“Wouldn’t that be unconventional for a queen?”
“Yes, but convention is always new at one point. I’ve read the journals too. Others have longed for something similar—for a purpose beyond the redwood throne. Helping the healers wasn’t enough. It’s too late for them, but for you, for future queens…” He runs a hand through his hair and looks away. I watch him from the corner of my eye. “If there are future queens, that is.”
“Speaking of all that.” I turn and lean against the counter. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Yes?” Eldas is clearly startled by my sudden shift in mood.
“The journal I’ve been reading…I figured out today whose it was.”
“Whose?”
“Queen Lilian.”
“Lilian,” he whispers. He’s no doubt heard the name from stories he was told all his life. “The first queen. Then—”
I nod, knowing what he’ll say next. “I think I know how the seasons, the redwood throne, and the queen’s magic are tied together. I think I understand what the first queen and king did and how it all works.” I’ve figured out a great mystery. I should be happier. And yet I watch with dread as Eldas rises to his feet. We’re standing on an edge from which there’s no going back. “I need to read more, and research, of course. And just because I understand how the Fade was made and the seasons turn doesn’t guarantee I’ll be able to do anything with the information, but—”
His hands clasp around my shoulders. Eldas wears a bright smile. But his eyes are heartbreakingly sad.
“This is excellent. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you. I’ve said it all along and now you have what you needed.”
“I know, but…”
“But?” He falters.
Don’t be happy about this, I want to say. I don’t want him to even pretend to be happy about me leaving. The fact that he would be swells my heart to the point of pain. The smile on his face mocks me and I find myself doubting the traces of hurt in his eyes; are they real, or am I just imagining them to be because I want them to be?
“Eldas, what do you feel for me?” I dare to ask, small and afraid.
“What?” His hands fall from my shoulders. Perhaps that’s answer enough.
“What do you feel for me?” I ask again, louder and more certain.
“When you say—”
“Do you love me?”
He looks as if my words materialized and struck him between the ribs. Eldas’s mouth opens and closes several times. Perhaps he had run the numbers in our equation and arrived at the same result as I—that it was better not to think about what these feelings truly were. It was better not to ask or know, for both of us.
As he stares at me now, deathly silent, I want the thick night air to envelop me. I want it to take me away and carry me through the Fade here and now. I can’t handle waiting for his answer.
If he says he doesn’t love me, then my heart will be crushed. If he says he does, then my heart will still be crushed if—when—I inevitably leave. And, if I don’t leave…I will wonder if his feelings, like mine, could’ve been somehow manipulated by magic or circumstance. If they were ever real at all, or a twisted survival of the heart. I will question everything forever and that alone would be our undoing.
“Don’t answer that.” I shake my head. “It’s better if you—”
“Luella, I—”
Neither of us get to finish. Drestin comes sprinting in. He’s panting as if he’s been running for some time. His eyes sweep over me and land on Eldas.
“It’s Harrow,” he pants out. “There’s been an attack.”