The estimation for Satros to arrive in a month proved inaccurate. He arrived in half as much time. Nor did he use the rivers.

She would have passed her time in song but the songs she knew were her people’s. Perhaps she could mimic songs she heard in her travels but it would lack heart. Instead she passed her time in disguise while dry painting with sand. It was an interest of hers she decided to take the time to practice as she never did at home or on missions so it would not give her presence away.

Maintaining a disguise was her idea. Unfortunately, she and her sisters knew the methods of her kind, they would recognize the workings if she reshaped her face with cuts and bandages. She used a wig and makeup and tried to join the crowds rather than hide away from them, sparking little meaningless banter with those she passed by. She stayed in the middle of the crowds, where outsiders would have to look inwards from outside and might not notice the degree of her cosmetics.

She had to keep her eyes open for Yavani. Her sixth sister would fit in with them perfectly if not for her complexion and move through the crowds quite easily and Hílainno could do the same for her demeanor. However, the others would likely be somewhere in the distance observing.

She hated the makeup, like a layer of dust caked over her skin. The wig reminded her of the sun’s heat as it warmed her scalp. Elves normally avoided such frivolities but her pale skin would be a far greater deviation from the norm. She though to fold the tips of her ears to pass as human.

She wanted so badly to sleep during the day but a Light Elf that was active at night would be obvious so she went to rest when others did. She needed to distance herself from Malendar, her target, for when her sisters came to confirm his survival before looking for her upon realizing he had been injured.

Still, she resented the sunlight and found what corners she could find for shelter and shade. So, she was in the entertainment halls when the city came to life with new noise and all attention was drawn to the sky.

She could see what everyone else saw but could not believe it at first. In the distance was a ship in the sky coming from the west. The large vessel was carved from wood like ivory, nestled under the clouds. Its sails were blue and it was strapped to the giant balloon that floated above it. It was too surreal of a sight to believe. From the excitement around her, it seemed most were similarly awed.

She watched as it eventually sailed over the city walls and made her way to the palace. The most of the locals were able to control themselves and not storm to the craft but the visitors in the markets were adventurous by merit of already being in foreign soil and gravitated towards the sight. She slipped in the growing crowd, passing many humans and several dwarves. The vessel settled above her destination before she could reach it.

The ordinarily open doors for the courtyard closed for the crowd. Hospitality extended so far and privacy was in itself a courtesy. While the guards addressed those gathered, in multiple languages, she looked about and took the opportunity to climb the wall while everyone’s eyes were on the gate. She wished she had such a distraction only weeks before.

She saw from the top of the wall a small retinue of Marine Elves climbing down from a long ladder of their vessel still hanging above. Even with the sails furled, the craft seemed eager to fly away but was kept in place by the diligence of the crew.

Marine Elves had equally poor taste in coloration as Light Elves. Rather than gold tainting white to represent the sun in the sky like Malendar, Satros employed a combination of blue and white to portray a ship upon the sea. They wore primarily blue with white as if their clothes were covered in sea foam.

If the image most harbored towards Light Elves were these regel, dignified, figures. Marine Elves were remembered for being adventurous and rugged, tanned with all variety of hair and eye colorations regarded as equally suited to the rough features earned from being continuously bitten by wind and rain. Elves did not scar but they could adapt.

It appeared the head of the group already entered. Fortunately, due to the palace’s design, there was a door on both the east and the west side. They chose the western side so she circumvented and entered from the opposite side.

She entered the palace and navigated her way towards the throne room. The guards made no attempts to stop her so she assumed she was still welcome. Before she could reach the throne room, she saw Malendar in the hall outside the throne room, his pet drake by the doorway, greeting his guest as she prepared to turn the corner. She backtracked before she could be seen.

She then watched from afar. Watching another through a reflective surface was a simple trick. One might look from the edge of a drink, the sheen of a window, and more. A child might even use two mirrors to peak around several corners.

The Light Elves’ love for gold and crystal left her with many options. She observed facets of the ceiling, the palace guards’ pristine armor, and her own silver bracelet to see matters transpire from many angles.

A nearby guard looked at her. She recognized him and smiled, trying to not look like a spy. She furled her brow with mock impatience as if she had something she needed to say but did not want to interrupt the two she watched.

The visitor’s skin had been deeply tanned just as his hair was bleached a light brown by the sun to match, nearly a false blonde. Highlights similar to Malendar's natural color streaked through his long hair that frizzed at the edges.

His light blue eyes reminded her more of the sky than the ocean. His features were rough, hardened by the elements, especially in comparison to Malendar yet he looked youthful.

She required no introductions to Satros. However, what she did require explaination for was his attire.

He did not wear plate armor like Malendar did when she first the Light Elf, nor did he need to. His once regal blue coat had grey patches from wear. An unusual addition to that garb though was a strange cape. Leather straps at the bottom were tied to his ankles while loose cords dangled from the outer edges near the small of his back. Tarica imagined for a moment if the free cords were tied to the sailor’s wrists, the cloth would have mimicked the design of a bat’s wings.

Then she recognized it was a design implemented by some human nomads. They could glide from one side of a valley to another. There were other similar groups like ones that used actual gliders and the remnants of a nation that domesticated rocs and had their suits designed for if the massive birds they rode ever found a means to dismount their riders in midflight.

She read their lips and expressions to understand what they spoke of.

“Surely, I informed you in my message,” Malendar explained. He had been wearing bandages earlier that morning but appeared to discard them for the strategic placement of his hands and his long sleeves.

“I fear I received no such message,” Satros informed him.

“Then may I ask why you are here? Often you would afford me some warning so I might properly greet you before visiting.”

“I heard rumors you were injured and made my way here.”

“Those were no rumors. Let me show this to you so there are no secrets then. You would notice them soon enough.” Malendar bared his palms so Satros could see the still closing gash along his palms where her blades pierced.

Satros grabbed onto his one of his hands so the Light Elf could not retract it and stared at it in horror. His eyes followed up his arm into what remained concealed by his sleeves and noticed the cut on his throat. “Who did this to you?”

Malendar pulled back his hand so he might point at his palm. Concealing the pain far too well for Tarica’s comfort. “I am the one that caused this,” referring to that wound alone.

Satros was still horrified but he swallowed whatever outburst he might have had. “What caused you to do that, then?” he played along, possibly already seeing through it.

"I had an unexpected guest," the Light Elf answered calmly. He was not one to lie, but he could understate something well enough.

"Good guests do not leave their hosts injured," replied Satros as he grabbed onto Malendar's wrist and pulled back his sleeve. The Light Elf did not resist and brought his arm up to the sailor's eyes so it could be examined. The Marine Elf glared at the the cuts angrily. "These wounds are small and should have healed within a hour. Why are they still here?"

