21 Elowen
21 Elowen
Beneath the fear, of which there was plenty, Elowen sensed embarrassment.
They had strolled—no, argued —their way into this setup, and worse, they hadn’t made a single plan. This was exactly why Elowen had spent the last ten
years in the trees. Up there, no one was ever at risk of being kidnapped by a vengeful twit who looked like his favorite activity
was spitting on his own shoes so that they better reflected his cloying smile.
Clare moved to protect Beatrice, pulling a sword from his scabbard and leaping in front of her. “You’ll never take her,” he
said menacingly. “I won’t let you.”
Myke put a hand over his heart. “That’s sweet.” He turned to one of his henchmen and whispered, “He’s a poor excuse for a
hero, but I do love when romantics make their grand gestures. Chokes me up a little, I can’t lie.” He wiped a real tear from
his eye.
“I’m not... This isn’t romantic,” Clare said, sharpening his scowl. “Not a single one of us will let you take Beatrice.”
Elowen and Vandra exchanged a glance. They were outnumbered and surrounded on all sides. Elowen figured the best thing they
could do was stall until someone came up with an idea. She forced herself to speak in the hopes of buying some time.
“What exactly do you want with Beatrice anyway?” she asked Myke.
Beatrice, still behind Clare, peered over his shoulder to examine Elowen. Elowen gave her a glare that said What? then went back to scowling at Myke, who seemed to appreciate a chance to lay out his plan.
Myke took out a small, spiraling dagger and pointed it at Beatrice. “She will use her magic on Hugh to get into his memories,”
he said, using his strange little weapon as an accessory to his storytelling, swooping it around to emphasize his points.
He was so broad with his use of it that some henchmen had to duck out of the way as he gestured. “Turns out, he was one of
the young foot soldiers who helped hide the Sword of Souls ten years ago. And since we knew he wouldn’t use his big-boy words
to tell us where it’s at, we decided to take matters into our own hands.”
As far as everyone knew, the Sword of Souls had been vanquished, though it dawned on Elowen how naive she’d been to believe
that. Of course it wasn’t the kind of weapon that could be destroyed—it was powered by the pain of hundreds of trapped souls,
after all—but she’d been so wrapped up in her own grief that she’d accepted that narrative without further examination. Elowen
should’ve known better than anyone that adventures didn’t have neat endings. There was no real resolution. Much like the Fraternal
Order, the sword was never actually gone, just out of sight.
“Once we know where it is, we will use it to bring back Todrick.” Myke paused to smile, relishing in the horror settling across
the room, a choking vine weaving through everyone’s understanding of the situation, squeezing tighter with every passing second.
“Yes. You heard me right. Todrick van Thorn will rise again, and he and I will use our combined powers to rewrite this realm
into the place we’d always envisioned together.”
Myke spoke like this would be a good thing. In his mind, it was. He had warmed since mentioning Todrick. It was the same way Clare got when he brought up Galwell, a fondness and respect coating every word—though Clare looked up to Galwell, and Myke saw himself as Todrick’s equal. He genuinely believed reuniting with his best friend and using their magic to take over the realm was an ideal scenario. They could finally be the worst versions of themselves, and not a single other person would be strong enough to stop them. Their dream for the realm was a nightmare to everyone else—a place where their men ruled with infinite power and little compassion, forcing Mythrians to comply at all costs.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Myke chided. “Did you all really think I would spend the rest of my life as a failure? That I would
hide away in my grief, never to be seen again? No, my foes, after years of listless despair, I began planning. Without Todrick,
I am half as happy, half as interesting, and half as powerful. Why would I ever want to live this way forever?”
Elowen schooled her face to remain calm. She’d done exactly what Myke had not. She’d hidden. And now the worst person on this
side of the Ghost’s Gate was showing her how wrong she’d been to go on like that for as long as she had. Ten whole years she’d
spent adrift, the same as Myke Lycroft. But she had never started plotting a way to return to her glory. If anything, she’d
been shrinking herself smaller and smaller, desperate to be seen as nothing at all.
Myke pressed a hand to his heart. “Now that I finally know how to bring Todrick back, nothing will stop me from doing just
that.”
