Lorzok bowed his head.
Kell wanted to hug Lorzok. Everyone liked him. Everyone. The Brewmistress herself came out to offer him beer. Why couldn’t he see it?
But they weren’t done yet, and everyone waited for the last introduction.
“I’m Saeldian Charmhand,” they said, and stopped.
They didn’t let their gaze dart about. Their breaths didn’t speed or deliberately slow. They let the moment stretch while they considered, until it was thin as a thread, then a cobweb, then a hair.
Then they tilted their head, tilted their smile, and said, “I’m selfish.”
Kell’s forehead went hot as he shut his eyes. To stand there andlisten to everyone speak of their pain—to listen to Jubilee’s awful conflict between living up to her family’s expectations and pursuing what Saeldian had steered her into doing—and then just sayI’m selfish?
Kell couldn’t say what he thought of that, but when he turned to glare at Saeldian, he froze.
They weren’t crying. They hadn’t shed a tear. But they were holding on to that thread they had stretched to a whisper.
Ilondrel examined them in silence before saying, “You’re in the right place. You and your hearts are welcome. Shelter and rest, all of you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rock, Paper, Scissors
Where Saeldian Knows a One-Bed Scheme, but Too Late
“I’m glad Lady Ilondrel welcomed you,” said the elf who had brought them to the center island. She bowed, and as the hem of her veil fluttered away from her shoulders, a pendant of a silver rabbit, upright and alert, glinted on her breastbone. “I am Helfyra. I’m sure you will find what you’re searching for here.”
Everyone gave their names, and Helfyra repeated each one with a graceful nod. Saeldian went last and got the kindest, most soft-eyed smile of them all.
They were pitied here, then. Lovely.
Helfyra lifted her hand, and the burdens of their packs lightened. “You may rest as you wish. We serve meals as a group. You may ask anyone veiled like me for counsel, and you may stay as long as you need. But be prepared to attend Ilondrel on the evening of her vigil into winter.”
“When is that? Actually, what is that? The vigil into winter, I mean,” Jubilee asked.
“I will explain,” Helfyra said. “Come aboard, please.”
Helfyra stepped onto the same wide, shallow barge and waited for them to board. Saeldian took up a place at the railing andstared out at the water, which was rippling with the wakes of all the other boats sailing toward the unblinking glow of lights shining on tiny docks along the shore. Soft waves rocked the craft as everyone boarded.
There was nowhere to sit, and no way to steer, but the barge moved away from shore as if it knew where to go. Helfyra turned to address the group. “Eladrin are tuned to the seasons. Ilondrel is going into winter for the day her beloved’s heart no longer beat for her.”
Saeldian was cold. The cold stopped pain. The cold stopped fear. They drew it in close and waited.
Jubilee let out a sympathetic sigh. “I’m so sorry. Maybe we should leave her to privacy.”
Helfyra smiled and shook her head. “My lady will grieve. The land will grieve. But you are welcome here. The snow and cold of winter is a natural reason to seek warmth and comfort. You may stay as long as you need to.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Kell said.
The others murmured agreement.
Saeldian remained silent. They needed a moment alone—somewhere to hide, and they couldn’t hold on much longer.
Something had changed when they struggled to find something, anything they could say freely that would still be true while Ilondrel, gorgeous and heartbreaking, looked into their eyes and read that truth.
A shiver scurried across their shoulders. Strangers never had the chance to see beyond whatever Saeldian let them see, and then they built their perceptions on that mask Saeldian made for them. When Ilondrel weighed Saeldian’s words, she didn’t stop looking until she had seen enough.
Two voices—Jubilee’s and Lorzok’s—hummed as they chatted with Helfyra while she rode with them along the lake. The sound blended with the ripple and splash of the water around them, and the moon’s reflection broke into a hundred replicas. Had they barely escaped Ilondrel’s question? If they had, why did they feel so seen?
