TSTS Chapter 34: The Hourglass
Chapter 34: The Hourglass
Elain scented her sister before she saw her.
The eldest Archeron was in the library at the Mortal Manor, a book balanced between her palms, blue-gray eyes narrowed intently as they quickly and smartly scanned the page. She was so enraptured she didn’t even notice Elain, who was on her way back from Vassa’s quarters - she had just tried to intercept the queen at the start of nightfall yet again, unsuccessfully, of course - when she’d caught a whiff of Nesta’s signature scent: rich vanilla and silvery smoke and burning embers.
She had to call her sister’s name to get her attention.
“Elain!” she replied, surprised. She snapped the book shut.
“What are you doing here?” If Elain was blunt, she didn’t much care. What was it with her family showing up unannounced, time and time again?
“There’s an impromptu meeting this evening to discuss the ball. We need to go over the plan and discuss a few…loose ends.”
Elain regarded her sister suspiciously. “Is it anything I should be worried about -?”
“Oh no, no,” Nesta reassured. “Just logistical things, mostly.”
“Oh.” Elain nodded. “Okay.”
They were both quiet for a long moment.
“I’ve been meaning to stop by -”
They spoke over each other, stumbling over their words, before resorting back to an uncomfortable silence.
Then Nesta sighed, heavily.
“It used to be so easy between us,” she said. “Don’t you remember?”
“Of course,” Elain replied warily. Of course she remembered. Nesta was her closest companion, the other half to her whole, for so many years. Even before their mother died, but especially after. Poor, sweet Feyre, always shunted to the side…but Elain and Nesta were inseparable. For a long time, Elain believed it was because her sister loved her more than anything else in the world. Now, she sees it for what it was: a love of control.
Nesta's eyes were sad. “The meeting is in an hour. I was hoping you’d like to spend some time together before…” the eldest Archeron trailed off.
What was she supposed to say? No, I’d rather not spend time with you, because every time I look at you I feel a simmering, boiling rage that I simply don’t know what to do with ? That would do no one a drop of good.
So instead, Elain nodded tightly and gave as genuine a smile as she could muster. “How does a walk around the Manor sound?” she suggested, and ignoring the stab of guilt she felt when Nesta’s worried expression brightened at her acquiescence.
After a slightly awkward albeit rather relaxing walk around the Manor, in which Elain intentionally avoided visiting the conservatory (Cassian might have been fooled by the fast growth of the flora but Nesta most certainly would not, and Elain was in no mood to answer difficult questions), the two sisters entered the doors to the grand atrium.
They were the last ones to arrive. Everyone else was already seated around the long table in the center of the room: Feyre, smiling brightly but tiredly; Jurian, his face tan and weatherbeaten, as if he'd been out in the field more often than not; Lucien, who was avoiding Elain’s eyes; Cassian, who was avoiding Nesta’s eyes; and Vassa, who was avoiding everyone’s gaze all together.
Elain couldn’t blame them. She was feeling slightly uncomfortable herself; it was the first time she’d seen Lucien since that night in the gardens, and it was the first time she’d seen Vassa since returning from her travels.
Not to mention it was the first time Cassian and Nesta had seen each other since The Incident . She tried to send a subtle, warning look to Cassian, but he wasn’t looking at her; instead, he was staring fixedly at the floor, as if even glancing at Nesta would make the secret come spilling out.
Whatever. He could handle things however he wanted as long as he stayed quiet. If he kept his mouth shut, there was no way Nesta could find out, right?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her elder sister give her mate a curious, suspicious glance. Then she thought about how Nesta could always tell when she and Feyre were lying as kids, and her stomach started to hurt.
In an attempt to distract herself, Elain looked around the room. She'd only been in the grand atrium once before, at the very beginning of her stay at the Manor. Vassa had taken her. The queen said it was a hallowed sort of space used traditionally, reverently and sparingly for only the most prestigious of occasions - but it was also rather plain.
That is, except for the one piece of decor in the room: the gigantic hourglass embedded into one of the walls. It was filled with silvery sand that glimmered as it trickled down and protruded so naturally, so effortlessly, from the wall that it looked like it had grown there, like some sort of plant. Like some sort of rot.
Every time the sand in the top bulb emptied entirely, the hourglass - and the pieces of stone wall it touched - moved until the hourglass was flipped upside down, and the whole process started again. It was both impactful and beautiful.
