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 wordTELEGRAPHin 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.
