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With enduring light, your best friend,

Elowynn

A Letter to Elowynn

Duskwane, 749 A.V.

El,

I received your letter a moon after you sent it, so I can only assume you will receive this one later, too. When it arrived, Sister Agatha was L O U D L Y informing an acolyte that “the inability to distinguish between lamp oil and tea is a burden the rest of us should not be forced to endure.” So despite your absence, Lumenshire remains unchanged.

The spring thaws did reach the coast finally. The sea cliffs are muddy again, half the lower garden paths have flooded, which has made a horrid mess in the inner halls as you know, and the western winds have started blowing the smell of salt through the abbey corridors, so much that the archive halls smell like the harbor some mornings. You would hate it. Which I guess means you probably miss it a lot.

The younger children have already resumed climbing the cliff paths despite repeated warnings not to. I actually spent most of last sun dragging Tomas and Cel from a tide shelf because they insisted they could “hear singing beneath the rocks.”

I heard Sister Agatha saying children survive purely because the stars pity exhausted adults. You know, I think she may actually be correct. We were awful, too, though, weren’t we? Pretty certain we were.

Seralyth arrived at Lumenshire three suns after your letter. I don’t think anyone was expecting her so soon. Most of us thought she’d stay there in the city. Sister Agatha has already resumed arguing with her over tea twice daily, so I assume that means all is well, though. But I guess I just don’t know why she’d want to come back to a humble abbey and not be in the city. Maybe it reminds her too much of She looked happier coming back through the gates of the abbey, relieved almost. I’m not sure why. I have only spoken with Lady Seralyth a handful of times since her return.

You sound frustrated in your letter. Not with Veylspire really. I think you love it already, despite trying not to. But I mean the rest of it. The expectations and politics, as you said. Being looked at like a surviving bloodline instead of a person. I know that feeling is not new to you. But I think it is probably worse there. For what it is worth, you don’t sound like someone failing to become what she was meant to be. You sound like someone trying very hard not to let other people decide that for her. Which feels MUCH more like you.

Also, I need you to understand how very unsurprised I am that you immediately began wanting access to forbidden archive sectors. You used to climb into sealed observatory storage rooms here because you swore something had to be hidden in them.

As for this Collegium you mentioned, I maintain that if their structures cannot survive one accidental fire, perhaps their engineering philosophy deserves reconsideration. You’re correct about one thing though. I would hate the politics there. I hate politics everywhere.

The abbey still feels lonely without you, even with all the routine things happening. Your seat in the eastern library remains empty most evenings because nobody else willingly tolerates the draft near the windows just to ‘have the best view of the gardens.’ The crystal cabinet beneath the astronomy shelves has become chaos. I attempted organizing it once, and Sister Agatha informed me I was “committing crimes against visual harmony.”

I didn't realize crystals apparently possessed emotions regarding their placement, but I stand corrected.

The observatory roof partially collapsed again during one of the late Frostfall storms. Before you panic, nobody was hurt. Mostly because Sister Agatha forced everyone out beforehand after claiming the supports were looking a bit haggard. ‘A bit’ was an understatement. I continue believing her survival instincts are fueled entirely by spite. I really don’t know how she does it.

I have spent much of the Frost moons helping repair the lower resonance conduits beneath the western halls. Some of the older astrylite lines near the cliffs have started fluctuating strangely. The humming through the foundations has worsened enough that several Sisters complained they could feel it in their rooms at night.

The older archivists have been acting as though they don’t notice, which I’ve learned usually means they are concerned about something and they don’t want to cause a panic.

I have also been spending time within the lower sea archives again. Before you become overprotective from across the continent, I’m being careful. Mostly, anyway.

There was one thing in your letter I can say for certain you were right about. The telescopes. They sound amazing. I’d love to see them one sun.

I think perhaps that is my favorite part of your letter. It sounds like you are standing somewhere enormous and trying not to let it swallow you whole. But Elowynn? I don’t think it will.

I miss you too, by the way. More than I know how to write properly. Though I suspect you already knew that.

Anyways, I need to get this sent before the courier leaves. I await your next letter.

Until we stand beneath the same stars again,

Caelyn

Chapter Thirteen

“The most dangerous scholars are rarely the reckless ones. They are the curious ones.”

— Restricted Conclave commentary

Dawnmere, 750 A.V.

Elowynn reread Caelyn’s letter several times after receiving it, the parchment now crinkled and soft from her constant handling. By now she knew portions of it by heart.