alcove
by Tessi.
Beneath the Willow Tree
Chapter 7 - Breaking pottery
“Seraphina, my heart,” The High Liege enunciated, looking past Leander and towards Sephy, “Come.”
Sephy’s hands were shaking. Nico’s shock shattered when she noticed, and she instantly wrapped her fingers around Sephy’s and brought her closer, both of them hidden by Leander. The High Liege clicked his tongue.
“If what you claim is true. . .” Leander started, holding his voice leveled. “Then you were the one who abandoned Sephy when she was two years old. When we thought her parents had died.”
“It’s an Elferi custom,” The High Liege replied, simply, “I do not have control over it.”
Without thinking, Nico let out a low, bitter laugh at that. She was surprised when Leander stepped back in response, covering her even more.
“You left her, is all I’m hearing,” Leander continued. “And now, what? What are you attempting to accomplish here, elf?”
The High Liege sighed, seemingly exhausted rather aware of the terror his sole presence imposed. The villagers were still dumbstruck in fear. Nico was cowering behind Leander. And it didn’t matter how boldly the alchemist presented himself—from this up close, Nico could see his leg bouncing just slightly.
The atmosphere felt cold, as though they had all forgotten their coats in the midst of a harsh winter. Nico understood then, some of the animosity humans harbored for elves, when Elferi power could so readily command their fright.
“Unquestionably, I am here to take her back,” The High Liege said, sucking the oxygen out of the air around him. “I have earned her trust throughout the years with treats and delicacies from Elferi, accustoming her body to them. Now I have also earned her personal trust, by taking her with me to see the Weeping Willow Tree. My final step, evidently, is to take her back to Elferi with me.”
There was dreadful silence swirling through the village, an unnatural sense of quietness that made Nico half want to scream, no matter that she had never done so before. The world stood still and awaited the horror, and the despair, and the absolute inability to forbid the inevitable—
“Fat chance you are!”
That—Olivia?
Everyone whipped their heads around to look at Olivia when she stood from the steps and pointed a finger accusatorily at the High Liege. “You’re going to take her back? Yeah, right. You’re big, strong guy, but you’re not fifty people. You abandoned her when she was a child and, what, now you suddenly want her? Tough luck. She’s ours. Find another.”
Olivia was crazy. Nico was sure of it.
The High Liege blinked, flabbergasted. Evidently, he’d expected many things, but for a human girl to scold his choices hadn’t been a part of the list.
Of course, soon enough, he recovered. And the temporary moment of clarity provided by Olivia’s outburst shattered into thousands of pieces, for within a moment the High Liege had closed the distance between them and grabbed Olivia by her face, lifting her off the ground. She yelled in pain, and several of the villagers surged forward, sprung into action by the sound.
Roots shot up from the ground and shielded the High Liege, forcing the villagers back. Leander started to step forward, Sephy screamed.
And Nico realized she wouldn’t have anything to come back to if she kept her disguise any longer.
She knelt and dug her fingers into the earth until her knuckles disappeared. Her eyes closed, and she breathed in, letting the village grounds seep into her skin.
One of the roots holding the villagers back revolted, snapping towards the High Liege—like a whip, it collided against his back, and he howled in response, dropping Olivia to the ground forcefully. Immediately, the villagers reached for her, cradling her in their arms and pulling her away. The High Liege whipped his head back, and before Leander could move enough to conceal Nico, his gaze met hers, unyielding, furious.
She barely managed to pull her hand from the earth before a wave of thorns closed itself on the spot she’d been touching. Nico rose, midnight hair following her like a trail, and watched the High Liege raise his hand and close it in a fist. In response, the ground underneath her feet melted like scorching butter, and her feet sank until it all solidified again, rooting her in place. Unable to run.
She was done for. There was no escaping this—no escaping a High Liege's rage, let alone his power. She saw him step forward, helplessly looking around, willing nature to help. And yet, every attempt was crushed. Every root struggling to meet her was snapped in half, every flower beginning to bloom in her direction immediately withering. He was far more powerful.
She stood no chance.
Then her view of him was covered—by the sight of Leander's back.
"No," She whispered. Then, louder, reaching forward, "Leander, no, get out of this way—"
"Never."
"You're not being brave!" She yelled. "You're being stupid! You'll get killed!"
He looked back at her for a moment only. He was so afraid. She could read it all over him. And yet, "No one in this village dies on my watch.”
