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And then she was gone.
Teague and one of the younger elves gathered up Medda’s sling and brought up the rear of the procession as the dark elves held their torches high, blazing with blue Gelairan fire, and disappeared into the tunnels leading away from Imenborg.
Jael found himself in the playroom with the children.
He had a million and one other things he could have done, such as search for the missing book that held the fate of the world in its pages. Or walk his rounds to make sure his staff weren’t running out of runestones and the Bifrost wasn’t bringing down the mountain.
Someone would tell him if either of those things were about to happen, he reasoned, feeling rather petulant as he sat at the stone table surrounded by crying goblin children. Rig sat beside him, arms folded on top of the stone tabletop. Occasionally, Jael patted him on the shoulder, but he had no words of comfort to offer. He rather felt like putting his head down on the table and wailing at the top of his lungs.
But, no, that wouldn’t do any of them any good.
The little girl who sat on his right side leaned against him. He felt her try to wipe her nose on his sleeve, felt her body shudder as she coughed. Around the table, most of the children were blowing their noses, or not blowing their noses and letting it run free, and all of them appeared like they needed to take a long nap. Trap had asked Cook to make a hearty soup for the evening meal, in the hopes it might boost their strength and allow them to fight whatever sickness they had contracted.
“Why did you let her leave?” Rig cried into his folded arms. Jael had to strain to make out the boy’s words. “Why did you let her take Medda?”
Jael suppressed a heavy sigh. “I told you: Medda is sick and needs a healer, the kind of healer we don’t have here at Imenborg.”
“I should have gone with them.” The boy let out a fresh string of sobs that could have woken the dead. The other children joined him, an off-key chorus of tears, sniffles and coughs that blended into a melody of misery. It was enough to make him feel sick. In fact, he did have a scratch in his throat and had a raging headache behind his eyes. Perhaps he was coming down with it too.
But more than that, he felt weary, so very weary, as if Anrid leaving had robbed the last of his strength. He didn’t think he even had it in him to walk from this chamber and up to his bed. Perhaps he would sleep right here at the table tonight. The thought began to sound quite appealing.
To his right, the little girl snorted and wiped her nose on his sleeve again. “My head hurts,” she whimpered. She leaned into him, and he let her, wishing he could comfort her somehow; wishing he could comfort them all.
But he was as bereft and abandoned as they were.
They were all boats on the Styx without anchors.
Something inside him tugged. It hurt, as if something deep within him had grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it out. The weariness amplified while a dull ache grew in his chest.
The Bifrost knew that Anrid had gone. He felt the magic calling out for her, felt the void of her absence as keenly as the Bifrost did. Both of them had been abandoned. The strain of it threatened to crush him, the pressure so heavy he wondered how he managed to remain seated rather than fall flat on the floor.
No wonder he felt so ill. Was it possible he was carrying more of the weight of the Bifrost than he had a few hours earlier? As Anrid walked further away, did her connection to them weaken?
He shuddered to think what ill effects she might be feeling alone, deep within the tunnels of Agmon with no one but the dark elves who cared nothing for her.
Footsteps entered the chamber, but he didn’t have the strength to look and see who it was. Math rounded the table and squeezed himself between two of the goblin children, who leaned into him. Math put his arm around them and met Jael’s inquisitive look.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
He knew he should respond, but he was just too tired.
“This is a wretched business,” Math said when Jael refused to speak.
“It’s not like I can just go after them and force Anrid to come back,” he muttered. “I can’t. I have no right.”
Neither Math nor Rig answered him, although the goblin apprentice grew more serious and Rig more tearful. He wanted Jael to do just that very thing: grab their governess and drag her back to their loving, waiting arms.
“But if you don’t bring her back...” Math cleared his throat and chewed on his words. “If she doesn’t return, we can’t predict the results, what it means for the Bifrost. I just don’t know...”
“I know the risks. But we have no right to make her decisions for her. She’s already been abducted once against her will.”
Rig winced and bowed his head.
“We can’t do that to her again. If she comes back, it has to be because she wants to return. Not because I toss her over my shoulder and haul her back like a prisoner of war.”
“Perhaps, if she were made fully aware of the situation…of how much she is needed…how much she is wanted...” Math fell into meaningful silence, his gaze intent and probing. What was he suggesting?
“She knows how much she’s wanted,” he growled. “The children all but begged her to stay. I asked her to stay. And she chose to leave anyway.”
