Chapter 12

Karys

The Hollowlands turned out to be nothing like I'd imagined they would be.

I'd pictured shadows upon shadows in my mind, each one concealing a danger more deadly than the last. I'd braced myself for air that reeked of rot and poison. For traps the lightest misstep would trigger. For whatever horrifying formations had earned the area the name Hollowlands ; to stumble upon great gaping pits filled with endless darkness, or to look to my left and right and see the bones of hollowed-out beasts caging me in.

Instead, the landscape I found myself navigating through was almost… pleasant .

The air was balmy and smelled faintly of honey. It was dark—save for a bit of setting sunlight still weaving through the sea of branches overhead—but it was a cozy sort of darkness, like the kind that came after a well-spent day when all you had left to do was get a good night's sleep.

Deep and gold and glowing with promise. It made me think of younger years—simpler years—when my sister and I ran wild through the woods surrounding our family's farm. Those woods had been filled with old pockets of magic. Even as a mortal elf, I'd been able to sense it—and harness it, in some cases, into healing spells.

But I felt no real magic in this place. And even if I found my sister, this was not somewhere she and I had discovered together, like so many of the magical paths and make-believe castles in our old woods.

No; it was a part of her life that she had concealed from me. One of many things she'd apparently concealed.

And I needed to remember that.

In an effort to remind myself of the mission I was on, I found a small pool of water and crouched down to study the face peering up at me—not my face, but that of an older, wiser looking elven woman with dark red hair curling around a pale, lightly-freckled face. My eyes were an arresting shade of violet that I had a hard time looking away from.

Mairu's spell was very convincing; no one would recognize me.

The strange thing was that I still felt like myself. Even as I stared at the unfamiliar face in the water, I felt more like myself than I had in weeks.

Maybe because I was back in the mortal realm, drawing nearer to the elves.

Or maybe it was just part of the spell—a charm on the mind to make one calm enough to walk in whatever skin they found themselves in. If this was the reason, I silently hoped that part would linger even when the rest of the disguise faded away.

I returned to the road I'd been following. Though road was becoming a misnomer the deeper I went; it was turning more and more into an overgrown, barely-there path.

There were others moving along this path, however—elves passing me occasionally, going in both directions. They seemed to have set destinations in mind, and were untroubled by the increasingly wild landscape. So I pretended I wasn't troubled, either.

I belong here , I kept telling myself. I know where I'm going.

I trudged forward. I couldn't hesitate. I wouldn't show fear. It felt like I had the entire divine world watching me, pressing against my back, waiting for me to fail or succeed.

I blinked and slowly scanned my surroundings more closely. I was supposed to be acting as the eyes and ears for the Marr. Whether literally or not, it still wasn't clear; the Star Goddess had said something about how this territory limited her divine vision…but Dravyn had occasionally been able to see what my eyes were seeing, thanks to our connection.

Could he see through my vision now?

I wouldn't truly know what he was seeing until I returned to him, I supposed—although every now and then I would have sworn I could hear his voice in my mind, telling me to be careful. Just occasional, quiet words—only a memory, perhaps.

Or was it?

After a few more minutes of walking, the road began to widen and clear once more.

Soon after this, I came upon a junction of sorts, with five different roads leading in different directions. A nearby sign indicated that each road led to the same city—Ederis—but to different entrances.

I didn't know which entrance would be most conducive to my mission, so I stood to the side of the sign for a moment, pretending to be adjusting the fastenings on my cloak while I observed the passersby.

Most seemed to be taking the center road. And the more common and well-trafficked the entrance, I decided, the easier it would be to slip in unnoticed.

Once I'd made up my mind about this, I waited for a large group I could follow and integrate with; it didn't take long before a promising crowd appeared, talking and laughing, paying little attention to me or anything else outside their boisterous conversation.

I exchanged a few pleasantries and then followed them closely for a half-mile, without incident, until a glimmer of something in the air ahead brought me abruptly to a stop.

It was barely noticeable—like a finely spun spiderweb catching a bit of the sun—but I could feel the web's energy radiating outward. It was strange. Uncomfortable. A faint wind swirling toward me, catching at my hair and clothing and pulling, almost as if it was trying to suction the life from my body.

I'd encountered a similar energy before, while traveling into a different elvish city, so I knew what this barrier was: A ward against divine magic.

This one felt stronger than any other I'd come across, however.

My heart raced even though we'd expected this sort of anti-magic. I absently wrapped a hand around my right forearm; the mark Mairu's magic had left was hidden there, gently pulsing beneath the long, flowing sleeve of my shirt.

Was her spell deep enough to withstand what I was walking into? That ward…would it simply prevent anyone from doing magic once they passed its threshold, or would it also undo any spells that were already in progress?

Only one way to find out.

Bracing myself, I hurried forward. As I walked through the barrier, the uncomfortable pulling sensation grew briefly more intense before fading to a mere tickling against my skin.

Once I was on the other side, I ducked off the path, hiding behind a group of trees as I looked myself over, watching for any changes in my appearance.

I waited as long as I dared—until the group I'd been following was nearly beyond my range of hearing.

Nothing changed.

Mairu's spell still looked to be perfectly intact.

There was no telling how many more wards I'd have to walk through, however, or how their collective energy might chip away at my disguise over time. But I'd known the risks going into this, so I didn't let them stop me.

