32.
6 YEARS BEFORE THE WAR

When Mr. Henri stopped coming to visit, Lotte sent him letters. He replied to the first few, but the rest fell into the void. She turned ten, and then elven, and had the heavy feeling of being forgotten whenever she thought about him.

It wasn't that she didn't feel content living with Poe. It wasn't as if she wasn't overjoyed by her ability to enchant. But just because she had Poe, didn't mean she had ever wanted to discard Mr. Henri as if he were an old shoe.

He, on the other hand, didn't feel the same.

And Lotte was entering a time in her life when an irritable energy surged inside her and questions began echoing in her mind. For no reason at all she would go from feeling normal to haughty and indignant.

Poe didn't seem to notice the changes in Lotte. He was consistently the same.

"Today, we will not be studying," Poe told her one brilliant spring morning. The windows in their flat had all been thrown open, letting in a fresh, sweet breeze that carried the aroma of bread from a bakery across the street. "Get your shoes."

"Where are we going?"

"To enjoy city life."

They had breakfast at the caffe Balus, browsed through Keden market and happened upon a street performance at the Keden amphitheatre. Next, Poe surprised her with entry tickets to the Kardioll gallery.

She hadn't been able to enjoy art in so long. It was both nostalgic and exhilarating. While she drew enchantments every day, she hadn't dabbled in any serious art in years. Poe told her she could, whenever she wanted. It was she who somehow felt...uncomfortable painting again.

But she still loved art. She still loved to lose herself in someone else's expression. Mr. Henri had once told her that, even more important than the piece, the story behind it had to be inspiring for it to be able to hang on the greatest walls in the land.

But for Lotte, art was what words couldn't capture. A realm where the only language was shape, colour and composition. Most of art couldn't be easily explained. Not even the artist could fathom the deepest reaches of their heart. Art wasn't meant to be explained or interpreted, it was just meant to be appreciated.

Mr. Henri had understood this when she told him. He had said it was a profound thought for a girl her age.

She hadn't, at the time, known what the word 'profound' meant.

"Oh yes, it was a very good showing," a familiar voice disturbed the quiet of the gallery hall accompanied by three sets of walking feet.

"They were just thrilled to see you back in action, Henri," said a woman's voice. "You handled their questions about Poppin very well, dearest."

Lotte turned, heart thumping in her chest. There was Mr. Henri, transported from her thoughts right into the reality before her. He was walking hand in hand with Mrs. Treebald. A teenaged girl older than Lotte walked on Mrs. Treebald's left.

They passed her by, chatting quietly, without seeing her.

"You're nothing to them."
Wysley Pellen had called Lotte his replacement, and now she saw hers. It was a dry kind of ache, one that made her body feel stiff. No wonder Mr. Henri disappeared. He moved on.

And Poppin was dead.

She stormed out of the hall. Poe sat on a bench that had been positioned to view a single painting.

It was Stubborn Spring, Lotte's first drawing sold by Mr. Henri.

She stiffly sat next to him, but said nothing.

"What's wrong?" he asked without taking his eyes off the drawing. As always when they were out and about, Poe wore his hood up and spoke in human.

Lotte shook her head.

"Alessi are not good at art," he told her in a low voice. "At poetry, yes. Music and song? Yes. But not this." He nodded towards her drawing. "We appreciate it, admire it, but we cannot create. I am awed by you, sylnan."

"Mr. Henri has a new protégé." It just came out. It was always hard to hold back when faced with Poe's stark honesty.

Poe peeled his eyes away from her drawing to look at her.

"I saw him."

Poe put his hand over hers.

"He didn't have to leave me," she said, her voice choked with anger. "He could've come around, just once in a while."

Her eyes burned, but she fought back the tears. She didn't want to start crying out in public. She wasn't some baby.

Poe said nothing. He just squeezed her arm. He had once told her that Leilan elves weren't very good at comforting by nature. But whenever she was sad, he listened and tried his best.

She couldn't fight the resentment that came with being abandoned. And it wasn't just Mr. Henri. Poe had known her when she was a baby, but he had abandoned her once in the past. Who's to say he wouldn't do it again? Even when she chose to love, her love wasn't enough. "Are you going to leave me too?" she asked in a whisper.

"I will never," Poe said. "Choose to leave you."

It was the best he could do.

