Episode 62 It’s Elowyn
It’s Elowyn
Rominy stares absently ahead as Dr. Fulton checks his pulse again. The doctor started checking Rominy instead of Elowyn when he grasped the details of the heartbinding. Elowyn is so hot it’s difficult to touch her now.
The train clambers along on the tracks as the boxcar sways rhythmically. It was faster to put a mattress on a boxcar for Elowyn than to move a passenger car to the industrial track.
“You feel her heart beating, still?” Dr. Fulton asks, and Rominy nods without speaking. That glimmer of a heartbeat not his own is his anchor right now, and he clings to it as he reminds himself to breathe.
“It’s still hours to Feressa, Your Highness,” the doctor says. “It might be in your best interest to sleep while you have the chance.”
Rominy looks down at Elowyn and blinks a few times. He’s so lost without her. How could she have changed his life so completely in such a brief time?
The thought of escaping this nightmare and meeting her in the heartlanding is tempting.
But he’d have to tell her what’s happening. And that’s not a conversation he’s eager to have.
What if he made a mistake? Made the wrong choice? He’s not ready to have someone else’s life in his hands. If he can’t handle this, how will he ever survive as a king?
It might not matter if Elowyn doesn’t pull through. At least he won’t have to figure out how to survive without her. His heart would just stop beating along with hers. Part of him already feels dead inside, seeing her so sick.
It’s his fault. He should have guarded her better. Not pushed her to let the doctor stitch her up. Insisted on calling for the doctor last night instead of waiting for morning.
She deserves better. Better than him. Nunia deserves better than him.
It should be Arisanna. Unflappable, practical Arisanna. She’d be a better monarch than he will be. Who could doubt it?
If they survive this, perhaps he should relinquish his claim on the throne. Trade places with Arisanna. Go live in Lostariel and let her reign over Nunia.
Cerian wouldn’t thank him for that, that’s for sure.
“Rominy?” Dr. Fulton lays a hand on his arm. “I can give you something light to help you sleep.”
Maybe he should rest. Go be with Elowyn again. There’s not much he can do here.
“It won’t hurt her?”
“It’s a mild sedative. It shouldn’t affect your heart.”
Reluctantly, Rominy nods, and Dr. Fulton takes a vial of liquid from his bag. It has a dropper in the lid, and the doctor tells him to lie back.
The floor of the boxcar is hard and cold, but Rominy barely gives it a thought as Dr. Fulton releases a couple of drops into Rominy’s mouth.
The medicine works quickly, and Rominy’s last thought before he drifts off is that he’ll get to talk to Elowyn again soon.
Arisanna’s eyelids droop as Cerian holds her steady against his chest. How is he not exhausted? Or is he just better at hiding it?
“We’re almost there,” he whispers against her hair.
The sun went down more than an hour ago, but the darkness of the woods isn’t as frightening with Cerian’s solid chest at her back and his muscled arms wrapped around her waist.
She must drift off because it feels as if seconds pass before she opens her eyes to the quiet streets of Darlei. The Tree of Memories greets them in the distance, and Cerian nudges the weary horse toward Windhaven.
Home.
A startled groom descends upon them, and Cerian tosses the reins to the man as he jumps down.
“Saddle my family’s horses,” Cerian says, and the fatigue in his voice is impossible to miss.
The thought of riding back to Feressa now nearly makes Arisanna weep, but she doesn’t complain.
Cerian helps her off the horse, not letting go this time as her knees refuse to carry her.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Then, despite his own weariness, he lifts her to his chest the way he did her first night here.
He hurries toward the royal wing, and she struggles to stay awake. How is she going to survive the return journey? How will he?
Rather than rushing to Tharios, Cerian pushes open his own door and gently lays Arisanna on his bed. “Sleep while you can.” He presses a light kiss to her lips. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave again.”
“But you need me,” she mumbles.
“I’ll be fine. You need your strength for the return journey.” He tugs the covers over her, and she wants to argue, but her eyelids grow too heavy, and she gives in to the need for sleep instead.
After leaving Arisanna to rest, Cerian makes his way across the corridor to Tharios’s door. Hopefully, he’s awake.
Whistling wind. Hopefully, he’s clothed. He and Viala often disappear into their chamber in the evenings, and until now, Cerian has tried not to think about it much.
He’s not na?ve, though. He can venture a pretty good guess at what they do in there those nights.
Steeling himself, Cerian lifts his hand and raps on the door.
