19. Silva

Silva

Silva swayed in place, looking up at the Gildersnood sign. She had not been here since that night with him, and didn't know how she was meant to enter now, not without hearing his laughter ringing across the pub like a shimmering bell, recounting his day with her and everything he'd mislearned.

It had been a mistake, she realized now, bringing him to Cambric Creek. A terrible, awful mistake.

She had spent so much time daydreaming of having him there, of having him close. What she would show him, what they would do. So many of those plans enacted on, once she got the chance. She had never considered what it would be like for her here now, once they were done. She had never allowed that to even be a consideration. Unthinkable.

Now, though, now that he was gone . . . he was everywhere she turned.

She could never walk into the Black Sheep Beanery again without hearing his covert whisper, asking if anyone had a job before ordering the honey latte and marveling over the nonstop crowd of every species. She would never stand happily again before the waterfall, could never take another carefree walk along the creek. She couldn't go to the observatory, and would never again be able to drive through Oldetowne. She could still hear his laughter echoing down the sidewalk as they left the bookstore, and would never be able to hear the discordant clang above the odd little teashop's doorway without envisioning him there, petting the cat.

She had shown him the salon where she got her nails done, the little boutique where she'd bought the lingerie he'd peeled off her so many times. She'd tried to show him every corner of her little world, and now he still existed there, echoing in each.

If he could not be here at her side, Cambric Creek was ruined for her for good.

"Silva! Oh my stars, I'm so happy to see you!" Dynah's voice rang out across the parking lot, her auburn curls bouncing along, before she flung her arms around Silva. "Ris just texted me, she's already inside."

The choice of entering was taken from her as Dynah pulled her along, the other elf's fingers latching around her wrist determinedly. The noise overwhelmed her. Happy hour used to be fun, used to be something she looked forward to — socializing with her friends, people who thought of her as more than just a pretty doll, as more than Silva of the Daytime. She wasn't sure how true that was, not anymore.

Ris had been a good friend when everything had happened, as good a friend as she was able. She texted daily and stopped by at least twice a week, at least for those first two weeks. Silva knew she'd likely been a nuisance, but she appreciated Ris overlooking that fact. She and Lurielle had both been as supportive as they could be.

What Silva could not get over, on the other hand, was how thoroughly scandalized Lurielle had seemed by the entire affair. Ris had shared with her what transpired that strange afternoon in the office at Clover, and the things Elshona had told them. Lurielle had shaken her head, seemingly still in shock, the day she and Ris had both come to Silva's apartment to check on her.

"I don't know, I just think the whole thing is so scary," she murmured. "I mean, the Otherworld is illegal! I don't understand how he managed to . . ." Lurielle's voice had cut off, glancing up to Silva quickly, the tips of her long ears turning pink. "It's just . . . what a mess. It's best that you found out now, Silva. I know it hurts, and if there's anything we can do . . . but really, thank goodness you're finding out now, before things got too serious."

Are they serious? Of course not, he's a horrifying fae creature from the other side of the veil. She had been too dead-eyed to react at the time, but now every time she replayed the interaction in her head, Silva wanted to flip the table in a rage. He was an elf from a place called Castlemartyr and he was stolen from his family! she wanted to scream. Instead, she merely pushed the hurt down, locking it away. She imagined what Lurielle had told Khash, and how smug the big orc had likely been. Probably delighted. Probably couldn't wait to go running back to the other orcs in Greenbridge Glen, to let them know they'd all been right all along. Don't ever trust the fae.

The invitation to Lurielle's small wedding was still sitting unopened on her desk, atop a stack of other unopened mail. Silva didn't think she could bring herself to attend. She couldn't watch someone else's happiness without her own emotions bubbling to the surface, and especially wasn't keen on seeing Khash anytime soon. And who could you even bring? It's not as though she likes Tannar either. Since returning to work, she had avoided the break room, deciding there was nothing left for her there, either.

"What are we having tonight, ladies?"

Ruby smiled down, and Silva felt her heart collapse in on itself like a miniature house of cards. He had stopped to chat with Ruby on their way out the door, that night she'd brought him here, ruining it forever. He'd not known Ruby, they never met a single time before, but with just a few words exchanged, they had instant camaraderie — speaking the secret language known to barfolk, not one in which Silva was fluent.