But for Lotte, that wasn't enough.
***
PRESENT DAY
To the Dragon King's small audience chamber, Lotte and her virata escort rode on a wheel-less chariot that sped down the corridors, never slowing, even when it took turns. Much of the palace was on a single level with spiralling stairwells leading to towers and turrets or down to cellars and—Lotte assumed—dungeons.

Her escort, a teen boy with bright pink scales on his cheeks, didn't speak at all.

"Is it very far?" she asked after a minute or two of silence.

He bristled at her words. "Oh, not very far." And the quieted down again. "I... didn't know you speak Viltulos."

Lotte stopped herself from saying that she hadn't known either. "What's your name?"

"Danar," he said. "I am a page here at the palace."

"And you're controlling this chariot with...sorcery?"

"Yes. Simple motion sorcery, Madame Enchantress."

"Why doesn't it have wheels?"

"Sorcery is better at manipulating air and friction disturbs it. It is kept levitated with a charged rune and all I must do is set its destination and it goes according to course."

"Charged rune?"

"A special rune designed to store sorcery."

"I see. And—"

"We are here, Madame Enchantress," he said just as the chariot stopped before an intricately carved golden door with green crystals—or were those emeralds?—affixed in its frame.

"Oh." Lotte climbed out of the chariot that remained suspended in the air. "Thank you for the ride, Danar."

The virata boy inclined his head.

"And for the lesson on sorcery," she added with a smile.

"You're welcome, Madame Enchantress."

"So, I just...go in there?"

Danar nodded his head.

Lotte straightened her back and drew a deep breath. Danar and his chariot disappeared down the passage behind her as she reached over and opened the golden door.

The room beyond was as lavishly decorated as the entire palace, but with a cosy atmosphere and was, thankfully, empty. It was more like a very fancy living room than how she imagined a throne room to be.

There was a throne-like massive silk armchair with jade-studded arm-rests and satin cushions, but it was still an armchair and not a throne nonetheless. On its right there was another armchair in a similar style but slightly less grandiose, and then two velvety loveseats on gilded curved legs.

Beyond the sitting area was a dinning table with a clearly more important chair at the head of the table, a slightly less decorated chair on its right and then several normal cushioned chairs along it.

Lotte surveyed the room for just a moment before wandering over to the fireplace to look at the painting that hung there. It was much too big for such a small room, but it somehow made sense with the colour of the walls and the simple decor. There was no other painting in the sitting area.

It was a portrait of Blue. She looked away, eyes stringing and heart aching.

Instead of sitting on one of the couches, she moved over to the dinning area.

And gasped.

She couldn't see it when she first came into the room, but there was another painting here. It occupied the wall behind the Dragon King's seat. She walked up to it, staring at it in disbelief.

This was hers. Her painting. A girl in a grey, desolate world amidst the grasping hands of nightmares, looking over her shoulder while within her life erupted in motion, colour and fantasy.

It was Half.

"You appreciate art," said a gruff voice behind her.

She whirled around, as if caught red-handed doing something that she shouldn't. Lotte's emotions were too chaotic for her to be able to control her expression.

It was the Dragon King, she knew him instantly. He had come in quietly, without alerting her.

Virata didm't age quite like humans. They didn't grow wrinkled and shrivelled. But unlike elves, who never showed any signs of age once that reached physical maturity, the Dragon King was very clearly ancient.

He was pure white, like snow, his scales, his eyes, his hair and skin. It was like staring at a living marble statue.

He came to stand next to her, moving slowly and silently.

"I just love this piece. I never tire of it. Do you know why?"

"No, your majesty."

"To me, it depicts what it feels like to be the Dragon King. Torn from your kin, brought to a strange place, with an entire separate world sparkling inside you."

"I can sympathise with that, your majesty."

"Maybe even more than me," the Dragon King said with a smile. "Did you know that the artist of this painting was a human girl? Impossible though this may sound. She was only seven when she drew this. She died soon thereafter. I find that happens quite often with the marvels of the world."

"Poppin," Lotte said.

"Ah, yes, you must've heard of her. You are also from Raidox."

Then, the Dragon King wandered away, as if suddenly forgetting their conversation. He walked out of the room altogether leaving Lotte alone again.

After a moment he returned on the arm of another virata man who led him to his throne in the sitting area.

"Now sit here, your majesty," he said, spreading a fluffy red blanket over the Dragon King's lap.

