13 Elowen
13 Elowen
Elowen’s anger lived somewhere cold and damp inside her—a cave with endless pathways and no light coming through. She’d long
ago accepted that the feeling would be there forever, so she’d learned to avoid the bottomless places where it had rotted
her all the way through. Until Beatrice had now forced Elowen down one of the worst paths of all—the way their friendship
had ended—and Elowen had no choice but to surrender to the depths of her fury.
“You were happy to die having me believe we had no real bond?” Elowen asked, gritting her teeth on the last word. At least
anger motivated her. If she’d succumbed to the sadness instead, she’d have crumpled into a ball in the middle of the road.
Instead she walked with clearheaded intention. Actually, she sprinted, because Beatrice was half an iron taller than Elowen,
and she used that to her full advantage, her long legs covering ground in twice the time.
Elowen fought to keep up without heaving for breath. She refused to show the effort it required to match Beatrice’s pace.
She hadn’t moved this fast in years. It didn’t help that the memory Beatrice had projected on the Conjurall highlighted how
quick Elowen had once been.
“It meant saving you... and the entire realm, of course. So yes, I was,” Beatrice informed her, as if that was an obvious choice for anyone to make.
Perhaps it was. But Elowen could not understand how Beatrice had gone on living—knowing the entire time that Elowen thought
their whole friendship was a lie—and never correcting it until now.
“If I had known how you felt about what my family provided you, we could have worked something out to put you at ease,” Elowen
said. “These days, I have nothing myself. I understand it now, how uncomfortable it is to rely on someone else to help you
through. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” She fought off the traces of pain in her voice.
Beatrice did not respond, which helped keep Elowen’s hurt at bay. She could focus on her anger more when Beatrice did rude
things such as ignore her.
“That’s rich,” Elowen said baitingly. “Saying nothing to me at all. Very mature.”
“I have no answer that could ever satisfy you,” Beatrice said. “I’ve done many things I’m not proud of.” Finally she turned
to look at Elowen, slowing her pace for once, only to pale in fear.
Elowen glanced back, hoping to identify the source of Beatrice’s horror. A handful of men in dark cloaks were running toward
them, half their bows pointed at her head, half pointed at Beatrice’s. They were about to be attacked, and they had been so
immersed in their fight they’d almost missed out on noticing.
Instinctually, the two women moved toward each other. There was no good place to seek immediate cover. They had to rely on
each other for protection instead, crouching low and zigzagging together, hoping to reach one of the buildings in the distance.
Elowen stole a look at the attackers just in time to see a crossbow pointed at Beatrice’s back. She threw herself atop Beatrice, crashing both of them to the ground as the arrow whizzed overhead.
Elowen’s initial shock ebbed long enough for her to realize what was happening. She was helping Beatrice. Disgusted with herself, she pulled away, weaving her own topsy-turvy path to prevent the attackers from hitting
her.
“What are you doing?” Beatrice yelled. The panic in her voice almost pulled Elowen back. But Elowen was a cold person. She
had to be. If she acted out of habit, working with Beatrice like in the olden days, she would be giving in to the dreary tenderness
in her heart, forgiving Beatrice for all the pain she’d inflicted. Sentimentality was worse than anger and sadness combined.
It was a curse with no respite.
“Saving myself,” Elowen informed her. “I suggest you do the same.”
“Oh, darling, I’ll be the one doing the saving today.” Vandra sauntered to the middle of the road and shot off a round of
arrows the same way certain hand magicians dealt cards—fast and unbroken, with an effortless precision that came off like
an act of boredom.
Both Beatrice and Elowen froze in wonderment. Vandra hit each man in the same spot on their lower leg, moving on to the next
before a single other person could return the favor. One by one, the attackers fell, unable to continue pursuing Beatrice
and Elowen.
“That should do it,” Vandra said. She grinned as she returned her bow and arrows to the quiver slung across her shoulder.
She looked... well, she looked fucking cool . She really was a badass in the most heartbreaking of ways.
She pressed her finger gently into Elowen’s shoulder. Her con cern bloomed through Elowen’s body, a garden of worry lit by the heat of desire. “I turn away from you for one moment.”
Elowen’s legs shook, and she wished it was still from anger. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“I know one way you can make it up to me.” Vandra cupped Elowen’s chin in her hands.
Elowen found herself drawing nearer, and not from absorbing Vandra’s emotions. The want that sparked low in her belly was
a feeling she knew to be her own. Vandra’s lips—pleading, present, right there —would be a refuge. And to touch her. Oh, it would be just the delight Elowen needed. It would be a relief.
That was precisely what sobered Elowen up.
She would not, could not, kiss Vandra Ravenfall. She’d already gone and gotten herself invested in Vandra’s emotional well-being.
If she gave in to the physical? Who knew what that would mean.
And besides, Beatrice was watching. How embarrassing.
Stumbling back, Elowen faked the kind of quick-pulsed anger she was known for. “How do I know you aren’t working for them?”
she accused, pointing at the attackers Vandra had systematically taken down. They were scrambling to stand up and run off.
After a few steps, some of them collapsed anew, while others managed to keep going, hobbling down the hilliest part of the
road until they were out of sight. “You didn’t wound them fatally! Perhaps this was a ruse to gain my trust, only to betray
me in the end!”
Elowen was no performer. She tried anyway. She was already haunted by Vandra’s touch on her skin. If she got the privilege of experiencing Vandra again in full, it would be her undoing. Because Vandra Ravenfall was cunning, and beautiful, and relentlessly social. She could never be limited to someone as prickly and sullen as Elowen True. So even though Elowen knew all Vandra wanted was to create a new life for herself, to give up deception and become someone honest, Elowen still accused her of lying, because she knew that would sting the most.
Vandra’s face knotted up. Mountains of hurt sprouted up between her eyebrows as she turned swiftly on her heel.
“Really? You’re just going to leave?” Elowen called out, unable to get her own words and feelings to sync up.
“I’m not one of the Four,” Vandra said. “I won’t be missed.”
Elowen fought the urge to respond. She didn’t want Vandra close, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit how much she’d hate
for her to go.
“Actually,” Vandra said, turning and walking back to Elowen, “I don’t need powers to see through your feelings. When I go,
you can tell me that you’re not going to miss me, but that doesn’t make it true.”
Elowen blushed.
“You can pretend to think I’m dishonest,” Vandra continued. “That won’t stop me from chasing after those men and learning
who they are and why they’ve attempted to harm you. And if I return with that information, and you confirm that it’s real,
and I still show up after all the ways you’ve tried to stop me from doing so, maybe then you will know.”
“Know what?” Elowen asked, breathless.
Vandra walked off again, leaving Elowen standing there tortured, arrows scattered around her feet.
Even when Elowen tried to push Vandra away, Vandra still found a way through. Elowen needed to build her walls higher, so
that eventually even the relentless Vandra Ravenfall would tire of trying to peer over.