a black car. It took Lotte too long to realise that this was the same black car that had taken her from the Vallishers' brunch. And the man, he was the driver.

She broke into a run at precisely the same moment he did.

He caught her by the hair.

"HELP!" she screamed at the top of her voice. He pulled her, her scalp burned in protest. "HELP! KIDNAPPING! HELP ME!"

Someone appeared at the mouth of the alley. The driver dragged her away, but Lotte was all nails and teeth. She scratched and she kicked and she screamed. Oh, how she screamed. She screamed for every bit of silence in her life thus far. She screamed with everything she had.
"HELP ME! I'M POPPIN TREEBALD! HELP!"

Toot, came the whistle of a constable.

Bam. The driver's hand hit her temple, making her vision swim. This man was not some elderly street dweller, he was not starved or weak. He was a person who had been wrought by violence.

Toot, toot, toot. The constable whistled as he ran towards them.

But the man pulled Lotte over his shoulder, ignoring her screams and the bleeding cuts she left on his skin. He slammed her into the open boot of the car so forcefully, the air was knocked clean out of her lungs.

She began to spring up, but he slammed the door forcefully upon her head, making lights flash before her eyes. She was locked in cramped darkness.

The engine growled as it came to life, muffling the shouting and running of the constable. The car vibrated underneath her as it sped down the opposite end of the alley.

Melony, who had been clinging to Lotte while she fought and struggled, put a comforting hand against Lotte's cheek, where the man had struck her.

Sirens began to wail behind them. To the red glow of her gaze, Lotte tried to see if the boot could be opened from the inside. But it was nothing more than a locked metal box. She knew, deep inside, there was no easy escape.

The car twisted and turned, sirens blaring louder. Speed, speed, speed, more speed. She could sense the engine reaching its limit, tearing through itself.

The sirens grew dimmer, then closer, and then quieter again. The car shot out straight. No turns. A smooth bolt and then the cackle of gravel under its wheels.

It stopped. The driver came out. He opened the boot and, in one motion, grabbed Lotte by the throat, dragging her out to the ground.

He had one of those flat faces with small eyes, a wide mouth and a square jaw. He was completely cold, impassive. He held a silvery gun to her face and pulled the trigger.