She listened to Dynah order the house special. Ris ordered it as well, and asked for an extra shot of Lystr?e. When Ruby turned to Silva, her neck heated.

"Um, a Moxie Ginger Fizz?" Silva watched Ruby's expression closely. She said nothing, but Silva detected a minute raising of her eyebrow, the muscle barely twitching, not something anyone would have noticed unless they were specifically looking for it. Good. And she understood the order.

"Silva, how have you been doing?" Dynah's hand reached out, petting Silva's as if she were a stray cat they brought in from the parking lot. "You know, if you ever want to come with me to the mixer night at —"

"Oh my stars, you're not even going to suggest bringing her to that cattle call, what is wrong with you?!"

Dynah gasped in offense at Ris's words, turning in her seat. Silva disinterestedly listened to them bicker back and forth for a few minutes, Ris calling out several of Dynah's poor matches, men she had evidently met at the mixer party.

"— Don't even get me started on that lizard guy with the permanent pinkeye. He was wearing dad jeans! He looks like the kind of guy that would pull his cocks out in the park just because it's technically legal."

Practically fornicating with themselves in public. The drinks arrived, Silva took a fast, experimental sip of hers, breathing in relief.

"Besides, I don't think that's necessary," Ris put in with a note of finality in her voice, giving Dynah a sidelong look. When she turned her attention back to Silva, her expression was softer.

"So, you and Tannar, huh?"

Heat moved up her neck, but Silva straightened her back, taking another sip of her drink before turning to Ris with a careful smile. "We've been spending some time together," she admitted guardedly. "He's . . . actually a decent guy. There are much, much worse options out there." Like your boyfriend. Ainsley evidently no longer felt the need to pretend to be civil to Silva. The small handful of times since she had seen him since that terrible day in the office at Clover, he had been borderline hostile, seeming to take issue with the fact that she had returned to her life and was not laying in the street outside the bar, wasting away. He and Ris were moving in together, pushing her and Silva even further apart. Not that it matters.

When he found out that the property had been transferred into her name, Ainley had been wroth, for absolutely no reason. She hadn't asked for it. She would sell the Plundered Pixie in a heartbeat if it meant even the slimmest chance she could have him back . . . I told you that you'd always have somewhere to come, dove, and so you do. And so you're here.

Silva had not yet entered the apartment. Nothing had been finalized yet, Elshona's prediction of things sitting in escrow for months proving to be accurate. She wouldn't have done so even if she'd had the key in hand. She couldn't bear it. Perhaps if it had still been his apartment. Perhaps if the long, low gray sofa still sat in the living room, if the pool table still sat where someone else may have placed a dining room set. If the tin tiles on the ceiling still reflected the lights in the corners of the room, shimmering up the stark white walls . . . But he was gone. Gone from her life, erasing all traces of himself on his way out the door. The mere thought of the cozy set up he'd created for her turned her stomach, and she couldn't bear to see it again.

Ris laughed. "Oh, don't I know it! The pickings out there are surprisingly slim, considering how many species live in this town. And I agree — he is a decent guy. I've said that from the beginning, I told Lurielle as much half a dozen times. I'm glad for you."

At the mention of Lurielle's name, the conversation shifted to her upcoming wedding. It was going to be a small affair, Ris related, just a handful of family and friends, Lurielle's great-grandmother making the trip in, and a small handful of Khash's kin willing to make the journey. Saddlethorne farm was hosting, a lovely willow tree would be the site of her hand binding, with a small cocktail reception after. It sounded lovely and Silva was happy for Lurielle, but she knew herself. If she had to watch another elf have her hand bound to her beloved beneath a binding tree right now, listen to their words of happiness and commitment, she would walk into the farm's lake and be done with it all.

"They're going to be flying down south to do their fire oaths in front of the clan anyway, so this is just a formality. For his folks, at least."

"What did you tell Lurielle half a dozen times?" Silva asked suddenly, unable to let the comment go. "You – you said something about Tannar and telling her something?"

