Celeste watched carefully as she crept behind the silent, hooded figure, his broad hand resting gently on the kelpie's neck as he expertly guided them through the swamp, with a swiftness and confidence that spoke of familiarity.
He knew this landscape, moving as though he knew where every blade of glass lay, his feet carving a path for them through the near darkness, only his dim lantern illuminating the way.
There had been no more surprise dips into puddles, no sinking into muck, or entrapment in sand pits... it was almost like the swamp was shifting for them, creating a safe path, urging them to move quickly.
Hurry, the air seemed to sing, you must hurry.
So they did, slipping through the shadowscape like wraiths in the night, following ancient trails woven through the gloom, keeping their attention ahead of them.
Don't run, don't acknowledge it, the figure had advised her in that deep, gravely whisper as they'd taken off into the night, his eyes roving over the darkness that even her fae sight could not pierce. It will chase.
So she'd stayed at his heel, keeping pace and placing her feet only where he stepped.
It seemed to have worked so far, even if she could still feel the lurking presence at their back, her breath occasionally fogging before her when they had to move more slowly through an area.
Still, the creature seemed . . . quieter now, hesitant even.
Had she merely avoided the maw of one monster, to jump into that of another?
She eyed the hulking figure before her, his eerie lantern still swinging silently as he walked.
He seemed more fae than human, the pace and agility of his steps telling her as much, but she yet to see beneath that deep cowl, the lantern offering not even a glimpse of his features. Would she find rows of sharp teeth and empty eye sockets? A creature of malice toying with its food and luring them back to its lair?
Only time would tell, she supposed, and given her usual luck—it could go either way, honestly.
Celeste was eternally grateful she'd left Anelisse on the swamp's edge, knowing she was safe and guarded by something far more sinister than what lurked in this cursed place.
With a far fouler temper.
And yet, despite her current circumstances . . . she sensed nothing amiss, nothing that rang those warning bells in her mind that had kept her alive more times than she could count.
Frankly, their absence was the most terrifying.
A soft splash of water had her returning her attention to the kelpie beside her, the creature neatly gliding across the terrain as it followed its master diligently, its pale coat a shimmering green beneath the lantern's light.
Gandriel remained prone across its back . . . he hadn't stirred in the hour they'd been walking, his slumped form no more than an amorphous shadow, concerningly still atop the beast.
She'd surreptitiously reached beneath his nose several times just to ensure he was still breathing. Blessed relief had filled her each time she'd felt the pass of air on her fingertips, no matter how shallow those breaths were.
Breathing was still living, even if barely.
She needed bandages and antiseptics, hot water to clean out the wound and some type of antidote to counter whatever foul poison had coated that arrow's tip.
However, she had no way of analyzing the weapon , no way of identifying what had coated it. With her lack of knowledge of the medicinal properties of the flora of the area, she was more likely to concoct something that would poison her first mate further rather than cure him.
She'd have to deal with it as it came.
Something in her suspected the figure leading them would have an idea where to find all of those things, if they could get to safety quickly enough.
Hurry, the air seemed to call again, pushing against her heels and urging her forward, hurry.
She noted the uptick in the pace of the male, the urgency that seemed to spring into the kelpie's step as they wove through a series of tall reeds, the edges of their razor-sharp leaves slashing at their clothes, curling mists dancing beyond them, obscuring the path.
The tang of magic sparked on Celeste's tongue, energy tingling on her skin as they stepped through some sort of ward, clearing the foliage and coming to a small clearing with another glossy pond at its center . . . where she found innumerable predatory eyes staring back at her.
She nearly bolted until the whickering of the kelpie beside her elicited greetings from its own kind, their deadened eyes glowing in the pitch black.
She let loose a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Excitement twined through Celeste at the sight, her eyes wide as she took them all in.
At the edge of their watery home, a run-down shack sat tucked between the brambles of looming trees. The hovel was held aloft on gnarled stakes, the rotting wood barely keeping the structure above the muddy ground beneath it, its roof packed with mud and mosses, looking hardly capable of keeping the rain out. An array of rickety, cobbled steps lead to its door.
And there at the base of the stairs—a lantern burning green, twin to the one swinging lazily from the staff that had guided them through the swamp.
Their savior's home.
The predators looming in the yard aside, it was oddly homey.