“My father used to joke about why the first royals might have put the hourglass into the Grand Atrium,” Vassa had told her. “He said that it was obviously to keep track of time during long and tedious meetings, because if our ancestors were anything like me and my mother, then impatience was as in grain ed in them as the grains in the hourglass.”
Elain had smiled then, but she wasn’t smiling now. The hourglass did not seem beautiful anymore. It seemed more like a taunt.
The queasy feeling in her stomach intensified, but before she allowed herself to mull over it, she turned her attention back to the table. Everyone seemed to be watching Vassa, who was scanning the contents of several handwritten papers. Elain couldn’t help but notice the dark purple circles rimming the queen’s eyes.
“Notes on Koschei,” Feyre said in an undertone, noting Elain’s curious glance at the documents. “Amren, Rhys and I have been visiting different libraries throughout Prythian and finding every book on him we can. We haven’t found much information that is helpful, to be honest. It almost makes me wish we knew where Bryaxis was so we could ask it for details; I’m sure it knows plenty about Koschei, given that they’ve both existed for eons.”
Elain considered reminding her sister that they had enough to worry about without adding Bryaxis into the equation, but she just nodded instead.
“This is nothing I didn’t already know,” Vassa said, throwing the papers back at Feyre. “But that’s alright. I wasn’t expecting much anyway.”
Startled, her sister blinked. Elain felt similarly taken aback. She’d never heard Vassa sound so…uncaring.
“Well?” the queen asked, raising an eyebrow. Impatience laced her words. “Who wants to begin?”
“I can,” Nesta said. Then she cleared her throat.
“There are three levels to this plan,” she said, voice louder and deeper than before. The voice of the Captain of the Valkyries, dangerous and cool. But sometimes, when her sister spoke in such an authoritative voice, she was reminded of when they were little and Nesta would boss her and Feyre around the house like the little mother she was. Elain had to fight back a grin. Then she remembered that she was still angry at her older sister, and the grin faded away.
“The first level is the Bait,” Nesta said. With the world’s smallest, tensest grimace, she nodded toward Elain. “AKA, Elain.”
Everyone’s eyes turned toward her, and she did her very best to remain cool and collected, staring blankly into her sister’s blue-grey eyes.
Nesta tore her gaze away, jaw flexing, before continuing. “As we are all aware, Koschei believes Elain knows where the missing part of his soul is being kept. During the ball, we are going to use this to our advantage and leverage Elain to lure Koschei into a trap.
“Because of this, I’m sure you’ll all agree that a majority of our magical protection should go toward surrounding Elain,” Nesta said.
“Elain is the bait, yes, but what about Vassa? Have we forgotten the curse he put on her? Have we forgotten the promise he made to return her to that hellhole of a lake? Vassa must remain just as protected. What if he’s tricking us into who his true target is?” Jurian said, eyes gleaming fiercely.
“That’s a good point,” Elain murmured thoughtfully.
“I don’t think so,” Vassa said. “As soon as the power of the curse returns in full force, he will not have to trap me to get me to return to his lake. I will immediately be back under his enchantment. There will be no capturing or chasing or tracking that he will have to do. I will simply be gone.”
Lucien’s knuckles turned white. “No,” he said darkly.
“It is not something you can have an opinion on,” Vassa said sharply, refusing to meet his eyes. Refusing to meet any of their eyes. “It is simply the truth. So fine, put some level of protection on me, but the majority should be on Elain. He may not be able to control her mind, but he will try to get to her in other, more dangerous ways. I am an inevitable casualty at this point. Elain is not.”
“Don’t say that,” Elain said quietly, but the edge in her voice was all sharp steel.
Vassa remained quiet, as did the others, until finally Nesta resumed the plan.
“We will have a welcome ceremony the evening before the actual ball, with appetizers and cocktails and the like. We have more than enough rooms in the mortal manor to provide lodging for the guests. It’s the perfect way to get a feel for what we’re up against before the ball the next evening.
“When the ball begins, Vassa will make a welcome announcement. She will thank everyone for being there, and then specifically thank Elain for helping her with an unknown project. She’ll make sure to mention how dangerous the task is and how Elain is doing it out of the goodwill of her heart, along with her desire to keep all the courts safe from outside forces that might try and hurt them.”
