Page 26 of The Night Prince 2

“It’s not like that between me and Declan either even though he’s… he’s stronger than me in a lot of ways. But we help each other out,” Finley said, even as he felt sometimes as if his contribution to Declan’s life was simply adding to his burdens. After all, Declan was constantly getting into fights to save Finley. And that had been happening since even before the war.

“You’ve given him a sense of belonging and home,” Rhalyf said rather authoritatively.

“I… I guess. I mean he’s lost so much. First his birth parents and then adopted ones.”

“You’ve lost your birth parents, too, I believe you said,” Rhalyf asked carefully.

Finley let out a long breath. “I assume they are dead. They were in Europe when the war broke out. I would hope that if they were still alive that they would take one of the gates back here to see if I’m all right.”

“You hope?” Rhalyf cast a curious glance at him.

Finley’s hands curled into fists. “They didn’t really… my parents weren’t… engaged with me. I was something nice to have, but easily forgotten. It’s all right,” he quickly added as he saw a faint furrowing of Rhalyf’s brow. “I felt the same about them. Declan is my family. Gemma, Michael and Shonda are my family. They’re more of one than my parents ever were.”

“I understand,” Rhalyf said.

“Gemma! Don’t get too close to the forest!” Finley called as he saw the young teen had strayed too near the treeline in his opinion.

Just like the lake, the forests were now filled with creatures that were dangerous to humans from wolves and bears to leshen and dryads. Seith and Leisha might have been killed by Leviathan, but they could just as easily have been strangled by a leshen’s wooden tendrils or captured by a dryad’s dream spell. While perhaps not dangerous in the usual way, a friend of Gemma’s had claimed she’d seen a unicorn racing between the trees. Gemma was intent on seeing one, too. Maybe that was why she had gotten so close. But she turned and skipped back to them. She had wound some flowers in her hair. She stuck a white one behind Rhalyf’s ear.

“Makes you look more lovely, Gran,” she giggled.

“Oh, my girl, do you think so?” Rhalyf twittered in an old woman’s voice.

“Remember to keep calling him–her–Gran,” Finley whispered. “We’re nearly at Hope.”

In fact the Separatist outpost was just fifty-feet away. If there could be a night and day opposite it would be Tyrael and Hope. Hope burst with life. A cacophony of life. The clang and clamber of the Separatist outpost rang out loudly, blocking out the rustle of the wind through the fields and birdsong in the trees. Unlike the clean, graceful lines of Tyrael, Hope was as if a child had tossed every vibrant toy down onto the ground, breaking some of them in the process, and then smooshed others together into a circular pile.

There was a wall around Hope made out of derelict, rusting vehicles that were piled five high interspersed with boards of every shape, size and color tacked together. Metal beams that had been harvested from old buildings jutted up into the sky like spikes. Metal grating had been lashed to the tops of the cars and Separatists–armed with binoculars, which were useful–and rifles–which were not–constantly patrolled the top of the wall. It faintly reminded him of a Fallout game city as everything was scavenged and very little of it was used as it had been originally intended.

These smells and sounds of Hope would have made little impact on him before the war, but now he was used to the cleaner air and quieter pace of Tyrael. But there was a sense of excitement about Hope, too. It always got his blood going as he watched people take old world everyday items and repurpose them in unique and clever ways. But the Aravae likely saw the fact that everything the Separatists had was made out of junk. Most of the houses were made out of corrugated steel sheets with plastic flaps used for windows and doors.

“These homes don’t look exactly…” Here, Rhalyf’s nose–a very big nose–wrinkled slightly, “made to last?”

They’d passed through the gate that was kept open during the day, but firmly shut at night. The Separatists hadn’t given them a second look, because they thought that all of their party was human. Finley’s stomach tightened. Finding out about other species and magic hadn’t decreased prejudice, but increased it. Depressing as that was.

Gemma shrugged. “The Separatists sort of don’t have any choice.”

“There’s plenty of wood and stone,” Rhalyf offered.

“Only if you get a license to harvest it,” Finley reminded him. “Emissary Vesslan believes that if humans are allowed to simply cut wood or mine stone without such a license, they’ll take too much or take it in such a way as to harm the environment.”

“Oh, well, Vesslan likes to control things. It’s his favorite pastime,” Rhalyf responded lightly, but there was a faint frown on his lips. Finley wondered if he would tell Aquilan about these licenses.

“To be honest, he might be right about this,” Gemma said slowly. “The whole deal with the licenses started when the Separatists tried to harvest some of the oldest and biggest trees in the forests with gas powered chainsaws.”

“It wasn’t a good look,” Finley admitted. “But cutting down trees with an ax when you have to build so many homes just isn’t practical. And cutting down the oldest trees–meaning the biggest ones–meant that they would have to take down less trees. Or, at least, that’s what Duke Rohannen said.”

“Trees to the Aravae are like living gods. Find one that’s older than a trice and they put a fence around it,” Rhalyf shrugged.

Gemma stared at him for a moment. “When you say it like that, it makes you sound like you aren’t Aravae.”

“Oh, dearie, I am not! I’m a human grannie and don’t you forget it!” Rhalyf patted her nose, which had Gemma laughing.

“The humans have a right to log their own trees,” Finley objected. “In winter, these houses aren’t really great.”

“No, I imagine they are not. But they could have perfectly lovely homes if they simply lived in town and agreed to be good citizens of the Empire as so many other species have managed to do,” Rhalyf pointed out. “Or gods’ forbid, apply for a license, but they seem allergic to doing any of these things, so forgive me, if my heart doesn’t bleed terribly much for them.”

“Some people feel we don’t have enough of a say in how things are run on our own world,” Finley answered, though he did think that Rhalyf had a point.

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