She’d hoped that he would consider it “their” baby. Certainly she always thought of the man that raised her as her father. The lack of blood ties only mattered when he tried to keep custody of her when her mother married her stepfather. She never considered her stepfather as her parent; he was a narcissistic dictator who saw her as a rebellious piece of property.
What type of father would Forest Moss be to her baby?
There was a sudden shift among the elves as someone came walking quickly down the hallway. The janitor’s late night phone call was finally bearing fruit.
The woman had her gray hair pulled back into a long braid, and wore a chocolate brown silk damask dress not as long as an elfin gown but certainly just as elegant. Aoife had told Olivia about the head of her college enough times that Olivia recognized the woman by description alone. She had to be Agnes Fisher, Dean of Elvish Studies.
Olivia was sure that the dean was the one interceding on the University’s behalf because she was an expert on Elvish culture. The woman, however, ignored Olivia and the Wyverns and tried to interact solely with Forest Moss. The dean spoke rapid fire High Elvish, which Olivia didn’t understand. Forest Moss stared at the woman, confusion growing on his face.
All her life Olivia had people tell her to shut up and stay invisible. Her mother had told her “be a little ghost” until Olivia cut eyeholes in a bed sheet and wore it around the house, moaning. Her experience last night at The O and later with the janitor had taught her that the male elves all expected her to lead. It was at once frightening and intoxicating. It made sense why Forest Moss deferred to her, but why the Wyverns? Were they waiting for her to make a mistake so huge that they could rightfully kill her for it? Certainly that level of pettiness was what she’d learn to expect from “holy” people.
The dean carried on at length in High Elvish, which Olivia didn’t know.
“Oh, please, stop that,” Olivia finally snapped in Low Elvish.
The dean glanced at Olivia for the first time. “Forgiveness?”
“I’m Forest Moss’ domi. He doesn’t understand human customs and technology so you’re going to have to deal with me and I don’t speak High Elvish.”
The dean glanced at her forehead where Forest Moss had marked her with the dau. Her gaze dropped down, taking all of Olivia in. Her dismay was clear on her face. “How old are you? Do your parents know what you’re doing?”
Olivia couldn’t lie with the elves listening in so she ignored the question. “Our house collapsed. We need temporary shelter.”
The dean opened her mouth and then reconsidered whatever she was going to say and closed it. She studied Olivia for a silent minute. “Until the middle of June, I had no idea who Tinker was,” the dean said in English. “I’m told that she was quite well known with the hoverbike racing fans. The last two months has been an education on how much the elves hold that teenage girl in esteem. The entire tengu race has gone from hated enemies to trusted allies by her word alone. It is compelling evidence that any young inexperienced female who gains the position of domi can be a power to be reckoned with. That said, Tinker is domi for the head of the Wind Clan, deep in their territory. I believe it would be a mistake for you to assume that you wield similar level of command among the elves.”
“I assume nothing.” Olivia was very aware of her ignorance. “But it’s kind of rude to come busting into here, getting all high and mighty, when you haven’t even told me who you are.”
“I’m Dr. Agnes Fisher, Dean of Elvish Studies. And I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to leave. I heard what Forest Moss did at Kaufmann’s; blowing up all those child mannequins. We’re responsible for the safety of our students. We can’t…”
“What students?” Anger made Olivia raise her voice. “You went on summer break just before the gate failed and you delayed fall registration because of the war.” She flung out her hand to point at the empty Commons Room behind Fisher. “There’s no one here!”
“What is wrong?” Forest Moss raised his hand, cocking his fingers. “What did she say?”
“Nothing is wrong.” Olivia hugged him. “Hush. Everything is fine. I’m still exhausted from last night and it makes me short tempered.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. Pregnancy was making it feel like she’d spent the night wading through quicksand. She’d gotten up with the sun out of habit; she hadn’t had the luxury of sleeping in since she was a little girl.
“You should rest.” He swept Olivia up into his arms. “She needs to rest; she is with child.”
Olivia blushed, knowing that the dean would jump to the wrong conclusion as to who the father of her child was. Why did it matter what the woman believed? If the rumors were true, there were half-elf children scattered all over the city. They were kept hidden away so the elves couldn’t take them from their mothers. The hookers on Liberty Avenue could talk of nothing but how Blue Sky Montana had been forcibly taken from his older half brother. Olivia hadn’t thought the problem would ever be applied to her. She realized that one day it might.
Suddenly the dean was a welcome distraction. “I should finish talking to her.” Olivia wished she hadn’t exaggerated how tired she felt to excuse her anger. It would be nice to be good and angry instead of lost and confused.
“You can do it tomorrow,” Forest Moss said. He’d lived for hundreds of years; tomorrow probably seemed only minutes away.
Behind them, she heard Glaive telling the dean to return the next day. The woman didn’t argue. Olivia was torn. They had no right to squat in the university’s building, even as temporary shelter. If she insisted on talking with the woman, Olivia could possibly lose the argument with her. That would mean they’d end up out in the rain, trying to find someplace safe to live. The woman had already conceded for the day and was walking away. Forest Moss laid Olivia down on the sofa cushions that were newly covered with lavender-scented sheets.
“You must not wear yourself out or you’ll become sick.” He covered her with a soft blanket that felt like angora. “There is no place we need to be. Rest.”
There was no place for them to go, so he was right that there was no place they needed to be.
Confrontation with authority: round two.
The dean’s gown was Wind Clan blue and she had with her a thick book titled United Nations Elfhome Peace Treaty. Twenty-four hours had given the woman time to prepare. The dean tried for “friendly, nonthreatening meeting” by taking a seat on the sofa across the room from Olivia and Forest Moss. It was difficult for Olivia to judge the dean’s age. The skin on her hands was tissue-paper thin; her veins mapped their way over delicate bones. They were grandmother hands. Olivia’s mother looked older but life on the ranch had been hard on her mother.
At one time Dean Fisher had been stunning; she was now merely regal-looking with black hair that aged to a lush dark silver. Her eyebrows were still dark bold wings, although that might be due to makeup. She silently studied Olivia with rich amber brown eyes.
In Olivia’s experience, silence was a weapon.
Olivia focused on braiding Forest Moss’ hair. It calmed him when she fussed over him. Forest Moss sat at her feet, threading pieces of black silk ribbon through his fingers, humming happily. She wove the three strands of his white hair. Over. Under. Over. Under. She ignored Dean Fisher, stealing the power of the woman’s silence.