The One Thing We Can't See, an elena of avalor fanfic

The One Thing We Can't See

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Elena of Avalor

"How could you give your love to someone else
And share your dreams with me?
Sometimes the very thing you're looking for
Is the one thing you can't see."

- Vanessa Williams, "Save The Best For Last"

After their magical battle against Shuriki and her accomplices and the chase that followed, Elena felt horribly let down. She knew that her friends were right and riding blindly into the jungle would have been useless, but she begrudged the sorceress every step of her escape.

Meanwhile, Gabe had gone to mobilize the Royal Guards while Naomi helped Armando organize the cleanup after the Sunflower Festival. (Had that really been only this morning?) Elena would have to break the news to her family, but she couldn't face that yet. Instead, she had found herself following Mateo into his workshop, helping him clean up the mess of smashed potions Carla had left. It felt good to fix something, even something small, when everything else was falling apart.

"You, uh … you don't have to do that, you know," said Mateo.

"I don't mind. I may be a princess, but I can still swing a broom." Elena's attempt at levity fell flat as she swept a pile of broken glass shards together on the floor. Mateo, who was down on his knees with the dustpan, looked as unhappy as she felt.

"If I hadn't been so careless," he said bitterly, "Rita – Carla – would never have gotten in here in the first place. None of this would have happened."

"Don't blame yourself." Elena crouched down to his eye level, broom and all, and put a hand on his shoulder. "She fooled all of us. I thought she was my friend."

In retrospect, a lot of "Rita's" strange behavior was starting to make sense. No wonder she'd been so eager to help organize the festival, since it gave her an excuse to go everywhere in the palace and stick her nose into everything. No wonder there had been a certain insincerity about her when they'd spoken about the legend of the tears that grew into sunflowers. For Carla Delgado, raised by a single father, maybe the story of a separated couple had hit too close to home. Unless, like Shuriki, she simply didn't care about anything but power. Right now, it was all too easy to believe the latter.

"I thought she was … more than my friend," Mateo confessed, without meeting Elena's eyes. "That's how she got the key to this place. We were dancing, and she stole it from around my neck. I didn't even notice."

"She did what?" Elena's grip on the broom tightened. If it had been the Scepter and Carla within range, she would have cast Blaze without hesitation. Any sympathy she might have had for the spy was gone.

"I gave her so much information," Mateo went on, his curly head still bowed. "About the reversal potion, even about Fiero being a statue in the garden, all because she pretended to like me. I'm such an idiot!" He pounded the floor with a closed fist.

"Don't!" Elena caught his hand. He pulled away as if her touch had hurt him. "You'll cut yourself."

"Abuelo would never have let this happen."

Mateo looked bleakly around at his workshop. In Elena's eyes, the few missing bottles didn't make too much of a difference. The Maruvian carvings were still vibrant, the walls the same warm golden stone, the bottles still shimmered in the candlelight, and everything had its place. But for Mateo, it must feel as if someone had broken into his home. Elena remembered how proud he had been to decode the riddles that led to this secret room, how he cherished it as a legacy from the grandfather he'd never known. Carla's theft must feel like a desecration.

"You're right," said Elena. "Alacazar wouldn't."

Mateo's eyes widened with hurt for a moment, but she went on: "But on the other hand, he never let me out of the Amulet. Even if you trusted the wrong person, that's better than not trusting anyone."

Mateo looked astonished, as if he'd never considered his grandfather in that light before, riddles and all. "But … he was a great wizard, wasn't he?"

"He was." Elena would never forget how Alacazar had been her lifeline during those forty years. "But he wasn't perfect. We all make mistakes."

"I know." Mateo sighed. "I just wish they were all as easy to fix as this."

He rose wearily to his feet, picked up one of the tamboritas from the rack, and cast a cleaning spell on the puddles of spilled potion. He'd told her once that this was one of the first spells he'd learned, after one mess too many in his mother's basement. Still, it took three tries until the floor was clean, which was a sure sign of how demoralized he was.

"Did you really like her that much? Carla, I mean?" Elena could have bitten her tongue as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Mateo was her friend, for goodness' sake. Why should it matter how much he liked another girl? Why would the idea of him dancing with Carla, showing her his workshop, telling her stories, feel so disturbing? Would she still feel this way if "Rita" had been real?

"I thought I did. She was so pretty and … and confident, like she knew exactly what she wanted. I guess that's true." He shot a sardonic look at an empty spot on the shelf where the stolen reversal potion had once stood. "I should've known a girl like that wouldn't really be interested in a guy like me. I always do this. I can read Ancient Maruvian in my sleep, but when it comes to reading people, I'm hopeless."

"You don't know that."

"Don't I?"

"Of course. Mateo, you're … "

She couldn't even begin to describe what she thought of him: keeping them both on a horse when she was close to fainting and he barely knew how to ride; falling off a bookshelf ladder right into her arms; telling her exactly how dangerous Vallestrella was and still following her there; mourning with her at her parents' altar; conjuring a pair of fiery jaquins after one touch of her hand … So much she wanted to say, but couldn't. Not when he was still heartbroken over somebody else.

"Any girl would be lucky," she finished helplessly.

Mateo's only answer was a shrug; most likely he was in no condition to believe her. After a few more cleaning spells for good measure, they swept up the last of the broken glass into a sack, which Mateo would bring to a glassmaker in the city who could melt it down and reuse it. Some of the wizards she'd observed in her exile would just have vanished everything and conjured new bottles, but Mateo's secret self-taught apprenticeship had taught him to be frugal. Elena respected that. If only her feelings could be melted down and reused as well.

"Carla wasn't the worst of all this, you know," Mateo said, just as she was about to slide open the painting and step out into the library.

"What do you mean?"

"The worst part for me," he said, "Is that I let you down."

He met her eyes for the first time since she'd followed him into the workshop. His own amber eyes were dark with regret. Elena had never hated anyone as much as she hated the woman who had caused all this.

"You did no such thing, Mateo de Alva. This is Shuriki's fault for using Carla and Victor for her own ends. It's what she does, remember? She uses people, and if she can't, she destroys them. I promise you I'll stop her, no matter what."

"You mean we'll stop her," Mateo retorted, the pain in his eyes turning to stern resolve. "Because I'll be with you when you do."

Part of her wanted to protest the idea of him putting himself into danger for her, but this was his fight too. He had as much of a right to avenge his loved ones as she did. Besides, she always felt stronger when he was by her side.

He opened the door for her, as he often did, and held her hand to steady her as she stepped down onto the library floor. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd done the same for Carla, but she silenced that thought at once.

"I need to talk to my family. If you'll excuse me … ?"

"Right. I've got research to do."

"Take care, okay?"

"I will if you will."

The last she saw of him that night was his brave smile through the crack in the closing door.