Page 11 of Under the Lion Star

“How’s school?” I asked Marcy, hoping to avoid envisioning my elderly grandmother rolling around in the sheets with multiple elves.

“It’s alright,” she replied, looking at the floor.

“Hey,” I crouched down to her level. “You can tell me if something is wrong.”

“Some kids were making fun of me.”

“Names,” I demanded.

“Alda,” Marcy sighed but failed to hide her grin. “You can’t beat up eight-year-olds.”

“They’re probably the only age group I could beat up.”

Marcy giggled. “Well, do you remember Pontain?”

“Your husband from first-year?”

“Yeah! See, I forgot that we were even married,” she shook her head. “Anyway, he told me he didn’t want to be married anymore. And I said I didn’t care because I had a dream about my real husband.”

“Real husband?” I raised a brow in question.

“Yes!” Marcy exclaimed. “I had a dream that I married an Elldaran elf. So why should I care that some boring old turd like Pontain doesn’t want to be my husband?”

“Right,” I nodded, willing myself to follow the child’s logic.

“And when I said that, some of the kids made fun of me because they said no elves are left in Elldara. That they’re all dead. But how could they know that?”

“No one has been beyond the wall of Teldurin for two millennia. Surely, there could be some Elldaran elves up there. I have to ask, though, Mar,” I hesitated. “Why would you want to be married to an elf that sucks your blood?”

“No, no,” she replied emphatically. “In my dream, he didn’t need my blood to survive. Making me happy was enough to sustain him.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah,” she held up her finger. “He was rich, too, and buying me things that made me happy was enough that he never had to drink blood again.”

“Gods above, that is some husband.”

“Right?” Marcy threw her hands up. “And why would I have dreamt that if all the Elldarans were dead?”

“True,” I nodded. “So, is he to come to Fjorn, or will you have to go up to Elldara to find him?”

“He’ll come to me,” my cousin explained. “He’ll be guided to me by the power of love.”

Grandma rolled her eyes, and I did my best to hide my smile.

“Well,” I said, standing up. “Then Pontain can go fuck himself. And so can all the other kids who laughed at you.”

“Yeah!” Marcy shouted, making fists and pulling them down to her sides. “Fuck ‘em!”

“Marcy!” Aunt Stella scolded.

“You had a colorful vocabulary at that age,” Grandma countered. “They’re just words. You choose to give them power.”

“This isn’t a philosophical debate, Mom,” my aunt sighed. “It’s not about the logic of whether or not an eight-year-old should say ‘fuck’. It’s that I don’t want to deal with a note from her teachers.”

“I never swear at school,” Marcy frowned.

Aunt Stella gave her a knowing look with one raised brow. Marcy immediately blushed in response.

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