If it isn’t Preyuna, who else is it? The question haunted Maelin as she finished her sandwich. Who else?
She went to wash the jelly’s stickiness off her hands.
The kitchen door opened. A couple of female fey entered the room, gossiping.
Maelin turned on the faucet.
“I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to have my wings out all the time.”
“Seems so inconvenient.”
“Sounds like a pain. I can only imagine he’s gone through several bouts of feather shaft rot.”
Maelin soaped up her hands and took her time rinsing it off.
“Ah! You’re not supposed to talk about such things.” The fridge door opened. “After all, it could happen to you.”
“HahaHa! That is not likely. I can’t even imagine why it would.”
“Oh. No, not that. Get the other jar.”
“This one?”
“Obviously. Oh, but it’s empty.”
Magic is magic. It isn’t reliant on beauty, brains, or brawn. It just is.
The fridge door closed. “Anyway, I can’t even imagine why it would happen to me. After all, I’m not a low-born like him.”
“Ah! That’s just mean. He is pretty. Her Majesty never chooses ugly ones. Too bad he’s defective.”
But the magic in the monitor room and the dungeon cell are strong magic.
“Yes, too bad. I can’t imagine being with a…okay. I’ll be nice. A fre ni koa like him.”
“Hahaha! That is mean but true.”
A secret magic. Would a common fey have the ability to tap into that kind of magic?
“I can’t even imagine what it would be like to hrrash ka kae with him. What would he ever do with his wings?”
“Hahaha! You should ask him. Oh, but he always reeks of pickle juice.”
“Which is all the more reason why I would never hrrash ka kae with him. How could he like something so ugly and sour?”
Maelin shut off the water.
What if I’m wrong? What if it isn’t fey magic at all? What if it’s dark elf magic? That would make a lot of sense.
“Well, I heard that he comes from mixed blood.”
“Mixed with…what?”
“Fey and get this—–human.”
“Ugh! That’s horrible! I can’t even imagine hrrash ka kaeing with a human. What a degradation!” She paused. “So, tell me more.”
Maelin pulled a dish towel out of a nearby drawer and dried her hands.
Mark Caten has at least one dark elf that I know of. I need to talk to him.
“Oh, well! I also heard that he—”
Maelin turned around and walked over to them. “Excuse me.”
The taller one, a blonde in a floaty pink minidress, gave her a disdainful look. “I can’t imagine a good enough reason to excuse you.”
Her friend, a shorter blonde in a beaded flapper dress, looked equally offended by Maelin’s existence. “If you leave us alone, we might excuse you for that.”
Taller Blonde nodded. “I can imagine that being a sufficiently good reason.”
“I just have a question.” Maelin hesitated as her “a question” sprouted branches and flowers and leaves.
“Fine.” Shorter Blonde said. “But just one question.”
Just one.
Which one?
Where is Mark Caten’s dark elf?
What do you know about the magic in the monitor room and the dungeon cell?
Have you seen Robin?
Have you seen Preyuna with Robin?
Do you know where Robin is?
Do you know who Robin is?
If Preyuna didn’t mess around with the monitor room or the dungeon cell…
The dungeon cell.
The dungeon.
The monitor room.
The monitors.
Of course! We’re overlooking the obvious!
Maelin smiled. “On the other hand, never mind. I know my answer.” She ran out of the room.
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