The Awakening (First in the Dynasty Cycle)

Chapter Eight

Sixteen days, and three hours later Starla found herself sitting on the edge of a ledge, her legs dangling in the air. She was wearing a green, spun cotton dress with a crème colored bodice and a light gold braided belt that dangled down her front. At the moment, her skirts were up around her knees, and her velvet slipper clad feet were kicking slightly as she looked down what had to be thirty stories to the hard ground below her. She could see the people moving around below her like little ants, going about their daily business without a care in the world. Well, most likely they all had many a care, but all the way up here, so far away, she felt cold and detached.

A cool breeze picked up, whipping the strands of her dark as night hair across the face. It was going to be terribly tangled once she went back inside, but as she tried to tuck it back behind the ear, it was a losing battle. Behind her, the sound of shattering glass drew her attention to her bedroom, where Walter was glaring down at the broken vase that was lying in shards at his feet. His pale cheeks were flushed with anger, and his eyes were a clouded shade of blue. Sighing softly, she twisted her body around, pushing her legs back and touching her feet down lightly on the stone balcony.

“Walter, how wonderful to see you. Now what brings you to my room, or has the lowly vase insulted your honor?” She inquired lightly, taking care not to step on any glass as she reached for the broom that she’d started keeping for instances like this.

Sweeping the glass up, she tossed it into a small bucket, setting it outside the door to be taken away. Walter watched her with a dark expression, his arms crossed as he tugged at the sleeve of the tunic he was wearing. She could practically feel the frustration flowing off of him, like deep, dark thunderheads preceding a storm. Starla gazed back at him with a blank expression, mildly annoyed as he started pacing. What did he want? Why was he wasting her time?

“Don’t you dare give me that look! Damnit Starla, what the hell is happening to you?” He snarled, turning her face up to his.

His response was an emotionless stare.

“What are you doing here? I’m afraid I can’t stay and talk for long, you see His Majesty will be asking for me soon.” She brushed him off airily, sitting down at the vanity and running the brush through her hair.

It gave off a faint shine, no longer polished like onyx or obsidian, but simply dark and limp like soot. Her eyes, they were once as brilliant as Columbian emeralds, now they had the luster of beer bottles. She was distant, and to him fading fast, a shadow of her former self. It had begun two nights after they’d walked through the portal, after the first of many little interactions between herself and the king.

The king.

Walter’s lips turned up into a sneer, his pupils like little pinpricks. Turning away from his friend, he wracked his mind viciously as he tried to think of some way to reach his friend. The obvious solution would be to run away, back into the forest to try and find some path back home, but the way they were so heavily guarded made that seem impossible. That dog, Thamoir, seemed to be just around every corner, constantly watching him as he explored. There had been more than a few times when some human or another had been waiting in ambush for him throughout the days. Walter had learned quickly how to effectively use a sword in that time.

The idea of escape continued to nag at him, along with several inconsistencies of what he knew about elves. The ones that he encountered in this most human of civilization lacked the natural light to their features, and their eyes seemed devoid of the gentle shine of wisdom. To him, they were more like human souls in elvish bodies. The king himself had his hair cut short, and they all wore human clothes—corsets, thick petticoats, and flamboyant extras—than the simple, flowing clothing that he had expected. And the fact that they were living within the middle of a city, inside a stone castle…something was definitely not right.

“Starla, when does the narwhal bacon?” He asked suddenly, a question that—in this world—only he or she would get.

“What? What sort of riddle is that?” She snapped haughtily, setting her brush down and rising to her feet.

Walter just shook his head sadly, before turning away from her.

“When you remember the answer to that question, let me know. Until then, I shall remove myself from your presence, as I am sure you have much to do.” Bowing out, he left the room, lips pursed thoughtfully as he scratched at his chin.

How could he get rations, and supplies without anyone noticing? Already he’d been taking little things here and there, a knife nobody was using, a length of rope that had been left in the stables. After the first two attempted attacks, he had started carrying a sword at his hip at all times, and had managed to arrange for some practice with it. But then there was the question of where would they go? And how would they get there? The best bet would be to go back into the forest, but to go on foot would be suicide. Could he perhaps manage to steal some horses? More importantly, would Starla even want to leave with him?

Thoughts running a mile a minute, Walter didn’t even pause to give Thamoir his usual sneer when he made it down to the end of the hallway. He had figured out early on that the elf was following him, especially considering the fact that the other didn’t even make much of an attempt to hide it in the first place. So, ignoring the elf, he just kept walking as he tried to work things out. As per usual, he made his way to the gardens, which was quickly becoming one of his favorite places to think, mainly because it was the one of the few places outside he was allowed to be. Technically they were ‘guests’ but the king had suggested that they stay on castle grounds, as the wilderness beyond could be quite dangerous.

Pretty words, he thought sullenly, have a tendency to become quite bitter when whispered through prison bars.

Scratching his arm gently, the human pushed the small wooden door open that led to the outside, closing his eyes briefly when the smell of fresh flowers hit his nose, and sunlight poured onto his face. A sense of peace washed over him, and he took to doing what he normally did when he was trying to think. Well, no what he normally did was play video games, but since that was impossible he began pacing. His thoughts slowly began to settle out, and a plan started to form in the deepest parts of his subconscious.

Walter Stevens was a special kind of human, by anyone’s standards. His mind was that of a soldier, always planning and strategizing, working on a track that was hard for many people to follow. He came to conclusions in a very straight forward way, and when he entered a room his first instinct was to register the strengths and weaknesses of it. He played games like Call of Duty, and Medal of Honor, and by the age of thirteen had The Art of War memorized. When he was younger he would play long term campaign games. Now, at eighteen he was the leader of a small paintball team, and a ruthless opponent.

So, as he pondered his options, and a plan began to form, he was more than ready for it, and immediately began to pluck and pick, to run through it and work at it with a fine toothed comb so that there would be little chance for mistake. He stayed in the garden for hours it seemed, dragon flies flitting past him with birds hot on their tails, searching for a meal. His guard grew weary, simply sitting and waiting, and moved himself off to another area in search of more entertaining things. Walter smirked at that, remaining as he was, pacing along a row of posies. As Sun Tzu says, “If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant.”

After he was most certain he was no longer being watched by Julian’s men, he slipped out of the gardens and to the horse stables. He was not expressly forbidden to go there, but if he was caught, he would need a viable excuse as to why he was there…

Already Walter Stevens had moved his mind to another topic—to creating an alibi—unaware that a set of silver eyes was following him so expertly that very few would even know.

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(a/n: Well, I realize it has been way more than a week since my last upload, sorry about that. School definitely sucks this quarter. To make up for it, I will try to get another upload done sometime this week, and then things can hopefully go back to their sunday schedule. I hope you enjoy this, though it is kind of a filler chapter.)

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