Lorcan has never really believed in wishes until Elide.
It's a joke to him, really. The whole concept of wishing is ridiculous: tell an eyelash, of all the gods-damned things, what you want. And it will happen.
Obviously.
It's late. The sun will rise soon. The war is finally over — Erawan is defeated. Aelin grudgingly gives him her blessing when he goes to talk to her about Elide's hand — if she consents to talk to me first, obviously, he adds when he sees her face. He isn't surprised. He was willing to do whatever it took to wheedle permission marry Elide beforehand, if she deigns to even talk to him. If he asks now, then it won't be a problem later when the kingdom is rebuilding.
What surprises him, however, is Aelin finding him hours afterward to thank him, and to forgive him.
"You can't be serious," he said. The gold in her eyes was muted after her stand against Erawan. Her hair was matted and tangled, her face streaked with dirt. Even so, her shoulders were back and her chin was high, her posture relaxed and confident. A true queen.
She smiled, as if she knew something he didn't. "When were you born?"
"What?" he said dumbly.
"When were you born? How old are you?"
Lorcan did the calculations in his head. "Five hundred and twenty-one."
"And how many unspeakable things have you done?"
His heart was cracked and aching, rubbed raw under centuries of unfeeling. "Too many to name."
Her smile turned a little sad. "So have I. Lorcan, I'm telling you, from one monster to another, I understand what you did, and I forgive you, even if my forgiveness doesn't matter. What matters is that you can live with it." Her eyes softened. "Thank you, by the way. For helping to find me."
Lorcan shifted, surprised to be feeling — uneasiness. "You're welcome," he said, the words foreign and strange on his tongue. Aelin only smiled at him before she left, as if she knew what it felt like.
Now Lorcan sits in a boat tethered to the wreckage of a harbor along the Avery. The stars are fading, the dawn a pink blush on the horizon; the scents of his former cadre and the witches linger here. He catches her cinnamon-and-elderberries scent before he hears her footsteps. She makes her way into the boat carefully, and sits down beside him, her witch leathers torn and ripped.
They sit in silence, the sky brightening. The sun isn't quite up when Elide speaks. "How are you feeling?"
Typical. So, so typical of her. It's one of the things Lorcan loves most about her. He still can't believe he loves her, but Rowan and Gavriel and even that golden-haired witch confirmed it. "I don't know," he admits without looking at her.
He senses movement and turns, catching a wrist; Elide's hand freezes in midair, reaching for him. "There's an eyelash on your cheek," she says, her cheeks blushing a delicate pink in the steadily brightening sky.
Lorcan releases her wrist and allows her to carefully pluck it from his cheek, her calluses brushing against his skin with a gentleness Lorcan doesn't think he'll ever be able to achieve. She holds out her other hand and he silently places his hand face down in hers. Her hands are so small.
She places the eyelash on the back of his hand. "Make a wish."
This is her way of apologizing, he realizes distantly, whether I deserve it or not. But the bigger part of him balks at doing so, of placing hope in an eyelash, of all things. Elide waits, still holding his hand. She's touching him, willingly, of her initiative.
So he makes a wish, a secret but not-so-secret-wish, not anymore, and he blows on it. It drifts into the Avery, and they watch as sky brightens even more. Two minutes to the sunrise.
"I'm sorry," Elide says in a whoosh of breath and Lorcan turns to her. "I was wrong. You don't deserve to languish in pain and guilt for the rest of your life. What I said was wrong." She shakes her head, seemingly at a loss for words. "You kept your promise, Lorcan. You protected me over and over and over again, even at the cost of your quest to Maeve."
Words leave him, abandoning his head like rats fleeing a sinking ship. He manages, "I deserved it."
Elide turns her dark eyes on him. Her hair is loose across her face, and it slides this way and that. "No, you didn't. You never broke your promise. I — " She swallows, like she's holding in several words. "Can I — kiss you?"
He just stares. Perhaps a bit too long, because Elide's face turns ashen. "Never mind. I didn't say anything." She makes to get up, which is already a difficult task with her ankle, but she's hurrying it and Lorcan can nearly hear her barking in pain. The boat rocks wildly; Elide, in her haste to get to away, has apparently forgotten the laws of physics.
Lorcan finally, finally gets his hands and feet to move. He reaches for her shoulder. "Elide, wait — "
Elide freezes and he remembers he's not close enough to touch her so casually, and is about to retract his hand when she sits back down, still in reach of his hand. They both know she's waiting to see what he's going to do next, so Lorcan lowers his hand. Elide Lochan does not wish to be touched unless she desires it.
Surprise lights her eyes. "I rather assumed you'd put your hand on my shoulder, if only to keep me from running away." Before Lorcan can protest this, because who in the world would be so foolish and inhuman to keep her of all people prisoner again is a mystery to him, she speaks again.
"Aelin is going back north, and her court follows. I'm going back to Perranth. Do you want to come?" Before he can answer, she blurts out, "You don't have to come, obviously, but I asked Aelin, and she says she wouldn't mind having you there, so that's settled, and you must miss the others; Rowan is there, obviously, Gavriel wants to stay with the general, Fenrys is swearing an oath to Aelin, Connall is going with him — "
She's babbling. It surprises Lorcan. He's seen her surprised and afraid and angry and mesmerized, but never . . . flustered.
"Elide," he interrupts gently. "It's fine. I was planning on going to Terrasen anyway."
Her mouth falls open. "I . . . I thought . . ."
Lorcan shrugs and looks away. The river is stained gold with the emerging sunlight. "If not to Perranth, then to somewhere else in Terrasen. And if Aelin didn't accept me, to Doranelle, to help rebuild."
He dares a look back at her. She still looks shocked. "You were coming back to Perranth? After . . . everything?"
Lorcan focuses on the wood beneath his feet. "I was going to try. You described it with so much love." (He doesn't want his voice to crack on the last word, but it happens anyway.) "I wanted to see what this city was like."
He hears Elide let out a breath, and feels her hand on his. The touch calls to him and he looks up, unable to resist.
"Is that — is that a yes, then?" She glances at him sideways, a smile tilting up the corner of her mouth. Blood spattered, slightly crooked nose, ripped and bloodstained witch leathers — and she has never looked more beautiful.
So fuck it all, Lorcan thinks and says, "Yes." He leans over and captures her lips just as the sun rises, gilding them both. Elide makes a soft noise and kisses him back, hands tangled in his hair.
The kiss is sweet, and it takes his breath away: it's stars and wings and her sweet, familiar breath fanning across his mouth. He slips two fingers under her jaw, tilting her head to kiss her better. She makes a pleased noise and tugs him closer; she tastes like dreams and sugar and blood.
Lorcan has never really believed in wishes until Elide, who granted every single one of them: someone who sees him, someone who is not afraid, someone who is kind. And he thinks he might end up in Perranth after all.