Chapter 7

A fter the drama of my hectic lunch, the quiet hush of the library is immensely welcoming. I'd known when I first walked in here that I'd like it, the peaceful atmosphere and the smell of old books making it feel like a safe haven. The three huge arched windows set into the back of the building make the space feel bright and airy, while there are still plenty of small reading spaces so it feels comfy.

Naril, my companion for the afternoon, just looks bored as he strides past the book-lined walls, seemingly oblivious to the beauty of the room. Whether that's because books don't interest him, or if his long lifetime has taken away the novelty, I don't know.

A quick trip to the medical room was our first stop after lunch. They cleaned my wound, and I received a couple of stitches—something Vaeril had insisted on. Before that point, it had taken an hour to calm him down enough for me to even leave his arms. Eventually, we managed to convince him to go attend to his duties for the rest of the day, which apparently included joining the same meeting Tor ran out on. The queen is not going to be happy when she learns I was the reason behind the disruption, and while Tor still had to play nice because of his role, Vaeril didn't seem to care about upsetting her anymore. No one has mentioned Tor's slip about our connection, and it's almost like it never happened, but Vaeril has been off with me, his personality reverting back to how he had been back in the underground forge. My chest aches at this, but I'm hoping once he's calmed down that will change.

I haven't seen Eldrin since he stormed out of my chambers, which isn't all that unusual as he seems to come and go as he pleases, but I can't help but worry about him. He's a complete bastard to me most of the time, but the expression on his face has stuck with me. The look of devastation followed by acceptance, like he's realised that he'll never have a connection with anyone like I do with Vaeril. I know the queen's toxic attitude towards him doesn't help with that, and I've seen the way some of the courtiers look at him—like he's contagious and if they were to speak to him, they would catch the queen's disfavour. Has he always been so impulsive and wild, or were his wounds from the war more than physical?

"You're quiet this afternoon," Naril comments from my side, and I realise he must have slowed and dropped back at some point, but my mind was so caught up on his twin that I hadn't noticed. His words make me pause. I am quiet, which is odd for me, at least it is now. When did I become so comfortable speaking? It wasn't that long ago that I was a slave and didn't speak for long periods of time, until I was blessed by the Mother. Even when I became Lady Clarissa, I didn't speak often, only to my close friends. Vaeril and I never spoke a huge amount back in Arhaven, more comfortable in companionable silence. Tor brings it out of me more, he goads and encourages me, wanting to hear my thoughts on things. However, since I've come to Galandell, things have changed.

"I have a lot to think about," I finally reply, turning my head to look over at him, raising an eyebrow as a thought comes to me. "Besides, don't you have anything better to do than escort a human around the palace?" Meaning the words as a joke, I smile, but there's a slight, unintentional bitterness in my tone. "What do you even do here besides follow me around?" I tease, hoping to lighten the tension.

"Half human," he corrects. "You need to start embracing your elf heritage. You'll get eaten alive otherwise." Although he says it lightly, I can hear the warning in his voice. He's right, I need to stop referring to myself as human no matter how difficult it is. The person I thought I was for my whole life doesn't exist, but it's not easy to change that way of thinking.

We've slowed down now, meandering past the rows of books and small study spaces, taking the steps down to the lower part of the library where we first met Master Ardeth. Naril has gone quiet, but I can tell that what I said has got to him, and sure enough, after a couple of seconds, he glances over at me. If he had been a bird, he would be ruffling his feathers at the slight to his pride as I implicated that he was my babysitter.

"I am a lord." His haughty voice makes me want to smile, but I stifle it, not wanting to offend him any further. "And as such," he continues, "I serve the queen as she needs me."

Humming in thought, I nod my head to acknowledge I've heard him, but I still don't totally understand how the elves' social structure works. "Then why aren't you in hundreds of meetings like Vaeril? You're both lords, right?"

"The queen uses us in different ways." There's something off about the way he says it, something that niggles in the back of my mind, and I'm about to question him on it, but he cuts me off before I can start. "Besides, Vae has been gone for a long time. The queen needs to know what happened, and he has to be updated on everything," he reasons, and I have to concede that what he says makes sense. "Not to mention the farce of a trial she's putting him through." Rolling his eyes, he huffs a breath. "He always was a favourite of hers though." Again, the way he says this sets alarm bells ringing in my mind, although I couldn't say why.