That thought came to screeching halt as the creak and snap of sticks behind her sent her hair standing on end, the brush of ice against her heels sending her heart hammering in her chest. She watched in horror as the ethereal herd in the pond reeled, snorting in warning before dissolving into downpours of water.
It had caught up to them.
A fizzle went through the air, the sound of something pushing against the magical barrier at their backs-
"Move," the figure grunted harshly as he shoved the lantern into her hands and hoisted Gandriel from his mount and over a shoulder, as though he weighed no more than a doll, before sprinting towards the hut.
Celeste wasted no time and bounded after, nearly cursing as she slipped on a patch of ice that was forming beneath her feet, the unnatural green light of the lantern bobbing dangerously in her hand.
She could smell the tang of the fizzling magic, the burning of the ward as the creature pushed and pushed against it.
They had moments before it broke through, seconds at best-
The figure yanked the second lantern free from the base of the steps, the light guttering as he bounded up the stairs, slamming the door to the small hut open. She heard the thud and groan of Gandriel being dropped to the floor as she took the steps two at a time herself, her eyelashes growing stiff with frost.
She felt the snap of the ward, the rush of ice and darkness rushing to claim her-
The cloaked figure was upon her, lifting her with ease as he all but tossed her through the door, dumping her unceremoniously onto a pallet of leaves and moss, which she assumed was his bed, next to the unconscious Gandriel.
The lantern in her hands fell, a green stone tumbling free in an arch of green across the floor as the top came loose.
Celeste watched as the figure slammed the door closed and dove for the flickering stone, the light dying as he grabbed it and sent the musty hut into pitch blackness.
A wailing scream pierced through the night at the light's disappearance.
Ice crackled at the edge of the door, the floor steaming beneath her as hoarfrost took hold. As death brushed closer, the inside of the hut suddenly flared with light as wards carved into the walls activated, the harsh angled markings burning an iridescent blue as they pushed against the magic assaulting them.
Markings that seemed somehow familiar.
Terror filled here as the creature's scream echoed into an ear-splitting wail, the sound so horrendous and furious, drawing a scream out from her own lungs—
She felt a broad hand clamp over her mouth, the hooded figure's body pressing behind her own as he shushed her, his broad chest against her back and free hand pinning her in place.
The wailing instantly ceased.
Several tense moments followed before the brush of the coldest wind Celeste had ever felt danced across her skin followed by the sound of mighty wings booming above her, the creature disappearing into the night.
And a moment later—the insects began to sing again, life leaching back into the air as the oppressive heat and humidity abruptly returned.
As though whatever that thing had been had never even existed.
As if this were normal.
She didn't move until the male removed his gloved hand from her mouth and rose silently, walking towards the discarded lantern and plopping the stone back into its casing where it flared to life once more.
"What the hell was that?" Celeste managed to grind out, protectively reaching to check on Gandriel who had blessedly remained unconscious, his chest still rising and falling beneath her palm. She attempted another glance beneath the shadowed cowl in the newfound light, and found a strong, shapely nose, full lips, and, thankfully, no sharp teeth.
Definitely fae.
At least in some capacity.
"Lurker," the male said nonchalantly, though haltingly, as though still unused to speech. He shrugged as he turned away from her and began rummaging in the darkness, his bulk little more than an amorphous shadow moving about.
"You say that like you deal with them all the time," she commented as she righted herself, trying to keep the breathlessness from her voice as she took stock of her surroundings. "I've never heard of them."
Never in her readings as a child had she ever encountered mention of such a creature, and certainly not of one that dwelled in the heart of the continent.
And she'd studied the nastiest monsters extensively.
The male merely grunted his acknowledgement, before sparkling flint against stone, the flash of embers springing to life in the fireplace illuminating the room around them.
So, he wasn't much of a talker.
The memory of the sound of booming wings sent a shudder through her, leeching cold down her spine once more.
She sat in tense silence for a minute, the small fire crackling and casting a warm glow around the room, a welcome change from the eerie green stone in the lantern. She poked gently at Gandriel's arm, watching with concern as it oozed, and surveyed her surroundings, noting that the shack was little more than a glorified box with dark wooden walls. Each was lined with mismatched shelves cluttered with various items that Celeste wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know about.
