Episode 61
I Can’t Do This Alone
As the morning wears on, Cerian’s apprehension builds. He can’t explain it. It’s just there. This growing unease that something is terribly wrong.
He pulls Arisanna through the woods behind him until she stumbles.
“I’m sorry,” she says as she rights herself. “My humanness is showing.”
Whistling wind. What is he doing to her, making her keep up with an elf?
“I know I’m slowing you down.” Frustration clouds her voice, and he pulls her into his arms.
“Forgive me. We...we’ll go slower.”
The thought nearly upends his stomach. But she can’t keep up with him. What else is he supposed to do?
It would be faster to carry her.
He could do it, couldn’t he? He’s an elf. He’s strong, and he’s quick. He’d tire faster, but at least Arisanna would be all right.
Tugging the knapsack from his back, he hands it to her. “Put this on.”
Her brows wrinkle, but she doesn’t question him.
His fire magic is quiet with all the worry filling him right now, but he drains some of it anyway before turning to her again. “Climb on my back.”
Her eyes grow wide. “Do what?”
“Please. We need to hurry. Something is wrong. I can feel it.”
She searches his face before nodding, and as she approaches him, he eyes her skirt. If only she were wearing trousers.
She doesn’t hesitate, though, hiking up her skirt before climbing onto his back as he wraps his hands around her legs and shoves his fire magic away.
“I’ll put you down if anyone approaches,” he says.
“As long as my mother doesn’t see us, I think I’ll survive.”
Her words make him smile, cutting the tension surrounding them.
“Thank you.” He takes off much faster than they were managing. She clutches his shoulders, but she says nothing.
And he just keeps running.
By the time they reach the edge of the Wildthorne Woods, the sun has passed its zenith, and even Cerian’s elf strength seems near its limit. He breathes heavily, and his steps slow.
The forest gives way to rolling fields, and the buildings of Feressa dot the horizon in the distance. They’re almost there.
“I can walk again,” Arisanna says. “Besides, you need to eat before we get there.”
To her shock, Cerian doesn’t argue as he sets her on her feet. His heart is pounding from the exertion, and he doesn’t bother trying to speak.
“Here.” She hands him the knapsack with the food. “Eat while we walk.”
He nods, and she takes the lead. His anxiety seems to grow by the step as he withdraws inside himself. He says nothing. His expression, which was so open earlier, is now shuttered the way it was the day they met.
“I won’t leave your side,” she whispers.
His lips press into a thin line, and he barely nods. When the food is gone, he returns the knapsack to his back, and she offers her hand, which he clutches as if he’s afraid she might fade away if he lets go.
Buildings pop up as they hurry toward the city, houses and shops growing closer together.
People eye them curiously, and Arisanna tries not to dwell on her state of disarray.
Mother would be horrified at her loose, disheveled tresses, but Arisanna can barely bring herself to care about anything but the elf clinging to her hand and the sister he loves so much.
Her brother’s wife.
She has no reason to believe anything is wrong aside from the dream or vision Cerian had and his feelings of apprehension now, but the certainty which fills him that Elowyn needs him is frightening in its strength. She doesn’t dare question him.
If Cerian thinks something is wrong, Arisanna trusts him to know.
They stop on Feressa’s busy main street at the same square where they met for the first time. It feels so long ago now. As if months or even years have passed and not days.
“Excuse me, sir,” she says to a passerby. “Could you direct us to the telegraph office?”
The man eyes Cerian’s ears and their clutched hands before his eyes widen. “Of course, Your Highness.”
So they’ve been recognized. It was inevitable. They were just here a few days ago.
And there aren’t any other elf-human couplings that she’s aware of, other than Rominy and Elowyn.
“It’s just down the street, there, Your Highness.” The man points, and Arisanna thanks him.
Cerian says nothing as his glare returns. That scowl he hides behind. If only the rest of the world saw what she does. The soft heart of this amazing elf she married.
Perhaps with time, he’ll be able to peel back the fear, but for now, they need to get to the telegraph office. Surely she can still charge things to the crown. It didn’t occur to her that she has no money to send a telegram.
Father would never begrudge her the cost of a telegram, nor likely anything, so she doesn’t dwell on it as they approach the small building with the wire extending from its side and the word TELEGRAPH in big blocky letters on a sign set atop the building’s facade.
“I’ll do the talking,” she assures Cerian as she squeezes his hand, and relief fills his face.
He pulls the door open for her, and voices rise from within.
“I don’t know how to get to Darlei!” a man says, and Cerian’s eyes snap toward Arisanna’s.
Darlei?
“Well, someone had better figure it out. You heard the rumors as well as I did. If she dies, he dies, too, and I won’t have the death of our crown prince on my head, not to mention the daughter of the elf king. So someone find me a map now!”
Arisanna’s heart pounds, and it takes a moment for her to realize it’s Cerian’s heart thrumming in her ears.
Stars above. He was right.
“My sister,” he cries out hoarsely. “What’s wrong with my sister?”
The men behind the counter look up in shock, followed by trepidation with a bit of relief.
“We just received a telegram from Wolbourne, Your Highness. Directed to Prince Tharios of Lostariel at Darlei from Prince Rominy.” He hands the paper to Cerian, but Cerian shoves it into Arisanna’s hands as a wild look of terror fills his eyes.
Arisanna scans the words, and her heart drops.
“What does it say?” Cerian asks.
After breathing out slowly, she reads it aloud. “Elowyn gravely ill. Bringing her to Feressa. Meet us there.”
Cerian’s legs buckle, and he slides down the wall.
She rushes toward him and cups his cheeks, forcing his glassy eyes toward hers. “It’s all right, Cerian. It will be all right. Do you hear me?”
He shakes his head, and her heart breaks at the fear in his eyes.
“I need you to be strong, my fire wielder. Show me that fire you hide from the world. I can’t do this alone. Elowyn needs you. I need you.”
He takes a few shuddering breaths and nods.
“We are going to get Tharios. All right?”
He nods again.
“I need you to lead the way.”
He swallows and nods once more.
Then she turns to the men, who watch her with wide eyes. “I need food we can eat quickly and horses that won’t spook in the woods.”
Cerian shakes his head. “One horse. We’ll move faster if you ride with me.”
Arisanna turns back to the men. “One horse capable of riding double.”
One of the men takes off, and Arisanna runs her thumbs over Cerian’s brows. The touch calms him. She’d caress his ears if it wouldn’t mortify him for her to do that here.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“You and I, Cerian. We’re in this together. My light will fill your darkness, remember?”
He breathes out slowly, and with a caress of his cheek, she lets him go. Then he finds his feet and reaches for her hand.
A woman rushes into the small office with a tray of cheese and buttered bread, and to Arisanna’s relief, Cerian eats without a fuss. Then a groom leads a horse forward. It’s large but lithe. They chose well.
“Prepare a room for Princess Elowyn,” Arisanna says as Cerian mounts and pulls her up in front of him.
Stars above. She’s not dressed to ride astride. No one sends her looks of anything but compassion, though.
“And tell my brother we’ll be back as soon as we can,” she adds.
The people who so quickly came to their aid nod and send them off with wishes for a safe and quick journey, and Cerian nudges the horse north, back toward the Wildthorne Woods of Lostariel.