But, she is sure that matehood would prepare me to be a mother. Grutabela’s magic would be lasting, too, and potentially grant me a whole gaggle of sons or daughters.
Regardless, this is the reason the enduares are my best option. Even if humans can mate with elves, it still won’t fix my problem. Their gods, Doros and Nicnevin, are focused on logic and the merit of their offspring. They don’t give blessings—they enchant objects and give them to the rulers of their people.
Arion might be able to procure an object with magic strong enough to help me, but if he finds out I am barren, he is more likely to toss me aside for someone who is less trouble.
And, even if he didn’t, raising a family with a being as cruel as the king?
He held me in place and made me watch the bloodshed.
I let a few more tears slip down my face.
First, I head to the table in front of a polished metal mirror, where I keep my hair brush and cosmetics. Then I pull out the hair ribbon Lord Vann had given me and inspect it. The material is delicate, and I’m struck by how thoughtful the action was.
He must’ve truly been assigned to give me a gift, then, because I’m not sure he would’ve done such a thing on his own.
A bit of blue on the table catches my eye, and I set down thebottle of mead. There, atop a silk scarf, is the carved flower, encircled by a snake that Arion had given me.
My skin goes cold, and I glance around. I’d brought the gift with me in the move, but I couldn’t remember putting it here.
You’re being silly. You probably pulled it from one of your moving sacks and didn’t have a place for it.
Having it out feels too raw. Too unwelcome. So I grab the thing, and throw it in the top drawer of my desk.
Pressing a cold hand to my fevered cheek, I grab the bottle again and turn from all the sour memories lurking in my mind.
I cross to the stone frame loom resting against the wall in the corner, grab a jeweled goblet off the shelf, set down my bottle, and thread one of the shuttles. After a minute of threading and pushing the yarn together to tighten the weft, I feel better.
This blanket has been sitting here half finished for months. It was supposed to be a gift for my partner at the time, Joso. Now… well. That is over and I am focusing on Lorepath and weaving. I keep busy.
Still, every few weeks, I pluck away at a few new rows in the piece. What started as a simple border became a raging river—one I don’t think I could cross without being swallowed alive. I’ve just finished weaving a sun-soaked meadow dotted with blue and pink flowers.
Each man who shaped these images in my mind flashes before me.
Daniel, my first love—the man who cut me deep and threw me out of his life.
Then Joso, the one who ended our time together because he couldn’t love me. Couldn’t give me what I desperately wanted.
I let out a sad laugh. The picture in front of me looked like a scene from an epic story I’d read.
Others read stories and dream of living wild adventures alongside handsome heroes and seductive heroines. They crave the wind on their faces, the thrill of rain running down their skin, and the scent of wildflowers in the sunshine as they race through open fields.
Not me.
Even considering leaving the caves makes my breathshort. When I arrived in Enduvida, I didn’t mourn what I’d lost—I embraced what I could build. They won me over with the promise of a house I could turn into a home. That was something I hadn’t had since leaving the breeding pens.
Here, among the furs, crystals, and small metal decorations, I have crafted an oasis. I will never willingly give that up.
My eyes land on a few clothes strewn about the floor and I pause. I didn’t remember throwing those around. Had I really been so careless with my things before leaving for the ceremony? I stand and let the shuttles hang, quickly bringing the tunics to my closet. Inside, I notice one of the crates moved.
Strange.
Everything from before the ascension is such a blur, but I can’t remember doing this.
After righting the small room, I return to the loom, picking up the threads, and I weave one more row of green. It’s impossible not to wonder what image will take shape next.
Maybe I’ll find a way to weave the king’s offer into it. Perhaps it would help me feel better.
Tears prick my eyes as I stare at the rich green. It’s darker than the rest of the spool, less like grass and more like evergreens or emeralds.