Malendar shook his head sadly. "I suspect some poison was concocted to weaken my body's response to the cuts. My bruises have disappeared, but I am afraid the cuts are closing no faster than they would if they belonged to a human. It actually makes me admire humans all the more, so for that I am thankful."

"Do not make it sound like some misplaced gift. It is obvious enough. You were not supposed to live long enough to enjoy it." commented Satros before he turned back to his friend. "Who did this?” he repeated. “I must speak with them."

Malendar looked to Satros’s side and assessed perhaps as she did that he was unarmed. The sailor was courteous enough not to carry his weapons out of friendship and trust while he was visiting. The same could not be expected of the crew that swore to protect him. The king regarded the Marine Elves behind the ancient sailor and studied the sabers they kept at their sides.

“You will speak to her soon,” he said casually trying to dismiss the dire implications. “But she is the one the one I wished to speak to you about. It was in the message. When you meet to her though, I ask that you be respectful. There is nothing to gain from questioning her any more than I already have. She has suffered enough."

“And what was it that you needed to speak to me about her?” the sailor seethed.

“I need you to take her with you on a voyage.”

Satros inhaled as if he could contain himself from shouting. “Give her a voyage?” he asked quietly. If he spoke any louder, he might let all the words within out. “If she did this to you, she should not be in a voyage with me. She should be in a cell. Knowing you, she is not, is she?”

“She is walking free as we speak but she has done nothing since then.” Malendar showed Satros his arm. "I am the one she harmed. These wounds will heal soon enough, so there will be nothing for me to hold against her. Do as I have and forgive her."

“What justification is there for your oath of pacifism if you battle only enough to for yourself to be hurt?”

“I swore to take up arms only to defend myself and others,” he reminded.

“You knew back then that to defend others, you had to fight others. To defend yourself, you might need to kill another.”

“But wish to try a different approach now,” Malendar affirmed. “Otherwise, my Light Elves are little different from those we fought. She is a Dark Elf but she is not our enemy. Would you be willing to meet her?”

“Yes, but for no reasons you would endorse. You can not expect me to be in the same room with you and her after she did…” Satros made a motion to encompass all of the Light Elf. “This. And expect me to be civil. Not while you still bleed in front of me. If you wish to endanger your life, do not do so in front of me.”

“She will not endanger me,” Malendar promised. “I do not intend to keep her here. She is not safe in my borders. So for both her and my sakes, please be her escort.”

“Where do you need to me to bring her?” Satros relented.

"I need you to take her to Florena," informed Malendar.

Satros suddenly tensed and went silent. He stared at his friend in surprise. "You involved Florena in this!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, I told her what happened, and she has offered to welcome Tarica with open arms," Malendar stated.

“You never should have involved Florena,” Satros fixated on.

“Florena is better protected than all of us.”

“I am aware,” Satros begrudged. “But even she would not do what you did. She would leave those that hurt her to be judged by… No, what am I saying? She is the one that treated the wounded of both sides…”

Malendar went on to explain the arrangement to Satros. It took time for him to finally win the captain over. Malendar seemed to cox Satros into it by luring him with an excuse to visit Florena's forest.

In the end, Satros simply smirked and said, “I can not believe that everyone calls me the stubborn one." He stepped away from Malendar. "This may take a moment."

Satros started to whistle. He then took a piece of paper out of his tunic and continued to hum an old mariner’s tune that he might have hummed earlier before the conversation started. He wrote on the parchment with a chip of charcoal while Malendar stared at him in curiosity.

“Are the doors to the outside open?” the sailor asked before whistling again.

A drake soared through the hallways before slowing and gently landing gently on Satros's shoulder. The sailor hardly seemed to notice as if the creature that sat so obediently on his shoulder was an extension of his body. He placed the paper in a ring that was attached to the drake’s collar and whispered to his pet before it flew back to the ship. “He is my new messenger. I named him Seascales,” explained Satros.

The sailor named his drake after its appearance? It seemed no different to how Ordelas chose “Bloodwing”.

Malendar’s drake looked at his master like he wanted to be introduced to the elf that sailed the seas and skies. Malendar carefully lifted up his less injured arm to let the drake perch on it and said, “I call this one Morning because he is always awake before me.”

“I will take her to Florena’s as you requested,” agreed Satros after he took a good look at Morning. Malendar thanked him for his cooperation, but Satros looked at Malendar and said, “He is not your responsibility.” Malendar was confused, so Satros continued, “Ordelas is not your responsibility. If anyone is to blame for him, it is me.”

Satros paused and cursed under his breath as he pressed his knuckles against his brow and bowed his head. “The world would have been so much simpler if I had not told everyone how large it really is and Ordelas would have been born in our homeland where he would have remained nameless to the outside world. You would not have to be here to watch over that brat, and so many would not have had to die.” Satros noticed a tear stream down the side of his face and flicked it away with his finger.

Malendar placed a hand on his friend’s soldier. “It is not your fault either. If Ordelas was not here then some other force would inspire the same dread.”

Satros took a deep breath, regained his composure, and repeated his promise to Malendar, confirming that he was ready to take Tarica to Florena’s forest.

“I will take her under one condition,” the captain added. “You can escort her to the launch but she has to set foot on my vessel openly of her own accord. Then she will be a passenger and away from you. I will leave at dawn.”

The two parted and Malendar sent a messenger for Tarica only for her presence to be unveiled. She explained what she had heard. If he felt any indignation at her eavesdropping, he hid it well. He recounted details that she knew.

“Are you aware that he hopes to leave with you by morning?”

“I am.”

“I thought he might stay for a short while but he has not had the time to accept your presence here. He would likely depart immediately if he knew where to find you.”

He recounted details that she was already aware of. A large part of Satros’s retinue were disembarking and mixing with the crowds so she might slip in among the Marine Elves and convene at the ship when they prepared to embark.

“Do not lie to Satros but do not inform him that you already met him unless he asks,” advised Malendar. “Meeting so many people has made him value first impressions.”

“I fear I already left an impression on him.”

“He is friendly once he ceases to view you as an enemy. Trust me, he will do everything in his power to see you safely to your destination.”

She spent her last night in the palace and met the king of the Marines Elves as the first light of dawn broke through the horizon, filling the darkness with a beautiful tint of red.

The scent of brine reached her nose as she approached him. As reckless as it was, Malendar would not have her meet Satros in disguise, she appeared to him as she was dark haired and pallad.

Satros gave those gathered a look that told them to give her distance. His eyes settled on those within an arm’s length of her and any behind her until they formed two columns beside her with enough room for her to step through without issue. He was giving her a chance to walk away.

“You understand where we are going?”

“I do.”

Satros whistled like a seabird and a rope ladder rolled down in front of the sailor. “You understand we will make no stops along the way?”

“I do.”

“Will you still voyage with us?”

“I will and I thank you for having me, king Satros.”