Nico’s eyes welled up with tears. How odd. Those emotions, overwhelming her, were so unusual. She wanted to claw her way out of the earth if it meant saving Leander. She wanted to magically discover hidden powers which made her an equal foe to the High Liege. There was so much she wanted.
The High Liege stood before Leander.
“Move,” He ordered, and it felt like thunder.
And in the face of the storm, Leander said, “No.”
The High Liege struck Leander so hard he was thrown to the ground with an exclamation of pain, and Nico’s chest felt like it was about to split. She couldn’t see anything beyond the most powerful elf she had ever encountered and the pathway of destruction he was capable of causing. She tried to reach for Leander, but the High Liege nudged him out of the way—with his foot, like he was nothing but a bundle of clothes thrown to the dirt standing in his way.
“What do you expect?” Nico asked, her voice coming out shaky, cracking and tearing at the seams. The High Liege stepped closer, and now she could see the constellations framing his cheekbones and nose like terrifying freckles, sprinkled by exploding stars. “Do you expect that knowing that abandoning your child is a custom will make it so she forgives you? And then, what? When she’s older, and she has her own children, will you encourage her to abandon them too? What is wrong with our people, and why do powerful creatures like you condone and justify it?”
“What a sad little elf,” he said. His voice was calm, nearly bored. He stepped to the side, and Nico flinched, but all he wanted was to show her. . . the villagers. Standing there, staring at the High Liege as if he were a monster.
No, she realized. Not only the High Liege. She was all out of potion now. They were looking at her like that too.
“All you’ll ever be to them is an undecipherable outerworld sort of being,” The High Liege said. “And for them, you attack your own kind. You behave like one of them, and yet you will never belong amongst them. Elferi is your place, as well as Seraphina’s, and the faster you all realize how much easier everything would be if everyone just stuck to their pla—”
He was cut off. Not by magic, this time, no. By the loud, undeniable crack of a pottery cup colliding against a skull.
His skull.
And standing at the steps leading to Nico’s estate was Penelope, panting, her elegant hair wild and her young features twisted in a mingle of anger and panic. Her shirt was folded in on itself, and she was carrying Nico’s pottery cups in it like an improvised bag.
“Let her go,” Penelope gritted out.
The High Liege seemed to be deciding on whether he should end her life now or after he was done with Nico—but while he decided, Mrs. Astoria stepped towards her daughter. Penelope shrunk, as though afraid to be punished. Instead, her mother reached into the bundled-up cups, pulled one herself, and threw it.
The High Liege dodged it, but not without looking absolutely astonished at their audacity.
And then the weirdest, most unreasonable, incredibly human thing happened.
The other villagers, encouraged by those displays of boldness, began to pick up rocks, twigs, branches, anything else they could find on the ground—and throw it towards the High Liege. At the houses around them, where the other villagers who weren’t involved earlier should have been sleeping, lights went on, and ceramics and glasses and furniture began flying from the windows.
“LET HER GO!” Mrs. Astoria screamed.
“Yeah! Let her go!” Olivia stood forward, despite holding her own arm and still looking terrified.
“Who do you think you are? Let her go!”
“Let her go, you monster!”
Nico had entered some sort of dreamlike state, in which all of a sudden the entire village began to attack the High Liege, and slowly, while his stunned reaction morphed into annoyance and then into the dreadful realization that he was not, in fact, invincible to objects being thrown violently at his body, the ground underneath Nico’s feet gave purchase, and she was finally able to move away.
She rushed to help Leander up, his demeanor stunned, apparently as shocked as she was at the sight of the revolt. Then, in a moment of split madness, he began to laugh, and while she supported his weight, he leaned against her, the warmth of his body far more comforting than any coffee beans she’d ever ground.
“Why are you laughing?” She asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
“What do you mean, why am I laughing? What is this?” He asked, then continued to laugh as he looked back at the villagers throwing objects endlessly against the High Liege. Meanwhile, the High Liege himself dodged and lifted roots and did his very best not to suffer the deep humiliation of ending up injured by human trinkets.
If Nico were an artist, she would pick up a brush, melt ink out of the earth, and immortalize this moment in a canvas.
Finally, the High Liege’s patience wore thin. He turned, abruptly headed for Nico, as though she was the cause of his distress and vexation. Nico and Leander fussed, each trying to shield the other, although Nico knew it was foolish for Leander to even try if the High Liege wanted her. Villagers attacking or not, he was still plenty capable of snapping her neck like a twig if he so wished. And, judging by the look on his face. . . well, he so wished.
