Page 63 of Flame and Sparrow

I averted my eyes, determined not to betray any of my true feelings toward the gods and theirmessycreations.

“But for all their faults, the Marr are still far better than the Velkyn were.”

The back of my neck burned. “The elves, you mean?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s what they’re better known by in the mortal realm, isn’t it?”

I was struck with sudden curiosity about the way the beings in this realm saw the demise of my kind. So I played the role of a clueless human and asked, “Why did those first divine creations of the upper-gods fall from grace?”

Rieta frowned, clearly not up for an enthusiastic discussion on the complicated subject, but I decided to push my luck anyhow.

“I’ve heard stories that the Velkyn rebelled,” I went on, still feigning curiosity and cluelessness, “but the hows and whys of it all are less clear.”

She turned her attention back to the linens she’d carried in with her, unpacking the basket and organizing things, so quiet and intent on her work for so long that I didn’t think she was going to oblige my questioning today.

Then she placed her empty basket on the foot of my bed and, staring toward the door, she said, “You know of the Moraki, Creators of all things, of course. Belegor, who formed the physical worlds. Solatis, who brought forth life, and Malaphar, who brought forth knowledge.”

She glanced impatiently over her shoulder at me, and I nodded.

“And the beings you call elves were the first ones Solatis created in her likeness,” she continued. “But she made them too powerful. When the God of the Shade—Malaphar—gave them the entirety of his knowledge as well, the combination of it all proved too much for them to remain satisfied with their place in the world. They rebelled against the upper-gods and had to be stripped of their magic and power to prevent a total war that likely would have led to complete ruin for everyone involved.”

“And they were relegated to Avalinth, stripped of their immortality, and left with nothing but curses and a few traces of divine power, correct?”

Rieta nodded. “And soon after, Solatis tried again, creating a new being.Humans. These were the complete opposite of the elves—weak, frail things this time. Tooweak, it turned out, because though they were great in number, their gifted realm of Avalinth was not flourishing under their rule. So the Moraki made the decision to choose a few exemplary humans and elevate them to divine status in order to help things along.”

“So came the Marr,” I muttered.

“Yes,” said Rieta. “Beings nearly as powerful as those elves once were, but far fewer in number. They are stewards of the mortal realm and others. Able to walk among mortals, occasionally gifting them small amounts of magic, while also frequenting the upper realms and sitting at the right hand of the Moraki as the elven-kind once did.”

It was the same story I’d heard from countless human taverns and texts; the Marr were their last, most revered link to the almighty Creators.

The part that Rieta left out—and that I kept to myself just then—was how dramatically the number of remaining elves was reduced once the first Marr ascended. They had killed us off without hesitation, out of fear that we might threaten them or challenge them to try and regain our status as divine beings. They were just as violent and unpredictable as those ancient elves had been—if not worse.

Some stewards.

They were no better than us, and yet they flourished, worshipped and adored, while what was left of my kind barely managed to survive. They were monsters, as we’d supposedly been—the Moraki had simply found a better way to leash them.

“The elves still remain in the mortal realm, don’t they?” I asked quietly.

“Yes.” Rieta’s voice was tense. “And some of them retain something like magic, which they continue to find new ways to corrupt and abuse. They’ve threatened the peace of the realms more than once with their meddling and warmongering.”

I got abruptly to my feet, unable to keep still under these accusations. All my old, familiar rages threatened to surface, all at once, and I needed to move, to put space between myself and Rieta.

I made my way across the room to the largest of the windows, pushing aside its curtains and settling on the bench beneath it.

Several minutes passed. I kept waiting for Rieta to leave, but she kept finding things to do—new things to clean, to fold, to complain about while rearranging them.

“You seem troubled,” she finally said to me, breaking the busy but uncomfortable silence. “Not at all like your usual spitfire self today.”

I didn’t take my eyes from the window as I said, “It’s simply a lot to think about. All that business with the gods and elves and magic and such.”

“That it is,” Rieta agreed, offhandedly, as she continued with her chores. “That it is.”

“And there are many parts of it that likely aren’t what they seem,” I added, more to myself than her.

“I agree.” She paused, and then added, “I would even go so far as to say thatmostthings are not what they seem. Here in this room or otherwise.”

Something in her tone unnerved me. I got to my feet again, excusing myself before heading to the washroom, hoping she’d leave me be if I disappeared into that private room for a while.

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