“No need for titles. Though if you must call me something, while we are on this ship, I am captain before king.” His stern mask began to crack or perhaps he began to apply a mask of mirth as his lips cracked into a slight smile. He gestured to the ladder. “Now, please follow me.”

He showed her his back for only a moment of vulnerability. He then climbed swiftly beyond her reach.

Tarica regarded her host Malendar, and bowed. “Thank you for everything.”

“It was my pleasure to be your host,” he confided. She noticed how even he could not say their meeting was anything remotely pleasant.

Satros climbed aboard first and she overheard him remind his crew to treat the guest kindly but remain wary. When Tarica reached the ship, the crew above was assembled in a straight line, prepared to greet her.

“Tarica, welcome to the Jewel of the Skies,” proclaimed Satros.

The rest of the crew joined and the crimson light of dawn faded. Tarica turned her eyes to the disgustingly blue sky.

***

Tarica never expected the journey to Queen Florena’s forest to be so short. The untiring speed at which the skyship moved through the air was to be thanked, or else she might have overstayed her welcome. Their journey took them to the north into the open ocean rather than due east where any pursuer on foot might lose track of them.

Satros’s crew were cordial, but she could tell they resented her. It was perfectly understandable, she had killed more unwary souls than she could count. She also felt uncomfortable, being trapped on a vessel teeming with those she once called enemies.

The white wood of the vessel was smooth to the touch. Even Tarica could appreciate how the practically weightless lumber was what helped make flight possible but there was more to it than that. The subtle decorations along the hull betrayed the hands that shaped them. The Marine Elves could not have designed such a craft on their own but the material had certainly been handled by shipwrights that had more than a thousand years to refine their art. Still, Tarica noticed aberrations in the design, scars from where goblin devices might have been but were either relocated or replaced.

From the outside, the balloon seemed to be the only contribution the goblins made. Within were mechanisms beyond her understanding. It seemed that it was some machine helped steer the ship so it might go against the winds if they had to, however the Marine Elves possessed such a grasp of the air’s currents and maneuvered the ship in a way that there never seemed a moment that the wind was not at their backs. Tarica would have studied the internal mechanisms but the Marine Elves’ stares reminded her she was not welcome there. They would have become vocal if she lingered but she left them in peace before words had to be spoken.

Below the deck slept cannons with accommodations to allow the wretched weapons to be aimed down. The vessel did not host a crew or arsenal of the same quantity that could be sustained by a seacraft of the same size. She imagined without the water to hold it aloft, it could not afford to carry as much.

This development of such a vessel had been anticipated but it was still a shock to witness for oneself. Hot air balloons had existed for over a century, the leap from such an invention to something more mobile was inevitable. The concept of sky lanterns from human lands predated the Great War, long enough for her own kin to take interest in such practices as a method of signalling.

The elf struggled to keep her mind from running rampant while she gradually adjusted to a different type of existence. When she was with Malendar, at least she knew she could trust him. Now, all those around her were enemies.

Her hands constantly trembled as she resisted the urge to reach for a weapon to comfort herself. Her restless nerves flared at every movement of those around her. She had to compose herself before she initiated any conversations with Satros’s crew. Tarica could not help but measure the strength of those surrounding her. They were not warriors dedicated to combat, but they were veterans of a different kind. Their sunbaked skin testified how they had braved every horror the sea could offer. Now they were intent to conquer the skies. The Marine Elves would be dangerous opponents if she fought against them in their familiar setting.

Combat was not a matter decided by strength or cunning but compatibility. An archer could easily dispatch a slow, armored foe yet be outmatched by an agile opponent.

There was a difference between a soldier and a warrior. Soldiers relied on structure and the idea fighting alongside companions while warriors were islands in a sea of chaos. Warriors were the bane of assassins, anticipating danger from every direction and always prepared to answer in kind. The explorers knew the motions of the ship as if it were their own, she did not.

The sailor’s suspicions being justified, the crew constantly gave her scrutinizing glances. She was a traitor, and they knew it. Since she had betrayed her own people, there was nothing to keep her from turning around and stabbing them in the back. She had no more reason to be loyal to them than she did to her king.

Why had she turned on him? What did she want that she did not already have? Happiness? Was that what she wanted? She already had that and was unhappier now than she had ever been.

If happiness was what she was looking for, she would not find it by running away. Peace, joy, and happiness were pure desires, unfit for a killer like her. Such a pure and holy prayer would be tainted if uttered from her unclean lips or touched by her bloodied hands.

Without Ordelas’s leadership, her world was filled with uncertainty. She did not know who her real enemies were anymore, so she doubted strangers all the more because she was no longer a stranger to them. They had her at a disadvantage. Life had been so much simpler when she was the king’s chosen assassin.

She wondered what her comrades would think of her foolishness. The fact that the ship’s course was drawing her closer to her homeland promoted such thoughts to flare. Without a doubt, Hílainno and Yavani, her battle sisters, would have something to say to her. Now, she probably could not even look them in the eyes. That was for the best, for she had no answers for whatever questions they might have.

She could answer Malendar but her sisters knew her and carried a history for her to account for. She doubted she would say the same things to them as she did with the Light Elf.

It was bewildering to view the world below while riding amongst the clouds in Satros’s skyship. She was studying the distant border of trees that separated Malendar’s and Florena’s territories when a blue streak flew directly towards her. She tensed for a moment but relaxed after she realized it was Satros’s drake. For some reason, the creature seemed to be especially curious about Tarica.

“You are the first individual from the Dark Kingdom he has ever met,” Satros explained as he joined her on the bow of the ship. He paused to keep count with his fingers as he listed. “He has seen Marine Elves, Light Elves, a human, orcs, and goblins, but never a Dark Elf.” The drake flew around his master’s head and happily landed on the captain’s shoulder.

“So he only approaches me because he is curious,” concluded Tarica as she reflexively scanned Satros, analyzing his posture and checking for weapons. She noticed a saber, sheathed at his side, and something else on his chest that was concealed by his coat.

He evaluated her as well. He looked to the railing behind her to accurately measure her height. He glanced at her hair as he searched for something.

He pointed to his pet. “He probably thinks himself ruler of these clouds now, making him brave. He would not be if there were predators here to contest him,” he noted. He pretended to think back, she could tell, this part was an act. “Do you remember when dragons once ruled these skies?”

It should have been a simple question but it felt dangerous. He went serious at the very end and was focused upon her answer.

“I remember a little from when I was a child,” she answered cautiously, unsure of what he sought.

He relaxed. “Good.”

“Why would you say it is good?”

“It is good that you remember the magnificent rulers of the sky and it is good as well that you are not who I thought you might be.”

“Who did you believe I was?”

He waved a hand over his face to gesture the shape of a mask. “Considering your profession, I thought it might have been possible we met before.”

