what looks like water in her hands. Kneeling at my side, she offers it to me, and I smile gratefully as I take it, sipping at the cool water. “Thank you,” I tell her before handing it back to her.
“You’re welcome, beloved.”
As soon as the words leave her lips, nausea slams into me, reminding me of what the Great Mother had shown me. Scrambling to my feet, I push past the elves and run to the edge of the platform, only just managing to reach it before vomiting over the side. I tremble, the meagre contents of my stomach being purged from my body as the horror of the vision finally hits me. I don’t know why it took one of the elves calling me ‘beloved’ to trigger the memories. A cool hand rests on my back, rubbing calming circles, and I know instantly it’s Vaeril. My retching continues until there is no more for me to vomit, and I rest my forehead against the railing of the platform, my breath coming in pants. He doesn’t say anything and doesn’t ask me if I’m okay, because he already knows the answer. No, I’m not okay. How could I ever think I could get away from the darkness of the King of Arhaven?
Eventually, someone else joins us at the railing, but I don’t bother to lift my head, I’m too exhausted. Assuming it’s Naril, I just lean back into Vaeril, enjoying the cool, gentle breeze against my skin.
“That was an interesting meet.” The voice makes me jerk upright, causing all my muscles to protest at the violent movement.
“Speaker Hawthorn,” I blurt out, about to apologise for my poor greeting, but he waves it away with a gentle smile, his eyes taking in my exhausted form. “I’m sorry I ruined the meet.”
The speaker leans against the railing, gazing back across the platform at the remaining elves. Most of them have started to split off into their own groups, heading back to their homes or meandering over to the large table laden with food that I only just noticed. “Ha! Don’t apologise child.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Menishea acts through you. We’ve not seen that much of her power for decades, it was a beauty to behold,” he admits, turning to look at me. “I am sorry it’s taken so much out of you though.” I hear the hurt in his voice, and I know he means it. There’s something in his eyes, something that wasn’t there before the vision, and I want to know what it is.
Vaeril seems to sense this and shifts his weight before he cups my chin. “I’m going to give the two of you some space, Clarissa. I’ll be with Naril. I won’t be far,” he promises, placing a gentle kiss against my sweaty forehead. Watching him walk away, I notice Naril is over by the table of food. His plate is overflowing with the delicacies, but his eyes are on me. His teasing has been just as bad as usual, but I haven’t missed the concerned glances he’s been giving me recently. I know he would deny it if I asked him, but he’s come to care for me. Not in a romantic way like Vaeril, but in the way I love Wilson—like family.
The silence between Speaker Hawthorn and me stretches, but it’s a comfortable silence, like one shared between two old friends enjoying each other’s company. Now that I know I’m not going to vomit anymore, I mimic his stance, leaning back against the railing and facing the platform. We watch the elves as they enjoy the evening. The canopy of leaves above us is thick, but there are a couple of gaps, and through them, I can see the large full moon shining down on us. In my culture, that would be taken as a sign of good fortune.
Sighing, I break the silence, knowing this conversation is inevitable. “You believe I’m that woman from the story.” I don’t look away from the elves, but I can feel his gaze on me.
“Yes, you are her. I feel it in my soul.”
His answer only corroborates what the Great Mother told me when she confirmed my goddess and the elves’ goddess were one and the same. A great weight of responsibility sits on my shoulders, but I know I can’t deny what the goddess asks of me. Even if I wanted to go against her, I can’t let all those innocent elves and humans suffer. I just