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We pass the section with cheap winter clothes. I hate the style, but I know it is for the best. Reaching out, I grab a few things for Elva and me, including a few travel-size shampoo bottles. Just because. I don’t know when we’ll use them, but they seem like something she would like.
After throwing in a series of snacks and non-perishable food, plus backpacks, I find myself wandering down the electronics aisle. We could use a cheap burner phone.
Several of the televisions are on, all playing the same news footage. The reporter is stiff, and he speaks robotically. There is something intrinsically off about him. Pictures flash in front of the screen. I get my first glimpse of the Winter Court Queen as she walks into a meeting with Ice Mer officials.
The reporter clears his throat and shuffles some papers awkwardly. He’s either very bad at his job or very nervous about something. “We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news.” He glances off the camera for a moment. “The queen has just received pressing news. The princess, who has been missing for several years, has finally surfaced.”
A gasp comes from the attendant behind a nearby counter. “I thought she was dead,” the Fae says.
She isn’t. Elva is alive and well. I step closer to the television to hear the reporter better.
“...been detained by rebel enemies from the South for a considerable time. As of yet, her whereabouts are unknown, but the queen assures everyone she will promptly find her heir and put her on the throne where she belongs.”
He continues speaking as pictures of Elva flash across the screen. She is bloody, crumpled in the corner of a cell. In another picture, she is looking at the camera, but her eyes are watery and glassy, like she’s been drugged into a stupor. Even in the images, Elva is so thin I can make out far too many of her bones. I can tell how much pain she is in.
I clench my fists so hard that I draw blood. Elva’s mother might not have been the one who kidnapped her daughter, but she's profiting off it. Why? How could someone do that to their daughter?
I had half-heartedly agreed to find Elva’s mother, but after seeing these pictures, I want to help my Winter Fae burn the rebels to the ground. For her, I would incinerate every particle of their worthless bodies.
Anyone who could turn such a lovely Fae into a shell of themselves did not deserve to live.
“Hey,” Elva breathes at my side. Her voice is tight, and I don’t know how much she’s seen of the program.
I don’t respond, afraid of what I will say. Words can hurt. I know that. I haven’t been so angry since… since my father left. Red clouds my vision, making it difficult to see straight. I know this intense anger will worm into me, poisoning parts of my thoughts. I don't like feeling like this... and I don't like her seeing me like this. Anger pulses through me, and it takes everything I have to calm my breathing. This isn’t the moment to let rage take over me.
Think Summer thoughts. Green grass. Flowers. Fresh air.
With each passing moment, I breathe more easily. I unclench my fists. The red fades.
I finally look over at Elva. She’s staring at the television, chewing on her lip as she wrings her hands in front of her. Her confident, cool exterior has been reduced to an anxious mess.
The reporter says, “…We are pleased to announce that the heir will assume her role as queen in the coming months.”
He keeps going, but my attention flips to Elva. The Winter Fae is shaking, clenching, and unclenching her fists.
She seethes, “I will never take the throne. Never be my mother’s puppet.”
Elva’s voice is quiet, but the attendant is turning towards us.
Shit. We need to get out of here. The last thing we need to do is cause a fuss.
“Let’s go pay and get out of here,” I suggest.
Elva huffs, turning to me with furrowed brows. “Pay? Who said anything about paying?”
“I...”
“We have nothing to pay with.”
The realization of what she’s saying slams into me as I look at our full cart. This is new.
Elva grabs my hand and tugs me and our cart toward the emergency exit. She seems to have recovered her cool.
I have not.
My heart is racing, and my cheeks burn by the time we reach the exit.
“Ready?” Elva asks, gathering up our items and shoving them in a bag as inconspicuously as possible.