She immediately knew who he spoke of from the gesture alone, her sister, Ruhin. Apparently, he was not as forgiving as Malendar. He rested on the rail beside her, he put his weight on his arm to lean forward as though getting the slightest bit closer might improve the view.

Satros was not looked well upon by Dark Elves. In the first war between elves and dwarves, Satros has been invited by his brethren to join. Satros after hearing the news from both sides, refused to give his kin militant aid and suggested that they surrender to the dwarves.

Tarica kept telling herself that Satros was an older elf, but when she looked at him, she did not sense that was the case. Compared to the younger king she recently served, the captain was as ancient as Malendar, Satros undoubtedly knew things beyond her scope of understanding. However, Satros did not feel detached from time. Malendar sometimes gave that impression, but not this captain. Even when he was perfectly still, it seemed as if his existence flowed about like the air around him. He was not someone who sat quietly outside the stream of time, but someone who preferred to be constantly moving.

That was the impression she appraised from him. As an assassin, her instincts were directed towards measuring the strength of a foe, but she had trouble sensing anything specifically vulnerable about him. He was consistent yet in flux. Always moving, never staying in the same place very long. She could not accurately gauge his strength or hope to find a weakness in such a subject.

She estimated the possible movements he could make that might endanger her, and what she could do in response. She formed no false impressions of the situation. On this ship, Tarica could never try to kill the captain and hope to live. Unlike Malendar, Satros was still very much the warrior of legend he used to be, and his crew deserved equal consideration. As an ancient veteran, his skills easily rivaled Malendar’s. Even away from his ship, he was an individual she would not want as an enemy.

“But as for Seascales’ attention, he did not sense there was something worthwhile in you, he would not tolerate you at all. Curiosity is not enough to keep his attention for long,” noted Satros as he rubbed the creature’s chin. The drake raised its head slightly so the sailor could scratch its neck.

Tarica motioned to the empty deck and replied, “He is braver than any of the other animals I have come across.” Some birds that typically ignored the Marine Elves would occasionally rest on the ship but would always fly away the moment she appeared. The crew pretended it was a matter of good fortune and acted as if they were thankful to her for keeping the deck clean.

“You do not make a single sound when you move.” Satros tried to laugh. “You probably remind them too much of a feline.”

Tarica understood what he meant, but it brought her no comfort. She simply stared at him as if daring him to be more honest and say what he really intended. She was a predator, and even the simplest creatures could sense that. It was a fundamental part of her being.

“Trust me, I raised this drake myself, and before that, his egg was handled by goblins. His judgment is sounder than any bird’s,” Satros reassured her as he petted Seascales’s head.

“I understand that your pet has an interest in me, but that does not explain why you are here,” stated Tarica as she repressed her suspicions.

It was strange speaking to the one Ordelas often called “the embodiment of irresponsibility.” If there was anyone the king seemed to express the most ire towards, it was Satros. Not even Malendar received such contempt.

The captain seemed personally involved in the maintenance of the ship rather than passing leadership to others. It did not seem to fit the impression Ordelas possessed of the sailor.

What time she spent with Malendar gave her the impression he ruled his kingdom more similarly to Ordelas than Satros governed his ship but it was the captain that reminded her of her king. Satros bowed for a moment as if to apologize. “Soon, we will arrive at our destination. It is customary for a guest to eat with the captain at least once.”

Tarica could not refuse the invitation. She was on his ship, and it was a courtesy that should not be ignored. Malendar told her she needed to learn to trust others, but to be enclosed inside a small room filled with cutlery seemed like a challenge. She already went through the motions when she ate with Malendar.

She doubted Satros saw it the same way she did. It probably was a final test he thought of, to find out if she was being truthful about her desire to reform. If he thought she was a threat, he could always kill her behind closed doors and claim that she had attacked him.

***

Compared to the magnificence of the rest of the ship, Satros’s cabin was rather dull. The planks on the walls were stained brown to match the desk that was nailed to the floor. It was not as spacious as Tarica had hoped, and the furniture took up more room than it should have.

Tarica sat across the small table from Satros. Oddly, the captain’s drake was nowhere to be seen, so Satros’s shoulders were unburdened. They both sat in regal coral-colored chairs with cushions that were so soft she felt as if she was sinking. An exotic carpet that was probably acquired from humans rested underneath their feet.

Behind Satros was a painting that triggered mixed feelings of homesickness and dread in Tarica’s heart. The scene depicted the allied forces’ first meeting at the Dark Elven palace. The five towers loomed over the armies of the great leaders that had met in peace. In the painting, Satros and a dwarven emperor would stand forever, shaking hands. They looked like two brothers who had been reunited after being divided for far too long. Although the two great leaders had met within the darkness of Tarica’s homeland, they grinned in triumph when the war concluded.

Tarica smiled uncomfortably. She and Satros were barely more than an arm’s length apart. If they wanted to, they could reach out and strangle each other. Satros had set his weapons in the corner behind Tarica. That left her with the advantage, and she was also confident that she could defeat him in hand-to-hand combat. Either Malendar had not informed Satros about the full range of her skills, or the Marine Elf really did believe in her.

Since Tarica was seated between Satros and his weapons, he must have trusted her to some extent. She was rather surprised to find that the weapon she had detected earlier was a small, holstered gun evidently crafted by goblins.

She assumed it was made by goblins but it might have been an advanced human design. It possessed a toothed wheel in place of the hammer she would find holding a lit match. She would personally choose a bow over something so unreliable that required an entire ritual just to reload after a single crude shot.

It was nothing like the hand cannons of dwarves, designed to be held with one hand instead of two. The revelation reminded her how well armed the Marine Elves were.

The first weapons to use infernal black powder were invented by humans. A few decades after humans were discovered they had started to regularly circulate these so-called firelances. Goblins soon acquired the formula for black powder and the disgusting weapons began to surface over the centuries among orcs, dwarves, and apparently even Marine Elves.

Tarica had not yet been born in the time of humanity’s unification. It was a matter of history her people despised yet admired. A single human placed the entire continent under one banner, the first high king, Tyran.

Tyran was known by many names by his own people and others. He was a figure whose contribution not even the Dark Elves could ignore. He was Tyranus Rex, the Builder King, the Chainbreaker, the Grand Revolutionary, the Uniter, and more.

The Marine Elves recently adopted the use of handguns. Satros likely found they were more appropriate for ship-to-ship combat than longbows. One needed room to draw an arrow while a handgun could be fired at the turning of a corner.

Silence passed between them when the chef brought in two plates of pasta covered with a steaming, black sauce. The food was placed in front of them, but Tarica waited for the chef to hand her a fork and knife. Before she began to eat, she consciously resisted the old urge to twirl a knife between her fingers whenever she picked one up.

“Squid ink pasta is quite the delicacy,” said Satros as he motioned to the dish and nodded his thanks to the cook.