Ris looked up, her eyes widening slightly. Guilt. That was the look that passed over her face quickly, although she covered it well. "Well . . . you know how Lurielle can be about other elves," Ris chuckled uncomfortably. "And you know, I don't blame her. We all know what it's like. But she always used to say that Tannar reminded her of every guy who used to make fun of her growing up and she was so mean to him for no reason. I told her she was gonna feel real stupid when we were bridesmaids in your wedding to him. And that he genuinely seemed like a decent guy! I mean, for an elf. Again, we all know the score. So I'm really glad to know that he is. And that I was right."

Dynah laughed, and Silva made a noise that she hoped was a good enough approximation of her previous carefree laughter.

"I don't even remember her not being friendly to him!" She kept her voice light, Silva of the Daytime, not a thought in her head beyond the next pretty dress and attention from the handsome elf in question. "When was this?"

Ris laughed again, the awkwardness gone from her voice. "I mean, literally every time he came into the break room to chitty chat with us. ‘Just one of the elves.' I remember last year, it was right around the Fall Festival because her and Khash had planned on going. I specifically remember telling her one day that she was going to feel like a real asshole when she was a bridesmaid in his wedding. I can't remember if she got better after that or not."

"Not by much," Dynah supplied, and they all laughed again.

Last fall. Last fall, more than a year ago, when she was still traveling to Greenbridge Glen on the weekends, before Tate had taken her to that party in Bridgeton, before she had walked away from her family, spending most of her weeks in the apartment above the Plundered Pixie.

"Oh," Silva murmured softly. Are they serious? Of course not. We're already picking out her next boyfriend.

The thought of going back to the office the following week, seeing any of them, made her chest twist and her face heat. You were only ever a little girl playing house to them. They had written him off and chosen someone new for you before you had even chosen him for yourself.

She finished her drink, begging off another round when Ruby came back around, escaping into the night as her eyes filled and overflowed.

Silva was relieved she had her own entrance at her grandmother's house, choosing to move there once her lease was up, rather than being forced to spar with her mother every day. She'd not needed to come home, of course. She knew if she would have thrown even a minor tantrum, her parents would have paid her lease for another year, but much like the town itself, her darling little apartment was ruined for her.

He was there, eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon on her sofa, paging through her book. He was there, pacing around her bedroom, inspecting his clothing options in a panic. He was there in her kitchen, making her strawberry crepes, swiping a dusting of powdered sugar on the tip of her nose. He was there in her bed, arms around her, his heartbeat a solid, steady thump beneath her ear. Waking alone in that bed had been the worst of it. Still able to feel the warmth of his arms, the soft huff of his breath, warm on her face from their shared pillow, his fingers in her hair . . . waking to find herself alone, knowing that she would not feel the thump of his heartbeat again made staying in the apartment an impossibility.

He had never been in her grandmother's house, did not echo from the corners there, and the pillow in her bed there had never held the indentation of his head. There was no memory of him there, she would tell herself, unable to sleep, doing nothing but remembering.

She got in the habit of coming in through the back garden door, taking what had once been the cook's staircase up to the second floor and straight to her bedroom, avoiding her grandmother's room completely. She was on the far end of the hallway, near the staircase, able to make a quick escape if necessary, far enough away that she was able to run the water in her tub and sob, and not arouse attention or concern, as she did that night.

She sat in the tub, letting the hot water sink into her muscles, providing a tiny bit of relief from the ever present gnawing sensation that had taken up residence within her. Her head tipped back against the tub, her eyes closed, her fingers closing on the little claret colored bird on its ivory background, the filigree of its ancient locket just as finely wrought as it had been the day it was made by his grandfather. He had left it behind, on the top of her dresser, beside his phone. She had not taken it off since.

She already knew what other people would tell her. That this wasn't good for her. That she ought not to push away her friends, that she needed to continue going to work every day for outside interaction, that she needed to find her way back to the land of the living again.

A small flutter came beneath her breast, as if she'd spoken the thought aloud, and Silva slipped a bit deeper beneath the steaming water.

She didn't need anyone's opinion on what was best for her, and she didn't need false friends. Everything she had once needed had been in the apartment above the black brick pub. Now that he was gone, she thought, rubbing the smooth base of the locket between her fingers, feeling that flutter, everything she needed was right here.