When I’ve finished there, I step out into the hall and start in surprise. A small burst of light flashes in my face and is gone before my vision can register anything further.
“Eldaren?” I call. “Was that you?”
No response.
“Hello?” I say tentatively. “Is anyone there?”
Silence. I check all the rooms and don’t find anyone. I don’t hear anything, either, except for the birdsong and wind coming through the open window. “Huh.” I shrug. “Could be my mind playing tricks on me.”
I don’t believe that, with the world as weird as it is, but I can’t think of what else it could have been.
The downstairs door opens, and looking over the banister, I see Eldaren stroll in.
“I detected nothing dangerous or magical in the immediate vicinity,” he says, “so we should be all right staying here for a few nights.”
My stomach grumbles, and I grimace. “Did you bring any food?”
“Of course, I did. I don’t feel particularly interested in foraging for wild greens and berries, so I had several days’ worth of food prepared for us.” He pauses and then asks, almost hesitantly, “Do you know how to cook, Stella?”
I arch an eyebrow and smirk. “Are you saying you don’t?”
Eldaren shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve never had to. My time and talents have always been required for far more important things than something as mundane as cooking.”
“Says the prince who finds himself without a servant to cook for him,” I respond with a wide grin. “But it’s your lucky day. I can make a mean sandwich.”
“I’d rather have a nice sandwich.”
Nearly an hour later, Eldaren and I are seated outside, sandwiches in hand, watching the sky slowly darken. “It’s staying light out longer,” I say with a happy sigh. “I love spring.”
Eldaren doesn’t respond. For someone so lean, he eats an obscene amount of food. “That’s your third sandwich,” I say. “Getting full, yet?”
“No.” He grabs the last sandwich off the plate between us and then hesitates, his gaze shifting to the half-eaten sandwich in my hands. “Oh. Are . . .you?”
“I’m good,” I say. “One will do it for me.”
Eldaren nods and tears into his food, downing it quickly.
I look up at the sky again. No stars are yet visible, but the sun is beginning to set.
“What do we do now?” I ask. “Are we going to travel the forest in the dead of night and spy on our enemies?” That would probably sound more exciting if I hadn’t gotten attacked multiple times last night. That was Liberty, though. Vashon feels safer. It’s definitely quieter. I inhale deeply, reveling in the fresh, growing scent of trees.
“You are going to go to bed,” Eldaren says in answer to my question. “I will scope out the area a second time.”
“Why? You already did that today,” I complain. “And you said everything was fine. Why do it again?”
“Things change when night falls,” the prince says. He’s finished his fourth sandwich. Even while eating, his gaze was constantly roving, eyeing the road and forest with equal attentiveness. “One place can be perfectly safe in the daylight and become a place of peril at night.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” I mutter. “I live in Liberty, remember?”
“I am sorry you have had such a difficult time of it,” Eldaren says, and he actually sounds sorry. “I wish we had come sooner.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” I ask. “I mean, humans don’t seem to trust you, but that didn’t stop you from coming in the first place. Why wait until things were such a horrible disaster?”
Eldaren’s face goes blank. “That is classified information.”
My eyes narrow. “Why is it ‘classified’?”
“That is classified information as well. I cannot divulge it, Stella. My apologies.”
“Why not?” I press, scowling at him. “That’s not fair. You’re basically saying you could have come to help us sooner, and you didn’t. I think you owe us an explanation.”
“I don’t owe humans anything,” Eldaren says firmly. “You got yourselves in this disaster; it’s your responsibility to haul yourselves out of this mess.”
I try to interrupt, but he stops me with a raised hand. “I’m not finished,” he says coldly. “That is a failing you humans have. You believe that when hard times befall you, it’s the responsibility of someone else to bail you out. But it isn’t. It’s your own responsibility. That is it. That is all. People can choose to help you, but it’s out of the goodness of their hearts they do. We elves do not have to help you. We do so because we have your best interests at heart and the best intentions for the planet itself. Don’t presume to tell me I owe you anything.”
“Sheesh, calm down,” I growl. I turn pointedly away from him, drawing my knees up.
“And now I’ve made you angry,” Eldaren says, “but I can’t imagine why.”
“Go away.”
“Stella.”
“We don’t want your help,” I say, regardless of what I may have thought a few moments earlier. “We were doing just fine without you.”
Eldaren huffs a laugh. “I wouldn’t call Liberty ‘fine,’ not by a long stretch. It’s a disease-ridden garbage dump.”
He’s right, but his words irk me. “Sometimes hardship falls that isn’t our fault,” I say. “Like my parents. They got sick and died. That wasn’t their fault or my fault. I could have used help, but I didn’t get it. I had to eke by as best I could. And if you’d come sooner, maybe my parents would still be alive.”
Eldaren doesn’t respond to my words. “Night is falling,” he says instead. “I’m checking the nearby woods. Go inside and lock the door.”
“If I go in, I’m going to bed,” I say. I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m homesick for my parents and Quinn. “You said I could talk to my brother tonight.”
“That should be fine when I get back. I’ll come in through the window.”
I go inside and lock the door—it’s rusty, but still seems to work—leaving my unfinished sandwich on the counter. I go upstairs, the fading light making the interior of