“I have heard of it, yet I have never tried it myself,” she replied. She looked at the chef and mustered a smile. “But I am sure I will enjoy it.”

After her efforts to be polite earned the respect of the chef, he bowed with pride and left the cabin. Tarica did not enjoy the meal as well as she wished. Her attention was too focused on Satros’s knife for her to appreciate little more than the salty taste that left her thirsty. There was wine to drink, but she only took an occasional sip from her goblet.

Satros shared his plans regarding Tarica’s visit to Florena’s domain, while she nodded and listened. He did not manage to draw her into the conversation until he mentioned a human named Eliseo and an orc he called Sinker. He said they were acquaintances of his and hoped the two would be there when she arrived.

“I am not in the best standing with humans,” she reminded him.

“Neither was I at the start, but they are not so bad when you get to know them,” he countered. “I have met my share of human pirates, and we usually get along fine once we stop trying to kill each other. I even gave a few of them citizenship in my lands.”

A thousand years had passed since humanity gained a semblance of stability to stand against the nonhuman. There were still tensions, those that were once enemies clung to their animosity for generations. However, memories of peace could replace memories of conflict through the transition of time. The inhabitants of Occidtir all shared the same human blood, not uniform or even united but still shared a common ancestry compared to those outside their borders.

Most elves, not just those that resided in the Dark Kingdom, found it to not be a worthwhile investment to study the exact dynamics of human society unless they intended to act immediately. Otherwise, what they once knew might be completely transformed within a third of a century. Borders changed and treaties were reforged in the span of short generations.

Still, there seemed to be some resilience to be found. Many nations survived the centuries or were reborn. The age before humans discovered there was more to the world than them was said to have been even more chaotic.

“You were the one who was attacked. My situation is different.”

“It can not be that bad,” Satros said half-heartedly, trying to reassure her, but it only served to drive her thoughts further into the past, which she wished to avoid.

Tarica frowned and looked Satros in the eyes. “Do you recall the turmoil that ensued a century ago, just before the reign of High Queen Alysson the Mad?”

High Queen Alyss, also known as Alysson the Mad was the monarch that began the Relance in Occidtir. The Relance would be one of the greatest failures in Dark Elven history, short-lived though it was. Before it was the Stagnation, a time of civil wars and political games, particularly in east Occidtir. There was progress in that era but such events were few and far between, people struggling to adapt and maintain cohesion rather than invent.

Tarica’s kin saw the opportunity to have humanity erase itself and acted. Instead the Dark Elves paved the way for Alysson de Yeris, last royal daughter of the land of Franterre, to take power through righteous authority and as she was better remembered, fear.

There was nothing the people of Occidtir feared more than disease. Five hundred years ago, a single plague killed more than a third of Occidtir's population. That marked the beginning of the chaos that would define the Stagnation, witch hunts and riots were just as much an epidemic. Tarica's people had no connection to it, Ordelas was still imprisoned at the time.

The last great plague was two hundred years ago and Occidtir still remembered. Queen Alyss the Mad revealed the existence of black boxes, containers ripe with the strain that they grew to fear. This led to a strained peace, every side afraid to provoke the other into unleashing such horrors. It was common enough knowledge at this point in history for all provinces to know how to manufacture plague weapons. Tarica's kin had little understanding of disease but it was not beyond them to either steal the secrets or the weapons themselves to use in the future.

While the fear remained, the effectiveness of such a weapon has declined due to precautions. The authorities knew how to treat and quarantine possible outbreaks but the possibility those measures may fail could result in the nightmare they dread.

Satros paused from his meal and replied, “Yes. Fights between members of the royal families almost tore Occidtir apart. It would be hard to forget when a time when civilizations crumbled so many more almost joined them. Do not tell me you played a part in that.”

“We ultimately failed our mission, but we still undid decades of human progress,” Tarica explained, her tone as sharp as a blade. “You know how human nobility intermarry. If your human friend is a member of a royal family, there is little doubt my hands are stained with the blood of his ancestors.”

Freshly aware of what she was capable of, Satros breathed cautiously. “The elf you were then is not the elf you are now,” he said lightheartedly, trying to think of what Malendar would say. “That was over a century ago. The only one that remembers what happened is you. You can forget about it and treat him as you would any other person.”

“I-“

“If someone must take responsibility for your encounters with humanity, let it be me and Ordelas,” he interrupted. “It was your king that told me of humans across the ocean. He seemed to think he was warning me but his words were mad ravings of monsters. I made prior considerations to explore westward but I put such preparations aside if only to spite him. I had to investigate for myself so I eventually set sail but only after Ordelas’s words started to fade from memory.”

“I was about to say I would try…” Tarica informed him.

“My apologies then.” He bowed his head slightly.

“But what about the orc?” she asked. “Compared to us, they are far more different than humans and dwarves.”

“True, but that is not a bad thing,” remarked Satros. “It is as if they are formed from an entirely different mold, yet their differences make them no better or worse than we are.”

He seemed far too accepting to be genuine, so she leaned towards him and asked, “Could you ever fall in love with an orc? Could you really ignore such differences?”

“Beauty is a matter of perspective. One time, I almost got together with a pair of orcish ladies,” the sailor proudly recalled.

Tarica held back, hiding her shock and embarrassment as she sipped her wine. “No doubt you were drunk.”

“No, they were the ones who were drinking,” he laughed. “To them, I am not handsome at all. If you are going to judge by appearances, you must consider how ugly we must look to them.” Tarica could not help but smile. For the first time since she had turned her back on Ordelas, Tarica felt like laughing, but she did not. If the captain was the first one to make her sincerely laugh, it would feel as if she had been defeated.

She could not detect a lie from him. Perhaps he was being too friendly as she might warn Malendar but he was also honest like his friend.

Tarica looked at him and asked, “Are you just doing this for Malendar, or do you really think there is hope for me?”

Satros was surprised by the sudden question and answered, “There is hope for everyone, just like Malendar said.”

“But I have killed more than you can possibly imagine,” she disputed. Tarica was almost upset and could not understand how Satros and Malendar could be so naive. They were too similar. She was hoping he would be more hostile but as he said, this was someone who broke bread with pirates, he might actually be more social than Malendar.

Satros shook his head. “I doubt that,” he whispered. “During the Great War, everyone needed help, and I provided it the best way I could.”

Satros explained how he had built and sailed battleships, making him responsible for innumerable deaths. He did not say it but she could see for a moment where the energy he exuded slowed as though weighed by a lingering guilt and he glanced at his hands, perhaps expecting to still see blood on them.

“Do you remember the face of every person you killed?” he asked.

She thought back. There were souls that seemed to blend together. “No.”

“Neither do I. I will not guess as to why you do not remember but I killed too many to remember. Instead I try to remember those that died for me and even that was too much… I was on the frontlines same as Malendar. Either you died or your enemy died. That was the understanding between warriors.”

