“The holy ones asked about you.” The marine meant the Wyverns, as the caste members were thought to be divinely perfect. “I told them you were searching the city for seeds. They said that you should talk to the Viceroy’s domi.”
Tinker domi was the last person in Pittsburgh she wanted to talk to.
Olivia’s life was a series of deceptions stacked like a house of cards. She’d deliberately led the elves to believe she was older than her sixteen years. When she admitted to being old enough to be married, she left out that she been forced into a polygamous marriage at fifteen as the youngest of three wives to a man twice her age. She omitted the fact that she fled Kansas and illegally crossed into Pittsburgh during Shutdown so she would be an entire universe away from her husband and his religious cult family.
Her life wouldn’t stand up to close inspection. She could normally evade most questions with half-truths but Tinker domi was famous for her brilliance. The older girl would probably see through any dodge. Since the vicereine was now an elf with sekasha bodyguards, Olivia wouldn’t be able to lie.
If anyone in the city could get seeds, though, it would be Tinker.
There was also the possibility that “should talk to” was a command. Her Elvish wasn’t very good.
The street in front of the enclaves was an unsettling place. On one side were human buildings that could come from any city on Earth. They were two and three stories tall with storefronts at ground level and offices on the upper stories. Sidewalks. Curbs. Gutters. Street signs. All utterly normal.
Then — as if sliced by God’s sword — it ended.
There was a swatch of no-man’s-land of fine rubble where the Rim divided Earth city from Elfhome forest. A dozen yards beyond that were the tall walls of granite stone that enclosed the elfin communes. A single wide gate allowed access into the enclosure, painted Wind Clan Blue.
The puppies lined up behind her, transforming into seasoned war dogs, braced for attack.
Fear roiled in Olivia’s stomach, or maybe that was morning sickness. She clamped down on the urge to vomit; throwing up on the doorstep would make a very bad impression. She knocked.
The spyhole opened and blue eyes narrowed at her. Annoyance turned to confusion. They shifted to the line of red-uniformed royal marines. Flicked back to her. Glanced again at the marines with more confusion in them.
“Yes?” the male owner of the eyes said in Elvish.
“I wish to see Tinker domi,” Olivia replied in the same. “I need some seeds and the Wyverns said I should talk to her.”
“F-F-F-Forgiveness.” And the slot closed.
What did that mean? No? Tinker wasn’t home? Olivia should leave?
Olivia was still debating its meaning when the slot opened again. A new pair of eyes gazed out at her.
“I wish to see Tinker domi,” Olive repeated in Elvish. “I need some seeds and the Wyverns said I should talk to her.”
“Your Elvish sucks,” the female owner of the eyes said in a Pittsburgh accent. “Just speak English.”
“Oh. Okay,” Olivia said in English. “I–I-I was told by the Wyverns that I should get seeds off Tinker domi.”
“The Wyverns told you to get what?” the female said in confusion. “Seeds?”
“Yes. Seeds. To plant. Keva beans. Rats or something got into mine. I’ve been combing the city for—”
“Who are you?”
“Olivia—” She caught herself before she used her real last name. “Prince True Flame calls me Olive Branch over Stone. I’m Forest Moss’s domi.”
“When it rains, it pours.” The female sighed and undid the gate’s lock with a loud clank. “Today is not a good day for a visit, but if the Wyverns sent you, we must receive you.”
All the Wyverns that Olivia had met since becoming Forest Moss’s domi had been tall, red-haired males so alike that they seemed like identical twins. She had only seen the Wind Clan’s holy sekasha-caste warriors from a distance. Like the Wyverns, they seemed to be made with one mold — tall and dark-haired with deep blue eyes.
The female who opened the door was a sekasha, identified by the tattoos on her arms. Olivia wasn’t sure if she was one of the Wind Clan warriors; she wasn’t stamped out of the same mold as the others. She was fair in coloring with the nearly translucent white skin that pale blonds normally had. She’d dyed her hair the same dark blue as the door. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were darkened with makeup. She wore the same scale armor chest piece as the Wyverns, but hers was dyed blue to match the markings on her arms. Her blue jeans looked handmade.
“I give my word that she will not be harmed,” the sekasha told the puppies. She pointed firmly at the ground. “Stay.”
“Yes, holy one.” The puppies bowed as one, completely believing what the female said as the God-spoken truth.
Olivia hoped she could trust the female. The perfect holy warriors were considered above the law. They could kill anyone that they thought needed killing.
Beyond the gate was a small, enclosed garden acting as a second defense against anyone who breeched the front door. There was a foyer into the main building with murder holes hidden in the ceiling and another stout door. No wonder the elves looked at her greenhouse crystal palace and shook their heads.
They stepped through the front door and into sheer chaos. The area seemed as if it normally was a restaurant dining room with a scattering of tables and chairs. For some reason there were dozens of lamps scattered randomly through the room, sometimes as many as three on one table. Food was being laid out on a nearby table, buffet-style, while dirty dishes were being cleared away. The smell of it made Olivia’s stomach roil.
Oh, please God, not now. She pressed a hand to her mouth, wishing she had brought a pregnancy lollipop with her. She should have had a snack to hedge off morning sickness. She looked away from the food, trying to find something else to focus on.
In one corner, pictures were taped to a wall and multicolored string had been woven into a haphazard web. Several paper maps had been taped to a neighboring wall with its own collection of pins and string.
Elves of different ages and rank she expected, even the other blue-tattooed sekasha. Olivia had heard about the tengu but she hadn’t seen any of them before. It surprised her that there were a dozen or so coming and going. Some were taking off in the courtyard beyond the windows, leaping upward while unfurling their massive black wings. Some were arriving with more lamps in hand. Some were foraging for breakfast from the buffet, their wings blocking the rest of the room from her view.
Then the screen of black feathers shifted and she forgot all about her morning sickness.
On the other side of the buffet, there was a knot of people gathered around a large Oriental dragon. She’d heard about it on the radio. The deejays of WESA were telling people not to be alarmed if they spotted the creature; it was considered friendly but could be deadly if provoked. The radio hadn’t mentioned that the dragon could talk. It spoke with a deep, breathy voice that rumbled, hummed, and scraped like a cello. It had a mane that flowed in the air as if the dragon was standing in a high wind. Olivia couldn’t tell if it was saying one long word or just never inserted pauses between words. It was a constant stream of syllables interrupted only when it would snatch a tart off the buffet to swallow whole.