No one answers at first, and Cerian pounds again.
“I’m coming!” Tharios calls from within, and relief fills Cerian.
The door opens, and a shirtless Tharios looks at him in surprise before grinning. “You were gone a long time. Take your princess to your treehouse?” Then his brows wrinkle, and his smile fades. “Something’s wrong.”
“It’s Elowyn. I...she...”
“Elowyn?”
Cerian nods as he tries to find his words.
Tharios pulls Cerian into his chamber and closes the door. As Cerian collects his thoughts, Viala wanders from the water closet in her dressing gown, concern on her face. “What’s going on?”
Tharios puts his hands on Cerian’s shoulders and looks into his eyes. “Take a deep breath, and tell me about Elowyn, all right? Is she here?”
Cerian shakes his head. “She’s in Nunia. I-I took Arisanna to my treehouse, and I had a dream or a vision or...or something. About Rominy. He was standing on a train platform, and he looked terrified. Then I heard Elowyn calling my name, saying to tell Tharios. She sounded like she was in pain.”
It really wasn’t the heartlanding. The magic didn’t stop him from talking about it.
Tharios glances at Viala before turning back to Cerian.
“You dreamed about Elowyn being hurt?”
“Yes. No. I mean...it wasn’t a dream.”
“Are you certain?”
Cerian fumbles in his pocket for the telegram and shoves it at Tharios, who quickly reads it. Of course he can read Nunian.
“What does it say?” Viala asks.
“It’s from Rominy. It says Elowyn is sick. I don’t understand. Where did you get this?”
“Feressa. We went to Feressa. And it was waiting there. It’s a telegram. They send messages—”
“Over wires. I’ve heard about it. We need such things in Lostariel.” Tharios stares at the paper for a moment before kicking into action. He hurries to throw on a shirt. “I need a horse.”
“I already alerted the stables.”
“Good. Did you tell Father and Mother?”
“I came straight to you.”
“You did great, Cer. Thank you. Show this to Father, and I’ll take care of everything else.”
Cerian takes the telegram back and turns for the door before Tharios grabs his arm. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Grandfather had visions, too.”
“He did?”
Tharios nods. “He saw you. Or the idea of you. What you would mean for Lostariel and Nunia. Now go.”
Cerian doesn’t stop to ponder Tharios’s words as he rushes to Mother and Father’s chamber next. He pounds on the door this time until it bursts open to reveal Father. At least he’s dressed still.
Cerian doesn’t wait for Father to speak. “I had a vision that Elowyn was hurt, and Arisanna took me to Feressa so we could send a telegram to check on her. This was waiting when we arrived.” He hands the paper to Father, whose eyes have grown wide, and suddenly Mother is there, too.
“What does it say?” she asks.
“It’s from Rominy,” Father says. “Elowyn is sick, and he’s bringing her to Feressa. Did you tell Tharios?”
Cerian nods. “And I told the grooms to saddle horses.”
“You came from Feressa?” Mother asks.
“Yes. It’s been a long day.”
“Where is Arisanna?” Father asks as he tosses items into a satchel.
“Sleeping while she can.”
“Cerian,” Mother says gently. “She’s human. Don’t forget that. She won’t be able to keep up with you.”
He frowns. “I know.”
“You’ve done your part. Let us take it from here.”
“What?”
“You need to care for Arisanna now. Here at Windhaven.”
Cerian shakes his head. “No. We’re coming, too.”
“Cerian—”
“It’s Elowyn.”
Mother and Father exchange a glance.
“And Rominy,” Cerian adds. “Her brother. She wishes to go.”
Mother purses her lips and then sighs. “Fine. If she chooses to come. But it’s up to her. Do you hear me? Do not pressure her to be an elf. She’s human, and you are never to make her feel as though she needs to be anything else. She is who she is, and—”
“Who she is is enough. I know. I-I love her. She’s perfect just the way she is.”
Both his parents’ eyes snap toward him. Did he really confess his love for Arisanna to his parents?
“We are glad to hear that,” Father says. “Now we need to go.” He flies from the room with Mother on his heels.
As she passes Cerian, she takes his arm. “If Arisanna insists on coming, I want you to ride Stardust together, and one of us will help her sleep. You’ll have to hold her so she doesn’t fall. But if she doesn’t rest—”
“I know. I can do that.”
“And the first chance you get, you will sleep, too. Do you hear me?”
Cerian nods, and Mother briefly pulls his forehead down to meet hers before hurrying after Father.