Chapter 10 #2
Estelar unbuttoned his leather jerkin at the top.
A carving of a bow, dark and brown, sat on his breastbone, just near his heart.
“This is the birthmark of Rivenholde, the curia of death. Tansea, Ryquin, and my daughter, Lexsea, are also Rivenholde prominent. Malon is Rosedown, the curia of solace. Ask him to show you the back of his neck when the moon is full.”
Nothing they said rang any bells for Jesstin, nor, it seemed, Elloven. Taven, though, clearly knew far more than he’d let on. The man was drunk on his supremacy.
“And this woman who hasn’t eaten or spoken a word?” Sesto gestured toward the far end of the table.
Estelar seemed irritated again. “That would be my sister. Velanthe. You can ignore her, just as she ignores us.”
Jesstin’s head throbbed. Even with Taven’s healing, there was still a phantom pain that came and went. The chorus of the dead didn’t help.
“You can block them, necromancer.”
Jesstin glanced sideways, where Gennady had been earlier. It wasn’t Gennady though.
It was the son, Ryquin.
Jesstin narrowed his eyes. The man winked.
“It’s quite simple. Ask them to hush now, and you’ll hear their pleas later.”
Their pleas? What pleas? And why should he listen to a rude man who’d invaded his head without an invite?
Not a damn one of them could be trusted.
But if he couldn’t silence the noise, he wouldn’t survive a day.
Hush now, he said in his head, feeling absolutely foolish. I’ll hear your pleas later.
The voices stopped. Suddenly, immediately, and completely.
Ryquin waggled his brows and finally looked away.
“We could spend all night in discussion, but it’s time to rest.” Estelar pushed back from the table.
He waited while an attendant wiped his face with a napkin.
“Jesstin and Sesto, we do not often allow outsiders on our lands, but one of you is bound to one of us by magic, and the other is harmless. Still, there are many in Rivenholde who will not welcome you, and you’d be well-advised not to wander alone. ”
“Harmless?” Sesto bristled.
“We’ve prepared two crofts, both within a short walk of the sept, down the hill a bit,” Tansea said.
She endured the same ceremonial face-wiping.
“Aelloven and Jesstin, you’ll stay in one, for practical purposes.
The bond can be fickle about distance. Taven and Sesto will take the other.
You’ll find clothes and other necessities have already been laid out for you. ”
“Now, wait,” Taven said, his cool guise slipping as he grew heated. “I should be with Elloven. It would be improper for her to stay so close to him, without a chaperone, when she and I are betrothed.”
“The word means nothing here, Taven,” Estelar said. “This is how you will stay while you are here.”
“Wonderful,” Sesto muttered as he shoved back. “Splendid.”
Jesstin was surprisingly relieved at the arrangement.
Gennady wasn’t the only one who was wary of the place.
Jesstin was still angry with Elloven, but more than that, he was worried for her.
In the space of a meal, she’d learned Wilder Hawthorne was not her father, her name wasn’t the one she’d been born with, and this birthmark Taven so blithely talked about wasn’t incidental.
He hadn’t stopped thinking about the Night Soul either.
Whether he had created an illusion of her or she’d been there herself, somehow, in a shared experience, he didn’t know.
Both seemed possible after the cyclone of insanity that had been heaped upon his feet in the past week.
He leaned toward the whole thing being a dream, if not for the damned necklace, but the only way to know was to ask her, and he didn’t particularly want to.
Elloven searched for his gaze from beside him.
He didn’t return it.
“I’ll fix this, Ellie,” Taven said, but no one paid him mind.
Tansea clapped her gloved hands together. “Shall we?”
The “croft” was a pitched cabin made of stone and a thatched roof. In contrast to the elaborateness of the sept, it reminded Elloven more of the simplicity of Nightwood. She took comfort in it, like everything else in Rivenholde so far.
Taven lingered on the stoop, but she was too exhausted to manage his mood. She could almost feel his dejected flinch when Jesstin kicked the door closed on him.
The inside was modest and cozy, with a tall hearth stretching from the main floor into the loft, which was an open sleeping area. There were several high-backed chairs for socializing and a small table for eating, beside which was a stove with a hook.
“Guess I’m sleeping on the floor,” Jesstin said with a look around. “If there’s an extra blanket, I’ll take it. A pillow. Something.”