“In short, she will place even more of a target on Elain’s back,” Jurian said flatly, but she knew him well enough by now to clock the worry lacing his tone. She felt a sudden rush of affection for the mortal.
“Sounds good to me,” Elain said, keeping her tone light. She didn’t want anyone to worry about her. “Keep going.”
Nesta continued on, Feyre and Cassian interjecting every now and then with more details. Lucien surprised them all with his cunning, thoughtful questions that poked holes in the plan - “ What happens if he hasn’t shown up by midnight? Do we have a backup plan if the magic doesn’t hold during the Presentation of the Courts? What if the other courts are gone by the time we reach Level 3? ” - forcing them to reevaluate and redesign specific components. But eventually, they all came to an agreed-upon scheme.
“What exactly is our game plan during cocktail hour?” Lucien asked, “Because ‘ roam around and observe ’ doesn’t exactly sound strategic.”
Feyre let out a giggle, clearly forgetting they were in a serious and important meeting. Then she cleared her throat.
“You’re right. Let’s expand on that. How about..after Vassa gives her speech, we will split into groups and observe our guests,” Feyre suggested. “We can decide on the exact groupings later, but it would make sense, and look less suspicious, if those that are couples stay together. Rhys and I, Nes and Cas…”she paused.
Vassa interjected, “Jurian and I will remain together. The mortals that will be there know both of us well, and it would make sense to present us as a united force.”
Feyre nodded her approval, though Elain noticed Lucien’s jaw tighten.
“We have invited Gwyn and Emerie to come, as well. Having the three Valkyrie leaders will add an additional level of prestige as well as protection. Gwyn and Emerie can stick together,” Nesta added.
“Since Amren will remain behind to protect the Night Court, that just leaves Elain, Lucien, Mor and Azriel…” Feyre trailed off awkwardly.
Elain cleared her throat and braced herself. She knew what she had to do, for the sake of the plan. “I’ve thought a lot about what you all suggested. About…about pretending that Lucien and I,” she gestured toward the red-haired male, who blinked in surprise, “have accepted the mating bond.”
A thick quiet wrapped itself around the group. Feyre stared at Elain with wide eyes while Nesta, quite uncharacteristically, gasped softly in surprise. Jurian and Vassa exchanged a startled glance. It dawned on her that she’d never so explicitly mentioned the bond in front of the two mortals. Cassian looked utterly bewildered and, unless she was imagining it, slightly displeased.
The only other person in the room who didn’t seem taken aback was Lucien. He simply regarded Elain with a wary expression on his face.
It was the longest they’d looked at each other since that night beneath the fae lights.
Elain cleared her throat. “And I think you’re right. There will be many potential enemies there. But if Lucien and I act like a pair, those enemies will be less likely to instigate anything. So I’m okay with…with making it seem like we are together. For the evening. But only if it’s okay with you,” she added awkwardly, finally meeting Lucien's gaze. His one good eye burned into her, and the memory of their almost-kiss flashed across her mind without warning. She was sure he was thinking about it, too.
“Of course it’s okay with me. It is what is safest for you, and that is all that matters,” he said finally.
She nodded once and looked down at the floor.
“So that just leaves Azriel and Mor,” Feyre said, returning to the matter at hand.
Despite the fact that Elain knew her decision was the right one, not only for her safety, but for the safety of others and for the good of the plan as a whole, her heart dropped at the thought of Azriel and Mor sashaying through the ballroom, the beautiful blonde hooked on Azriel’s arm. She could already see the way his hazel eyes would glow as he stared at the female he’d loved for centuries, who for the night was all his, all his . It was enough to make her feel slightly nauseous.
As was the thought of how Azriel would react when he found out she and Lucien were going to pretend to be mates for the evening.
But gods, he had made it clear as day that they were not a couple. Sure, he’d admitted to caring about her, to liking her, but that was it. If the Cassian debacle had proved anything, it was that he wanted to keep their affection a dirty little secret. Perhaps she would simply have to accept their relationship (or lack thereof) for what it was and what it was not. Accept it was all it would ever be.
Just as Azriel would have to accept that for two nights, she would pretend to the world that her heart belonged to another.
Even if it was just another bitter lie.