The moment the virata man let go of the blanket, it turned as white as the Dragon King, as did the armchair he sat in. Lotte ambled towards the sitting area. She wasn't sure whether it was right for her to sit.

"Madame Enchantress," said the king's assistant. "My name is Lord Ardkin Monthes. I'm his majesty's personal secretary. Do have a seat."

Lotte attempted a bow and changed it into a curtsy midway before sitting down.

"Oh, hello," said the Dragon King looking at her dimly. "You are not an elf, after all."

"No, your majesty," Lotte said. "I'm Lotte."

"Lotte..." A shadow appeared on the king's brow. "Remind me what that is, again? So many species to keep track of..."

"She is half elf, my king," said Monthes. "And half...you are a half human Lotte, am I correct?"

"Are there Lotte who aren't half human?" Lotte asked.

"Yes. Half virata, half ogre, half fairy. They have better names, but can be also called Lotte."

"I never knew that," she said.

"Of course, like every species, elves mix more often with humans because humans breed quickly and are more numerous," Monthes continued as the Dragon King stared blankly at the room around him.

Just then, the main door opened behind Lotte and some people came in. Due to an odd wave of nerves, she rose to her feet.

"Sorry we're late," said a voice that was starkly familiar.

Its source stalked into her line of sight, standing before the arm-chair on the Dragon King's right.

Lotte's blood turned to ice. She could barely breath as the newcomer stepped up to her with a passive expression, extending his hand. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Madame Enchantress," he said. "I'm Prince Fintan."

"Blue?" she whispered.

He was Blue. He was. But also, he wasn't. He had the same cool brown skin, the same sparkling pattern of turquoise and blue scales on his cheeks, the same blue-white hair.

He was beautiful, but at the same time, he was different. Was it the two long scars—one on his eyebrow, one on his forehead—or his complete lack of recognition?

No, it was the coolness of his gaze.
But his expression morphed when she spoke, opening up to a sudden suspicion. "What did you call me?" He asked in a low voice laced with danger.

Lotte drew a step back, shaking her head. She felt faint.

Someone dashed in between them, like an eagle landing on prey. "Ah, Madame Enchantress." It was Monthes. "This is Prince Fintan, the Dragon Heir, and here we have Lady Briaad. We were all quite anxious to meet you."

"Monthes, what did she—" Blue—not Blue, Prince Fintan—began.

"Let's all have a seat," suggested a woman Lotte hadn't noticed come in. According to the faded quality of her cinnamon skin and tangerine hair, she was clearly older than both Bl—Prince Fintan and Lotte.

Lotte found herself sitting despite having no recollection of doing so. A human servant had come in with a tray of tea and biscuits. She was holding a steaming cup of tea in hand.

Prince Fintan stopped glaring at her, as if he too had been stunned into forgetting.

What was happening?

"We're quite curious about you," said Lady Briaad. "Quite, quite."

"You are filled with curiosities," Monthes agreed.

"Who is this?" asked the Dragon King, blinking at her.

Prince Fintan frowned and glared. "How did you manage to pass the Rugar?" he asked.

"Fintan, don't be rude," said Briaad. "What a question to ask. As if she'd just tell you."

"I'd actually like the answer to that," Monthes said. "How did you get here at all?"

"We did hear an outrageous story about a flying human train," Briaad continued. "The elves of Lasuran, I heard, are livid. They're searching high and wide for the one who is capable of such a terrible power."

"My, my, Madame Enchantress, are you well? You look pale."

Lotte put down the porcelain teacup and saucer that were chattering in her hands.

Prince Fintan lounged back into his armchair, wearing a grin that looked more like a wolf's snarl. "Well, now, Madame Enchantress," he said with deliberate slowness. "What do you have to say?"

Lotte got to her feet. "All I can say is good night. As you can imagine, I've had quite the journey and need to rest."

Prince Fintan smirked while Briaad threw back her head and laughed.
"Leaving the presence of the Dragon King in this way is a terrible mistake, Madame Enchantress," Monthes said.

"But I really must take my leave, Lord Monthes" Lotte said, trying to speak formally. "I'm afraid I'm not feeling well."

Prince Fintan rolled his eyes. "Let her go, Monthes," he said with a dismissive flick of his hand.

Lotte tried to curtsy again.

He levelled his gaze with hers. "Sleep well, Madame Enchantress," he said with a slight sneer. "I'll await you and your answers in the morning."