You're just jealous , my thoughts goad me. You begrudge the queen for the time she takes Vaeril away from you. There's an essence of truth in those thoughts. I do wish I could spend more time with both Tor and Vaeril, but there's more behind it, I'm sure of it.

"We had a month of mourning when he disappeared." He speaks so softly, I almost don't hear him. Turning, I see Naril's expression, and my heart drops.

"Can you tell me about it?" I ask equally as quietly. We've reached the study area now and head towards one of the large wooden tables.

"Vaeril, Eldrin, and I trained as soldiers, even though we were nobility," he begins, taking a seat at the end of the table. I do the same, not wanting to miss any details of his story. "We worked through the ranks quickly. Eldrin was promoted earlier on and led his own legion—we didn't see him for years. Then when he got captured…" He trails off, and I see a rare glimpse of pain on his face. Naril's careful mask rarely ever slips, so I know these feelings must still be raw for him. As swiftly as it appears, his expression clears as he takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair. "Well, that's not my story to tell. Anyway, all soldiers are given a break from serving on the front lines, and Eldrin and I were rotated out of the army and were serving here at the castle," he explains, and I nod in understanding. "Vaeril was given a special mission from the queen, and he disappeared."

A special mission. What could that have been? Is that why she was so upset when we first arrived at the palace and she thought he was dead? I wonder if she feels guilty that she was the reason he got caught. Sure, she didn't capture him, but if she hadn't given him the special mission , then he wouldn't have been there in the first place. You're biased. We're at war. He knew the risks and could have been killed at any time , my thoughts argue, and perhaps they're right, but I still don't like the queen.

Mirroring his earlier movement, I relax back in my chair, trying to think how to ask my questions sensitively. "You told me once before that you thought he was dead."

Naril nods, reaching up and running his hand through his golden hair, messing up the usually neat style. It's slightly shorter than his brother's and always much better kept, but when anger flashes in his eyes, for a second, it's like Eldrin is sitting in front of me. "We searched for him for years, both on the battlefront and in Arhaven."

Shock courses through me as I suddenly lean forward, eyes wide. "Wait, you tried to enter the city?" Shaking my head, I blow out a surprised breath. "That's a death sentence." Arhaven is a sprawling, bustling city with too many people trying to live within its walls. Slums surround the outside of the walls, filled with those purged from the city, and they're a dangerous place to be. Murderers, bandits, assassins, and worse lurk in the depravity, and regularly manage to slip into the city, mugging passing traders and visiting dignitaries. The elves would have stood out like a sore thumb, making themselves a target to both the undesirables and the soldiers who regularly patrol the streets.

"Yes, the city was easy," he replies, brushing off my concerns with a shrug. "It was the castle we couldn't get into." Frustration lines his words. "We tried to listen for rumours, since an elf in the capital city is bound to cause stories, but there was nothing." Frowning, he glances away from me as he stares at one of the bookshelves. I'm pretty sure he's not actually interested in the books but is lost in his memories.

We sit in silence, and I'm not sure how much time passes, but I don't want to interrupt Naril's thoughts. Instead, I use the moments of quiet to process what he's told me so far—how far they went to find their friend.

Out of the blue, he shifts his position and turns to face me once again. "One day, at the edge of our territory, his helmet was waiting for us," he explains in a somber tone. "We don't know how it got there or who put it there, but that was the blow we had been fearing." His face twists in pain as his eyes shut, like every word he speaks wounds him. Although I know Vaeril is all right and I know the outcome of the story, the thought of him dying still hits me like a kick in the chest.

"That's when the queen declared him dead, and for a whole month, we mourned him," a different voice chimes in, a voice I recognise. Looking over my shoulder, I smile slightly as I see Master Ardeth making his way over to our table. "Hello, child," he greets with a smile of his own. I'm still confused at what they mean about a state of mourning, but I don't want to ask, not when Naril's finding this so hard to talk about. Thankfully, I don't have to inquire, as the master takes a seat at the head of the table, turning his attention to me.

