When Arion first sent a missive declaring that he wanted Arlet as his bride, and that his union with her would grant us immunity from future attacks, most of the council had seen the words as hollow. Arlet was not so easily convinced. But it has been weeks—no, months—since that letter was first sent, and we still exist peacefully.
The work churns on.
Arlet and Vann’s absence has not gone unnoticed—how could it with the positions they held? But communities are resilient. No one person is ever the key to everything. It is a sad and hopeful truth.
My heart aches for them both, but I worry more for Arlet’s gentle, kind soul. The elves pride themselves on appearing the most civilized and educated of the species on our continent. But I spent time in their capital once. Long ago.
Monsters can still be clean, eloquent, and well-dressed.
Some would say they hate women. They would disagree, saying that to keep a woman safely in her home, without asking her choice on the matter, is to protect her. The word “hatred” feels too hot and passionate for all that, but hatred, as I have experienced, can be cold. Calculating.
There is a part of me that hates the elves, and always will.
Turning from the window, I go to my wardrobe, thumbing my way through rows and rows of clothes. Clothes that have been gifted to me throughout my life. Items that used to appear at the oddest of times. It wasn’t as if I had the money to buy them—no, I was very poor growing up. It’s why I entered the priestesshood.
My mind continues to wander, remembering the fashions of the elves, but all I can truly see are the moments of discarding, the moments where, at a beautiful party, I saw someone cast to the side. Saw the deception and disappointment that lurked in every corner. I did not think so much had changed in the last hundred years.
In fact, I am almost sure that Arlet being in Shvathemar will be a cruel, caging experience. She will be humiliated. Toyed with till shefeels her mind tearing apart. She has already survived so much at the hands of the giants.
But anyone can be broken—even those already hardened by life. I pray she will not be.
The lingering memory of the voice tugs at the corners of my consciousness. I have a meeting soon. I shouldn’t waste time. And yet…
I pull on a cloak and slippers, quickly pile my hair atop my head, and then leave my home, making my way to the small, newly renovated space behind the Ardorflame Temple. Two ocean-risen Enduares greet me, serving as attendants to help clean and repair damages.
“Mother Liana,” one—Sur’Khale—starts. “We weren’t expecting?—”
“Peace, my child.”
The polished stone is cold against my slippers. The two attendants follow me down a hallway.
Sur’Khale is quiet as I continue to inspect the place. So many scrolls, so many artifacts brought from the settlements under the sea or found scattered through the city. The objects and stories, filled with memories, make me quieter here. Softer.
“I was told that you have started moving in some of the sacred records I’ve been keeping. I would like to view one,” I say gently.
He bows. “Of course. Which were you hoping to see?”
“The last one I brought. It’s titled ‘Shadow.’”
He heads to the stacks of still-being-organized scrolls and begins to search. I know there are several volumes—dozens, actually—but I don’t pry. I sit at the newly made marble table and wait. There’s a briskness to the air at this hour that I quite enjoy.
Seconds later, he joins me and spreads the parchment in front of me. Lines of notation—measurements of magical resonance—waver and skip in the ink.
The younger attendant, clearly nervous, looks at the scroll. He’s got an eye for the magic that is only written for Fuegorra readers to read, but he doesn’t know me well enough to recognize that it’s written in my own hand.
“No need to do all this,” I say, rolling the stone parchment closed and securing it with a clasp.
“But this is an account of a war criminal.” He sucks his teeth. “A man made of smoke. The Living Shadow.”
The sound of that name nearly stops my heart. I school my expression before either of them notices.
“They say he wiped out entire villages, towns, and cities,” I respond evenly. “He was one of the elves’ biggest assets in the skirmishes between our people long ago.”
The other attendant, Re’Slane, having seen the turmoil on his companion’s face, comes over.
“Why do you need this?”
Why, indeed?