31.

8 YEARS BEFORE THE WAR

One of the things that Poe did, which was very different from what Lotte was used to, was to take her once a week to the factory district where the air was foul and heavy with fumes. There, in a deserted lot overgrown with weeds that had the rusty skeletons of old cars and other rubbish, Lotte would play with other Lotte children.

She didn't know how Poe knew about this place. Some of the Lotte were very small, while others were in their teens. They all met there, every single day, as if in secret.

None of them were like Lotte. They all had deeply brown skin that seemed almost black, and coiled hair. They were warm and welcoming people, always emitting a bright, comforting cheerfulness. They played ordinary games—even the dreaded hopscotch—but Lotte stopped shivering at the sight of the chalk chart after the first few times. None of them had an elven parent with them. The parents—if there were any—were human.

Perhaps it was then that it began. It was then that Lotte suspected that Poe was her parent. Her father. She didn't understand why he kept it from her. He could just tell him. She'd forgive him for leaving her at the orphanage. She'd forgive him for letting her live on the street. She'd forgive him for the first eight years of her life, as long as she could trust him to be there for the rest.

A year passed. Lotte learned a lot. Mr. Henri started coming less and less throughout that year. His visits became a monthly occurrence, then every other month, and then the year was gone.

And he no longer came.

Lotte told herself that she didn't mind. She had troubled Mr. Henri enough. But now she was troubled. What was she supposed to feel when she loved someone and they forgot about her? Of course, Mr. Henri hadn't forgotten. He promised he wouldn't. She just had to learn to expect less.

Besides, she was very busy. Poe kept her busy from morning till evening. He gave her a lot of heavy books to read and together they practiced enchantments. He didn't want her only to study magic. In fact, he taught her very little about what elves were actually like. He wanted her to study humans, their history, literature and art.

He himself was acting as a type of scholar for the elves. That was why he could stay there, in Raidox.
Except for one day a year.

"I have to drink from the waters of the Hallerdin," he said. "And show myself to the Talmil."

So, Lotte was left alone one day when she was eight, and one day when she was nine. Poe told her not to leave the flat on her own on those days and to not let anyone in. He looked wretched with worry when he left, and when he returned late in the night, he'd rush into her room and wake her up with a sigh of relief.

But, if he was so concerned for her now, why had he let her live the way she had when she was much smaller? He had made it clear that he knew her since she was a baby—so what had happened?

It took Lotte two years to reach the point where she dared to ask him.
"Are you my..." She didn't know the word for father in elvish. So she said it in human. "Are you my father?" They had been studying. The question came out of nowhere.

Poe looked at her long and hard and then sighed. "No, sulsylnan."

She sat very still and didn't say anything.

"I wish I were," he said. "But if I were your papu, you wouldn't be..." He put his hand over her hand. "You."

Then he pulled away quickly. It was the first time Lotte saw Poe look genuinely uncomfortable. "We would have been spared a lot of pain, you and I. But these are fruitless thoughts."

"You were there when I was born," Lotte insisted. "Why would you promise to be my Poe, why would you be here now, if you weren't—"

"There are reasons, painful reasons, sulsylnan. It is best that you never know."

She didn't believe him. She couldn't. If he wasn't her father, then maybe he was a grandfather. He was at least one hundred and fifty years old and elves grew for only the first twenty years of their lives and had children for the first time soon thereafter. He could've even been her great-grandfather.

"Your father," Poe said, his expression growing dark. "Was a human man." His voice, when he said that, held a malice she had never known he could possess. Poe was always patient, always kind, with a smile and open eyes.

That was the first time she saw something deadly in him. "I will not speak of him, sylvarnan," he said, looking away from her. "Knowing will only cause you pain."

"And my..." Again, she didn't know the elvish word for mother.

"Your manme..." He hesitated, eyes downcast. "She's dead."

It was better to have a dead mother than one who abandoned her. "You swear you're not my—"

"Alessi cannot lie," he had said sternly. "Enough about this."

A lot of first things happened that day. It was the first time Poe cut her off in that way, the first time he took that tone with her.

And the first time the ever patient and understanding Poe betrayed any amount of impatience.

***
PRESENT DAY

"And this is your suite," said Mistress Tuffil, the virata steward who had welcomed them. "There's a bedroom for your handmaiden through there and that door leads to a veranda where your Yomi assistant will be able to root himself at night."

The palace was an immense, lavish complex with thousands of footmen and servants working tirelessly.

They were, all of them, human.

"Oh yes, humans are so easy to please," Mistress Tuffil had said. "All they require is a day off once a week and some wages and they're as happy as fairies."

For that reason, it was assumed that Rowan was Lotte's "handmaiden", which was some type of servant from what she could gather.

Rowan didn't appear to mind. She exclaimed when she saw her room and went off to explore it just as Maloru ran out to the veranda at the same time, where Lotte could see through the open door, a square of sweet-smelling, freshly turned earth waited for him. He even jumped into it face first as if it were a bed.

