Episode 29 A Complicated Elf
A Complicated Elf
When Cerian doesn’t return, Arisanna eventually drags herself from his warm bed into the empty room. She’s wearing some sort of satin nightgown, though where it came from is a mystery.
The sleeves are long, but the hem is short, hitting just below her knees.
She can’t wear this in public.
What is she supposed to do? Wait here for someone to bring her clothes? Everything she was wearing yesterday has disappeared. It probably needed washing.
She probably needs washing, too. Is there a water closet in here?
Poking her head through the other door in Cerian’s chamber, she discovers a small room.
It’s definitely a water closet, though it’s different from what she’s used to in Nunia.
There’s no shower, for one. She eyes the wooden tub longingly instead.
Whatever Tharios did to her last night has worn off, and her stiff muscles could do with a good soak.
But there are no knobs to start the water flowing. Is it powered by magic? Cerian’s not a water wielder, so that makes little sense.
She’ll have to ask him later.
Hopefully, she doesn’t smell too bad in the meantime.
Not that Cerian seems eager to be close enough to her in the real world to notice. He probably didn’t even want her in here last night. He said his family put her in here.
No wonder he slept in a chair.
With a sigh, she wanders back to the main room.
What now? She didn’t think Cerian would leave her to fend for herself here, but maybe she was wrong. Thoughts of home add to the ache growing in her chest, but she pushes the prickling behind her eyes aside.
This is her life now. There’s no point in crying about it.
Not expecting to find anything useful, she pulls open his wardrobe doors and glances over his clothes before frowning.
There’s a gown in here. Was it left for her? Or is it some artifact from a previous attachment?
The idea of Cerian with another woman seems so absurd she barely gives it a thought. He hardly talks to anyone, instead glaring at everyone every chance he gets. It’s doubtful he steals many hearts that way.
Besides, they’ve been promised to each other their whole lives.
The dress is probably meant for her. Something of Viala’s, perhaps.
And even if it wasn’t left for her, what else is she supposed to wear? Cerian’s the one who ran off and left her here alone.
Is he all right? After the way he left, she doesn’t want to worry about him, but she can’t seem to stop herself. He looked genuinely disappointed when he took off, as if she were rejecting him.
Which she wasn’t. She was trying to thank him for...everything.
How can the same person hold her hand for hours just to help her feel safe and then glare at everyone as if he has a personal vendetta against the world?
What a complicated elf she married.
Perhaps she should go find him—clarify what she was trying to tell him earlier.
It’s not as if she has anything else to do.
Determination fills her as she pulls the silky green gown from the hanger. It shines like emeralds in the sunlight pouring around the edges of the drapes.
Like Cerian’s eyes.
It’s exquisite—made from the finest fabric Arisanna has ever held.
Perhaps she shouldn’t wear it.
What other option does she have, though?
After slipping out of the satin sleeping gown, she lowers the emerald silk over her head and arms, and it slides perfectly into place, hugging her body as if it was made for her.
How is that possible?
She studies her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door, first from the front and then from the side.
Remarkable. Every fold. Every silken panel. All of it falls gracefully over her like a waterfall, accentuating her figure in sensuous, though not scandalous, ways.
It’s almost like...magic.
What sort of gown is this?
After taking one last fleeting glance in the mirror, she searches the room for her hairpins from last night, but if they’re here, they’re hidden away. She’s not going to dig through Cerian’s drawers looking for them.
A brush sits nearby, and she eyes it warily. Will he mind if she borrows it?
She’s his wife. Surely it’s all right to use his hairbrush.
Thoughts of his long dark hair fill her as she pushes the bristles through her own reddish-brown locks. Her hair hangs to her lower back, shining in the sun once she’s finished. At least she doesn’t look unkempt now. She’ll have to find her hairpins later. Or a strap to tie it back. Or something.
Mother would be horrified.
But Mother isn’t here.
Taking a deep breath, Arisanna moves toward the door and pulls it open.
No one stands in the corridor, ready to help her. Not that she really expected anyone, but part of her hoped Cerian would be waiting out here for her.
He’s not.
Maybe coming after him was a silly plan. What is she going to do? Knock on every door until she finds him? She takes in the six doors branching off the rounded central vestibule. Does one of them lead to the chamber she was supposed to stay in when she arrived?
The door across the corridor opens, and dark hair greets her, but her hope is dashed when Tharios smiles down at her.
“You look lost. Are you alone? Where’s Cerian?”
How much should she tell him? He’s used to Cerian, though. He probably won’t be surprised by the truth.
“Cerian...left. I don’t know where he went.”
Tharios’s smile fades, and he sighs. “Be patient with him, all right? He’ll come around.”
Arisanna nods, unsure what to say, and Tharios calls something she doesn’t understand back into the room behind him. Is that the Lothlesi language? Then he turns down the corridor and gestures for Arisanna to follow. “I’ll help you find him.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“I could make a few guesses, but I’ll just use my life magic to search him out.”
Right. He can do that.
When they reach the main corridor, he stops for a moment and concentrates. Then he tilts his head and grins. “Well, now, that’s fascinating.”
Arisanna’s heart speeds up. Unless that’s Cerian’s heartbeat. “What’s fascinating?”
“I think they’re sparring.”
“Who? Cerian?”
“And Father’s in his study. Intriguing. Come on.”
Tharios takes off at a jog, and Arisanna hurries after him, holding her skirt up so she doesn’t trip over it. Mother would have a fit if she knew Arisanna was running through the corridors of Windhaven on her first day here. Or any day, really.
Tharios stops outside a large wooden door and puts his finger to his lips before silently pushing the door open a crack. “Don’t let him see you, or he’ll clam up.”
Arisanna frowns as she peers through the small opening beneath Tharios.
A forest grows inside the royal residence? Astounding. There are trees and stones and dirt. Even a creek.
Is Cerian in there?
Then she spots him hovering near the ceiling, suspended by vines that don’t behave as vines should, and her heart almost stops as he plummets to the forest floor.