Elloven peered up into the loft at the single bed. It was large enough for them both, but even the thought of lying next to him all night made her anxious. Had Estelar assumed they would want to share? Surely there were crofts with more than one sleeping area.
Taven had accused her of sacrificing herself twice for someone she didn’t even know, and now, standing next to the man in question, wondering what to say, she actually felt shame.
Shame for having done it.
For having not listened.
For having made a fool of herself.
For allowing her exhaustion to supplant her thoughtfulness when she said, “I’ll bring one down for you.”
He chuckled to himself and went to examine the hearth.
It hit her suddenly she was standing on a woven rug in the middle of a cabin—croft—in her homeland. The idea was so surreal, she missed a step and nearly fell up the stairs.
She gripped the bottom of the railing, embarrassed. Jesstin was still warming himself by the fire and hadn’t noticed. If Taven were there, he’d have already been smothering her.
Elloven climbed up into the loft bedroom, every step heavier than the last. It was as humble as the first floor, with only a bed, a bureau, and a desk with a chair. She didn’t have to search long for the blankets. The extras were stacked in a neat pile on the end of the bed.
She jumped when Jesstin appeared behind her. He went out of his way not to look at her when he reached down and gathered two from the stack.
“Will you have enough?” he asked, facing away. “No point in you having to come back down.”
“I have enough,” she croaked. On the road, she’d begun to appreciate the weight of their bond.
It wasn’t merely physical distance that was painful but also emotional.
When she was focused on something else, she hardly noticed it, but when they were near each other, when the rest of the world was occupied, it was so potent.
Elloven needed to free them both of the agony, but if the man who’d called himself her uncle was to be believed, the only remedy was to bond with another, which was a terrible solution.
But if she had to, she would do it. For him.
She would do it for Jesstin because she was the reason his entire life had been upended.
Never mind that he’d have died otherwise; he didn’t seem to think that was a strong enough justification.
“Night then,” he muttered and started down the steps.
“Jesstin.”
He paused.
“I’ll fix this, so you can go home to your family.”
His head shook at the blankets in his arms. “Elloven, you heard the pretor. There’s only one way, and in case you hadn’t picked up where that was going, they’ll have you bond with Considine. They knew you were coming, and they knew who with.”
“Why would you think that?” Taven might want that, but it surprised her to hear Jesstin suggest Estelar, or anyone, would care at all.
“Just my read on things. We’ll figure something else out.” He turned, finally looking at her. Red lines cut through the whites of his tired eyes, dark bags pulling at the undersides. “Unless it’s what you want, to bond with him.”
All she could do was shake her head. Words had never come easily in the hard moments.
He nodded, his gaze trailing off.
“I sensed none of that from them, Jesstin. They’re family. I think. I’ve been waiting so many years, and I...” She hung her head.
Jesstin spun all the way around. “Has it occurred to you that, for all their hospitality, your family might not have your best interests in mind?”
It hadn’t, which startled her. Her trust in others had been whittled to dust long ago. But how could she explain the explosive feeling she was exactly where she was meant to be? The certainty that she was home?
Even her name felt right. Aelloven. Jesstin wasn’t the only one who could reinvent themselves.
He sighed, shook his head, and went downstairs.
Jesstin fell asleep on the hard, cold floor right away.
He was in the old monastery again, but the place was different from the last time.
Part of the room had come to life. The dining table at the far end had been polished to gleaming and had enough place settings and decor for a royal banquet.
The nearby serving tables were still in disrepair, and so was most everything else, but in that one, single corner, there was color and light and coziness.
“When did you redecorate?” Elloven said at his side. He hadn’t heard her approach. She was dressed as a midnight widow again, but this dress was a slim, gauzy number of black satin.
Jesstin looked at her and did a double take. The unforgiving dress clung to every inch of her, revealing an incredible outline of soft roundness and traceable curves. The effect was... exquisite. “This wasn’t your handiwork?”
Her eyes went wide. “Do you walk into others’ homes and move things around?”
“No, but now that you say it, I think I will.”
“Besides, how would I even know how? You invented the place.”
“I didn’t know you could come here, so maybe I don’t understand the rules either.” He crossed his arms as they took in the festive dining space. Was it any more real than her? Than him? Did his subconscious summon her and the lavish improvements?