The Tears of Kas̆dael

Want to lend a hand? Aphora read the note left beside her nightstand with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Below the brief message was a familiar sigil, and he’d even included a bit of bribery. A delicate platinum ring bedazzled with sparkling crystals in the shape of a bird in flight dangled from a string embedded in the wax sigil.

She pulled it free and placed it on her finger. To no surprise, it was a perfect fit. Aphora reread the brief note, annoyed at the lack of even a hint of what he wanted, and debated whether or not she’d accept. She still didn’t entirely trust the Sidhe; a part of her feared that this was all some long, twisted con on his part, that as soon as she let herself trust him, he’d kill her like all the elves he’d slaughtered in the ancient wars. But he’d had plenty of chances to hurt her, and he hadn’t done so yet. No, what he’d done had been far more enjoyable. A slight flush tinged her cheek, and Aphora knew she’d made her decision.

She couldn’t just disappear, however. Her tasks as queen were numerous, and Qas̆pa needed looking after. So she spent much of the morning getting her affairs in order. She had breakfast with Qas̆pa, and spent an hour tutoring in her magic, before pawning her off to Qas̆pa’s second-favorite elf, ‘Limmy,’ who had slowly resigned himself to the child’s nickname. Then she tore through the most pressing matters of the day, dealing with a dispute between the new temple and the Fey, before assigning the rest to Torin. Only then did she retreat to her room, and pull out the letter to activate the sigil.

As she pumped essence into the sigil, the arcane symbol glowed a vibrant yellow, and the scent of summer flowers and the lingering promise of rain diffused through the room. The air wavered before her eyes and miniature bolts of lightning arced back and forth between the floor and the ceiling, slowly solidifying into a golden door of light. She yanked it open and stepped through to the now familiar hall of the Sidhe.

Imḫullu wasn’t waiting for her at the entrance, but she had a good idea of where he’d be. She paused in her steps a moment, though, to gaze at the desolate city below. Every time she saw the seemingly endless expanse of steel and glass and towers of unimaginable height, speckled here and there with fragments of light, she wondered what was left out there. The infrequent lights seemed to indicate that some light remained in the city, but Imḫullu had never spoken of it, and it was one subject she was afraid to bring up with him. The loss of his people must have been a heavy burden, and she knew the elves bore a significant part of the blame. Even if it was deserved.

After a few minutes, she tore her gaze away from the broken city and continued down the dimly lit halls of the Sidhe’s mansion - or facility, as he called it. She didn’t see the face that briefly manifested outside the window, a face whose features drooped like melting wax and eyes clouded over.

She found Imḫullu in his throne room. A cathedral of black metal and silver glass, with stately pillars rising four flights above the floor, the ancient hall must once have been capable of holding thousands, but now contained a single soul. The Sidhe was hunched over the large steel table, above which floated the map of light he’d shown her once or twice before, his brows furrowed in such concentration that he didn’t notice as she approached him.

Aphora almost tapped him on the shoulder but thought better of it. He’d never acted violently toward her, but he was a hardened warrior, and long-ingrained instincts were not easy to suppress. Instead, she cleared her throat and waited for him to look up.

The lines of care eased away as he met her gaze, and offered a crooked grin. “Just couldn’t stay away, could ya?”

“You’re the one who sent for me,” she replied primly.

“Details, details,” the man replied with a wave of his hand and leaned over to her. She was a bit surprised when he planted a kiss on her lips, but it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise. His hands wrapped around her, and she wriggled out of his grasp, breaking free of the kiss.

“What’s wrong,” he asked with a bit of pout.

“Dessert comes after dinner,” she shot back. “Didn’t you have something real you wanted to see me about?”

Imḫullu sighed dramatically. “Fine. If you insist,” he turned back to the floating map, “I did have a little mission I thought you might be interested in. What do you know about elves in the West?”

Aphora stiffened. “Is this some sort of a joke? You know as well as I do that your kind slaughter any who dare cross the River.”

“So testy,” he replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Have you taken a look at the remnants of my city recently? Your people send their regards.”

“I-” she flushed and looked away. “Obviously, there’s been wrongs on both sides.”

“Of course,” he agreed smoothly, “but you’re clearly misinformed on some counts. While it is true that most elves that venture West are slain by my former compatriots, not all of the Sidhe agree on how the elves should be punished. Some feel a life of servitude is more a fitting punishment than the sweet release of death.”

“Do you mean…there are living elves in the West?” She asked slowly.

“Enslaved elves, but yes.” He pointed to the map where four settlements were highlighted in gold. “Barāru is too far away for us to easily reach, but we might just be able to liberate Il-abāt and Dūr-Adû. My colleagues there are…well, let’s just say they’re not what they once were,” he finished, his voice dripping with scorn.