Elain had hoped to speak to Vassa after the planning meeting and confront her at last, but the Queen slipped out before she could reach her. Then Nesta and Feyre had cornered her to tell her just how proud they were of her for agreeing to be fake-mates with Lucien for an evening. As if it was a favor she was doing them. As she was a little girl in pigtails who needed to be praised and coddled for every "correct" decision she made.
She didn't do it to make her sisters or anyone else happy. She did it because, deep down, she knew they were right. Not about everything, of course; she still wanted to give Rhys a swift kick up his 500-year-old ass in retaliation for the last time he'd imposed his sense of right and wrong on her. But about this one thing - about this, they were right. It was safer for everyone, not just her, to pretend that they had accepted the mating bond. Safer, and better for the plan, and the right thing to do.
But every time she though of Mor and Azriel together, smiling and dancing, she wanted to throw something. Or scream. Or both.
Suffice it to say, Elain was not a pleased female by the time she left the grand atrium.
Hence the broad scowl that graced her face as she stomped angrily through the corridors. What the bloody hells was she supposed to do with the rest of her evening now? She was too worked up to sleep. Too emotionally-unsteady to do something productive. Too angry to hang out with anyone else in this stupid manor, especially -
“I hope that face isn’t because of me.”
Elain whipped around. “Don’t flatter yourself," she told Lucien with a small smile. "You may make me mad, but only my sisters can make me this mad.” She considers for a second. “And Vassa,” she added, then cringed. Lucien and Vassa were very close, after all. “Sorry.”
Unexpectedly, Lucien grinned. “I like it when you’re honest with me,” he says.
She grinned a bit back, but she couldn’t hide her wariness. This was the first time they had been around each other since the almost-kiss in the gardens, let alone standing in close proximity to each other in a vacant hallway.
Without warrant, her heartbeat sped up.
Lucien seemed to notice the change in her mood too, for the sly grin dropped from his face. “I’m about to leave again,” he told her. “I’m going to…going to the Autumn Court.”
“What?” Elain breathed, her eyes wide. “No, you can’t,” she said, her voice rising in panic.
“Beron is threatening to not come to the Symposium or the Ball if I don’t pay him a visit,” he said grimly. “And we need him here that night. He’s an essential part of the plan.”
“What does he want with you?” she nearly whispered.
Lucien’s shrug was too tense to be casual. “Who the hells knows. Maybe he just misses my pretty face.”
“You don’t think he knows about…you know,” she hedged.
Lucien’s face remained unreadable.“I guess we’ll find out,” he said finally.
Well, that wasn’t reassuring at all. She frowned at him, and he visibly softened.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. Then a corner of his lip twitched up. “Though it’s sweet of you to worry,” he teased.
Elain smiled without thinking about it.
Her smile seemed to trigger something in him. He sobered up immediately, and before she could even question what was wrong, grabbed her face with both his hands.
“Before I go,” he said, his mouth so close to hers she could feel his hot breath on her lips, “I have to kiss you first.”
She froze, utterly shocked.
“Just once,” he murmured, those arresting, uneven eyes staring straight into her own. “Just to see.”
And she was so shocked, so taken aback by the declaration, that she didn’t stop him when he leaned forward and kissed her.
While Elain was frozen, the Shadowsinger was in the middle of an interrogation.
Azriel studied the male in front of him, frowning slightly. This was taking longer than he expected. Longer than he had wanted it to take; otherwise, he might have made it to the Ball Planning meeting on time. Unfortunately, the Autumn Court soldier, who had been captured by one of his loyal spies, had yet to break. He’d already lost three fingers, for Cauldron’s sake, yet he still wouldn’t talk.
But Az wasn’t worried. He would talk. They always talked in the end.
It had been several months since he last traveled to the Court of Nightmares. He might not admit it to anyone else, but he could admit it to himself - it was somewhat of a relief to be back. There was no better time for him to… let loose, per say. If only because his blood was close to boiling over already, what with every other burden he bore on his back.
The anxiety. The guilt. The secrets . How come he’d never fully realized before how heavy secrets were? They were weighing him down like sand.
But here, in the dark and cool caverns beneath the Court of Nightmares, where not even the strongest Fae hearing could detect a scream - here, he felt the glorious relief of lifted pressure; of steady, pulsing silence. Here, he could wear the worst parts of himself like a shining suit of armor. Here, he could be the Azriel everyone knew and feared.
