Page 73 of Dark Elves of Ardani

“Tahir,” she said weakly. She was so pleased to see him. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in over a day.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes. I mean…” She shrugged.

“It seems the village is a prison now, and the esteemed Paladins are our wardens.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice. The Paladins didn’t look pleased with his assessment.

“You should not argue with them,” Zara whispered. “Do not make them angry at you, too.”

He looked frustrated, but he didn’t disagree. He had to take care of his daughter. He and Basira had too much to lose. “Can you sit up? I want to check your ribs. Does it hurt when you breathe?”

“A little.” She sat up, and she held on to him while he gently prodded her sides and looked at the burgeoning bruises where the broom had hit her.

“I don’t think anything is broken,” he said, to Zara’s relief. It certainly felt like much of her was broken, but bruises were more easily healed than cracked bones.

The Paladins seemed to think that if no bones were broken, Tahir no longer needed to be there. “That’s enough,” one of them said, waving him away. “Get going.”

Tahir frowned. Zara imagined him telling her he’d find a way to get her out. She imagined him thinking of something comforting to say. But in the end, he only bowed his head and left.

Another night passed.

In the morning, her body was aching and stiff and so cold that she wondered if she was dead.

Theron came back again. He was already holding the broom this time.

She looked up at him, thinking about the lack of lines in his face and the lack of grays in his dark hair. He did not look old enough to have so much hate in him. He did not look like his life had been hard enough for him to have earned this much anger.

“Why do you hate the Varai so much?” she asked. “What did they do to you?”

He paused, looking surprised to hear her speak. Then he gave a short laugh. “What a strange question. What reason do I need? They’re evil. Corrupt from the inside out, like rotten fruit.” He came closer, dragging the wooden end of the broomstick on the ground. “When I was younger, I thought there might be hope for saving them from themselves, if we could just teach them the right way, but that was before I saw them up close. There is no life in their eyes. They are a completely different sort of being from us. They have no spirit, no goodness inside them. There’s no hope for them.”

So no one had hurt him. He had no dark history of abuse at Varai hands. His family had not been killed by a masked Varai man. His home had not been razed by a rogue mob of elves.

Nothing had happened to him to put this anger in him—it was like he had sought it out for himself. It was beyond Zara’s comprehension. Even she, who had been hurt by both Varai and other humans, couldn’t find it in herself to hate either of them.

“But I do have hope for you,” he said, brandishing the broom in a way that was almost comically at odds with his words. “You know what I’m going to ask. Are you ready to put aside your pride?”

“I will never pray to your god, Theron,” she said tiredly. “And I will never apologize for helping a wounded man. Just kill me now, if you cannot accept that.”

“You don’t really want to die.”

“No.”

“And I know you don’t want to be hit again,” he said, with a disturbing, predatory smile. “So you should give in now.”

She wondered how long it would be before he decided that she was also without spirit or goodness or life in her eyes, like the elves. How much worse would he treat her then? Could it get worse than this?

Or perhaps he had secretly already decided that she was beyond saving. Maybe this was all for show. Did he really care about converting her, or even about getting information about the elves? Or did he just want to win?

Zara leaned back against the well. Before coming to Ardani, she might have cowered and done as he asked—whatever it took to survive, and to avoid pain. That was the only way to live as a slave.

But now she was a free woman. And already, she found that she did not know how to go back to that version of herself.

She had become her own person. She had lived in her own house, traveled the land alone, earned her own money, and carried her own weapons. She had spoken her mind, done the things she thought were right, and broken rules. And she didn’t regret any of it. She would not go back. She still felt the same fear as she always had, and felt the pain of violent punishments just as much, but she could no longer betray herself in order to satisfy others.

“Hurt me, Theron,” she said. “Maybe it will make you feel less pathetic.”

He looked displeased.

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