In the corner was a makeshift stretcher frame for tanning hides, something scaley and definitely reptilian currently pulled taut across its surface. A small workbench sat in the farthest corner, scattered with bits of twine and leather and what appeared to be weapons and more of those green stones—
She jolted as the figure rummaging through his shelves turned abruptly towards the door, even more hunched than usual to avoid grazing the low ceiling. Based on his bulk, Celeste half-wondered if he were part giant or something of that nature.
"Where are you going?"
He stopped briefly, as though he'd forgotten she was there before nodding once in Gandriel's direction, answering in that gravelly tone, "Herbs."
"We don't know what they poisoned him with," Celeste noted, rising to follow after him as her brain wracked itself to figure out what exactly flowed through her first mate's veins. It had wept something slimy and green, too thick to be bloodbane but from the scent potentially derived from the nightshade family-
The male shook his head before pulling something from his cloak, a small metallic piece attached to a wooden shaft, the end glistening.
"You found one of their arrows." Celeste watched as he set it on the workbench, next to a cloth stained with a mysterious smudge on it that looked similar to the sheen coating the arrowhead, as though he'd already been working out an antidote. "You were already following them." Celeste paused, considering. "Following us."
She'd already known that, having sensed his trailing days before.
What she wanted to know was why.
To no surprise, the male once again just shrugged.
So she voiced her question.
"Why?"
He angled his hooded head in a way that clearly said, Why do you think?
Well, she doubted he got visitors very often, of the slaving variety or not. But the fact that he'd been out there just where they'd needed him, had known exactly where to look-
"That doesn't answer the question," she replied, her arms coming to cross her chest.
The male merely gestured towards Gandriel whose skin was colored something akin to spoiled milk in the dim firelight.
"At least allow me to go with you and help in foraging."
Though his eyes still remained hidden, he seemed to give her another look that said, Yes, and how well did that go for you last time?
Such unnerving silence from the male, even when his motions were so easy to read-
"I can help."
He shook his head, waving vaguely before muttering, "Stay."
Before she could voice another protest he disappeared, wordlessly shutting the door as he vanished into the night.
She almost followed after when Gandriel suddenly roused and murmured from the corner, "Mamá, look at all those chickens!"
He immediately fell back into unconsciousness.
She let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
Perhaps she was needed here.
The trill of violins echoed melodiously through the bedecked halls, their voices blending into the perfect harmony of promise and hope. Beneath them, guests murmured in a hushed whisper, a cadence of their excitement and impatience.
A perfect patchwork of sound that made Elain's heart tremor in her chest, the reality of what lay before her beginning to bloom within her as she stepped lightly between her sisters down the winding staircase, each of their faces gleaming with joy as they made for the antechamber before the garden doors. Mor's hands gently carried the train of her dress, embroidered with delicate flowers and leaves.
It was truly happening.
Only moments now, until everything she'd ever wanted was hers.
Mere seconds before she could see her love in all of his quiet beauty, no doubt patiently awaiting her beneath the arbor in his fine clothes, the handsome planes of his face caressed by sunlight.
Craning her neck, Elain surreptitiously tried to spy her groom through the large glass planes as she stepped, ever looking for those wisps of shadow that owned every part of her immortal soul.
Nesta playfully nudged her in the ribs.
She smiled sheepishly in response.
Her sister gave her an amused snort before she offered out a hand, Elain gently grasping it as she stepped down onto the bright cream tile doused in fat beams of golden sunlight, her heels clicking as she strode forward.
Everything had come together immaculately, each table and arrangement more lovely than she could have imagined.
And there across the ballroom, mindfully situated out of view of the garden, stood the rest of the wedding party, their dark clothes stark against the rose and gold décor, the three males chatting quietly amongst themselves—
She heard Feyre's sharp intake of breath and felt a smile bloom on her face when her nephew turned to face them, his cobalt eyes lighting in recognition as he nodded at her.
Cenric had kept his promise.
Cassian let out a whistle that immediately had a blush rushing up her face as he pushed off the wall, offering her a wink. "Lucky Azriel."
"Lucky Az indeed," Rhysand echoed, smiling politely as he straightened the high collar of his jacket, gesturing over his shoulder with a knowing glance. "He's waiting for you."
Like she'd done for a century.
Like they both would for the other, for the eternity that lay before them.
The blush amplified as she bobbed her head in acknowledgement, a hint of butterflies beginning to bloom in her stomach.