Smoothly, he slipped Truth-Teller out of its sheath and twirled it between his fingers with casual, lethal precision.
“Next question,” he said. “Where did you stay while in Pentalos?”
The male said nothing. The only sounds were his ragged panting and the blood dripping slowly from the little stumps on his hand.
“I’ll wait,” Azriel said. “I’ve been told I’m very patient.” A pause. “But I’m also incredibly impulsive, and I get mad easily. So who knows what will happen.” He cocked his head to the side. “I suppose we'll find out soon enough.”
Still, the male said nothing. Instead, he summoned all his strength and spit in Azriel's direction.
The dagger was in the Spymaster's palm, and the next second it was lodged in the man’s kneecap, deep and through the bone. The scream the soldier let out was so blood-curdling that even his shadows winced, tightening themselves against him like a second skin.
But Azriel did not react a bit. No, he simply watched as the male screamed in agony, his own expression blank and empty. There was nothing he hated more than insolence.
He let the soldier cry and sob until there were simply no tears left to cry. Slowly, Azriel approached the man and retrieved his favorite dagger before retreating once more. And only then, only then did the Spymaster speak.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” he said quietly. “Where did you stay while in Pentalos?”
The soldier let out a dry, hopeless sob, and Azriel knew he had won.
“In the caves,” the male said, his voice raw and rasping. “In the underground caves.”
Azriel froze. “There are no underground caves on Pentalos.”
“There are,” the soldier said, exhausted. He was getting close to death; Azriel could tell. “There are.”
Well. That was news to Az. And everyone else who scoured the island. This prisoner was turning out to be useful after all.
“One more question. Almost done,” he said, but there was no compassion lacing his voice. Just an underlying, dark promise. He tried to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart. “What does Koschei want with Elain Archeron?”
A grating, humorless laugh worked its way out of the soldier’s throat, and Azriel had to fight the urge to kill him right then. “What does he want with her?” he repeated, but his tone wasn’t mocking; just resigned. Just tired. “He wants her ruined .”
“ No ,” Azriel growled, as if the intensity of his objection could ensure Elain’s infinite safety. “He won’t ever get what he wants. Ever. But why does he want her?”
The soldier shook his head, something close to regret in his expression. “She can’t be saved,” he rasped. “Koschei wants her too much. He needs her too much.”
Pure, unadulterated panic shot through his chest, followed closely by white-hot, furious denial.
His fingers clenched around Truth-Teller.
“Wrong answer,” he said. There was a flash of silver, a shocked, gurgling gasp, and the Autumn Court soldier spoke no more.
But the panic threatened to drown the Shadowsinger all the same.
It was four in the morning, and Elain had yet to sleep a wink.
Her mind simply wouldn’t shut up. She couldn’t stop thinking about - well, about everything , about so many things she couldn’t keep track. Things that happened today and things that happened yesterday; things that happened decades ago and things she wished she could do again; things that never happened and things that never will. All of it flashed through her mind at the speed of light:
The cabin she used to live in, when she and her sisters slept in one bed together, curled around each other like cats;
Nesta in the library, smelling like vanilla and smoke and wariness;
The garden in the Night Court, thriving and beautiful without her tending to it;
Vassa, loving her like a sister and then avoiding her like the plague;
The cauldon, big and black and formidable, mocking her with its mightiness;
All the things she wished she would have said to her father - and to her mother;
The Flame Keeper tapping on her chest three times as she mouthed 'speak to the Queen;'
Lucien in the hallway, a deafening quiet engulfing them as his lips pressed against hers;
The looming presence of Koschei hanging over her like a storm cloud;
Azriel on his knees and between her legs, smiling at her and kissing her thigh with heart-wrenching tenderness, a thousand unspoken words gleaming in his piercing hazel eyes -
She sat straight up in bed, her chest heaving. For a long moment, she was frozen, just staring intently at the full moon.
“Fuck it,” she muttered, then threw the covers off and stood to her full height.
Less than a minute later - she forgot how convenient Fae speed was sometimes - she was outside Vassa’s quarters, knocking on the heavy oak door with loud and obnoxious persistence.
A servant answered the door. “Lady Elain, what is it?” the young girl asked. “Do you know the hour?”
“I need to speak with Vassa,” she said promptly. “And don’t bother telling me she isn’t awake. And I apologize in advance for my bluntness, but don’t bother trying to stop me from going in.”
