Girl of Iron and Magic

33.

33.
5 YEARS BEFORE THE WAR

When Lotte was twelve she was too old to play games with the little Lottes in the abandoned lot in the factory district. Instead, she was invited to sit on the pile of broken concrete slabs in the back of lot together with the other teens. Those interactions consisted mostly of banter, and Lotte laughed politely on her own on the side.

She felt very awkward. Not just there, but all the time. She felt awkward with how long her legs suddenly became and the new curves of her body. The worst of it was telling Poe when things got...complicated.

Of course, Lotte didn't live under a rock, so she knew what was happening. It just felt like she preferred to die over talking about it with Poe.

It was a time when she wanted to be with him less, and he allowed her to take the tram to the factory district alone to be with the other Lottes when she wasn't studying.

She envied them for always living near one another and having each other.

"Sylvar, you have legs like a ballerina," a boy named Rej said.
And that was when it started.

They thought her name was Sylvarnan, of course. Lottes weren't allowed to have names, according to the law, but no one followed that.

Rej was fourteen. He had a heart-shaped face and long lashes, curls that toppled down his cheeks and a smile that was as bright as a summer afternoon. He was everybody's friend, and always said things the moment they came to mind.

Everyone laughed at his comment, but Lotte just blushed.

"She does," he insisted, looking confused at his friends' reaction.

"Nine gods, you're so random," said Frida.

"Rej's the king of randomness," Lark agreed.

Rej raised his chin up regally. "At least I'm the king of something."

They all laughed, Lotte too. She laughed harder than anyone.

And later, she thought of Rej, even in her dreams. She started a journal, where she wrote his name again and again. It started out as a flutter, and developed into a tidal-wave. He was on her mind whenever her brain wasn't doing anything in particular.

It hurt to pine for him, and it was embarrassing and also a little bit thrilling.

She didn't like it when they called her Sylvar. That wasn't her name, it was what elven guardians called their charges. She didn't want them to call them Lotte either. For them, who were all Lotte, that would just be weird.

"Why can't I have a name?" Lotte asked Poe during dinner one time.

"It's better that you don't."

"Why is it better?"

Poe put down his fork and twined his fingers together. "You are not like other Lotte," he said. "Caivis is the most versatile and powerful magical ability in the world. There will always be someone determined to own us."

"Does anyone own you?"

Poe sighed, leaning back into his chair and looking away. Lotte had learnt, over the years, to recognise when some things put Poe in a dark mood. They were few, and far between, but this was a sensitive subject. "I am owned by the Talmil."

The Talmil, Lotte knew, was the closest thing the elves of Lasuran had for a ruler. The Talmil was chosen by the elders, that's all Lotte knew.

"For now," he said. "She has allowed me to stay here."

"Do you have a name?" Lotte asked, even though she knew the answer.

"I can't tell you my name."

She sighed. All these closed doors and hidden truths, they were getting on her nerves. Sometimes she got so angry, it became hard to choose to love.