"When a state of mourning is called, the whole city will dress in black and cover our faces. Candles are lit in respect. The family of the deceased will have a large candle that burns for the full thirty days in their home. Someone will have the job of tending to the candle, and it's an important role. If the candle goes out before the time of mourning is up, we believe the soul of the deceased will never be able to rest, cursed to roam the land for eternity. In this case, the whole kingdom mourned. Vaeril was well liked," the master explains in a steady voice, as he teaches me about the elves' traditions like he can't stop himself from falling into academic mode.

"Of course, that didn't stop Eldrin and me," Naril says with a wry smile. I don't miss the quick, thankful look he gives Master Ardeth for giving him time to compose himself. "We knew that the humans were getting elven weaponry from somewhere. The queen thought they were just stealing it from our corpses on the battlefields, which I wouldn't put past them—" Seeing my wince, he pauses, misunderstanding my expression for being upset at his slight to the humans. "Sorry," he half-heartedly apologises, his expression a cross between a grimace and a grin. I'm not bothered by the fact Naril doesn't like humans or his opinions of them. I'd knowingly entered a city of elves who hate humans, so it was a given that there would be some unsavoury opinions. The thing that made me wince and my heart hurt was the thought of all those people, elves and humans alike, dead and left in a field to rot.

Rolling my eyes at the stupid face he's pulling, I gesture for him to continue, too absorbed in the story. "No problem. Carry on."

"I didn't believe it. All elves are taught to make our weaponry from a young age, so I knew it was possible that they were getting it from him," Naril continues, and I agree that I'd probably have thought the same thing. "Eldrin said it couldn't be him, that Vaeril would rather die than make our weapons for the enemy, but they were getting the weapons from somewhere." His fist bangs against the table, making me startle and lean back instinctively. His frustration practically radiated from him. Glancing at the master, I see he's watching Naril with a melancholy but understanding expression, and I remember he and Vaeril are close.

"He was forced by magic, he didn't have a choice." I try to keep my voice even as I justify his actions, but it comes off more defensive than I intended.

"We know that now, young one." Ardeth turns to me with a soft smile, reassuring me as he reaches out and gently pats my hand.

Taking a deep breath, I watch Naril try to calm himself, relaxing his fists and pressing his hands flat to the table. "Eventually, I was ordered by the queen to stop searching. She said it upset her too much. I did as I was told, and we assumed he was dead. We gave up on him," he finishes mournfully, a sorrowful expression on his face which is mirrored by the master at my side. Their grief resonates with something inside me, and in a move completely out of character, I reach across the table and place my hand over Naril's. I rarely instigate touch, and when I have, it's only been with Vaeril and the others whom I feel pulled towards. Until now, the relationship between Naril and I has been a shallow and tentative friendship, but I'm beginning to learn more about the elf and it's starting to change my opinion of him.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Naril asks with a frown, turning his sharp eyes on me. "You didn't give up on him. He was your enemy, yet you saw past that and helped him escape. You didn't know you were part elf at that point, and I doubt he did either." As he speaks, I can tell he's confused, like he's wondering what makes me different, allowing me to do what no one else could. "Did it feel like you were betraying them? The humans?" It's a genuine question, and I don't think he means it as an accusation, though it could be taken as one.

Yes , my internal thoughts answer immediately, and guilt rises inside me once again. It's something I don't think I'll ever escape, although I know deep down that I don't really have anything to feel guilty for—it's more complicated than that. I feel a lot of anger towards the king and his followers, which clouds my guilt and grief about leaving my friends and the innocents behind. Not that I'm going to tell Naril that. "They kept me as a slave my whole life and taught me only pain and fear," I reply, not really answering the question, and from Naril's raised eyebrow, he's picked up on my evasion.

"What about the magician?" he counters. "Vaeril mentioned him," he clarifies, seeing the confused look I give him.

