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Slaughtering some of us with the element of surprise is easy enough, but in an open war, the commons would suffer, and die by our hands. They must see that. If Hel's presence hadn't held me back, I would have killed anyone standing within half a mile simply by manipulating the temperature around me, and I'monedemi. With enough time to prepare and spells at the ready, they don't stand a chance. "That's not how you get change."
"No, it's not," she agrees, to my relief. "But I was there at the council. Zale."
I don't think she’s called me by name before, not once. I feel it to my bones.
"I was there today during the council session. How your kind speak of the rest of us…it's disgusting. Our welfare isn't even discussed. You talk of us like we're nothing but silly pets who can't understand anything. That's what started the violence. Not the commons. Your indifference."
I don't answer because for my part at least, she's right.
I have been indifferent to commons. Worse than indifferent—willfully neglectful.
A few dozen of them wronged me and if I ever thought of the suffering of their kind, it was with pleasure. I can't even say I've had a change of heart toward the mortals in general. Any difference in me was brought on by the woman by my side, and if I want to help, it's for her sake more than theirs.
"After we get out of this mess and return home, you can sit on my council and ensure those matters are discussed. You can even present them to the next session, after the Hall of Peace is rebuilt."
Hel huffs. "Like anyone will listen to me."
"I'll make them listen."
I don't think she believes me, but I mean every word.
Valina was right. I'm not the kind of person who can think for an entire realm, especially one as vast and diverse as mine. I lack the empathy. What I can do is follow the lead of someone who actually has a beating heart.
We watch the sunset in the distance, hidden behind a thick cloud of smoke. The city stinks of ashes. There's no longer any ruckus to be heard, which means the rebels have had their fill of slaughter for now, and in the silence, my kind is preparing to retaliate.
"Come on."
Hel climbs down the side of the building and crosses the street to a smaller house with a blue door she pushes through with her shoulder.
The weak wood gives in at the first shove. She winces and rubs her arm.
"Next time, let me be the muscles, m'kay?" I walk into the small space. "At least for my ego."
She snorts, locking the door again. "There's a trick to that door, you have to shove and push upward at the same time."
How does she know that?
I look around, and I know immediately.
The room's tidy and an utter mess all at once—the surfaces are bare, but the shelves are full of potions ingredients and books, so…
“This is your house.”
The open space serves as a kitchen, library, and dining room, cluttered and charming. The plywood shelves are painted a cheerful blue with flowers and mushrooms drawn along the side.
The entire thing could fit seven times in my entry hall.
“Grandma Lyn’s.” She thinks a moment. “Well, I suppose it is my house. She died earlier this summer.”
I can feel, just from this room, and the mixture of sadness and nostalgia in her weak smile, that she was loved here.
“I should give it away.”
“Why?”
“I don’t need it, and some family could use a roof over their head for winter.” It's as simple as that for Hel. She'd give up this place where she grew up simply because it will help someone. I can't even begin to comprehend such selflessness.
She gets busy, full of nervous energy, shuffling pots and pans until she gets some water on the ancient gas stove.