“If you mean to appeal to me as a warrior, Malendar has already tried. I am no warrior.”

He drank from his goblet before peaking back to look at the painting. If she wanted to kill him, then would have been the best time. “But you are not a mindless killer are you? Even murderers have reasons. Surely, you had a cause like we did to fight for. I will not call your cause noble but even Malendar in his quest to protect life had to extinguish it. Why do you think Malendar values life so much?”

Tarica was interested in her former host’s past, so she listened intently. “Why? Tell me?”

He looked to her. “I think you already know why. He was no Florena but he was older than the others of our generation, not older than me though and thought himself some protector of the newborn and weak. Still, how he is now makes his childhood ideals seem superficial.”

She tried to imagine her protector as a boy thinking himself caretaker and the image took root without difficulty. But she could guess why. The him she knew as understood the weight of a life from taking it and then seeing even the worst have a moment of good.

“So let me tell you how rather than why.” He continued. “Malendar could not stand by and watch the Dark Kingdom commit genocide, so he led the Light Elves to war. When the battles were finally over, he returned a changed elf. To this day, he still blames himself for everything that had gone wrong.” He looked at Tarica, and for a moment, his youthfulness seemed to falter. “You should understand the curse of the elves as well as anyone. Unless we die in battle or of heartbreak, we must live with what we have done until the end of time. Malendar lives with more regret than you know, yet he always says there is hope.” Satros stopped talking and returned to his food to give her some time to contemplate.

She heard this all before. From other sources. Now that she met Malendar for herself and heard it from someone who truly knew him, what she understood had greater meaning.

It was then that she stopped viewing Satros as a threat. She started to imagine what it must have been like to be part of his early travels. She wondered if he had always been the way he was, or if he had changed gradually as she was trying to do.

She imagined Satros when he was younger. His hair would have been darker, and his complexion would have been lighter. She gasped as she mentally removed the rough features that years at sea had cultivated.

“You look just like him,” she murmured.

Since Satros was distracted with his meal, he did not hear her. “Can you repeat that?” he inquired as he focused his attention on her.

“Nothing,” she claimed before she drank from her goblet.

She wondered if Ordelas would have been more like Satros if he had traveled the world. Her king had isolated himself from everyone and everything. The world he lived in was small and stagnant, so it was natural for him to become bitter.

She considered her situation. If Ordelas could have ended up different, then what was there to stop her from letting go of her past? Perhaps, there was hope for her after all.

“If Malendar came to oppose us. Why did you leave your homeland?” she asked, trying to learn more of the sailor while she could.

He put down his utensils. “Many reasons but honestly, it was monotony that drove me out. Nothing as noble as Florena who came here to preserve the forest and Malendar who chose to oppose your people. I imagine everyone who left that island discovered for themselves there is nothing worse than a purposeless eternity.”

All elves originated from a single island and Satros was the first to ever leave.

“What of Alfar’s reasons?” she asked of her people’s founder

He looked down. His mood darkened. “Alfar wished to claim. I find adventure in itself to be satisfactory. He required results.” He raised his head and tried to weave his words into some tale but it still carried the weight of familiarity. “When Alfar asked me what land there was to see, I recommended the land west of the Great Forest but they somehow made landfall to the east of it.”

Her people stayed with Satros’s at one time. Tarica stayed quiet. He had over two thousand years to discover all the details of that fateful voyage. He likely knew more of the truth of it then her. If not, it was something he would have to seek for himself.

When Tarica left the cabin, she still carried something wretched inside, but she buried it under Satros’s words. She looked up to see a small sparrow perched on the ship’s mast. When she approached, it did not fly away, so she climbed towards it.

When she reached for it with her fingers, it did not shy away. She patted its head gently and smiled with the simple contentment of touching an innocent living thing. Perplexed, she drew her fingers back and stared at her hand.

She did not understand why she had turned her back on her country, or why she worried about the loss of Ordelas’s approval. It was as if she cared for him in a deeper way than she was willing to admit.

The sparrow perched on her fingers, tilted its head, and focused its tiny eyes on her as if confused by the frown on Tarica’s face. The elf gasped in surprise before joyous tears formed in the corners of her eyes, yet she did not cry. Instead of crying, she let out bell-like laughter, causing everyone on deck to look at her. She happily shook her head, ignored their stares, and continued to laugh.

***

“Lower the sails! Let us drift in!” Satros shouted as Tarica watched everything beneath her be swallowed beneath a sea of greenery.

Tarica turned her attention to the captain and approached him. “May I ask why we are slowing?”

“We have to give the trees time to assess us,” Satros explained. “To them, we are riding on the corpse of their kin. It is best not to upset the forest. It would be the same if we sailed against the river.”

“And you need to be more careful because you have a Dark Elf with you,” she completed for him.

Satros laughed. “No, it is as much for my sake as yours. Some… remember me less than fondly.”

Tarica let the wind gently blow through her hair. “How long before we get there?”

“Without the sails and other mechanisms to support us, we travel little better than any other dirigible.” With a single glance at his surroundings, he gauged their speed. “We are traveling just under two leagues.” So, almost twice as fast as one might simply walk. She could outrun the vessel.

He continued. “Ships never rest and the winds can grow stronger. We will be in the center in about two days.”

She only had a couple of days left before she was to be dropped into the heart of her most fearsome of foes. She looked to the endless green. “Can it take longer?”

“Not so eager to set foot on living lumber?” he inquired. “I can understand that but a still ship is an unfortunate one. A ship should rest at port and I lack a reputation for being late. Still…” He went quiet in thought and smiled comfortingly. “I can arrange it so we arrive at evening when most sensible plants and beasts might rest. That way you are greeted by the forest at the time that most suits you.”

“I would be grateful.” She looked at the back her hand, a tan was creeping in, like paint diluting through water. “I am not sure I am prepared to meet Queen Florena.”

“You should be more concerned with the forest than Florena. It would not surprise me that plants are incapable of forgiveness, only acceptance. The trees pay mind to my ships but it is Florena’s presence that allows them to tolerate me, one who rides upon vessels carved from their kindred. Florena on the otherhand lacks violence, not even revenge. I believe that is why the two have formed such a bond, reaching the same conclusion from opposite extremes.”

“So, the forest itself is dangerous?”

“There is no danger to be found in this place...” Looking away, Satros stopped himself. Tarica sensed he had never meant to mislead her or tell an unintentional lie. “It is the safest place you can hope to be,” clarified the sailor. “Anyone harboring ill intent will find the tree line to be far more formidable than moats or mountains.”

Tarica rubbed the wood on the ship. “Even a mountain would be hard-pressed to stop a craft that can soar through the clouds.” They were entering Florena’s territory by air. If they could do it, so could Ordelas’s agents, given the right inspiration and resources.