Anger bubbles up inside me, and I have to look away from Naril's smirking face before I leap across the table and punch him. Vaeril promised not to tell anyone else about my past, allowing me to choose whom I wanted to know about me. He would've known from when you arrived. He told the queen about you already, so Naril would have found out then anyway , my thoughts reason, and I have to concede my frustrations.

Looking up at Naril again, I realise he's just trying to goad a reaction out of me to get more gossip. "Grayson saved me, I owe him my life." I don't know why I feel like I have to defend myself, or any relationship I have with Grayson, but something about his smug expression makes me defensive. "I don't feel like I betrayed my race, but I am sorry that I never had the chance to say goodbye to the people who made a difference in the short time I was free."

Naril's face drops into a blank expression, so I can't tell what he's thinking, which is unusual for him. I'm used to his smirk, so to see him looking serious is unsettling. Have I said something wrong? If he doesn't like my answers, he shouldn't have antagonised me.

"I think you did what you needed to so you could survive in a terrible situation." Master Ardeth's voice in uncharacteristically somber, and as I turn to face him, I swear I see his eyes glittering with unshed tears. "You've suffered much. If I had known about you…" He trails off as he looks away, his voice tight, and I get the impression he's trying to compose himself. My heart squeezes painfully at the agony in his voice and at the thought that he would have rescued me from slavery. He barely knows me, but for my grandfather, he would have helped me.

"Thank you." The words aren't enough, and I hope he hears how much what he said means to me.

He's still staring up at the large windows, the afternoon sun streaming in and leaving the library in a warm orange glow. Nodding his head, he takes a deep breath before turning back and giving me a polite smile.

"Now, how can I help you? I assume you came here for a particular reason?"

I'm sure my face shows my surprise at the sudden change in conversation, but before I can speak, Naril clears his throat, pulling the attention to him. "We came to speak to you actually."

Humming in pleasure, Master Ardeth turns to me with an expectant expression. I'll never get over how quickly the elves seem to change their moods, it's like our earlier discussion never transpired.

"I was hoping you could tell me more about my grandfather. I want to learn about my elvish heritage," I explain, hoping I've come to the right place. He seemed to be knowledgeable about Jaonos when I came here the first time, so it seemed like a good place to start.

"Wise move. ‘It's vital to know where you came from if you hope to know where you're going,'" he says sagely as Naril rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, giving the impression Master Ardeth has said this many times before. "I knew your grandfather personally, so I can probably answer some of your questions. What would you like to know?"

Excitement fills me at the prospect of finally getting some answers. "What was he like?" Leaning forward, I brace my hands against the table, trying to curb some of my enthusiasm. Naril just snorts in amusement, but Master Ardeth gives me a wide smile.

"Jaonos was a kind and gentle soul," he replies, settling in his chair with his hands crossed on the table before him. "You know that he was a wood elf?" When I nod, the master smiles and continues. "The wood elves live in the great forest along the White Cliffs. It's a much older forest than the one separating Galandell from the humans. The trees there are sentient, and the wood elves embrace nature."

I marvel at his words, trying to imagine a forest larger than the one we had ventured through to get here, but I find the task impossible. A memory surfaces of Vaeril leaning at the bottom of the trees we would sleep in, thanking them for their protection and shelter. I had felt something those nights, like a slight nudging on my consciousness.

"They thrive in the forest, many of them becoming one with Menishea," he continues, but I frown when he says something in elvish that I don't understand. The whole concept of the wood elves becoming something else confuses me. Vaeril had once said something about wood elves changing, but I hadn't understood then either.

"What's Menishea?" My tongue stumbles over the unfamiliar word as I ask the master, ignoring the smirking Naril, who's now picking his nails with a dagger. Charming.

Master Ardeth's eyebrows rise slightly at my question before he chuckles lightly at himself. Frowning, I think he's laughing at my ignorance, but he quickly stops and smiles gently at me again. "I apologise. I forget you don't know much about us or our religion."

I lean forward eagerly, remembering earlier mentions of the gods that had perplexed me. "The elves are religious?" Vaeril has mentioned gods before, but I've never seen him, or anyone else for that matter, worship. There are no churches or temples that I've seen in Galandell, and they don't seem to outwardly praise them.

