My mother spoke her name.
“Elain, dear, when the time comes to organize the floral arrangements for the Festival of Anann, we would be honored if you would help us with them.”
Nothing. No reaction.
Nesta’s voice followed, quieter, but firm. “Elain. Did you hear Nimue?”
Not even a blink. My fingers tightened around my fork. A sick feeling coiled in my stomach. She wasn’t ignoring them—she wasn’t here. I knew what it was to be lost in thought, to drift away into memory. But this was different. This was absence.
I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled at the bond, just lightly, just enough to see if she would stir.
She jolted so violently I heard the scrape of her chair legs against the floor. Her breath caught sharply, her head snapping up—her wide, startled eyes finding mine at last. I nearly sagged in relief—until I saw the anger beneath the surprise.
It hit me like a blow. “Elain, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, voice low, urgent. “I didn’t mean to—”
But she was already moving. Her hands trembled as she pulled the napkin from her lap and placed it on the table. Too fast. Too rushed. Her chair scraped against the floor as she pushed back.
“Elain—” I stood as she turned to leave, but something in the air, something tight and sharp, made me freeze in place.
Nesta rose too, her voice clipped. “Elain, wait—don’t go—”
She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.
And then she was gone.
The silence left in her wake was unbearable. I let out a slow, frustrated breath and sank back into my chair. The weight of every pair of eyes on me was suffocating, pressing in from all sides. Dorian, in particular, looked half-apocalyptic, as if I had just called down some ancient doom upon us all.
Nesta’s gaze burned colder than the fire in the hearth. I could feel the fury radiating from her, sharp as a blade at my throat. Eris was the one to break the silence, his voice edged with exasperation. “What the hell was that?”
I ran a hand down my face, shoulders tense. “I pulled the bond.”
A quiet, measured breath came from Solon, the only outward sign of his disapproval. “Did you think that was a good idea?”
“I panicked,” I admitted, shaking my head. “It’s like she isn’t even here. How did it come to this?”
Nesta’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know, Lucien. It’s either this or her screaming that she was taken from Velaris.”
From further down the table, a scoff. “What’s so special about Velaris anyway?” Dorian, all bratty indifference, swirling the wine in his glass.
The answer came to me before I could stop it. One word. One name. “Azriel.”
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