“I have encountered my share of flying beasts tamed by your kind,” he informed her, following her thought process. “One might as well try to ride a tiger before one braves a griffin’s saddle. I must admit I was jealous of how your kind took dominion of the air. It was that very envy that spurred me to create this so we might truly fly unlike you.”

“What do you mean “truly fly?”

“You are in the air by the grace of another when by beast or sorcery,” he claimed. “A craft is an extension of the one that sails it, not a seperate being.”

“I am surprised you kept such a work a secret.”

“I can not share all the details with you but this project itself was not meant to be kept a secret. I announced its completion during the last Gathering but your king chose to storm away like he did before such discussions could be made. Malendar was not surprised to see it.”

“I see,” she acknowledged. That did explain a little. She thought she might have missed that part of their meeting where the Light Elf could have asked Satros why there was a ship floating above his palace.

“But returning to the matter at hand.” Satros became very serious. “I guarantee you, if we were a threat, her forest would find a way to bring us down. As it did the Doomlord himself.”

There was a difference between darklord and Doomlord. The Doomlord was destruction manifest. Though she never saw it, the fire of the Doomlord was said to make Ordelas’s sorcerous flames seem like candles. If Ordelas represented the flames that cast shadows, then the Doomlord’s was the grand celestial inferno that was the heart of every star.

She tried to enjoy her final days. As they passed through Queen Florena’s fabled haven, something grew on the horizon. A gigantic deciduous tree, unlike any other, stood in the center, and its branches reached up into the clouds surrounded by a blanket of foliage so dense that the land below it was not visible. The limbs of the tree stretched across the woodlands, casting shadows over the rest of the forest that dwelled underneath it. As they approached the branches of the Great Tree, still leagues from their final destination, Satros arrived at the bow of the ship with a cup of tea in each hand.

“Some tea to sooth your spirits?” the captain offered.

“Thank you.” As Tarica went to pick up the offered porcelain cup with two hands, she noticed Satros was only using one hand to pick his up by the handle with his little finger extended.

Tea was a human invention, what etiquette there was to it originated from human lands.

“Dark Elves have no love for this place,” she reminded him, voicing what festered in his mind as her heart beat faster at the horrific sight of such sickening green.

“This place has no love for Marine Elves,” Satros half jested as he slowly retracted his little finger and Tarica removed her left hand from the base.

In that moment, the two silently reached a strange compromise.

She sipped. The warm beverage was black tea with a distinct proportion of milk, sugar, and cinnamon.

She sipped again to savor it. “This is good.”

“It better be. We had it imported from Ihom,” he stated as he slowly drank.

Tarica eyed him. Ihom was on the west side of Occidtir, territory easier for her kind to reach than Satros’s. Was he offering something familiar for her sake?

“I prefer this tea,” he mused. “I received my first sample before it became so widespread. It still tastes best when grown in its home soil. Speaking of which, are you nervous now that we are near your homeland?” inquired Satros.

“I know what awaits me if I return. What bothers me is that I know so little about Florena. You are sending me where the bravest Dark Elven warriors fear to tread.”

If there was any place the Dark Elves feared, it was Florena’s domain. No campaigns into her forest ever ended in success, and many of Tarica’s kin had lost their lives there. The few Dark Elves who managed to escape recounted the horrors they had faced in the forest. In spite of the Dark Elves’ sacrifices and efforts, the area remained a mystery and became the place of nightmares. If not for the dire circumstances that would occur if she stayed with Malendar, Tarica would not have entered Florena’s forest. It was the only place Ordelas would never send someone he valued. At least she would be safe from her sisters, the ones that she feared more than her king.

“It is frightening, is it not?” He gestured to the view that others might call beautiful. “But that is only because we do not yet feel welcome. I imagine you felt welcome in Raven’s Hold when it’s doors might open for you.”

Tarica looked at her reflection in the liquid. “Indeed, I did,” she confessed solemnly.

“I have no good memories of Raven’s Hold until the day Ordelas was captured. Otherwise I would think those memories are of some nightmare where I found myself in hell.”

“But it was my home.” She sighed.

If to Satros, her people created hell, perhaps to others Florena created a paradise. However, even the sight of paradise must be intimidating if it’s gates were found barred and guarded.

“It was a battlefield for me,” he recalled with a faint edge, not directed towards. “I still resent whatever mind thought to shape what should be a dwelling place into a killing ground.”

“I know my people resent you for turning our home into a battlefield,” she informed him.

“I do not doubt that. But it was created to be a fortress.”

She neither confirmed or denied that truth and remained silent. They enjoyed their tea in silence.

Satros, nearly reaching the bottom of his cup, spoke. “To the ones that died,” he toasted as he poured it upon the vessel.”

Tarica gestured her cup to him and finished it. “And to those that remember.” She raised the cup above her head.

“Do not break that!” he exclaimed, recognizing the gesture.

Tarica lowered her hand and bowed her head. “My apologies.”

Instead of being angry, he laughed heartily. “I did not know Dark Elves adopted that custom.”

“One of my sisters liked it,” she stated with a sad smile at the memory of those that trusted her.

“One of your sisters did? I can least appreciate someone who learned something from others but but the cup for your next voyage. If you crave any adventure in your soul, you will undoubtedly wish to leave the idyllic forest after a few centuries. I will try to offer you safe passage to wherever you wish to go next.”

“I would appreciate that.”

He gave her a short nod. “Now then, if you will excuse me,” the king dismissed himself and turned to his crew. With a spark in his eye and spirit in his voice, Satros ordered, “Lower altitude!”

As soon as the captain opened his mouth, the sailors went to work. Tarica did not feel the difference at first. The skyship’s descent was so gradual that the only way she knew they had dropped in elevation was that the forest below appeared to be much closer.

Tarica remained at the bow of the ship while Satros took charge at the stern. She took her eyes off the scenery long enough to watch the transformation of the captain and his crew. The gleam in the captain’s eyes had passed on to the elves under his command.

With absolute authority and total assurance, Satros shouted naval terms that she was not familiar with. In turn, the expert sailors under his command followed his instructions without error. The crew reacted with precision and never deviated from their tasks. No longer just sailors, they had become an essential part of the vessel they guided.

Tarica had witnessed such behavior among soldiers. This was second nature to them, so they functioned as an integral part of the ship. As easily as one might breathe, the crew members followed their captain’s orders without blinking. Though their movements seemed mechanical and they only spoke to relay messages, she could tell they enjoyed it. During the activity, they became part of something greater than themselves. It was a confidence and security Tarica used to know.

The skyship was heading straight towards the Great Tree. The branches seemed like a wall, but there were occasional gaps. As the craft made its way towards the trunk, Tarica watched Satros steer between the lower branches.

The ship sliced through an open arch between the limbs and drifted into the canopy. The sun filtered through the swaying leaves like glistening stars and reminded Tarica of being underwater. The ship that knew only the freedom of the skies was suddenly submerged by the tree’s hold.