"Not particularly. They're deities we call upon in times of need, or when we need someone to blame," Naril interjects, earning a scowl from the master.

"What Naril is trying to say, is that our gods and goddesses have been forgotten over time," the master elucidates, berating the younger elf. "You see, they disappeared." My eyebrows rise at this. How can a god just disappear? You either worship them or you don't. Surely they wouldn't just leave? "You will still see influences of them around the city, but the wood elves have never given up on their goddess—Menishea . " Every time he says the goddess's name, my whole body tingles, like even just speaking her name evokes her power. "It roughly translates to Mother of Nature in your language, although I believe you refer to her as the Great Mother?"

This is not wholly new information to me. I knew the elves were aware of my goddess, Vaeril had told me that much, but I didn't realise she was worshipped here or how she fit in with their religion.

"The Great Mother is one of your goddesses too?" Automatically, I reach across to touch my goddess mark. A soft caress of her power makes its way through me, but I miss the full strength of her influence.

"Yes," Master Ardeth responds, smiling at my revered expression. "However, she was one of the lesser goddesses. I haven't felt her influence for over one hundred years." He frowns, as if not being able to solve this puzzle has been bothering him for some time. His earlier statement still troubles me, and I can't get my head around what he's saying.

"What did you mean when you said they disappeared?" I query with a frown.

"At first, we didn't notice that their influence was going, until one day, one by one, they disappeared," Naril answers, pulling my attention back to him. He's put the dagger away now, and although he's pretending otherwise, I know he's just as upset by the disappearance as the master. "We don't know why."

Ardeth shifts in his chair and lets out a long sigh. "There are some who theorised that we outgrew them, we didn't need them anymore, so they have forsaken us." He looks uncomfortable at the idea, but it just makes me frown all the more.

"She warned me that her influence was weak here, that she wouldn't be able to speak to me as much, but she said she would always be with me. The Great Mother is still…around," I tell him, struggling to put into words the feeling that she fills me with, the presence that I know is watching over us. "She guided me here. She is the reason I'm still alive. She gave me this," I insist, raising my wrist to show him my goddess mark. His eyes widen, but he doesn't seem surprised, just exuberant to see it. The mark glows, but it's dim, so dim it almost can't be seen. Hesitantly, and with a quick glance at me for permission, he reaches out and examines the mark, brushing his finger over it briefly. A gentle flare of light pulses from it, and I'm filled with a sense of happiness that's not my own. It's a pure, joyful feeling that has come from the Mother herself. Master Ardeth seems to sense it too, his eyes widening.

"You are so much more important than you realise, Clarissa. She has great plans for you," Master Ardeth murmurs, his gaze lifting from my mark to meet my eyes, and I see wonderment shining there. He looks younger like this, and I can tell he was once very handsome.

I start to become uncomfortable as I sense more attention on me. Naril and some of the other scholars who have wandered into the study area are watching us with interest. Gently pulling my wrist from his hand, I give the master an awkward smile and shuffle backwards in my chair. I comb my fingers through my hair for something to do with my hands, but I catch the conflicted expression on Naril's face before he quickly smooths it away.

What was that about? I ask myself, trying not to let my confusion show. The silence stretches between the three of us, and I know I need to get the conversation moving again. "Anyway, you were telling me about Jaonos."

Thankfully, this seems to shake Master Ardeth out of whatever blissful trance he appeared to be in, and he blinks a couple of times. He glances between Naril and me, and a gentle frown pulls at his brows as if he's trying to remember why we were there before clarity crosses his face. "Yes, of course." Leaning back in his chair, he composes himself for a couple of seconds. "Your grandfather was a representative of the wood elves. He would often stay in Galandell for long periods of time, advising the queen on the ways of the wood elves and the will of Menishea . He believed the goddess wasn't leaving on purpose, but that she was being forced away, her influence slipping." Shock runs through me. His comment runs parallel with what the Great Mother told me about being weak here. Had my grandfather been on to something? Noticing my expression, Master Ardeth nods sagely. "He was a gentle soul and always believed in peace. The queen and the other lords ridiculed him behind his back, as they do with many of the wood elves, but he was harmless, so they let him be. That was, until he suddenly changed." His tone alters now, lowering as his head drops.

