Maybe even drier than the previous ones, and the whole message doesn’t even take up a full page. Most humans are not well-versed in the art of calligraphy, but the writing in front of me is unusually sloppy, with uneven breaks between words, wonky lines, and even an inkblot bearing the partial print of Nate’s finger.
Is a note written hastily and without care really all I deserve?
There’s a hint of iron to the scent clinging to the letter, and following a couple of rather dispassionate sentences about the excitement of shadowcraft, new foods, and the craftsmanship put into every single item in the tower, is his signature, as well as a postscript signed by Gloombane himself.
I scowl, unhappy to see his name in an elegant flourish at the bottom of the page, but it’s the words written in his hand that have the ground crumbling under my feet.
As touching as your care for my promised’s wellbeing is, Nate doesn’t wish to further continue your correspondence. But you will likely see him next month, when we make our vows.
Lorsen Gloombane, Captain of the Nightcloaks.
“Fuck you!” I yell into the empty corridor illuminated by the green glow of swamplight. “Next month? Really?” I squash the letter and throw it at the wall, but when it bounces off and Lady snatches it, I instantly regret my rash actions. She does drool quite a lot, and I’ll have nothing left of the message if she keeps it in her mouth.
“No! Bad! Give it back!” In a frenzy, I launch myself at her, prompting her to run off, no doubt eager to play chase. She runs up the stairs as if there’s a dragon after her.
I compose myself by the time we reach the landing. “Lady,” I say sternly, and that catches her attention. I point to the space by my foot. “Come.”
She takes her time but eventually sits where I ordered. I grab the paper sticking out of her mouth, but as soon as I do that, she tugs, and the letter rips.
I can’t take this anymore. I sit by the wall opposite a grand tapestry depicting the hunt for the Stag of Sunrise from two years ago. I almost died saving Prince Kyran from a poisoned arrow. My moment of valor is forever captured in the threads in front of me, yet it’s now worth nothing to me. I squeeze the wet, ripped letter in my fist and press it to my forehead fighting a sob.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” I utter, and Lady’s wet muzzle pokes my cheek. She even ‘gives’ me the rest of the paper with a few pathetic whines. “I know, I know, you didn’t mean it. It’s not your fault,” I whisper and hug her. She’s big, and warm, and when she presses into me, it feels like a real hug.
Why did Nate grow to resent me? Shouldn’t he have the decency to rebuff me in his own words rather than having Gloombane do it for him?
I miss him.
And if he would only let me, I will prove my worth to him, no matter how long it takes. But I can’t just wait another month—my heart will dry and wither. I need to see Nate, and there must be a way to force Gloombane into consenting to it. Even bringing Lady along to soften Nate’s heart is not beneath me.
What of this new world is affecting Nate in some detrimental way? I’ve already researched installing sunlight lanterns in his room. They’re frowned upon among so many shadow wielders in the castle, but if Hawk, Prince Sylvan’s husband can have one, so can Nate.
I get up, take a deep breath, and stuff the letter into my pocket, then whistle at Lady, and we’re off.
I often visit the library, but that’s because my sister works there. Books were never my strong suit. I’m not stupid, I just thrive in the physical nature of things much more than when I need to read about them.
When I set my mind to something though, there’s no turning back, and right now, I’ve decided I will trawl through the tomes on law to find something that could force Gloombane’s hand. All and any dirty tricks are allowed as long as it gets me the result I want. Maybe I could influence Lord Kyran to summon Gloombane and go to the tower while he’s at court…
For some reason, the library has one of the grandest interiors of the whole palace. The ceiling is high enough to accommodate a building, with several flights of stairs and an excellent view of the sky due to a ceiling of glass, it is as beautiful as it is boring. I visit it to chat with my sister or nap on one of the comfortable day beds, though I’ve also used its winding labyrinth of wood and paper for more… vigorous activities. And I am not the only one, since I’m positive my nephew was conceived somewhere between the treatises on the art of war and novels about elves accidentally stuck in the human world.
I hear a happy squeal and turn in time to spot my baby nephew running my way at the speed of a comet. He’s barely two, but already has a halo of red hair, and he’s wearing the tiny version of the hoodie with a crab that we got with Nate in the human realm. I’d be wearing mine every day if it didn’t need washing. Maybe I’m a little too precious with it too, as I don’t have much left of Nate. My nephew has no such qualms, as proven by the large blue stain on the sleeve.
“Lady!” he yells before ever greeting me, but I can’t blame him.
The dog greets little Nathan with a loud, joyful bark, but I remain close, since she’s big enough to cause injury without meaning to. With his pale skin and blood red hair, my nephew looks nothing like my Nate, but they do share a name, and seeing the boy hug the dog agitates the thorn in my heart. Still, just like this little boy, Nate loves this dog, and I know that once he sees her, her presence will be more important to him than even the fanciest shadowcraft Gloombane could have shown him.
I just hoped I could be important too…
“Is your uncle distracting you again?” Sabine asks, approaching me with calm, elegant steps. A book bag is attached to her belt, but she’s holding two more in her arms as she approaches in a simple gown fitted at the waist, and with her blood-red locks pinned high by a comb of black mother of pearl.
Lady playfully holds Nathan’s hand between her teeth as he climbs onto her back, intent on once again pretending she’s his kelpie.
“Charge, Lady,” he cries, squeezing his hand on the folds of skin gathering at her nape.
The dog twists her head, long purple tongue hanging out as she watches my nephew in utter confusion.
Nathan repeats the command, digging his heels into Lady’s sides, and as the dog whines, I grab the child and lift him into my arms. “You need to be gentler. She’s from the human realmand can’t take this level of force,” I tell him, rising just in time for Sabine to take him from me.
“What brings you to the…” Sabine looks up at the little brass label on the bookshelf, “law section?” She then squints at me. “What did you do?”
