chapter twenty-one #2
I blink. It is night, and I’m sitting outside the temple with Ero, gazing at the stars.
I can feel a buzz of power under my skin now—a connection to everything surrounding me, as if invisible threads connect me to the waters, the wind, the earth, and fire.
Ero gestures with his staff toward the soul stars twinkling in the night sky, drawing patterns on the dark canvas with his staff.
“You will find family again,” he says, and through Seniia’s memory, I know he is reading the stars. “Your anam.” He smiles at me, and I throw my arms around his neck.
“Thank you, Ealdorman.” I rest my head on his shoulder, and he chuckles, patting me on the head.
“Mind you, I almost forgot. Hold this for me, will you?” He hands me his small bag of nuts, then scurries down the path behind the temple. A moment later, he’s back, carrying a box. He hands it to me.
The box reveals a flurry of white feathers, and beneath them are two dark eyes that never waver.
I blink, and I’m back with Seniia, seated at the edge of the Arc, warm tears streaming down both of our cheeks. I pull her into a tight embrace. No, being vulnerable was not being weak at all. It took real courage. What it must have cost her to relive all those memories.
“I’ve learned that we won’t always find answers, closure, or compensation for the hurt we endure,” she says as she holds me tight.
Her hands, warm and firm, rest on my shoulders as she leans back, her eyes meeting mine.
“Sometimes, we simply must breathe, make peace with ourselves, and move forward.”
Tears continue to stream down my face as I nod. Seniia’s raw vulnerability has unlocked a flood of emotion. All the hurt and pain I’ve suppressed for so long pours out. Her gentle support is a weight lifted, and for the first time, I feel safe enough to reveal how truly lost and broken I feel.
An unexpected sob escapes me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight back the tears, but Seniia pulls me into a firm embrace.
“Release it,” she whispers. “Pushing emotions down—repressing them—will only make it worse. You have to feel your emotions, La?na. Let them travel through you so you can release them.”
Despite my best efforts, I can now no longer hold back the tears.
I’ve never been cared for by anyone, but Seniia holds me in a comforting embrace as I allow my past to pour out of me.
Anger, hurt, and betrayal wash over me, nearly suffocating me in their intensity.
My body convulses, and for an eternal moment, it feels as if I will not be able to breathe through the pain.
Still, Seniia doesn’t yield for even a heartbeat.
Steady and strong, she holds me through anger, sadness, and despair.
Then, amidst the overwhelming pain and anguish threatening to consume me, a surprising sense of calm arises, allowing the pain to slowly dissipate until a foreign feeling emerges: Acceptance. Closely followed by . . . hope.
I gently push away and give Seniia a weak smile.
“Feeling better?”
I nod.
“The ealdorman of your temple,” I say, voice still raw from crying.
“I met him.” I breathe deep. Sharing my feelings has left me in a mixed state of relief and vulnerability.
I feel lighter, as if shackles have fallen away, yet a profound fragility remains, a raw exposure like a bird with broken wings, unable to fly.
Seniia raises her eyebrows. “Ero?”
“Yes. I met him north in Tierra. He accompanied me down the river toward Bowen.” I glance at her. “He can read the soul stars?”
She makes a confirming sound. “He’s one of the most powerful C’elēn alive, a bit of a legend, really. I don’t know if they are true, and he has never confirmed it to me, but some of the stories say he was there at the Darkening.”
I chuckle. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if the quirky old man is as old as the Darkening.
“He is originally from the Western Plains, like Vilder, and yes, he has the gift of divination.”
“You have to be from the Western Plains to have that gift? It’s not something all C’elēn can do?”
She shakes her head. “No. And gifts such as divination or foresight are more common amongst those predominant in air. But then again, he is also an exceptional healer, and he chose the healers’ temple in Althea over the singers’ temple in Arià, so who knows?
” She shrugs. “I suspect Vilder has a gift in regard to foresight as well. His battle skills sure suggest as much. Not that he’ll share that information with me.
” She pouts, brushing a strand of pink hair from her face.
I laugh. “Then what’s the difference? Between gifts and wielding elēn?”
“Oh, of course you don’t know. Sorry. Sometimes I forget that you are human.