"Just so you know, your groom spent all morning making sure your flowers were exactly where they were supposed to be—"
Nesta stomped down on Cassian's foot with her heeled shoe, immediately silencing his jabbering.
Elain bit her lip, failing to hide her grin.
"I'm sure you were of the utmost help," Mor sarcastically quipped, quietly handing off the train of her dress to Nuala and Cerridwin who'd materialized from the shadows moments before, lovely in their matching spring green gowns.
Looking over a shoulder, Elain watched as her friends set to work straightening the material behind her, so very careful of the gossamer and lace as they oriented the shimmering material across the pale floor.
She was so blessed to have them, the family that stood around her.
To have the male who patiently awaited her in the garden.
Even if a tension was beginning to build, somewhere between where Feyre was staring in disbelief at her son and him dutifully ignoring her.
Elain's heart ached at the sight.
"I was plenty of help," Cassian offered, mock offense marring his features as he tried to ease the building awkwardness.
Elain felt more than saw Rhys roll his eyes.
"I wouldn't call that help," Cenric supplied, quirking a brow while still mindfully disregarding his mother. He hadn't even glanced her way, hadn't bothered to acknowledge her existence.
"Thank you for coming, Cenric," Elain offered, stepping forward toward her nephew, hoping to somehow bridge that gap, to smooth that wound.
"Of course Elain," he smiled softly, "I was happy to."
In turn she saw Feyre lurch at the sound of her son's voice, as though she'd step forward and reach for him. She must have thought better of it though, instead keeping herself firmly behind Elain, no doubt exercising every ounce of her self-control to remain there.
Elain glanced to her side where her sister was staring at her lost son finally returned home, her expression full of words she no doubt wanted to speak, atonements ready to unspool. A years' worth of regrets and apologies she was certain he wouldn't want to hear—
As though sensing the shift Cenric turned his cobalt eyes towards his mother, something like exasperation on his handsome features, somehow so different now than the last time she'd seen them a year ago, after the Rite.
She watched as some internal battle took place in his eyes, followed by a sort of defeated resignation-
"You look lovely, Mom."
The tension in the room instantly eased.
Feyre's relief was palpable as she breathed out a weak, "Thank you, Cenric."
Elain suspected the thank you had nothing to do with the compliment he'd offered his mother. Warmth bloomed in her stomach at it, such happiness and relief. Yes, it was small . . . but it was something, a start to stitching closed that final, terrible rift in their family.
A silence followed that was expertly interrupted by Rhys clearing his throat.
"Well then. . . shall we?" He offered an arm out to a slightly dazed Feyre, looping her hand around his elbow. "Would you like to do the honors?"
Snapping back to the present Feyre nodded her head, a true smile on her face, her eyes glazed over as she gave the order for the music to shift, a four note call and melody to let the guests know she was coming, to let him know she was coming.
Mor slipped her arm through Cenric's, nudging her nephew playfully with her hip and waggling her brows as his features flushed at her teasing, while Nesta straightened the few stray strands of Cassian's hair, easily settling in beside him, everyone stepping into their positions with ease.
She heard Nuala and Cerridwen disappear, no doubt returning back to their seats in the garden.
Elain shifted on her feet as she heard the last note call out, the crowd growing instantly quiet, their silence and attention setting her insides fluttering as she pulled her bouquet up into her arms.
It was time.
The rolling melody of the violins swelled up through the garden to meet her, the deep hum of the cellos as she began strode forward in time to the simple but elegant tune and made her way toward the wide glass doors, each cadence a reverberance of the future that awaited her.
Every step carried the reminder of all that she had faced to come to this moment, every victory and defeat that had crafted her, that had crafted him. Each a reminder of the curse of immortality that had now become a blessing far greater than she could have ever imagined. Each an echo of the past that had granted her this opportunity to be with the male she had chosen, to stand here with her family and friends in a peaceful, beautiful world.
Nothing could have been more perfect.
She watched as her family filtered out pair by pair, each taking their time as they strode down the long, flower-bedecked aisle, butterflies scattering in their wake, their steps slow and casual as they gave her a few fleeting moments of quiet reflection.
She paused for only the briefest moment, murmuring a small prayer of thanks and of remembrance, honoring her absent father and niece, thanking the Mother for the time she'd been gifted with them and asking that she watch over them, wherever it was they might be.
