Something whispers that my schemes are sheer wishful thinking, but I can’t seem to let them go. Last night, Isawher. I couldsmellher.
I danced with her, and she knew it was me. She didn’t even try to draw away—she seemed relieved.
I have worried over the last few weeks that she would still reject me. She came here of her own free will to help our people. None of that has changed.
But Mrath will kill the king, and eliminate the threat that caused her to come here in the first place. Things are different. I just pray that Arion has left her alone. I pray she does not carry his child, for then, I do not know what I will do.
As the night draws darker, I quietly climb down from the tree. Once my feet touch the ground, I dust off my clothes, patting the area where the seed is. I am ready to find her, complete this mission, and leave this awful city.
Chapter 27
ARLET
Another day passes, and I am left alone. Vann does not come, and a part of me is grateful. Facing the possibility of his death has made me absolutely sure that I cannot let that happen. Even still, I watch the swarms of elven guards surround the palace from my window, they group together outside of my door, and I wonder where the Enduar is for the whole day, until it is time to sleep.
The early morning hours of my wedding are quiet. Foreign. I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. It is dark.
I slip in and out of sleep. Not wanting to wake up and face reality.
The bed is too soft, the linens too fine. I press my hand to my chest as I used to do often, as if to touch the Fuegorra.
My palm goes there out of habit. Skin meets skin and finds only the faintest warmth. It’s gone. It’sgone—my old life is gone.
My hand slides up farther, toward my throat. A zing charges through me as my fingers brush the velvet and jewels, and I flinch away. Last night, I tried to take it off and was promptly shocked.
Please, I pray.Let this wedding go over well. Let me bear a child.
I can feel judgment from Cursed One. I know that she disapproves of calling upon gods and of Arion.
Please, just leave me alone for a while, I beg her.
Very well, comes her sulky reply.
I close my eyes and count breaths.
If I think too long about the ceremony, my mind becomes a shallow bowl for dread, and dread is greedy. So I let the bowl tip and pour its contents into the oldest cavern within me—memory. I question if even my memories are safe…but I have nothing to prove otherwise. At least they are mine.
I try to avoid thinking of Vann, as I can still feel conflicted. On the one hand, I felt such joy and relief at seeing him, but on the other, I still feel the sting and bite of his lies. I wanted him to choose me, and he couldn’t.
But it seems every memory of the last year and a half of my life connects to him, like how every thread weaves through the others. For the first time in a long while, I think of a tapestry I was working on before I left Enduvida. My fingers have been so idle these last months. After weeks of oils, butters, scrubbing, and trimming, my nails are long and the skin is soft.
But they were rough when I was weaving.
I remember how such an act used to bring me joy. How it expressed the deepest parts of me. The last thing I worked on was a beautiful piece that started out as a reflection of how happy I was in Enduvida compared to in Zlosa. Then it morphed into something more—something that tells the story of the different men in my life and how those relationships shaped me.
At the time, it felt liberating to work through what had happened with Daniel and then Joso, weft and row by weft and row. My eyes go wide when I recall the blood-red fibers that began to appear after I’d been cursed to come here to Shvathemar.
Arion. I’d started to weave my experience with Arion.
Biting my lip, I wonder now if I’d put too much focus on the men around me. And, as a result, if I’d given them too much power.
I see how I have grown and changed and flourished by myself.
I wince. Perhaps I am not blossoming in this place. But I had known adventure. It takes no time at all for my mind to conjure the breathtaking beauty of the Sisterhood’s Enclave, with its magicaltrees, bent and twisted into fine homes. Or the thrilling excitement of Dragonsreach, of flying.
That memory brings me to Seraph. She was beautiful and golden and noble.
My heart aches. Did she feel pain when we were separated? She left her nest of broken eggs just to help me.