” She gives me a sheepish smile. “First off, only the moonborn can be gifted, so to speak. It used to be quite common to have a gift or two, but as with so many other C’elēn powers, they have become less and less common after the Darkening.
Second, gifts cannot be blocked the same way as elēn, by a brace, for example, or by being inside the Void. It’s ingrained in you. Like breathing.”
“And healing, like you do—is that a gift?”
“No, healing is a skill, not a gift. How many glyphs you have—meaning your strength—is vital, of course. Other than that, it’s your skill at weaving the strands of elēn that matters.” She turns toward me. “The memory sharing, however, that’s a gift.” Her proud expression is unmistakable.
We sit in silence for a while, the only sound that of the cascading waterfalls.
“I knew I should have come earlier.” Those were the first words out of Ero’s mouth. Had he known I would be there? Had he been looking for . . . me?
“I’d like some time alone,” I say after a while, then add that I won’t do anything stupid when she looks unsure whether to go. “Besides, I’m sure Fie is waiting for you.” I push the corners of my mouth upward in a small smile.
She laughs. “All right. I’m convinced. But don’t you dare do anything reckless.
” She grabs both my hands, her face turning serious.
“Even in deepest night, a single unwavering candle shines bright,” she says.
“I will be that light for you. When things get too hard to handle, look toward me. I have known darkness, and, most importantly, I know it is possible to make it out.” She hugs me hard, then pushes to her feet.
I watch her until her back disappears in the distance, then drop down on my back, staring at the countless twinkling stars.
IT IS QUIET WHEN I make my way back to my quarters, and I slow my pace as I enter an unfamiliar part of the Arc.
The long hallway is lined with painted pictures of stunning Reān males and females, but based on what they’re wearing, they must be from a different era entirely.
Alcoves carved into the stone walls hold sculptures and smaller portraits, creating shadowed nooks along the corridor.
Feeling a tingle of unease, I pick up my pace.
Maybe I should have chosen a different route.
Noticing a familiar face on a large canvas hanging at the corner of a crossing corridor, I stop, raising my hand to let my fingers trace across the sleek contours so familiar to my memory. Casimir.
“I’d stay away from that one if I were you.”
I jump, whirling around to find Astēr lounging against the wall opposite the painting.
Half covered in the shadows of the dimly lit hallway—as if he’s wrapped them over himself as a blanket—it’s hard to distinguish his features, but there’s no mistaking the clipped tone of his voice.
What is he doing here in the dark alone? Escaping the ball, same as me?
“I dreamed about him.” I don’t know why I share this piece of information, but it’s the only thing I can think of.
A flicker of surprise is followed by an emotion I can’t decipher as he steps out of the shadows. Anger? Hate? Something stronger? The next instant, his cool mask of indifference is back in place, hiding all emotion. His gaze glides across my body. “I’m sure you’ve had more pleasant dreams.”
I stare at him in horrified silence. Did he just refer to the very explicit dreams I’ve had about him? Heat spreads through my body like a wildfire, pooling between my legs. Amusement dances across his face. What I would give to wipe off that knowing smirk.
“He’s your brother,” I blurt, more a statement than a question, and I notice how his features harden once again. So be it. I don’t care. Anything to get his attention away from those dreams.
“Was,” he says, his jaw clenched.
I nod, not knowing what else to say, and we both stare at Casimir in silence for a while.
What must it have felt like to have his mate killed by his twin brother?
All the pain he must have suffered. And still is, likely, depending on how long ago it happened.
Compared to Casimir, Emma’s and Llyr’s betrayals pale.
“He killed her,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “Nana. I saw it. In a dream.” I turn to look at him.
His gaze snaps to mine. “What kind of dream?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “The type you have when you sleep.”
His eyes narrow. “Were you watching whatever played out from a distance, or were you in the dream, like the—”
“Enough.” I don’t need him to get into detail about those dreams.
A faint smile plays on his lips before his face turns serious again.
“Watching,” I say before he can say more. “I was watching. Hovering. I don’t know how to explain it . . .” The first dream I had about Astēr and Nana, as well as the dream where Casimir killed Nana, was significantly different from the others.
Astēr studies Casimir, a contemplative look etched on his face.
“She was your mate,” I blurt.
His gaze meets mine. “I’m still hers,” he says.