Then a rock hit the High Liege’s chest, and he stopped. It wasn’t a big rock—just a jagged, rough thing the size of a human fist. It must not have even dented a stain in his clothing. It was not the rock, per say, which halted his purchase, but the hands from which it had been thrown.
“Leave Nico alone,” Sephy demanded, her voice quivering, her eyes glistening with tears, and a stance that highlighted the thing the High Liege had immediately realized—it had been her. His own daughter. She’d attacked him too. “Everyone’s telling you to leave Nico alone. You said you weren’t going to hurt anyone!”
Everything in the air had shifted. The villagers had stopped their hurling of glasses and cutlery, Nico and Leander had quit their fussing, and the High Liege stood as still as time moments before an explosion, motionless and frozen in anticipation of the burst.
“Every time you gave me the treats, you said you only wanted to see me happy!” Sephy continued. Her words shook as they poured out of her mouth, and Nico resisted the overwhelming urge to take her in her arms and protect her from everything. The entire village entered a suspended state where the only thing that mattered were the words from the girl they’d saved from abandonment, regardless of the moral methods they’d attained it from, so many years ago. “And when you took me to the Willow Tree, you said you wanted to be friends! You said you’d never touch my family!”
“I am your family,” The High Liege snarled.
“NO!” Sephy shouted, and her entire little body trembled with it. “No! Grandpa holds me when I’m sick! Olivia brings me toys! Penelope doesn’t even like kids, she doesn’t know how to hide it, but she lets me borrow her teacups every time I want to play with them! Leander scolds me because he loves me!”
At each word the High Liege lost color, draining from his eyes, his skin, his hair. At each word he became less elemental and more tangible. At each word he realized, of all the elf children in the world, he’d given life to the one who wouldn’t stand for being left behind—not because she was special, but because she’d learned the one thing the others hadn’t. What it meant to have a real, present, chosen family.
“And Nico!” Sephy screamed. Nico felt it in her bones. “Nico just got here! But Nico gives me treats, too! It’s not just you! And Nico’s standing up to you! And all you want to do is hurt her! You promised you wouldn’t hurt anyone!”
She stopped, wailing, the weight of being a child buried under the responsibility of understanding the world differently sinking in now.
“I don’t want to be your friend anymore!” She declared, loud and clear, and the High Liege took a step back. As if he’d been struck in the chest—this time, not by a small rock, but by a boulder.
At the look on his face, Sephy began to cry even harder. Nico started to step forward, but she was outrun by Leander. In one moment, he was crouched next to Sephy, wrapping his arms around her and letting her small frame dismantle itself upon him. His hand held the back of her head, and Nico watched his face dip forward so he could speak gently to her.
Nico’s heart felt like it was about to burst.
The High Liege watched Leander’s comfort of Sephy in eerie silence. The village held its breath for so long it began to suffocate. Then, finally, a voice cut through, allowing them to breathe again.
“Would any of you like to know how I knew her name was Seraphina, although I thought her parents were dead?”
It took Nico several moments to recognize that voice—to even fathom who might have spoken. And then she looked up and saw Mr. Eldric. He was leaning against the estate’s doorframe, his eyes weary yet mellow.
She could count on one finger, the number of times she’d heard him speak before. Mr. Eldric’s presence provided soothing safety in itself; there was no need for words, most of the time. Yet now, when no one else would. . .
“She had a note stuck to her little finger,” Mr. Eldric confessed.
Nico frowned and looked at the High Liege. Every other villager did the same, with the exception of Leander’s, whose head lifted from Sephy’s hair but no further than that. The High Liege glared at Mr. Eldric as though studying which better way to dispose of his body, although now, judging by the lack of attitude in his posture, Nico doubted he’d be willing to do as much as lift a finger. Sephy had drained the power out of him.
And then it hit Nico. The one, dreadful realization she’d postponed considering her entire life. The notion she refused to believe—the words she’d be enraged to hear spoken aloud.
That elves, even in their abandonment, were still capable of caring for their children.
For, if the High Liege didn’t truly harbor affection for his daughter, how would her protests have the power to render him speechless and motionless? Him, a being so powerful nature yielded at his command?
“The note said,” Mr. Eldric continued, “‘Her name is Seraphina. May she be strong and loved.’”