She acknowledged the darkness that had nearly stolen this from her, had nearly devoured the kind soul who she cherished above all. The darkness that had made this moment all that much sweeter.
Then she banished it.
Forever.
Nearly humming, she strode out in the warm glow of the sun, basking in the light that swathed her in its warmth.
She barely heard the intake of breath from the crowd as they turned to face her, her attention instead fixated on the shadowed male who stood at attention at the altar awaiting her arrival, his eyes bright as they became transfixed on her. His exquisiteness nearly stole the breath from her lungs as she slowed her steps, savoring each one.
He was hers, forevermore.
Sparing a few sidelong glances she noted the presence of many of their friends from Velaris, their faces painted in bright smiles as they bowed their heads in her passing, noted the second row that was taken by Helion and Kallias and their respective entourages, Vivienne's icy eyes sparkling as they made contact with her own.
And, there in the front row, their closest friends and family: Amren and Varian wrapped around one another with Tarquin seated awkwardly to their left, lovely Nuala and Cerridwen on their right—and two chairs nearest the isle that were empty save for a carved wooden figurine and a single, perfect night lily, its curling edges gleaming bright in the sun, with two paintings situated behind them.
One a rendition of their father from nearly a century ago, and the second a painting of her niece.
The breath caught in Elain's chest at the sight, fear bubbling in her at the presence of the canvas -
It wasn't the painting she'd hidden in the library.
No, it was one rendered by her sister's hand years ago, during a time when her niece had been small, the sharp, beautiful features of the other painting replaced by large eyes and small curved cheeks.
World-ending relief came crashing down around her, even if a hint of guilt remained. Soon, she promised herself, she would tell her family about it soon.
Elain felt a stray tear escape at the unexpected sight, a last minute addition that Azriel hadn't told her about, honoring those they had lost.
She wondered why she hadn't thought of such an arrangement herself.
Her heart swelled at the gesture, love consuming her.
Turning her attention back to Azriel, she offered him a smile that she hoped conveyed everything—that he was everything. Something sparked in his eyes at it, an emotion that he had hidden so well, that he only revealed in the shadows, in the places where they were safe and hidden—
Transfixed, she watched as he carefully removed his gloves, the immaculate skin underneath bright in the sun, before offering a hand out to her. An offer, she realized, for what lay before them, a path away from the sorrow that had colored their lives-
She grasped it instantly, the brush of his bare calloused hand against hers filling her with the comfort of home as he guided her to the future that awaited them.
It had taken every ounce of self-control that Azriel possessed to not step through the shadows to be at her side the second she'd stepped through the doorway. The sight of her draped in that beautiful gown, her bronze hair lustrous in the sun-
He could have happily died there just with the knowledge that he was the one she had chosen.
A rare, coveted female that had gone against her better judgment to choose a broken, wicked male who had never deserved her affections.
He was no longer fool enough to question it.
Not even fool enough to think of it as she stood before him beneath the arbor, doe eyes bright with emotion and she subtly shifted her gaze to the two empty seats arranged at the front, the addition he'd bid of his nephew.
Cenric had happily obliged.
And Elain, the way her face twisted in emotion—it had been the right choice.
To include those they had lost.
He mindfully ignored the draught of salt wafting from Feyre where she stood behind Elain, and the small sad smiles that had taken over Nesta and Mor's features, the soft ruffle of the wings of his brothers behind him.
For now . . . they had nowhere to go but forward.
With a gentleness that he did know he was capable of he brought Elain's hand to his lips, her flawless porcelain skin bright against the tan of his own, before placing a chaste kiss against it.
He did not miss the stuttering of her heart in her chest, the faint blush that danced up her cheeks.
This was where he was meant to be.
With her.
And for all that he had failed and destroyed-
She was his redemption.
The priestess before them cleared her throat, a young brown-eyed female who offered him a knowing smile before delving into the incantation and rites that Elain had selected.
A hybrid of both human and fae traditions: a prayer to the Mother for her blessing, and the human act of reciting vows.
Eternal promises.
The priestess' tongue rolled in the old language, the syllables melodic as she asked for protection for their union, a love that would span the distance and time of eons. Azriel instinctively tightened his hold on Elain's hands, gently caressing her smooth palm beneath his calloused fingers.
She tightened her grip in turn, sending his heart thundering.