Sword extended forward, Clare dashed toward Myke to engage in combat.
The henchmen reacted not by capturing Clare, or even Beatrice, but by grabbing Elowen of all people. What did she have to do with this? Even Myke had said she was expendable! One of the men wrapped his gloved hands around her arms while another pressed a cold sword to her throat.
“Make one more move and I’ll have them slash her throat,” Myke warned.
Clare stilled, torn. Vandra’s keen eyes darted back and forth, searching for a solution. Beatrice’s face, which had been rather
stoic, fixed itself into something that looked almost like remorse.
Myke clearly believed that the remaining three of the Four still had loyalty to each other. He didn’t understand how fractured
they’d become. This was a mess in all ways it could be, and now Elowen had somehow gotten herself tangled up in the heart
of the battle when all she’d meant to do was kill time until a viable plan emerged. If she ever got freed, the first thing
she was going to do was lay into Lettice for ever letting her believe she was capable of going on another quest.
“Take me, then,” Beatrice said, offering her wrists for tying. “If you leave Elowen alone, I will go without resistance.”
It was Elowen’s turn to give Beatrice a look of shock, and Beatrice took the opportunity to return the same What? expression and continue on with her business. After a nod of approval from Myke, the two henchmen released their hold on Elowen
to saunter toward Beatrice instead. They could have committed a little longer to being interested in Elowen, but this wasn’t
the moment for her pride to interfere.
“No!” Clare shouted. His features darkened as his desperation morphed into anger, surely remembering how Beatrice had tried
to sacrifice herself in the last quest. It struck Elowen how cruel their shared history was, destined to repeat itself over
and over.
Within that same history, Elowen saw a solution.
Impulsively, Elowen dashed over to Myke and shoved him toward Beatrice. Beatrice grabbed him by the hair in an instant, thrusting herself and Myke into one of his memories. It was so fluid it looked planned, another echo of their past. The henchmen paused, confused, as Myke thrashed about, his dagger swinging in every direction until finally, he surrendered.
Clare and Vandra capitalized on the lull by charging toward a massive column of shimmering amethyst. It would be large enough
to create a barrier between the henchmen and the others, and it also seemed to hold the entire cave together. Elowen joined
them, knowing that they needed as much force as possible to dislodge it. They were making decisions together using only instinct.
And it was working .
The load-bearing column cracked. Elowen shoved again, channeling every bit of her pain and fury into the action. The Fraternal
Order would never have this. They wouldn’t win.
After another satisfying crack, the column began to sway, preparing to tip over.
Vandra turned to Elowen and smiled. “Good job, darling.”
One of the henchmen, taking advantage of Vandra’s distraction, grabbed her, right before the column crashed to the ground.
Vandra and the two henchmen got stuck on one side of it, with Clare and Elowen on the other. Shimmering crystal surfaces began
to tremble without the support of the smashed amethyst.
“You need to run!” Vandra yelled. “The walls are about to fall down!”
“I can’t just leave you!” Elowen shouted back. Crystals started pouring down, first in drizzles, then in sheets, like a dazzling
prismatic rain.
The henchmen shook dislodged dirt off their clothing with grins on their faces. Elowen could sense their growing excitement. They took great pleasure not just in the unfolding chaos, but the promise of killing the one and only Vandra Ravenfall, even if it meant they’d die doing it.
“I will be fine!” Vandra said. She kneed one of the henchmen in the groin while elbowing the other. “Get out of here immediately!”
It was Clare who stopped Elowen’s hesitation. “She has survived this long without you. Trust that she can survive this, too.
We must go.”
Startled, Elowen broke from Clare’s grasp to grab Beatrice by the shoulder, yanking her off Myke to guide them toward the
tunnel. She wasn’t saving Beatrice, per se. She was just doing the logical thing.
The shower of crystal destruction followed them as the three retraced their steps, exiting the way they’d entered. Beatrice
was slower than usual, and Elowen almost chastised her for it, until she looked back to see Beatrice grabbing her side. Myke
had no doubt nicked her with his dagger, and in true Beatrice form, she’d said nothing of it.