Chapter 8 - Unlikely love
The morning of the fair, Nico had been incredibly excited.
Her parents had never allowed her to join them at the Elferi fair before. She thought this meant she’d become a grown-up, and now they could afford to do grown-up things together. She could aid her mother in hunting. She could tend the pastures with her father. They would be such a happy family.
Prior to leaving the house, however, her mother pulled her aside and hugged her. Five-year-old Nico giggled and hugged her back, murmuring, “I’m an adult elf now, mother!”
She thought she’d heard her mother’s voice bleed when she replied, “Not yet, baby. But soon you will be.”
At the fair, unknowingly, she was the one to make her parents’ jobs easier. She saw a booth selling sugar-coated fruits and felt her eyes sparkle and her mouth water. She released her mother’s hand to run towards it—but only for a moment. The next second she remembered herself, laughed at her own foolishness—she should bring her mother, of course, her mother would love sugar-coated fruits—but by the time she turned, her mother was gone.
So was her father.
There were no bustling streets. The crowds were thin, manageable. Initially, she’d begun to wail, believing she’d gotten lost from her parents. Eventually an adult elf approached and tapped her shoulder.
“Stop crying,” He said.
“I lost my mother and father!”
“No, you didn’t.”
She’d cried harder. “Yes, I did! I lost my mother and father!”
“Child,” He spoke, his voice harsh, and lowered himself to be on eye-level with her. “You didn’t get lost. They didn’t get lost. They left you. This is what it means to be an elf. You cannot develop your power and your strength and your identity as an elf if all you do is stick to the hem of your mother’s dress or the callouses on your father’s hands.”
She’d thought, weirdly, that those words were all wrong—her mother didn’t own many dresses, and her father’s hands were smooth like a baby’s. Then, slowly, realization of what he’d meant was absorbed into her skin, lodged between her bones, and made sure she never doubted once again that she had been deliberately abandoned.
Because that was what Elferi was like.
And yet, so many years later, Nico stood at the side and watched Mr. Eldric recite a tale he must have mistaken for something else—he must have. Because otherwise that would mean the High Liege had loved Sephy and abandoned her anyway. And what did that mean for Nico?
What did that say about her parents? And now that they were both dead—a fact she had neither rejoiced or mourned for—how was she to know?
It was then Nico’s turn to cry.
She did not cry the same way Sephy did. Teardrops formed slowly, gathered at her eyelids, slipped soundlessly down her cheekbones, trickled onto the earth below her feet. She felt gentle sprouts of flowers circling her ankles, an odd sort of comfort, and she let out a quiet laugh through the tears.
She looked up at the estate. Her parents' estate. Left for her—for they could not find use for it, she’d thought originally. But how would she ever know now? And, worst of all, if part of her was allowed to believe they might have loved her after all, what of the grief that would come with it?
“Don’t cry, Nico.”
Nico blinked, surprised. She hadn’t noticed Sephy coming to stand in front of her, looking up with tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes herself. Leander stood just to the side, his gaze tender on her face.
Another laugh escaped Nico’s lips. She lifted a hand slightly to wipe at the tears on Sephy’s face. “I’m not crying because I’m sad, Sephy. I’m crying because I’m happy you were always loved.”
She then looked up higher, at the High Liege. He’d nearly blended into the village’s scenery, unable and quite unwilling to even breathe in their presence.
And as though Nico could speak to her parents through him, she said, “Your love should have outweighed your pride and your sense of cultural responsibility. Your love for her should have been the greatest, most overpowering part of your existence.”
The High Liege frowned. “You don’t know—”
“If someone as powerful as you won’t question the cruelty of it, who will? If no one starts to break the cycle, how will it ever end?” Nico continued, shaking her head. Her voice was softer than usual; however, it carried around them, held gently by the wind. “You love her. But you were also a coward, and a bad parent. And you are not her family. You cannot waltz in here and hope to undo all of that hurt by simply saying so.”
“I am her father,” He spoke, and to Nico’s surprise, his voice broke at the last word.
Nico swallowed. “And perhaps one day she will call you family—when you show her that you being her father means something other than that your blood runs in her veins. For that is not enough.”
A fierce gale swirled over the air around them, and Nico shrunk a little in response, but the High Liege did not move. His face was impenetrable. She couldn’t have read the look on his eyes no matter how deeply she studied it. She couldn’t have read his mind even if she had the power to read others’.