The priestess' voice was a lilting, lovely thing that Azriel barely heard as he watched his love, their eyes locked on one another as the time around them seemed to slow.
He offered her a nod, hoping it conveyed every emotion that coursed through him, every promise and vow he intended to make and keep.
"The blessing of the Mother shines upon you both this day," the female intoned, "and will continue to bless and lead you forevermore."
With agile hands she swept up both of their own, and began to wrap them with a red cloth, a human tradition of symbolically binding one soul to another.
His eyes lingered on the ring on Elain's finger before the fabric covered it.
The ring, the cloth . . . all of it promises.
Ones that he would never fail.
Not like he had done in the past.
"With this cloth I bind you together, heart to heart and soul to soul, forever each other's from this day forth."
He relished each pass of the cloth, binding his hand, his soul, to Elain's.
The priestess passed the fabric one final time before knotting it, her hands lingering on theirs.
"You may now speak the vows."
He knew Elain had wanted to speak hers first, so he waited, transfixed as she leaned forward and looked up at him, her perfect features glowing in the late afternoon sun.
"Azriel, I promise from this day forth to love you as I always have, openly and truly-" the scent of her was intoxicating, nearly driving him into oblivion- "and for every lovely, wonderful thing that you are and have always been, strong, kind, resilient, loyal . . ." she tapered off, smiling. "Forevermore I am yours, as I always have been, no matter the hardships or joy we may face, I will always remain at your side."
Her free palm came to rest on his cheek, eliciting something inside him that burned like molten metal.
"Always."
He ignored the stinging at the back of his eyes, the sensation that the truth in her words had induced, the utter conviction and promise in her tone.
Suddenly the vows he'd written in secret leapt to his lips, clamoring to be spoken.
"Elain . . ." her name was like a prayer on his lips. "Into the darkest night or the brightest dawn I shall follow." His voice was soft but not weak as he spoke the words, words he'd toiled over for weeks, crafting them for this very moment, determined to somehow put onto paper everything that burned inside him. "Wherever your heart shall lead I will pursue, blood for blood and eternity for eternity our souls will be bound. My blade will never waver, my love shall never fade, before the Mother I swear this. And when death takes us into the lands of milk and honey, of shadow and sleep, I will always remain beside you. This I promise."
Tears pooled in Elain's eyes at his words, tears of joy, he realized as she stepped closer, murmuring to him.
"I love you, Azriel."
He gently brushed the stray strands of her hair aside, smiling at the purpose before him.
"As I love you, Elain."
"Always?" she cooed playfully.
"For eternity," he assured before he kissed her soundly, the chains around his heart uncoiling permanently as the cheers of the crowd deafened them.
Celeste had managed to find a pot and moderately clean linens while her mysterious savior had disappeared into the dead of night, the soft rustle of the kelpies in the pond outside the hut a comfort to the horrific scream and caress of ice she'd felt earlier.
She'd managed to sneak outside and steal a pot full of water from the surprisingly clear pond, tentatively patting one of the females of the herd on her hindquarters as she'd done so, like some excited child who'd seen a dog for the first time.
And the creature hadn't even tried to bite her or drown her.
She'd been nearly giddy at the interaction, even if she still wasn't entirely sure how the herd's mysterious keeper had found them . . . or why he'd come after them.
And the slavers—they were no doubt still out there in the swamp somewhere, lurking in this death pit that they thought themselves impenetrable in.
Shaking her head, she dipped the clean cloth into the boiled water and dabbed at Gandriel's wound, peeling away some of the crusted blood and revealing an inflamed mess beneath, the edges puffed and red and full of pond scum.
She thanked the Mother that Gandriel was fae and strongly bred at that, or she knew she would have been one crewmate short. One friend.
One brother.
She growled her frustration as she mopped up the oily leakage onto the stained linen.
One more thing she had to repay the slaving ring leader for. One more blow for all of the pain and havoc that bastard had wreaked on the innocent.
She should have never asked Gandriel to come, should have sent him away with her sister and left them to cuddle and romp like bunnies on the swamp's edge while she finished what she had set out to do.
She needed to find Dermot and eliminate him.
Quickly.
But with Gandriel in such critical condition and her only hope of navigating these cursed lands somewhere out in the night foraging for herbs to save said male-
There was nothing she could do.
Nothing more than tend to her first mate's wounds and ponder her wicked thoughts in the darkness.
Well, that and snoop.
