So was the yearning.
Teryn stared at the place the spirit had been, then down at his hand. There was nothing to explain what had happened, only the ghost’s desperate final words.
Emylia’s too.
…if I get too close, I’ll cease to exist.
Did Teryn have the ability…to send wandering spirits to the otherlife? Was that yearning coming from the dead, from their craving for oblivion?
His breaths pulsed sharp and shallow as his mind reeled to comprehend what all of this meant. His connection to ghosts wasn’t an Art of the six senses, nor was it an earthly power like the Faeryn wielded. He wasn’t a witch, an Elvyn weaver, or a Faeryn descendant.
Which left one question.
What am I?
36
Elvyn baths were disturbing. Not that they were unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact. Cora reclined in a tub that was nestled in a private, dimly lit room attached to the borrowed bedroom Garot had brought her and Mareleau to via pathweaving. Crystalline sconces lined the walls, lit with a faint luminescence that glowed too unwaveringly to be a flame. The floor was a gold-veined white marble, and the walls were a pale blue crystal, giving the impression that one was walking on clouds. The adjoining bedroom looked the same but with arched windows covered in gold filigree shutters.
The basin she soaked in was larger than anything she’d used at Ridine, twice as wide as her body. It was carved from the same blue crystal as the walls and was perched upon gilded feet. There was no need to wait for servants to haul in buckets of boiled water, for warm liquid poured from a tap at the turn of a handle. It was an impossible magic that Garot had explained as if it were commonplace. That was the disturbing part. For a land that utilized magic that was supposedly weakened by the Veil, this bath was nothing short of a miracle. What greater miracles were the Elvyn capable of when themorawas at full strength?
These were Cora’s musings as she soaked in the tub, submerged to her neck in lilac-scented water. Her muscles uncoiled with every breath, though she couldn’t fully relinquish her anxiety. At the back of her mind remained the constant chiming of an imaginary clock, one that ticked the hours that were passing in the human world. Hours where anything could be happening. Hours she’d never get back. There was nothing she could do, of course. Until the tribunal meeting was over and she had some form of an alliance to bring back to her people, all she could do was wait.
And there were, admittedly, more unbearable ways to wait than in a comfortable bath.
Ah, so you aren’t being tortured, came Valorre’s mental voice.That is good to know.
Another layer of relief unraveled at the feel of his not-too-distant presence.It seems you aren’t either.
They’d parted in the woods outside the palace before Garot had taken her and Mareleau to their room. She hadn’t wanted to separate from him, especially when he still wore the saddle laden with Cora’s belongings—her bow and quiver, especially, which Ailan had requested she not bring inside the palace. She feared Valorre may be subjected to the same disdain Fanon had shown. Perhaps even from his own kind, should he cross paths with other unicorns. Yet now, as she connected with her unicorn companion, she got the distinct sense of carefree frolicking.
You must be having fun, she said.
I’m only tolerating my surroundings. There just so happens to be a rather nice meadow outside the palace.
She chuckled.And I’m only tolerating this bath.
You see, we are of the same mind.
She wanted to tell him it was all right if he liked this place. El’Ara was once his home, after all. But she held her tongue, for it would only offend him. He was feigning dislike of El’Ara out of solidarity, and if she wanted to confront that, she might have to confront something far more unpleasant.
That maybe this was where he belonged.
Cora soaked until the water began to cool. Only then did she force herself from the tub. She felt bad for having left Mareleau alone for so long, but her friend had been curt and pensive after Garot had departed, and the tangled emotions that seeped into Cora made her think Mareleau might have wanted some time alone. Cora had felt the same. They had so many uncertainties and very few answers. There was much to process and little that could be helped with sympathy or discussion. Not until after the meeting. Which would—hopefully—commence soon.
Outside the tub, she found a bath sheet so plush it almost felt criminal to dry herself off on it. Yet dry herself she did, marveling all the while at its softness and absorbency. Next, she turned her attention to the clothing Garot had left behind along with his suggestion that she dress in traditional Elvyn attire for the meeting. She inspected each article, finding flowing silk trousers, a matching robe, and a gold sash. The silk was the finest quality and a shade of indigo so deep it was almost black. Gold lace and delicate embroidery lined the robe’s hems while stars and moon phases decorated the skirt and bodice. She could tell at a glance that the robe was not meant to be worn with a corset. That was all for the better, as the clothing and undergarments she’d arrived in were in grave need of laundering.
Despite the ensemble’s simplistic design, once she was dressed, she felt as elegant as she’d be in a ballgown. More than that, she was supremely comfortable. She hated to admit it, but the Elvyn may be onto something in terms of fashion.
She strode to her pile of clothing and extracted two items hidden beneath—the magic-suppressing collar and her beautiful dagger. The first item she tucked into one of her robe’s pockets. The latter, she hid behind her back in the folds of her sash. That filled her with a sense of calm. Control. A reminder that she wasn’t defenseless in this place where most considered her an enemy.
As she left the bathroom, voices reached her ears. She entered the bedroom and found Mareleau wasn’t alone. Her friend sat at the edge of the massive four-poster bed, dressed in a pale blue version of Cora’s new attire, bouncing a silk-swaddled Noah in her arms. An anxious expression twisted her features, and several messy braids hung from her freshly brushed tresses. Beside her stood Ailan and Garot.
Garot greeted Cora with a grin. His presence suggested he would take them directly to the meeting and not through the halls of the palace. That made Cora’s anxiety flare with a sharp pinch. She’d hardly glimpsed more than a few towering white spires over the treetops before Garot had whisked her and Mareleau directly to their room. The view outside the arched windows in the bedroom revealed sky, forest, distant mountains, and a dizzying view of the landscape far below. Not having a clearer visual of the palace itself made her feel like a prisoner. It reminded her too much of when she’d been stuck in her beautiful room at Verlot Palace while King Verdian questioned her identity for weeks on end.
She swallowed her panic and brushed her fingertips over the back of her sash, taking comfort in the firm lines of her hidden dagger. “Is it time?” she asked as she approached the others.
Ailan nodded. She too had bathed and changed since they’d parted ways outside the palace. The bottom half of her long black hair flowed freely around her shoulders while the top was arranged in several intertwining braids around the crown of her head. Her robe was even more stunning than Cora’s, in shades of crimson, saffron, and persimmon, patterned with botanicals Cora had no name for. Her sleeves trailed nearly to the floor while her sash glittered with multihued jewels. She looked every inch a royal.