“Let me,” Elowen whispered, careful not to let Clare overhear. He was busy leading the charge, shoving fallen crystals out
of the way to clear their path to freedom. Elowen almost said Let me help , but that’s not what this was. If Beatrice was hurt, she was going to be insufferably silent about it, and it would slow
everything down.
“Fine,” Beatrice hissed. The pain must have been immense, or she’d never have agreed so quickly. She held out her hand for
Elowen to grab.
When Elowen latched on, she closed her eyes, taking the opportunity to use the full extent of her powers. If she focused,
she had the ability to completely absorb other people’s emotions. She could pull out the feelings and take them on as her
own, then dissolve them into nothingness inside her.
She did not want to take on all of Beatrice’s pain. That would have been exhausting—and yes, painful—but it also would have taken too much time. She took off a bit, softening the edges, and even that much made her break out into a sweat. Beatrice really was carrying a lot.
Beatrice seemed to almost say thank you, but must have thought better of it, and they charged forth.
When they emerged from the cave, the fresh air tasted bitter on Elowen’s tongue. She gulped it down, heaving, all of the adrenaline
hitting her after the fact. She shook as violently as the crystal caves did, while the sounds of shattering walls still rang
through the hollow hill.
Elowen had let Vandra die in there. And worse, Elowen knew she could not send herself back into the trees to get over it.
It hadn’t even worked the first time. She was not over a single thing that had happened to her ten years ago, from Galwell’s
death to her stolen moments with Vandra. She’d already held too tightly to all of that, and now she’d made it worse. She’d
asked Vandra to come. She’d let Vandra protect her. And she’d done nothing in return but put Vandra in danger.
She has survived this long without you , Clare had said as the walls were coming down.
And she didn’t survive knowing me again , Elowen thought. The first seed of devastation began blooming in her chest, pressing against her lungs, threatening her ability
to breathe.
“Are you all just going to stand there gawking, or should we get on with our quest?”
Elowen whipped around, finding Vandra feeding Killer some straw she’d plucked from the ground outside the cave. The fallen amethysts had scattered through her dark, flowing locks like some of the fashionable hair jewels that were popular many years back, and the fractured crystals clung to her cloak in constellatory patterns. She was radiant in all ways she could be, from her clothing to her smile to her mood.
“How did you—” Elowen asked, faltering. The sight of Vandra stole all of her breath.
Vandra petted her horse’s mane. She wore no distress in her emotions, or even the slightest hint of worry. “There was a faster
exit on the other side. Without you three around to distract me, I found it quite easily.”
If Vandra wasn’t upset, why was Elowen? And why did it bother her so much that Vandra was fine? It was exactly what she wanted,
and yet, Elowen found herself sulking as she walked over to the horses, confused by her own pain. Perhaps it was the implication
that Vandra had an easier time without Elowen. Even though Elowen herself had just thought it, she didn’t appreciate Vandra
confirming the assumption.
“It isn’t all good news, though,” Vandra continued. “Myke is still alive. I could not reach him in time. He went out a different
way than all of us. We need to be on our way at once.”
Climbing atop his steed, Clare mumbled, “This was all for nothing.”
Elowen had been too distracted by her own feelings to first notice how angry Clare was. It was much like the caves—a shimmering
fury on the verge of collapse. For the first time, Elowen felt like she was seeing a reflection of herself in him. This was
what it was like to be around someone who did not shield their hurts. Where others may have been put off by this, Elowen found
herself charmed.
Good for Clare. The realm needed more curmudgeons.
“It wasn’t actually,” Beatrice said. She hoisted herself onto her horse with a grin that only faltered when her injured side had to bear some of her mounting. There was no time to manage her pain further or bandage the wound. She would have to endure.
“How so?” he snapped back.
“I went into Myke’s memories and found out where Hugh is,” she said with no shortage of satisfaction. “He’s near the Straits
of Baldon.”
When she’d thrust Myke toward Beatrice, she’d hoped Beatrice would comb his memories for Hugh’s location. And she had. They’d
executed a wordless plan to perfection. Elowen might have been excited, if she wasn’t so confused.
So much for conjurating Lettice to yell at her. Elowen might need to conjurate her for the very reason most people used heart
healers—to talk about her romantic feelings.