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There's very little technology to be seen in this house, not even an electric kettle. I see light switches along the wall panels, but Hel chooses to light a candle instead.
"Anything I can do to help?"
She shoots me an evaluating glance, as if wondering what I'd be good for. It’s a valid question. I have seldom warmed my own water, but the rare times I did, it wasn't on an antique set-up. If she gives me a task, I'm not certain I'll be qualified to complete it.
"There should be an old e-stone upstairs, in the larger bedroom." She doesn't sound certain. "See if you can find it to send a message to your people. They could land n hovercraft nearby to get you back to Ravelyn."
I don't miss how she pointedly excludes herself.
The narrow staircase, immured under a low ceiling, gives me an uncomfortable sense of encasement, though I've never been claustrophobic—or perhaps I've just never had to stand in so small a space before. I skip two or three steps at a time to get upstairs faster, arriving in a corridor ending in a pink door, with a yellow one to the side.
I open the latte, first, and take in everything, from the small cot, to the tidy, cramped bookshelves. There's a plushie shaped like a black-winged dragon gathering dust on a small desk.
I can't imagine Helyn in here, though it must have been her room, once. She's comfortable in one of the greater courts, going toe to toe with me, and this is where she's from.
I file away yet another piece of the unending puzzling that baffles me more and more each time I unwrap another one of her secrets.
The pink room is slightly larger, and more chaotic, so it must have been her grandmother's.Feeling like a grave robber, I approach the small bed. It’s only a little larger than the one in the other room, and might fit two.
Like everything in this dollhouse, it's covered in a thin layer of dust, and a spider has taken up residence close by.
I open the nightstand and find potions and smoking herbs, as well as a small bottle of cheap liquor.
I move to the painted chest and chuckle at the underthings in the top drawer. The grandma must have led an interesting life, to favor red lace and silky things.
I find what I need next, atop a number of wooly cardigans.
Helyn didn't misrepresent the device when she said the thing was old. E-stones are paper thin and equipped with holographic technology these days. This one must weigh at least five pounds, and has a display screen instead of projectors. I haven't seen anything like it outside of tech history books.
I jump back down the stairs. "Does this thing even work?"
"I guess you'll have to find out." Helyn has something on the stove, and I can't help but wonder at the strange domestic situation we find ourselves in; I, the king, who hasn't wandered in kitchens since I used to stalk the cook for cheese puffs, and she, the library rat. "You had some food here?"
"Don't get excited. Grandma Lyn didn't have much in her pantry, but I had to chuck most of it away. This, Your Highness, is a can of lentil soup."
"Soup. Canned." I know the meaning of both words but they don't make sense put together.
"If it offends your sensibilities, you don't have to eat."
My neglected stomach grumbles in protest. "Smells good."
I join her by the kitchen, lowering the device to the island separating the area from the dining room. To my wonder, it switches on when I press a discrete button on its side. A bright screen greets me, along with a hundred pings denoting updates. "You know your grandmother's password?"
She wrinkles her nose. "No clue. I don't use these things if I can help it."
My brow furrows. "Why?"
It's not unusual for demis to avoid e-stones and other technology. Technology is almost exclusively designed by common folks, in order to gap the bridge between our kind and theirs.
I can’t deny some of it is useful—transports, lighting, the global network—but our kind would have been content to remain in candlelight. Our vision is stronger, our hearing, more acute. Most demis are long-lived and only think to bear children in their third or fourth century. In the days of my father, there were little to no electric devices available. We reap the benefits when it suits us, but we don’t tend to work to further tech.
E-stones, some of their latest inventions, are particularly ill suited to our kind. I’m not sure whether by design or because of the nature of the eldritch arts, but scanning, photographing, or even recording some spells is enough to make devices explode. I’ve fried more than one e-stone just by casting a spell close to it.
It makes no sense that Hel would have such issues.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. They always give me a headache. I think it’s the lighting.”
That’s the final real clue I get about the nature of Helyn Stovrj.
