TOBIAH

Ruin seems to be recovering well. A day later, he is fit to travel and we get back on the road, albeit a bit more cautiously. I spend most of my time in that damn carriage with him instead of out on my horse, but I cannot complain too much. He makes for riveting company and asks intelligent, insightful questions that surprise me and… I care for that very much.

A few days later, it is overcast and smells like fresh earth and rain as we stop on a back road to eat lunch. We have not seen another carriage for some time, but Ruin insists that is normal for this area—it is mostly farmers, he says, with occasional villages. Avaughn is in the far northern region of Ordesh and the Immortal Plains are in the southeast. The amount of ground we have to cover in the midlands is considerable and since it is the least populated area of Ordesh, it also feels empty of humans.

But not of nature and spirits.

I look over the hills below me in the valley and listen to the forest nearby as the guards set up a blanket. The spirits seem glad to be in my presence and reach for me, clamoring for my attention. They are wild and untouched and, I suspect, merely want company. There is a mother oak, whispering to me and asking about my travels. There is a meadow where the locals have been foraging from for centuries and it wants me to join them, to bask in its beauty. Beyond that, there is a river close by, the spirit lazy and fat because of recent rain. There are dozens more eager to feel me, touch my magic, and hear my tale.

Something in me swells from the attention. The spirits in O'trana are so quiet because the elves use them, but here, they are untouched and free and how I wish, how I long to be the same. But the stone around my neck is something else entirely, a beast all of its own that saps my life force with each passing year. Maybe one day I will be wild and free again, just like them.

But I am no fool. I know I will die before then.

Regardless of my morbid thoughts, I soak in the scene and something in me settles, contented. Ruin is behind me, talking to Pennbrooke about their wine—of course—and I reach out quietly, feeling the pure joy of this human land. I can feel the flowers, grass, trees, and weeds grasping for me and for each other. My head no longer aches when I feel them, a boon. The majesty of everything washes over me and fills my senses to the brim. This area is untouched by people and by magic. There is something sacred in the gentle rises of the hills, the closeness of the forest, and even the hum of petty arguments behind me.

Wind plays with my hair and the sky is gray and it will rain and I will be soaked, but I do not care. I am happy to be in the presence of pleasant companions and whispering nature.

"Hey."

Ruin touches my elbow and I startle violently, cursing under my breath.

"Whoa," he backs away and smiles. "You okay? I said your name a few times."

He did not. Not really. He said the name I assigned myself. Not… not my real name.

I look at the hilly, green valley below and nod.

"Yes. I am sorry. I was…" I bite my lip and he shrugs.

"It's okay. You'll stop being spacey once you eat."

I quirk an eyebrow.

"Will I now?" He grins, his eyes green like the thriving forest and just as sacred.

"Come on. You can't tell me that getting spacey because you haven't eaten is just a human trait. "

I laugh at that.

"No. I suppose not."

I abandon my hill and join him on the dark blanket, a feast before us. There is meat, cheese, bread, and little cherry tarts, all spread out on a single large wooden board. Ruin offers me a wine glass and sips before digging in.

"You know," he says casually, "I thought humans had brooding down to an art, but you've really put that to the test."

I gape at him.

"I beg your pardon?" I say and drink my wine, trying to hide a scowl and failing.

He laughs.

"It's not an insult, sad elf. Just an observation. You seem pensive or broody most of the time and you always have this faint frown on your handsome face that doesn't do you any favors. It's… concerning. Most of the time, I wonder if you're all right."

"Of course I am all right," I say tightly, trying to find the balance I felt moments earlier. Everything about him is disarming and it is difficult to not just fall into his eyes. "You would be just as pensive if—" I stop and gather myself before I reveal too much too soon. "—if you had seen what I had."

"Again. Not an insult," Ruin insists, popping steak into his mouth. He takes a moment before continuing. "I'm… partially concerned and partially curious."

"Curious?" I huff. "About what?"

"About if all elves are the same way because they live so long and life sucks."

I actually laugh at that and then laugh more when he is bewildered, which makes him laugh. After a few moments, I shake my head, my serenity returning.

"No. That broodiness is a monster of my own making," I say with a snort. "I suspect I am more reflective than most of my people thus the penchant towards bleakness."

Ruin nods solemnly.

"I see. Good to know. "

We are quiet for a few more minutes as we eat and the wind starts up again, carrying the scents of the forest with it. I turn and chew thoughtfully as I look at the dark tree line, my heart filling with a longing that I can hardly voice. Now that I am used to the sounds of the spirits here, I wonder how I was ever without them.

"Do all elves like the forest?" Ruin asks, cutting into my morose thoughts. I turn and smile.

"My people—"

Pain explodes in my shoulder like fire and ice and I stagger forward, dizzy and aching, as I hear shouts of alarm. Agony blooms like flames in my veins and I am vaguely aware of Ruin yanking me close to him. My shoulder joint feels stiff and stuck and I smell the husky wood scent of the warlock and calm a little.

Then, it happens.

I feel an overwhelming urge to let go of my magic, to drop everything that is holding me together and reveal myself completely. The pain is agonizing and I know that if I submit to the demands of this fucking cursed wood, then the pain will become bearable. I have not felt this strong of a compulsion in centuries because I have not been stabbed with ash wood during that entire time. Because my disguise has been completely irrefutable and why would you stab an elf with it anyway?

Because I am not an elf at all.

I am a fae with a glamour so strong and perfect that no one has ever even questioned my place. Not since I fled my only home in the dead of night so many, many years ago.

If I give into the need to drop my pretense, then my horns, my hair, my everything will be revealed. I will be exposed and raw for everyone to strike me down and finish the damn job. But I resist because I would rather choose my death than be assailed and murdered by allies. I would rather die than have Ruin recoil from me in disgust.

So I do what I have always done—I endure to my detriment.

The poison and pain is bad enough that I unceremoniously vomit in Ruin's lap and he keeps stroking my hair gently. I have to drop the glamour. If I drop the glamour, I will not hurt so deeply in my bones. I will not feel as if my insides are pushing against my skin to become my outsides, unable to really see or understand what is happening around me. The only thing I care about is what is happening inside of me. I fight the compulsion, tooth and nail, refusing to give in and push all my sizable magic into locking down the glamour tighter.

It is excruciating and I make some sort of noise as my body starts to lock up.

Perhaps the end is near. Perhaps this is it. I will die, slain by some petty human in a forest, but, really, what did I expect? I would deserve it after my kind has ravaged these lands and taken everything of worth. Somehow, I have always known this is my fate.

"Tobiah!" Ruin snaps for probably the hundredth time and I long to hear him say my real name. Just once, if I am to die. "Tobiah, it's alright. I have a shield up. You're safe. Stay with me. Stay with me, sweetheart."

He strokes my face, and the raging need to drop my glamour recedes. His touch is the most comforting thing I have felt in my centuries of loneliness and despair. I lean into it and I know this is it.

I am going to die.

.I can hear shouts and distant fighting and vaguely want to help, but I am too weighted down by pain.

"Ruin," I whisper. "I… am…"

He watches me intently, looking the most serious I have ever seen him.

"Don't speak," he says gently, his fingers brushing my forehead. "It's okay, handsome. It's okay."

The void swallows me and all is silent darkness.