“You are alive enough,” she says.
A pit forms in my stomach at the turn of this conversation. I did not know the Frost King would spare my life when I left Edgewood. I was prepared to die so that Elora would live. “Help me understand. You would rather I was dead, so that my deception wouldn’t have been for naught?”
“No, of course not.” She crosses her thin arms, that rosebud mouth pinched.
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” she hisses, “you always had to play the hero. It’s what you do.”
My ire rises to meet hers. “I was trying to protect you.”
“It was selfish!”
The word falls like a scythe across my neck. My lungs shrivel, and the pit in my stomach grows, my unrest at last melting into turmoil, queasy disbelief. I came here expecting elation, joy at my return. Now I wonder if I am even welcome. My mind is paralyzed, pinned somewhere between denial and disbelief. And I wonder, who has changed?
“Elora?”
A man strides into view, placing a protective hand on Elora’s hip. Shaw. I remember him as a boy with too many freckles and too little common sense, but he has grown into a man, powerfully built, with the thick shoulders of a bull and a neatly trimmed beard. He’s a carpenter who does well for himself, last I heard. And now he is Elora’s husband.
“Wren?” He blinks slowly. “You’re back.”
“Just for a short visit,” I assure him with a tense smile.
It’s so strange, seeing this. Seeing Elora standing in a house that is not ours, with a man I know little of. The cold drives against my back. I’ve yet to be invited inside. Does Elora not see everything I did was for her, so that she may live, and continue to live, and die in old age?
Selfish.My throat burns with rising tears. Only by sheer will do I stomp them into submission. What else was selfish? Suffering frostbite and slow-healing wounds to guarantee a successful hunt? Spending coin to sew her a new dress despite my tattered trousers pocked with holes? Missing countless parties to chop wood, repair the roof while she danced until her feet grew sore? Our parents have been gone for years, yet the identities they assigned us have carried through. Me, protector. Elora, protected. Me, shadowed, unfit for security. Elora, embraced. Elora, sheltered.
I never wanted to be parted from her. I made the difficult decision.Me. I always made the difficult decisions, always placed her comfort over my struggles, her happiness over my pain. In doing so, I convinced myself my needs didn’t matter. That I wasn’t worthy of such things.
Had our roles been reversed, would she have sacrificed herself to save me from the Frost King? Would she have put my needs, dreams, future before her own?
Truth has such prickly edges. Deep in my heart, I know the answer.
Shaw glances between me and his wife, brow furrowed. Perhaps wondering why I’ve yet to be welcomed inside.
A crack runs through my heart as I step back. If this is how she feels, then I must respect that. But I’ll be damned if I let her see how this hurts. “I was just leaving.”
Turning, I begin descending the stairs when Elora calls out, “Wait.”
I halt on the bottom step.
“Come inside,” she says. A long, uncertain pause. “Have dinner with us.”
Since I cannot see Elora’s expression, I’m forced to interpret the inflection of her voice. Fury, sadness, reluctance. My intention was always to protect her, and she claims my actions were selfish? I’m not sure I can forgive that so easily.
And yet, I came all this way. The least I can do is spend time with the person I love most in the world. With a final glance at the darkened landscape, I climb the stairs and enter my sister’s new home.
I had thought, with complete certainty, that nothing could be more unbearable than sharing dinner with the Frost King.
This is worse.
No one speaks. Utensils clatter against the cracked clay dishware. Elora and Shaw sit on one side of the table, and I sit on the other. My sister focuses on cutting into her hare. The meat is stringy, for there is little fat on the animal. I’ve grown accustomed to the rich foods served in the citadel, and I must be a truly horrible person to turn my nose up at what they offer, considering I once survived on such fare.
“This is a lovely meal,” I offer.
Elora clears her throat, nods her head in appreciation.
Thankfully, Shaw attempts conversation. He speaks of their wedding, how happy a day it was. If I hadn’t left, perhaps Elora would not have found someone to share her life with. Perhaps my departure was for the best.