The servant swallowed, glancing behind her nervously. “Lady Elain, I’m very sorry, but the Queen has given orders -”
“I don’t care what orders she’s given you,” Elain said patiently.
The servant looked downright scared now. “I’m very sorry, my Lady, but -”
Elain sighed, then strode past the servant faster than the human could blink.
She found Vassa in the last place she expected - outside, on a small balcony just off the side of her bedroom. With all the time she’d spent outdoors since the curse returned, Elain assumed the queen would much prefer the indoor comforts of her home. But perhaps even the familiar felt strange to Vassa now.
Unnoticed, Elain observed her friend for a minute. The queen looked too tired. And too skinny. And too sad, too hopeless , her eyes blank and open as she surveyed the starlit night, hands gripping the railing like it was a lifeline.
“Vassa,” she said softly, trying not to scare her.
To her credit, Vassa didn’t even flinch. And she did not turn around as she said, “Elain.” It almost sounded like a sigh. Like she’d been expecting and waiting for and dreading this moment, and here it was.
But Elain didn’t let that mess with her. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said steadily.
Vassa still didn’t bother turning around. “Yes.”
Slowly, like approaching a wild animal, Elain joined Vassa at the balcony. She followed her friend’s lead and stared at the expansive landscape before them.
“Did you have a good relationship with your mother?” Elain asked out of nowhere.
Vassa visibly started. “What in the world made you ask that?”
Elain shrugged. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest.”
“Yes,” the queen finally answered. “Yes, I did. My mother was a wonderful person. Both my parents were.” A clear note of wistful grief rang in her voice.
Elain smiled, just a little bit sadly. “That’s good,” she said. “I’m sure they were lovely, seeing as they managed to raise a woman like you.”
“What was your mother like?” Vassa asked after a beat, her voice noticeably softer.
“Oh, she was an absolute delight.” Elain let out a laugh that didn’t sound quite right. “She was intelligent, beautiful, and well-connected. She was incredibly good at reading people. She was trendy, and her taste was impeccable, and she loved finery; she always made sure we were dressed in the latest fashions.
“And she was also cold, callous, and cruel.” Elain shook her head slightly. “It’s hard for me to pick which one of us she was most awful to. We all got it worse in some ways, I suppose. Nesta was the heir apparent, treated more like a soldier than a child, expected to not only obey but to carry out my mother’s every order. Feyre was the forgotten child.
“And I was a pretty little puppet who was too silly and naive to try and cut off the strings that held me in place.”
Elain’s hands flexed unintentionally on the railing. She forced them to relax.
“I don’t think of my mother often,” she continued. “And I talk of her even less. My sisters are the same way. Sometimes it feels like she never existed, like I just made her up in my mind, but even I’m not enough of a masochist to imagine someone so uncaring. So unkind.
“But even though we never talk about her or miss her or hold any fond feelings toward her at all, and even though she died when we were quite little…I think she’s left her stain on us all. And I wonder, sometimes, if it can ever be washed out.”
Vassa was quiet for a very long time. But Elain was used to waiting. Used to being patient. It was yet another thing that separated her from her sisters: where Feyre and Nesta were impulsive, Elain was content to wait in the shadows for the proper time to strike.
Vassa finally broke the silence.
“Why did you come here tonight, Elain?” she asked.
It was then that Elain turned to face the queen fully.
“There’s something I need to do. And you’re coming with me.”
“Yes. It’s quite important, actually. And guess what?” Elain raised a brow.
“What?” the queen asked dryly.
“You're going to do it, too.”
"Yes. You need to do it, actually."
Elain nodded, ignoring the lack of enthusiasm in Vassa’s tone.
“And what, may I ask, do we both need to do that is so important you barged into my quarters in the dead of night?”
Elain cocked her head at her and grinned slightly. Something in her expression finally tipped Vassa off.
“Oh, I don’t like that look,” the queen said, and though she was shaking her head, the first traces of excitement finally seeped through her voice. “What are you planning?”
Elain just grinned wider. “Vass,” she said, “Do you fancy a swim?”
The two females hurried through the woods. Leaves crackled beneath their feet; a heavy breeze whooshed over their bodies, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake; moonlight streamed through the gaps in the lush forest canopy, lighting their way.