I quickly carried on—though I did take greater care to memorize the route I was following, now, leaving occasional claw marks on the trees I was passing; if I was going to return myself to the divine realm using magic, as planned, I likely wouldn't be able to do it unless I was first able to get back to clearer air. I couldn't afford to get lost.

The road stretched on and on beyond the first anti-magic ward, winding much deeper than I expected, and still there was no city in sight.

Every step I took made the way back seem a little more daunting.

I caught up to the group I'd been trailing, and soon after, I finally spotted a sign of civilization rising from the wilds: the tops of buildings and colorful tents peeking above a stone wall with a black iron gate in its center.

A roar of noise rose up to meet me as I closed in on the wall, accompanied by a plethora of scents—the competing aromas of food, of flowers, and of a cold, metallic odor I couldn't place.

The pillars on either side of the entrance gate were inscribed with words written in an ancient form of elvish that I had to work to decipher. On the left was the city's name, along with a list of elves I assumed were instrumental to its founding. On the right was a phrase that meant something akin to To enter here is to wipe the dust of the world behind. Or maybe it was Wipe away the dust of the world first or do not enter ?

Either way, it gave the unnerving impression that whatever waited beyond this gate was set apart, the ones inside of it not concerned with the current order of the world outside.

A guard stood to the right of the gate, studying his sword with a bored look on his face. He was barely glancing at anyone walking past him, which made me feel as though I'd chosen the correct, least-conspicuous entrance.

I made it through with little resistance and was instantly met with a flurry of activity on the other side.

I don't know what I'd expected, but what I found was a town that might have been mistaken for any other ordinary town—one with the expected clusters of shops and houses surrounded by crowds going about their business.

It all seemed so normal that it was almost unsettling, like a set propped up on a stage; I could easily imagine a strong wind knocking it all down.

If there were more anti-magic wards hanging in the air here, I didn't notice them from where I stood. My skin still tickled and itched occasionally, but it was easy enough to ignore. There were too many other things drawing my attention.

As the minutes passed, however, more things started to strike me as odd. The gate guard had seemed indifferent toward me, but the rest of the city's residents were more discerning, even if they were discreet about it. Eyes followed me as I passed. Vendors stopped calling out their prices when I walked by. Groups went out of their way to put space between themselves and me.

They knew an outsider when they saw one, it seemed.

Once I moved farther from the entrance, many of the buildings I passed were boarded up. The coverings were neatly placed, aligned so at first glance they seemed to be only a part of the existing architecture. But in addition to these boards, heavy locks hung from most of the doors, of both shops and houses alike, and beside them there were often cryptic inscriptions that read like requirements for entry.

Moving freely in this place was clearly not going to be as easy as I'd initially thought.

After walking on for some distance—through another gate that required more precise timing and a diversion to slip through—the scenery began to change.

Gone were the colorful stalls full of sundries, the sweet and sultry scents of food, the chatty gossipers. They were replaced by neatly organized, drab tents; the scent of metal and rust; groups of solemn-faced elven soldiers everywhere I looked.

The street was also less crowded. I could see to the end of it, and at its terminus stood what looked like barracks that could have easily held hundreds.

I moved toward it with determined steps, despite the sick feeling growing in my stomach.

There was no mistaking this city for what it was at this point: Precisely the rebellious stronghold we'd feared.

A stronghold preparing for war.

I wandered through this budding war zone for what felt like hours. My head was spinning. My chest ached as though it had been cut open by Andrel's knife all over again. And all the while, horrible images tormented me—scenes of the last battle I'd fought against my own kind, when they'd broken their way into the divine realm.

I'd been so sick to my stomach during that battle I could hardly stand. I wasn't sure I could do it again, regardless of whatever loyalty I now held to the gods.

Looking around me now, I wondered if I'd have a choice.

Many of the elves walking around in the area wore insignia I recognized—the symbols of familiar elven houses, though often altered in some way. There were even a few carrying a symbol of the ancient bloodline I belonged to: The feather-wrapped sword and the jeweled goblet of the once-powerful House of Mistwilde.

The legacy of that house was so tarnished, and buried so deep, I'd rarely given much thought to it while growing up. Some still clung to the power it had once represented; I was not one of them. Even when I'd still considered myself a part of the rebellion, I'd been more focused on my family's future, rather than its history.

But I still silently cursed myself for not thinking of bringing something of my own that featured my house's symbol—it would have helped me blend in. I didn't have any of the actual items from my old home, but I could have fashioned a replica from memory easily enough.

Not everyone wore symbols, at least. They all seemed to have a purpose, however; there was no idle standing around. Like cogs in a machine, they darted this way and that without ceasing. I was going to stand out if I didn't figure out a role for myself.

I walked on with purpose, covertly scanning and studying things more closely.

All the information I could glean proved frustratingly superficial. The doors were all locked. The conversations were all hushed, difficult to eavesdrop on, even with my excellent hearing. I was drawing too many curious stares—though less than when I'd initially entered the city; the ones in this area seemed more interested in their own duties.

I was preparing to hide somewhere to regroup and come up with a new plan when I heard a voice that brought everything else to a jarring halt.

Dread twisted my stomach. My muscles seized, making it painful to move, but I forced myself to walk toward the sound, and then to peer toward the side street where it was coming from.

And there he was—a tall, familiar figure with dark hair giving instructions to a small group of soldiers, his voice as arrogant and smooth as ever.

Andrel .