Iwake slowly, tangled in warmth. For several blissful moments I remain where I am, half lost between sleep and waking, wrapped in thick quilts that smell faintly of lavender and sun-dried linen.
The mattress beneath me is softer than the ground I have grown accustomed to during our journey. As I think of Auren, a smile crests my lips and I reach instinctively across the bed, expecting to find the steady warmth of him beside me.
Instead, my smile falters when I find the bed empty.
I open my eyes. Buttery morning light spills through the windows.
A strange, hollow feeling blooms in my chest as I gaze at Auren’s side of the mattress. Pushing myself upright, I brush a hand through my hair as my gaze sweeps the small room.
A folded scrap of parchment rests on the bedside table with my name written across it.
Relief loosens the tight knot in my chest even before I unfold it.
Me’lira,
Dain and I must report to the fortress this morning. I will return shortly.
Yours always, Auren
I read the note twice before setting it down.
Of course he must go. Now that he’s returned, duty calls. He is a soldier, after all.
Still, I find myself touching the paper once more before I rise, wishing he were here.
A fresh set of clothing is laid out at the foot of the bed. It’s a pair of pants, boots, and a tunic dress in the same fashion as those I saw on several Dark Elf women when we entered the town. They must be Lyrea’s. It’s very kind of her to share these with me.
I change quickly, smoothing the creases along the material before stepping out into the narrow hallway. The scent of fresh bread drifts from the kitchen, warm and comforting.
Lyrea stands near the hearth, stirring something in a bubbling pot. Her long, black hair hangs down her back in a lovely braid, and when she turns to face me, her eyes are full of kindness as she smiles. “Good morning.”
I smile in return. “Good morning.” I gesture to my tunic dress. “Thank you for the clothing.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it.”
Ailyn sits at the table nearby, her little legs swinging back and forth in the chair as she attempts to braid a bright ribbon through Olly’s fur.
The wolf pup endures this indignity with surprising patience.
“You slept well?” Lyrea asks.
Better than I’ve slept since we left my father’s castle. “Very well,” I admit.
Ailyn looks up at me with bright curiosity. “Do you want to play with us?”
Her hopeful expression makes it impossible to refuse. “I would love to.”
The morning unfolds gently after that. Ailyn insists on showing me everything in the cottage—the little wooden wolf Dain carved for her, the colorful stones she collects along the riverbank, the proud wolf pup who follows her everywhere with clumsy devotion.
At some point Ailyn climbs into my lap as if it is the most natural thing in the world so I can read her a story. It’s about a dwarf and a grumpy dragon. “Adaalways reads this one to me,” she says, using the Elvish word for father. “It’s my favorite.”
The wolf pup circles once at our feet before collapsing beside the chair with a soft huff, his tail thumping lazily against the floor.
As I read some of the lines from the grumpy dragon in my best impression of a deep and thundering voice, Ailyn giggles.
When it’s time for her nap, I offer to help Lyrea in the kitchen as she makes preparations for lunch. “Is there anything I can do?”
She shakes her head. “You’re a guest.”