“We are nearly there,” Vassa said, and though she spoke quietly, the sound still had Elain jolting slightly. Being this deep in the woods, no one around but the creatures who lived here, no sound but for the whispering wind and the rustling of foliage, had words themselves feeling foreign. Alien.
Rounding a corner, they came to a huge clearing in the forest. The trees here arched toward each other, creating a high, curved canopy. In the center of the clearing was a large, glassy pond, or perhaps a small, circular lake, depending on who you asked. The surface was still as a statue, and the way it reflected the night sky made the water look like it was composed entirely of silvery starlight.
“Wow,” Elain whispered. Vassa nodded in agreement. Together, they approached the edge of the glossy lake.
“When was the last time you were here?” Elain asked.
“Ages ago,” she said. “I don’t even remember. I fly over it sometimes, when I’m…in my other form. But I’ve not been this close since before the curse. Since before I became Queen, perhaps.” She shook her head as if the movement would shake away the memories.
“Are you ready?” Elain asked.
“No,” Vassa said. “But let’s do it anyway.”
They stripped to their undergarments. Elain neatly folded her clothes and placed them on a large, flat rock; Vassa threw hers in a pile on the ground. Elain dipped a toe in and shivered.
“It’s November,” Vassa reminded her.
“Well. It’s not going to get any warmer with us standing here,” she replied shrewdly. “Come on. Let’s jump.”
A thick swallow worked its way down Vassa’s throat. Her hands were trembling, and Elain did not think it was because of the cold.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said softly.
“Yes. I do,” her friend replied. She took a deep, rattling breath and then held out her hand to Elain.
In that moment, Elain forgot any anger she had with the queen. Without hesitation, she grabbed Vassa’s hand and laced their fingers together.
The red-haired woman nodded tightly.
“Two,” counted Vassa, her voice a nervous croak that nearly vanished with the wind. Elain couldn't deny it, either: she was nervous as well. She still hadn't dunked her head entirely underwater since the Cauldron...but she had to. She had to get Vassa to talk to her. And this was the only thing she could think of that might work.
“Three,” they said together, and then they were jumping. The second they hit the water, their grasp broke apart. It was cold, so cold, but so lovely too, invigorating and refreshing and a delicious shock to her very soul.
Kicking her way up, Elain gasped as she broke above the surface, relishing the way the cool night air bit at her damp skin. A few feet away, Vassa emerged from the depths, crimson locks plastered to her face, blue eyes bright and gleaming in the light of the moon.
“It’s fucking cold,” the queen gasped.
“Is it?” Elain asked. “Feels amazing to me.”
In unison, they started laughing uncontrollably. If asked, Elain could not have said what was funny, but maybe that was the point; maybe it was simply the nature of the situation, the thrill of acting on an impulse, that had mirth uncontrollably bubbling up inside of her. Or maybe it was the way she felt renewed; the way she felt clean , like all the dirty parts of her had been eliminated by the biting cool of the water; washed away like the tide, utter and absolute. Like all the rot inside of her had been cut out and replaced with new, thriving life.
After several minutes, their laughter guttered out, throats left raw from the act. They stared at each other, treading water, soft smiles on their faces.
“Thank you,” Vassa said. The thin film of moisture in her eyes did not seem like it was from the pool they swam in, but Elain couldn’t be sure. “I don’t know if I ever would have come back here if it wasn’t for you.”
“You would have,” Elain said confidently. She was sure of that. Her friend may have her faults, but Vassa was brave and bold and true, and she would not let any obstacle stand in her way for long. Not if she could help it.
Suddenly, Vassa's expression shifted dramatically, going from bright and giddy to starkly sober.
The mood shifted immediately, the queen’s words a catalyst to the thundering of Elain's heart. Even the forest around them seemed to quiet, the wind stilling, no creatures stirring, all listening for what came next.
“Elain,” Vassa said, low and clear. “I need to tell you something.”
Afraid a trembling voice might give away her nerves, Elain merely nodded in response.
Vassa took a deep, rattling breath. “Before I go any further, I want you to know that - “
She never finished the sentence. One moment she was there, staring at Elain with serious and mournful eyes, and the next she was gone. She vanished beneath the surface as if she was never there at all. She was gone so quickly she did not even have time to scream.
But Elain had seen the petrified expression on the queen’s face before her friend was pulled beneath the surface. A horror so heavy it sank like stone.
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