Within that ocean of greenery, giant branches grew all around them. The large, twisting vines resembled sea serpents and were equally dangerous to the craft. In the strange world of lush greenery, the Marine Elves carefully maneuvered the skyship like ordinary sailors who exercised caution when navigating through the icy waters of the north. To avoid getting snagged on the branches above and below, they drastically slowed the skyship’s speed.

They should have never been able to navigate through the maze, but somehow they did. Now and then they were surrounded by creaks and groans, but whenever it looked as if they had reached a dead end, they found just enough room to squeeze closer towards the trunk. When they reached their destination, Tarica felt as if the journey had ended a little too soon.

The Great Tree formed the main area of what would be Florena’s equivalent of a castle. Tarica, never being courageous or foolish enough to visit the forest realm until then, had not imagined how grand it truly was. The soil around the trunk was heaved up by the roots of the Great Tree, and Tarica looked down to see how the land underneath it had swollen into a large hill. Trees, which entwined their roots and sprouted from the Great Tree, would have been impressive had they not thrived underneath its immense shadow.

“This is your stop, my lady,” Satros announced like the charming adventurer he was proclaimed to be. Tree vines twisted and attached themselves to the skyship, forming a natural bridge. When Tarica walked across the swaying bridge, Queen Florena was there to greet her.

The queen was like no other elf Tarica had ever met. Florena wore a tightly fitted bodice and a long, gathered skirt that shimmered, but she let her thick red hair flow freely. Tarica could not imagine wearing such hindering garments. All the queen’s articles of clothing, which created the impression that she was a magnificent flower, were grown and fashioned just for her. Tarica was surprised that the queen could move, let alone walk so gracefully. Florena looked young, but the intensity of her countenance proved she had endured countless years. Tarica could tell she was sensible and lacked the spark of youthful naivety that Satros and Malendar possessed.

The queen extended her hand to Satros, and the sailor kissed it. Though he thanked her for safe passage, Satros seemed uneasy around Florena. For some reason, the anxious Marine Elf prepared to leave shortly after he had introduced Tarica to the queen.

“Do not forget!” he shouted across the distance as the bridge of vines unraveled to set the ship free. “Their names are Eliseo and Sinker!” After his words resonated through the branches, Satros went his way once again.

“Always quicker to leave than to stay,” the queen remarked after the sailor’s departure. Florena almost seemed hurt, though she shook her head and smiled as if she had heard something humorous.

Tarica gave her an inquisitive look. “He has always been like that?”

Florena’s smile grew a little wider. “Yes, he was not one to stay still even when he was sleeping. Staying in one place would be the death of him,” she said lightheartedly, and Tarica knew for herself that it was not a lie.

Tarica was a little saddened. “I was aboard his ship, but I did not ask him about his travels when I had the chance. I was hoping that he was different when he was younger.”

“Oh, he was,” responded Florena. “He was far more narrow-minded and held terrible grudges. Now the only person he seems to dislike is Ordelas...” She paused for a moment, realizing that she was talking to Tarica, a former servant of the main target of Satros’s ire.

“I can not imagine him being narrow-minded,” confessed Tarica as she watched the skyship disappear.

“He was that and more,” assured Florena. “But most importantly, he was willful. Unfortunately for him, so was I.”

“You knew each other well, then?” Tarica asked cautiously.

A nostalgic smile bloomed across Florena’s face, and she tilted her head towards her guest. “It is no secret. He wanted me to come with him on his first voyage, but I thought he was mad and refused. He set sail the very next day, and when one of his ships crashed on a reef, the debris washed ashore. For several centuries, I was convinced that he was dead. Later when a messenger came, proclaiming how Satros had established a new nation, I realized he had survived. By leaving our old homeland to live here, I did what he had hoped for all along. In the end, I suppose he won that little argument. I could not leave Satros to his own devices. If I did, he would probably level this forest to build more ships.”

Tarica looked out across Florena’s kingdom. It was truly splendid. Not even Satros’s precious skyship could justify its destruction, and the Dark Elves would have burned down the forest long ago. In that regard, she was thankful the queen had come from the homeland to advocate Ushua’s beauty. Even Tarica’s understanding of beauty had to acknowledge what she saw was somehow precious.

Florena took Tarica to a large room that was fashioned out of a knot of one of the upper branches of the Great Tree. The queen explained to her, “You can go anywhere you wish as long as you respect others and the laws of our forest. The main ideal that we live by is ‘all life is sacred.’ Do you agree to abide by our principles during your stay?”

Tarica nodded out of habit. She was overwhelmed with the oddity of everything. Malendar was a pacifist, but Florena somehow valued everything even more. It was challenging for Tarica to adjust to the environment around her. Opposed to her state of paranoia, Tarica could already feel the sense of calmness the place exuded. There were no buildings. Everything one might possibly need was provided by the plants.

“Good,” commented the queen as her dress, consisting of intricate vines and glistening leaves, swept the ground when she turned the corner. “There is plenty to eat here, so the taking of life is unnecessary. All I ask is, if you are hungry or wish to speak to someone, please tell us. We will be happy to attend to your needs.”

Sundown was approaching, so Florena pointed west through a hollow that served as a window, toward some trees with silver leaves. They were so high up in the sky that Tarica felt as if she could see the entire forest. She expectantly leaned forward while the queen stood behind her, quiet and composed. Tarica marveled when the entire forest glittered like tiny diamonds that danced in the wind at sunset.

The radiant sun was still something Tarica was not used to because the veiled sun of her native country never shined so brilliantly or provided such warmth. An odd tingling sensation stung her skin every time she felt its warm light. She understood why Ordelas hated the sunlight, but returning to the shelter of the veil was only a dream. She would eventually grow used to the new sky, where the stars of night hid behind the bright light of the day star.

The vibrant display of color reminded her of home, and her heart ached. She longed to return to Raven’s Hold and behold the five great towers of the noble palace. She felt a passionate desire to climb to the top of Angel’s Spire, just to see the cherry blossoms one more time.

She remembered how Ordelas had allowed her to linger on his balcony when the royal garden blossomed in splendor. Several times, he even tolerated her presence while he played his organ. She tried to push aside those memories, but she could not.

The sunset in Florena’s forest made the vision of cherry blossoms and their soft pink flurry seem pale in comparison. The forest was unending in contrast to the royal gardens, which were surrounded by buildings and streets. Still, she always felt a certain amount of pride and pleasure whenever she thought of home.

Tarica’s thoughts returned to the present, and she looked at nature’s sparkling display. She was clearly amazed by the sight, so Florena smiled at her and said, “Be sure to look toward the east at sunrise.” Tarica viewed Florena’s expansive dominion and knew there was so much more to see. She thanked Florena for her hospitality, and in her heart, she thanked Malendar for giving her such an undeserved second chance.