a sad, gentle smile, reminding me he was friends with my grandfather. He told me before of his guilt that he was never able to help my grandfather before he died, and I know that by extension, he feels responsibility for my past, even if he had nothing to do with it.
“You trust her?” he asks, and I know he’s talking about the Great Mother, or Menishea as the elves call her.
I don’t even need to think about my answer, already nodding my head. “Yes.”
The speaker smiles and leans back slightly, our hands still clasped. “Then that’s enough.”
Looking at the goddess mark on my wrist, I contemplate his words. What he says makes sense, and I do trust the goddess. Is it really as simple as that? Just give up control, stop worrying, and trust she will guide me in the right direction? Am I even capable of doing that?
Chuckling softly, Hawthorn pulls his hand away, resting it in his lap and giving me a knowing look. “You may trust in the goddess, but you don’t trust in yourself.” I pull a face at him, making him laugh again. He’s right. I don’t trust myself because I don’t really know myself. I’m still learning who Clarissa is. For years, I wasn’t allowed to have a personality, I was barely allowed to even exist, so this has been a steep learning curve. Especially considering I’m now having to potentially lead a group of people in an upcoming war.
The speaker interrupts my thoughts, picking up on my insecurities like he can read my mind. “You don’t have to know where you are going, just trust that the goddess knows the way.” Frowning slightly, I take a few moments to center myself. I hadn’t realised my face was so easy to read, but I’m giving too much away. “Rest easy, beloved, I am good at understanding people’s feelings, the wind tells me their intent,” he reassures in a whisper so low I almost don’t hear him. I meet his eyes in surprise, and he nods his head with a serene smile. I knew he was powerful and could connect with nature, but I had no idea it extended to the very air around us. My mind is blown as I gape at the immensely powerful elf besides me, wondering if that should change how I feel about him.
Either unaware of my internal bewilderment, or choosing to ignore it, which is more likely given the news he just disclosed to me, he smiles again and gestures towards me. “The goddess has given you everything you need.”
I automatically look across the flames to see Vaeril and Tor. They’re all in conversation, their voices quiet so I can’t make out what they’re saying, but as soon as they feel my eyes on them, they both instantly look over at me. A blush heats my cheeks as their gazes intensify. Tor’s slow smile makes me shift on the bench as desire shoots straight to my core. “My mates?” My voice is breathier than I would like, and I finally pull my gaze away with a scowl when Vaeril smirks, knowing the effect they’re having on me.
Speaker Hawthorn chuckles again at my reaction before a thoughtful expression takes over. “Yes, but it’s more than that.” Pausing, he seems to think about what he wants to say, the look in his eyes warming something inside me. I never knew my father, and I don’t know if it’s the connection he had to my grandfather that makes me feel close to him, but I feel like Hawthorn is quickly becoming a father-like figure to me. From the look of adoration in his eyes, he feels the same way towards me. “Clarissa, you survived twenty years without your mates, you should take some credit for that.”
While he’s right, I did survive, I have darkness in me that takes away from that, and it’s something I’ve never shared with anyone before. It’s something that eats away at me, the dark thoughts that twist within me, that taunt and tell me I’m not good enough on hard days.
Unable to look at him, I focus on my goddess mark, tracing it with my fingers. “Some days, I would pray for death.” My admission is quiet, but it seems to echo across the now silent bonfire, even the crackling flames seemingly hushed. Everyone’s eyes are on me, but I shove aside the feelings of shock and anger and push on. “When it all became too