For some reason, whatever he's trying to tell me feels really important, and urgency fills me. "What do you mean he changed?"

"He started saying the goddess had spoken to him, that there was little difference between us and the humans. That the war between us was pointless."

"As you can imagine, this got him into trouble," Naril adds, and I glance over at him in surprise. I hadn't realised he'd known my grandfather, but while fifty years is a whole lifetime for me, it's barely a blink in time for the elves. "The queen banished him from Galandell and called him an old fool. That was the last time I saw him," Naril continues, his usual smirking expression somber.

Master Ardeth nods slowly, making a noise of displeasure. "I visited him a couple of times in the forest after that. He was devastated. He loved his role as a representative, even though it took him away from his beloved forest."

As the master speaks, I imagine it all in my mind and find that I'm sad I never got the chance to meet the wood elf who tried to change the war. What would he have thought of me?

"The last time I saw him, he was a different person. He thought the goddess had given him orders to leave us and try to unite the human and elves," Master Ardeth says carefully, as if trying to not offend me. It's obvious he believed that Jaonos was wrong, or at least, he did until he met me. "I never saw him again after that." His grief is obvious now, and my heart clenches painfully. Jaonos was loved here, yet he chose to leave them all behind and venture out into the realm of his enemies to find peace.

Can you not see the similarities, my beloved? the Great Mother whispers in my mind. Surprise rocks through me as I hear her, but she sounds and feels weak, like she's sacrificing much to tell me this. This is the first time I've actually heard her here, and while I'm excited, I'm worried by how difficult it seems to be for her. The idea that Jaonos and I have faced similar journeys makes me scoff. He went out of love for his goddess and people, trying to put an end to the war that has been raging for as long as anyone can remember. I left my people out of fear and necessity, running straight to my enemy. I expect a rebuff from the Mother, but her presence fades almost completely, drained by whatever is keeping her from this place.

Taking a deep breath, I try to shake off the uneasy feeling that has settled over me. "You did hear from him again though?" I prompt, and Master Ardeth nods in agreement.

"I received a message from him once, as I told you before. In it, he stated that he fell in love with a human and had a son, a half-breed. Your father."

There's something bugging me about the story that I can't quite put my finger on. If he fell in love with a human and had a son, that means he had to have a life, a home somewhere. Just because the elves never saw him again doesn't mean he's dead, they just assumed that because he was going to the human lands that he would be killed. "He could still be alive," I suggest rationally, internally wincing at how eager and hopeful my voice is. The idea that I could find him and learn more about my past has been planted like a seed, and no matter how much I try to stop it, it keeps growing inside me until I can't hide it.

Sympathy lines the master's face. Leaning forward, he places his hand gently on top of mine. "If he is still alive, he doesn't want to be found." The words hit me like a physical blow, and I frantically nod my agreement to hide my disappointment.

"Of course. I just…" Trailing off, I look down at my hands, one of which is still being held by the older elf. Pulling away, I cradle my hands in my lap. How do I explain it to them? I know it was stupid to hope. After all, if any of my family members were alive, they would've tried to save me from slavery, right?

"I know." The master's voice is soft, and when I glance up at him, his eyes glisten as he stares at the table. "He was my friend. I miss him." My chest tightens with emotion I don't know how to express. Feeling my gaze, he looks up and blinks a couple of times to compose himself. "He would have loved you so very much."

It's my turn to blink rapidly, my eyes stinging with tears I won't let fall as a mixture of happiness and grief floods my system. Is it possible to miss someone you never knew? I don't know, but I feel strangely uplifted—I had a family, someone who would have missed me. There's still a big gap in my history. I know who my grandfather was and how my father came to be, but I still have no information about him or my mother. How did I end up as a slave in Arhaven at age eight with no prior memories?

Taking a deep breath, I give the master a wobbly smile. "Can you tell me more about him?"

I spend the rest of the afternoon with Master Ardeth and Naril telling me stories of my grandfather. It was simple, but full of laughter and fond memories.