claws and tore into the Elf’s shoulder blade.
He cried out as Valek sent him flying headfirst into a large pine so hard it cracked the guard’s skull. He was dead on impact, but Valek continued for the rest.
The officer at the front of the pack wheeled around, sending a large fireball in his direction. Valek ducked as the thing flew just over his head. His eyes were fixed on the next one in front. He leapt at him like a wolf as they tumbled through the dirt. Valek ended up on top as they stopped against the face of a boulder.
He bent down, ripping out the jugular, careful not to swallow any of the Elf blood. He leapt up again and continued, aiming for his next victim, until one of the officer’s flames did finally strike him. Valek rolled down one of the hill banks in the dark woods, the flames spiraling with him. They went out in the dirt as his back slammed against a very large oak. Valek breathed, the humanity returning once again to his body. He turned his muddy face to the sky just as it opened up.
The remaining squadron advanced down the hill where he fell.
Valek’s vision started to refocus. He could see amongst the platoon was his coven.
All of them had been captured, including Edwin and the Phaser. He looked at each of them sorrowfully.
“Let’s go.” The officer leaned into Valek, reshackling him with silver this time. It burned lightly at the flesh by his wrists as they pulled him up and led him to the hill toward Prague.
Charlotte, once again, had been locked within her bedchambers, forbidden to see Aiden before the wedding. They’d spent the entire day together in the vast gardens surrounding the Regime palace. That morning the maids of the palace had removed all of her dingy clothing and scrubbed her from head to toe in a lavender and gold-leaf bath. She couldn’t remember the last bath she had taken. They had tried to remove the whistle around her neck, but something deep within made her refuse to take it off. She held onto it tightly, even now as she sat clean, wrapped in nothing but the red sheets of the bed.
She held the thing close to her face, studying the details in it. The lion with dueling tails — the national symbol for Prague — was etched in fine detail on one side.
She thought of Prague, then; the city just outside the palace walls, the towering spires seeming to meet the moon in the sky every night — forbidden lovers. She saw the golden light cast by the many lamps that lined the street. She had been born there, she thought. It was a vision in her very distant past. She was quite small, she remembered, and lying on her back. It was cold, and she was watching the stars in the sky twinkling down at her. Someone had left her there, she distantly recalled as she continued to turn the whistle over and over in her hand.
There were lots of people around. A lot of human people like her. She remembered seeing nothing but their feet as they walked past her. But there was something else in her memory. A pair of hands. She thought of the moon again. These hands looked like the face of an oyster, pearl-like in essence. They were long, and slender, and cool, and when they slid underneath her back, they made her shiver.
She shivered once under the sheets of the bed, though the room was not cold. It was just the mere memory of those hands. She remembered seeing the moon’s face then, in the sky. The moon was lifting her off the ground to meet him in the sky. She knew it sounded crazy in her own mind, but the memory was very real. This necklace was a part of that. It was the symbol of the city. It was the darkness about the city. She frowned again.
She turned the whistle over and saw the small, cursive letters etched in the back.
She strung the necklace back around her neck as her eyes grew more and more heavy with the late hour. Her fingers touched something on her flesh. It felt raised, and a little tender. She followed it up and down, in a slight curve along her neck. A scar? From what? She lay back with her head on the large pillows, her damp, red hair messy about her face, her fingers still to her neck. Perhaps more would come to her later. Now, she needed to focus on the wedding.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Charlotte’s eyes fluttered open the next morning. She stretched under the fine bedclothes and reached for the silver whistle still strung around her neck. She dreamt of it last night — of the hands holding it — as she sat up in the bed.
Across the room, draped over a garnet-colored armchair, was a neatly pressed dress. It was a sort of emerald green color, and cut to fit her body exactly. Ecstatic, she leapt from the bed and grabbed it in her hands, twirling around with it in front of her.
She turned to admire it in the polished antique mirror hanging from the wall. She shrieked when she heard the door behind her creak open, and she struggled to cover herself with the dress.
“Oopsie!” Meredith threw her fingers over her eyes. “Didn’t mean to startle ya, darlin’. Just wanted to make sure the dress fit right.”
Charlotte beamed down at the dress in front of her. “I love it! Thank you! I haven’t had the chance to try it on yet.”
“Well, get to it! And when you’re ready, Aiden is waiting downstairs for you in the garden for breakfast,” she chirped. “Come on, Molly.”
That’s when Charlotte noticed the small, blonde girl by Meredith’s skirt. She peered around the door at her in awe, her long hair scraping across the floor.
“You look real pretty, Charlotte,” the little Elf said.
“Thank you.” Charlotte squinted at her. She looked so familiar.
“Well, let’s get goin’, Molly. We must leave Charlotte to get ready.” Meredith anxiously pulled Molly away from the door, but the girl didn’t move.
“Do you love my brother?” Her eyes seemed to bore into Charlotte’s soul.
Charlotte stared at her a few moments longer. “Yes,” she said simply.
“Aiden will treat you much better than Valek.” Immediately, Meredith’s hand flew over her daughter’s mouth.
“Who?” Charlotte asked.
Meredith chuckled. “Molly is so silly. Her imagination has become so wild these days, with all of these imaginary friends and make-believe stories.” She looked down at her daughter. “Hush, dear, and don’t bore Miss Charlotte with your little games.” She laughed again, and with a warm smile, closed the door.
Charlotte turned and yanked the dress down over her head and, smiling again, examined herself in the mirror. She pulled open the drawer to the bedside table and ran the gold comb through her smooth curls before running out the door to meet her love in the garden.
Just as Meredith said, Aiden was waiting out there, in the center of the East garden, the morning sun glinting off his golden hair, like autumn leaves. Charlotte ran to him, and he swept her into his arms, spinning her around in the heat of the day. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her mouth.
After breakfast, the two of them walked again through the gardens, made summer green by magic, though frost had already bitten outside the palace gates.
She frowned at Aiden when they sat next to each other on one of the emerald-cut benches. He held her hand in his, and she noticed how warm and ivory they were. These weren’t the hands from her memory. She looked at his face then, warm as the sun above them. “Aiden, why aren't you allowed to be with me after dark?”
He looked at her then. “What do you mean?”
She winced at the sight of their hands together. “Nothing, I guess. I just seem to remember that you used to spend every night with me. I used to feel you there next to me when I slept. Am I wrong?” She looked at him.
He licked at his lower lip. “Lottie, we always kiss goodnight at sunset, but once we are married…” he nervously explained. His voice fluctuated as he spoke — his eyes shifting, not once resting on her. She didn’t trust
