A Fair Account of the Traitors Snow White and Rose Red

The Last Crying Moon Elf

"Thank you, uh . . ." I pause. "Elvish fiend" just doesn't sound very dignified. "Pardon, but may I have your name?" My question seems to startle him. Several raspberries fall from the bark skin in his hands as he turns to face me.

"No," he says brusquely. "I was sold to the Green Guild before I earned mine. Children of the Crying Moon don't receive a name from our sacred groves until our eighth birthday. But all the pearl-leafed oaks have long since rotted, along with my clan. So I suppose I shall never receive one now."

As he leans forward and offers me his makeshift banquet, I accept a handful of raspberries without a single crack in my calm demeanor betraying the twisting turmoil inside me. I can't believe I'm casually dining with spawn of the Crying Moon! The warring clans of the elves were legion, but the Crying Moon's methods were uniquely brutal, slaughtering thousands with poison thorns that burrowed deep inside the body's organs and festered there. Yet, I find it strange that this frail-looking young man in rags is heir to all their dark menace.

"Why don't you choose your own name then?" I mumble through a mouthful of berries.

The elf lies lengthwise across a fallen log six feet away and closes his eyes. "Orchid Keeper Nine, 'Nonan' in the tongue of your scholars. That is how I am called on this wretched isle. But—" He pauses. "There was a mouser at the watchtower, a grey tomcat that used to shadow me when I was taken out to work in the fields. A guard used him as target practice last spring, so Jack's not using his name anymore. I think . . . I'll keep it for him."

"Jack?" I ask quietly. No answer. Orchid Keeper Nine had better get used to his newly chosen name. I clear my throat. "Jack!"

"Hmm?" He opens his eyes halfway and glances at me from the edge of sleep.

I blink. I can't get over the weird cat-like greenness of his eyes. "You're strong. Why do you need Snow's help?" I ask, cocking my head.

The elf sits up suddenly, crossing his legs and staring into his empty palms as if he's lost a world in each hand. "I am strong. But my secret will be out soon enough when the handlers come to fetch me, so I suppose there's no harm in telling you the truth: Firedrake is stronger than me—stronger than all my kind."

My brow furrows as I remember the vial of red powder that Captain Maroch and the physician had tried to force down Jack's throat. "But that's no poison, just a pricey Sarevali spice used in noblemen's dishes."

"For humans, perhaps," Jack mutters, his fists clenching so tightly that I can see the whites of his knuckles. "For elves it is death. Do you know how the Land of a Thousand Veils was lost?"

I nod mutely. Every child knows about Vel Chiliad, the misty isle of waterfalls at the heart of the Feylands. The lurid ballad of the fallen isle of the elves always fascinated me when I was younger; just not so much now that it's my homeland at stake.

"Your people warred over your territory until only two of the great elf clans remained, the Crying Moon and Pale Scythe," I say. "But verdai turned the soil against both clans, twisting your isle into a wasteland of poison fumes and barren woods that soon contaminated all the Feylands."

Jack laughs darkly, the moon catching the starling highlights in his messy thatch of hair as he shakes his head. "So that's the tale the Green Guild sells you humans? Nice story, but you're missing some chapters . . . there was still one grove of Crying Moon oaks standing tall when I was a child." He jabs his chest with a finger. "I was the first to see your guild messengers enter our clan's glade. They brought with them a marvel to grind our enemies into dust, a ruby powder that enhanced our verdai ten times over!"