The High Liege, at last, looked down at Sephy.
“Do you not want to be my friend anymore?” He asked quietly.
If at all possible, Nico’s heart broke.
Sephy looked up at Nico, then back at the other villagers—Olivia, Penelope, Mrs. Astoria, Leander. Mr. Eldric. As if wordlessly asking for their permission. As if silently pleading for them to say they wouldn’t be mad at her if she truly did still want to be this elf’s friend.
Each of them nodded at her with a small, tired smile.
Sephy looked up.
“You can’t hurt anyone anymore,” She grumbled.
Nico watched, in awe, as the High Liege let out a breath. “Yes. You have my word.”
“And you have to bring me more sweets.”
This time he altered the rotation of the world—he laughed. From his lips slipped out a laughter so awkward and stiff, Nico knew in a heartbeat it didn’t happen often.
“Yes, I will bring you more sweets.”
Sephy hmphed. “Very well!” She said. Nico’s lips curled up. Then Sephy glanced back at her and whispered, “That’s right, right? ‘Very well’?”
Nico smiled and wiped at her own tears. “Yes, it’s right, Sephy.”
“Good! Very well! I will be your friend then!”
Chapter 9 - See you later, Mr. Evil Elf
Books had a certain appeal to Nico while she was under orders from the potion brewer, for at times she delighted herself in escaping into other creature’s skins and experiencing different lives. Many times, in those stories she read, great confrontations happened, and soon after the people would dissipate and move on with their lives.
The one thing the books did not mention was how devastatingly—and quite frankly, ridiculously—awkward it was to dissipate when you finished the fight at a reluctant peace agreement with your enemy.
“So, um.” Olivia began. Many of the villagers had already started to leave, as soon as they realized there was no great threat anymore, and some of the lights on the houses went out again. A smaller group gathered tighter. “Mr. Evil Elf?”
The High Liege peered at her with annoyance.
“The exit to the village is that way,” She said, simply.
The others gasped.
“Olivia!” Mrs. Astoria reprimanded.
“What?” Olivia asked, blinking and raising her arms in surrender. “He’s not our friend now, is he? I’m just telling him to leave!”
“You can’t just tell people to leave! It’s not polite!”
“He tried to hurt me, what, ten minutes ago? And you threw a cup at his head, Mrs. Astoria!”
“She didn’t,” Penelope chimed in, “I did. Hers didn’t land.”
“Oh, you’re so clever, Penelope. Truly, my beautiful daughter. Shut up when adults are speaking.”
At some point, while they bickered, the High Liege left. Nico only noticed it herself when turning her face to laugh. Sephy was now standing next to Mr. Eldric, chubby fingers holding onto his coat, a happy smile on her face that contrasted beautifully with the evident tearstreaks left on her cheeks. It seemed, whatever the High Liege had taken from their absurd night, his final decision was to comply with Sephy's terms in order to be her friend.
“Hey, Nico?” Olivia’s voice brought Nico back to the present, and her friend’s curious eyes were now. . . roaming her face. Oh. Of course. “You’re. . .”
She braced for the worst. “An elf, yes.”
“Your skin is grey.”
Nico huffed out a quiet, perplexed laugh. “Silver.”
“No, I’m pretty sure this is grey.”
“It’s silver!”
They exchanged a quiet, comfortable moment of silence amidst the joking, and Olivia stepped forward to hug her. Then Mrs. Astoria joined in, and Nico saw her pull Penelope along, her teenage daughter groaning softly but joining in regardless. And Nico’s chest had never felt so full—and in her mind, she had never belonged so deeply anywhere before.
She wanted this forever.
Slowly they untangled themselves and began discussing the logistics from now on. For all they knew, now their village had two elves! Of course, Sephy was only half-elf—and they had no idea about Mr. Eldric—but surely that made them incredibly special. And could Nico help their neighbors grow their tomatoes? The weather wouldn’t help, and yet she could just bring things out of the earth, and it seemed like such a waste not to utilize her abilities. . .
While the crowd spread, Nico felt the slight touch of a hand ghosting over her waist, and she barely had the time to react before Leander leaned in and murmured, “Well done, you disastrous girl.”
By the time she came to, he’d stepped away, the phantom of his touch burning through her. Her entire face dipped in red, and her gaze followed him as he walked into his house with wide eyes and a pounding heart.
No. No, no, no, absolutely not—
The End.
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Love, Tessi.