She'd already done her fair bit of picking through their savior's meager belongings, finding little more than a few stray shirts and pants that seemed too small for his monstrous frame beneath that cloak, an array of herbs and what looked suspiciously like bioluminescent mushrooms beneath the pallet that the male clearly slept on.
Only one item had piqued her interest. Buried beneath a pile of unidentifiable cloth discarded in the corner lay a silver dagger, its pommel and hilt of fine material at odds with the rest of the shabby hovel, the simple but well-crafted scabbard engraved with neat lettering—
She heard the door creak open and nearly bolted.
The hooded figure emerged through the doorway with a blue-flowered weed in his hands, holding it carefully to avoid the wickedly sharp red thorns along the stem, its roots still encrusted with mud. The male's steps had been so quiet she hadn't even heard his approach, his movements so smooth she hadn't sensed him.
A trained soldier.
This was no ordinary hermit stranded in the darkness of this bog.
No, Celeste was fairly certain the male had put himself here willingly.
Away from everyone.
Sensing that he'd startled her he awkwardly offered out the plant, gesturing to it as mud sluggishly plopped on the floor. "Found it."
Celeste felt her shoulders instantly relax as she nodded towards the pot of boiling water.
"I assumed you'd need that." She pulled the strips of linens free. "And this."
The figure cocked his head at her, no doubt wondering where she had acquired the fabric.
"One of your spare shirts," she noted casually. It had been the male's fault, after all, that he'd had nothing for her to use instead. "Look, I'll see to it that they're all replaced if you just help us out, please."
If anything, he should have been thanking her, as all the clothes she'd seen in her rummaging were near rags anyway, she could atleast ensure he got something wearable for the trouble they'd caused.
And….feeling shame would certainly do her no good in that moment.
The male didn't seem to mind though, simply taking the cloth from her hands and setting to work about the boiling pot, stripping the thorns and flowers from the weed before tossing them into the water with a handful of other odd-looking leaves.
He worked quietly for several moments before pulling the concoction out and straining it into a cup, taking the remaining dregs of plant matter and squishing them into a paste. He returned to her side and immediately packed the wound in Gandriel's shoulder, wrapping the linen tight.
As he rose, Celeste reached out a hand to take the cup of liquid, expecting that Gandriel would likely need to drink it.
Instead the figure took it and dumped it unceremoniously outside, an acridic odor filling the air as it made a sizzling and popping noise as it splashed over the mossy ground.
Celeste's face must have shown her confusion as he shrugged once more and muttered, "Poison."
"Oh."
A grunt of acknowledgement.
Anelisse toyed with the rings on her fingers, marking the chips and details in each one, the lustrous silver of the ones that her mother had been given and the marked dullness of the ones that had been passed onto her from the Children of the Blessed before her.
The ones that had been heirlooms of her father.
Pieces he could never tell the story behind, fragments of adventures he had taken.
Small mementos of the world that she had left behind, little trinkets of a life that she all but forgotten.
Sometimes her heart still ached for her mother, for the evenings when life was good and she had played in the grove of trees with Celeste before coming home to dinner and stories. A time before poverty had driven them into nothingness and Celeste had borne the brunt of their hardship.
Her stubborn sister who would not let another carry the burdens she felt were her own, the blasted female had left her out here alone in this tent while she was off hunting slavers-
She only prayed that Celeste came back safe to her.
Prayed that, whatever she faced, she would emerge triumphant as she always did, that when she returned they could make amends and heal what had been broken.
She could have never hated Celeste.
No matter the words she had slung, no matter the bitterness she had felt.
And that they'd parted on such harsh words . . .
They'd need tea and cookies to patch it, perhaps a new book to share and gossip until the wee morning hours.
She just hoped Ithaca got back before Celeste did.
If she didn't . . . Anelisse didn't know if there would be any sparing the woman from her sister's wrath, pleading or no. Sitting up, she reached for the lantern she'd kept burning behind her, intending to douse it when a warping sensation shivered through the air and the sound of rustling fabric echoed.
She let out a sigh of relief.
Speak of the devil, Ithaca had returned.
"About time you came back," she quipped into the darkness, rolling over on her cot as she stared at the flap to her tent. "Took you long enough with your little 'errand,' Ithaca."
There was no reply.
The sound of rustling fabric moved closer.
"Ithaca?"