"Now, if you come through here," Mistress Tuffil continued the tour of the suite. "We have your bathroom and cloakroom. We know that you've travelled through harsh conditions to get here, so have arranged a full wardrobe for you. The styles are very different from Agathara and Lasuran, but since you will be working for his majesty, the king, it would be best that you represent him according to the court's expectations. The dresses, of course, can be easily fitted to your measurements..."

Lotte followed the woman, who didn't cease to speak, into a long room where racks upon racks of dresses hung. There were at least a hundred of them, arranged by colour, from the lightest pink, to the a perfect black. Gauzy silks, shimmering satin, warm velvet, and flowing chiffon. Decorated with diamonds, crystals, pearls, silver and gold chains. There was a whole wall of delicate shoes that looked too precious to walk in, and another rack just for scarves and shawls.

"You can tell me which styles aren't to your taste and we will replace them," said the steward, pulling up a golden clipboard. "His majesty wishes to pamper you."

Lotte clasped her hands together, dumbstruck. The artist in her simply enjoyed the orderly rainbow of colour the dresses created but Mistress Tuffil looked at her expectantly.

"Oh, you want me to choose styles now?"

"Well, I'll be able to make the arrangements directly...."

Lotte went to the nearest rack and began to ruffle through it. At first, she couldn't think of anything to say. She hadn't worn anything remotely as extravagant since she was a child living with Mr. Henri.
But when she saw the low cut of some of these dresses—most of them, actually were practically scandalous—she remembered the mark on her chest and arm. "Yes," she said, turning to Mistress Tuffil. "It is a personal modesty preference," Lotte said. "But I wear only clothes that cover my upper body entirely. The length of the skirt is of less importance, but the top has to be closed, opaque and with long sleeves. Oh, and gloves. I don't need pairs, but I have a scar on my hand which I need to hide."

"Very well, Madame Enchantress, your preference will be accommodated. Now..." She picked up a pocket watch that hung from the side of her dress. "You have two hours to rest up and get dressed. His majesty is not in the best health, but he would like to meet you tonight."

"Tonight?" Lotte couldn't mask her apprehension and Mistress Tuffil, who hadn't appeared to have any sense of humour, laughed.

"Don't worry, dear. It's not your debut to the court. It's only a meeting with the King."

"Debut? To the court? Will I have to have one?"

Tuffil laughed again. "Of course, Madame Enchantress. You are to be a most exalted member of court."

"So, you're saying that I should be more worried about the court than the king?"

Tuffil's grin was pointed and shrewd. "Oh, good, you catch on quickly."

Two hours was hardly enough time when bathing and preparing took her over an hour. Rowan was determined to live up to her role as handmaiden—or so it seemed. "You should be more concerned with finding you brother..."

"And where do you think that idiot is?" Rowan said. "He's here, in the palace. I'm exactly where I want to be."

On Rowan's insistence, Lotte wore a bright red dress with tight sleeves and an even tighter bodice that brought out the red hues in her eyes and hair.

As for Lotte's hair, Rowan had to comb out all the plaits and enchantments she had in there, cutting out knots that were impossible to undo. "If I treated my hair the way you do I'd have to go bald."

"It's been a hard life, okay?" Lotte said defensively.

Despite her complaints, Rowan did a decent job. Lotte barely recognised herself when she looked in the mirror.

Well, she mostly saw a lot of bosom, a lot of skirt and very little waist, but that was the dress, not her. At least the dress was somehow soft and not as constricting as it looked. The long skirts were made out of a very smooth chiffon that felt pleasant against her skin. It had a sash in the middle that exposed her right thigh when she walked.

She didn't have to wear any petticoats, it seemed, or a corset—well, the dress had a type of that built-in—only silk tights that were the exact same colour as her skin and slippers that glittered with red rhinestones.

She turned to look at her back through the looking glass in the main room of her suite. What she would've given to see Blue's reaction to her dressed like this. She would've felt more beautiful with his eyes on her. She turned around, intent on practicing to walk in the high-heeled shoes and nearly toppled over when she came face to face with Maloru who had, at some point, crept into the room and now stood as still as a statue.

"You startled me," she said, with her hand on her heart.

Maloru blinked several times, looking at his toes. "Sorry."

She made to walk up towards him, but hesitated. There was a weird atmosphere in the room. "Did you...eat?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Good."

Why was the silence between them terribly awkward?

"Then... have a good night."

"You too," he said, heading for the door to the veranda. "Good luck with the Dragon King."

Lotte gulped. Now that she was here, all dressed up, she was completely convinced that she wasn't cut out for dinning with kings.

Maybe she was only cut out for kissing princes trapped in dream towers.

She sucked in a breath when a knock sounded at her door, it was probably someone sent to escort her to wherever she was meeting the King.

"Hey, Lotte," Maloru said from the doorway of the veranda.

She stopped and looked at him. He smiled at her.

"You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he said in his typical Maloru-earnestness.

Lotte had no words.

"Good night," he said and ambled outside.