She examined the map closer, noting the two settlements he pointed to would likely take several months of travel, although it wouldn’t surprise her if the Sidhe had some method to speed it up. Barāru, on the other hand, was almost as far from Arallû’s portal as one end of the empire to the next. Forgetting the map was nothing but an illusion, she tapped ineffectively on the fourth settlement, which was only slightly further than Dūr-Adû. “And what about this one?”

“Oh, that,” he replied dismissively. “The ruler of Barag is an odd duck. He’s been collecting wayward elves for millennia, but don’t worry he keeps them perfectly safe. He’s locked in a bit of a perpetual war with Il-abāt and Dūr-Adû.”

“What do you mean by ‘perfectly safe’? Do you mean-” she broke off, not daring to hope.

“After the war, Abru had a breakdown and started going on and on about ‘karma’ and whatnot. He’s formed a little sanctuary for the elves in Barag.”

“You mean there’s an elven settlement to the west of us?” She asked incredulously. It flew in the face of everything she knew, but Aphora had to admit that no elves, save for her, had dared cross the River in so long it was effectively completely uncharted territory.

“No, there’s a Sidhe settlement that happens to accept elves,” he replied patiently. “But they’re doing fine for the moment. I thought you might be interested in freeing the ones in Il-abāt and Dūr-Adû.”

She tore her gaze away from Barag’s symbol to focus on the two enemy settlements. “There really are elves there?”

“Thousands upon thousands,” he replied with a grin. “You could turn your settlement into a real city.”

“Assimilating large groups of people is not an easy task,” she countered. “If they refuse to listen, it could jeopardize the safety of my entire settlement.”

“It could,” he agreed, “but do you really want to leave all those elves to suffer.”

“If it’s necessary to save my people, I would.” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s your interest in this?”

He shrugged. “Can’t a guy want to help his beau?”

Her eyebrows jumped up. “His beau?”

Imḫullu grabbed her hand and, for a moment, he let her see beyond the carefree mask he wore, to a being of unfathomable age and power. In that moment she remembered she stood in the presence of a god. “Abru isn’t the only one to regret what happened in the war,” he said simply. “My people were all but wiped out and I care little for the barbarians who whisper my name. I cannot bring back the dead and, unlike your gods, I am not gifted with the ability to raise a new race from the rocks of the field, but I dream of starting something new. A new people, a new order, with you at my side.”

Aphora rarely found herself at a loss for her words, but she stared at him thunderstruck. “I-we were just having fun, weren’t we?”

“I wasn’t and I think, if you were honest, you’d have to admit you weren’t either,” the Sidhe replied.

She shook her head, refusing to believe what he said. “Why me? I’m an elf, for Selene’s sake, a sworn enemy.”

The seriousness in his face melted into an amused grin. “Do you usually sleep with your enemies?”

“Well, no,” she spluttered, “but-”

“I was your people’s enemy,” he cut her off gently, “Millennia before you were born, but I have not been in a long time. I admit, I haven’t been as proactive as I could have been. Despite my regrets about the past, I do not wish to go to war with my kind and wipe out what few of us remain, but I have long pondered the idea of trying to create something new. I simply hadn’t found the right person til now.”

“You’re serious,” she finally realized, her speech a statement rather than a question.

“I am.”

“But these people,” she turned back to the table with the highlighted settlements, not giving him an answer to his proposition. “If these elves have suffered for so long, can we save them?”

“It will not be easy,” he agreed, “but if we are to build a true city, we need more people, and I think you will find that these elves still have fire in their bellies.”

“Fire in their bellies,” she replied dryly. “Just when I was thinking you were starting to understand us. Ice in their veins would be more appropriate.”

He chuckled lightly. “These elves are not quite what you’re expecting. Most of them are descendants of a tribe your people have all but forgotten, a kingdom that once dwelt beyond the river. Their magic, as it happens, is fire.”

“Is̆s̆amû?” She asked quietly, enjoying the look of surprise that blossomed on his face.

“So you’ve heard of them?”

“Barely,” she admitted. “But I have…had,” she corrected herself, remembering she had given it away to Jasper, “a relic that contained the spirit of an elf who could use fire. He never wanted to speak to me, but I gleaned the name from his shadow.”

“It was the elves of Is̆s̆amû that bore the brunt of the war, but their people yet survive,” Imḫullu explained. “They will not submit to force, but I believe they might just follow the one who saves them.”

Minutes ticked by as Aphora pondered the map in silence, the only sound in the ancient hall the click of her fingernails against the metal table. “Okay,” she finally said. “Maybe I’m interested.”

“In the elves, or in me?” Imḫullu questioned.

She met his eyes calmly and offered him a guilty smile. “I’m a damned fool for even thinking of it, but…”

He bent down to kiss her and this time she melted against him. She was surprised, therefore, when a second later he pulled away.

“What’s wrong?”

A slight smirk rested on his lips. “Is there something you forgot to tell me? It is mine, isn’t it?"