It’s more spread out than Levina. Quieter than Feressa, even. Lanterns hang from buildings and along streets, but they’re not gaslit like the streetlights back home.
In the distance, the most magnificent weeping willow she’s ever seen stands alone, looking out of place. It’s enormous, and its branches hang to the forest floor like a canopy, completely blocking any view of what’s underneath.
“That’s the Tree of Memories,” Cerian says as he follows her gaze. “My parents often consult it to glean wisdom from their forebears.”
Arisanna’s brows knit. “It’s magic?”
He nods. “The memories of every King of Lostariel are transferred to the tree after they pass from the light. Wisdom from across millennia. Only the heir to a fallen king can access it.”
A chill ripples through Arisanna at that thought. It may take time to grow accustomed to the magic of her new home.
“And that’s Windhaven.” Cerian juts his chin toward a grand tree-grown dwelling with multiple wings and ornate doors and windows. The flowering vines covering it look nearly as old as the willow tree did. Except for one wing. That wing looks younger, somehow. As if it was added on later or regrown at some point in the past.
Windhaven.
She’s heard of it, of course—the southern home of the royal family of Lostariel. It’s far more impressive than she imagined.
Wordlessly, she follows at Cerian’s side as they approach the grand estate, and soon their entourage comes to a stop. With a few polite farewells, most of the elves accompanying them continue to other destinations, leaving only the royal family and their guards at the royal residence.
Cerian jumps lightly from his dappled gray gelding as Arisanna watches with more than a hint of jealousy. She’ll probably hobble for most of the night after she dismounts.
Cerian looks up at her, about to say something, when an elf hurries from the nearest door. She’s beautiful. Even in her rush to greet them, the woman is stately and elegant.
She moves to Cerian’s mother first and covers her mouth in surprise. “Oh, my darling. You’re already improving. Has Lorial been replenishing your—”
“Yes, Mera,” Queen Nestraya says with a hint of amusement. Her voice is unrecognizable from the ethereal, breathy quality it had before.
Mera. That’s an Elvish endearment for mother, right? This must be Miravel, the queen mother—Cerian’s grandmother. She looks too young to be anyone’s grandmother.
King Lorial reaches up to lift his queen from her horse, gently lowering her to her feet. “I always care for my Nestraya,” he says softly as he presses his forehead to hers.
Then, to Arisanna’s complete shock, he kisses her. Right there on the street.
Stars above. Mother would faint. Humans may kiss at weddings, but that’s the only time a public kiss is deemed appropriate.
Thoughts of that almost-kiss Cerian planted on her own lips yesterday fill Arisanna, and her face warms.
But then Queen Miravel turns toward her and Cerian. “Introduce me to your princess, my elfling.” Her smile is warm as she sets her hand on Cerian’s shoulder and looks up at Arisanna.
The discomfort in Cerian’s eyes is easy to read, and Arisanna’s tired, cramped fingers tighten around the reins in her hand.
Is he embarrassed by her? Or is this just his taciturn nature showing itself again?
“Grandmera, this is Arisanna,” he says. “Arisanna, my grandmother.”
“Help the poor girl down, Cerian,” the woman says. “She looks ready to fall from that beautiful mare.”
Cerian looks from his grandmother up to Arisanna while Tharios grins nearby, as he seems to enjoy doing.
Arisanna’s cheeks warm again when Cerian reaches for her waist, easily lifting her down. How strong is he? Elves are stronger than humans, but he lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and it wasn’t the first time, either.
He lets go immediately, and her knees give way, too weak to carry her own weight as exhaustion tugs at every inch of her aching body.
Then she’s in Cerian’s arms before she even realizes what’s happening. How did he move so quickly?
“Are you all right?” he asks, an edge of panic in his voice.
She nods. “Just stiff and sore and tired. I think my humanness is showing.”
