Page 63 of Dark Elf Makes Five

The equus beneath us shifts restlessly as we approach the district, where proper buildings give way to ramshackle structures that serve the merchants and traders who pass through town. Smoke rises from a few chimneys, signs of life in this otherwise desolate area.

Zerion's posture changes suddenly, his body going rigid behind me. I follow his gaze and spot what caught his attention—a set of stables tucked between two warehouses, with a wagon sitting in the yard.

My heart thunders against my ribs while I take in the details. The same canvas covering, the same iron-reinforced wheels we've been tracking since the estate. A tired-looking equus stands hitched to the front, methodically working through a bucket of feed while a young zagfer tends to its harness.

Zerion raises his hand in a silent signal, and our guards spread out in a loose formation that blocks the stable's exits without appearing overtly threatening. The boy hasn't noticed us yet, too focused on his work to pay attention to approaching riders.

The zagfer looks up as we approach, his large eyes widening at the sight of Zerion's imposing figure and the armed guards flanking us. He can't be more than fourteen, all gangly limbs and nervous energy.

"You there," Zerion calls, his voice carrying just enough authority to command attention without sounding threatening. "That wagon—when did it arrive?"

The boy's pointed ears twitch as he glances between us and the vehicle in question, clearly weighing his options. Smart enough to recognize nobility when he sees it, but young enough to still consider lying.

"Three hours ago, maybe four," he finally admits, setting down his grooming brush with caution. "Right before dawn. Woke me up with all their shouting and carrying on."

"Were there children?" I demand, impatient even as Zerion runs a hand down my arm to steady me.

The zagfer nods, his expression growing more wary as he takes in my disheveled appearance and the mud still clinging to my borrowed cloak.

"Two boys and a girl, yeah. The little one was yelling something fierce until one of the men told 'em to shut it." His face scrunches with distaste at the memory. "Rough types, the lot of them. Didn't tip me nothing for tending their equus neither."

Relief floods through me so suddenly that my vision swirls like an ocean wave. They're alive. Whatever else has happened, my siblings were alive and conscious just hours ago.

"Which direction did they go?" Zerion asks, reaching into his coat.

The boy points toward a narrow street that winds deeper into the warehouse district, where the buildings grow more decrepit and the shadows thicker.

"That way, toward the old fish market. Said something about meeting someone at the docks, but I wasn't really listening."

Zerion produces three daler from his purse and tosses them to the zagfer, whose eyes go wide as saucers when the coins land in his palm. More money than he's probably seen in months.

"Good lad. But you never saw us," Zerion says simply.

The boy nods so vigorously I worry he might hurt his neck, clutching the coins like they might disappear if he loosens his grip.

We spur our herd quickly, urgency driving us forward as we head in the direction the zagfer indicated. The street narrows between towering warehouses, their walls closing in on either side like a funnel leading us deeper into the maze of abandoned commerce.

The warehouses stretch endlessly before us, their broken windows and sagging roofs creating a labyrinth of possibilities. My chest tightens as I take in the sheer number of buildings, each one a potential hiding place for my siblings. Tears blur my vision despite my efforts to stay strong.

"There's so many of them," I whisper, trying to keep my voice low even as despair threatens to overwhelm me. "How do we know which one? They could be in any of these buildings, and by the time we search them all..."

My voice cracks on the last words. We're so close I can almost feel Bran's protective presence, hear Lysa's nervous chatter, see Tobin's defiant scowl. But close means nothing when they could be behind any of these dozens of doors.

"We'll search every single one if we have to." Zerion's voice carries absolute certainty, as if he's stating a simple fact rather than making a promise. "We're not leaving until they're safe."

His gloved hand captures my chin, forcing me to meet his pale grey eyes. The intensity there stops my spiraling thoughts cold—not just determination, but something fiercer. Something that makes my breath catch.

"Look at me, sweet." His thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn't realize had fallen. "Those men made a mistake when they trespassed on my property. They took what belongs to me because they thought it would give them leverage."

His voice becomes a whisper, but the quiet words carry more menace than any shout.

"They should have known better. They should have understood that I will stop at nothing to ensure their safety. Nothing."

I nod, but his words echo strangely in my mind. They took the children to get to him. Not to hurt me, not for ransom—they wanted to manipulate Zerion through his connection to us. The realization sits heavy in my stomach, adding guilt to the fear already churning there.

Movement catches my eye before I can dwell on the implications. A scrap of blue fabric pokes out from beneath one of the warehouse doors, barely visible in the morning shadows.

"There!" I gasp, pointing with a trembling finger. "That's from Tobin's shirt—I mended that tear just last week!"