“Reading is an exercise in empathy;

an exercise in walking in someone else’s shoes for a while.”

- Malorie Blackman

The outpost settlement had been established a quarter of the way up the mountain where the trees thinned out and there was less dirt on the ground and a lot more rock. The outpost had failed because a storm had sent most of the buildings off the edge of the plateau it had been built on. Only one building remained, sheltered by a curve of stone and wedged into place by a stubborn tree clinging to the rockface.

The sun was well and truly on its way down and the air was becoming chilly with the wind snapping at my face.

“Can’t believe I was hot before.” I muttered, pulling my gloves on. “Jeez…I’m shaking!”

“I’ll get a fire started.” Micael offered, kneeling where there was evidence of a fire having been built before. “Alana, can you gather some wood?”

“I’ll help.” I offered.

“Do not go too far.” Bronwyn ordered.

“We won’t.” We entered the edge of the trees. “We’ll need kindling and larger branches once the fire takes.”

I nodded and began to gather what we needed. I had to keep moving. The drop in temperature had really surprised me and shocked my body.

“Just a few more.” I shivered. “Just a few more…”

“Bethany…”

I looked up, Faelan standing before me.

“You’re…here?” I swallowed, avoiding his gaze, frightened of what I would see there. “I wasn’t sure you would follow us.”

“I did.” He stepped forward and I lurched back. He hesitated. “Here.”

He offered what was in his arms. It was a bundle of firewood. Even though my body was cold, my heart warmed at the sight of it.

“Thank you.” I breathed, meeting his eyes. “Why don’t you bring it to the outpost yourself?”

“No, I do not think…”

I grabbed his arm. “Come on, Faelan,” I insisted and pulled him along, “it’s cold, Bronwyn is worried about you and we need the firewood.”

I marched him out of the line of trees towards the outpost where Micael was doing his best to light the fire. Bronwyn was preparing the fish Micael and Alana had caught.

“That was quick.” Bronwyn looked up and her expression seized. She stared at Faelan who shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I…”

“Faelan brought firewood.”

“Did he bring fire?” Micael asked a little sharply.

“You cannot light a fire?” Faelan remarked coolly.

Micael stood up and glared. “Be my guest.”

Faelan knelt, setting the wood aside, sent the flint Micael had been attempting to use in the breeze a dirty look before picking up a cluster of leaves. I held my breath as he spoke to it, whispering words I could not make out yet my skin prickled all the same.

Micael opened his mouth, probably to criticise as Faelan seemed to be having a conversation with dead leaves when they suddenly sparked into flame, crackling in his palm.

“There now,” Faelan said gently to the tiny bonfire in his hand, “that was not so hard, was it?” Without panicking about the flame on his skin, he made a little tepee of sticks and inserted the flame beneath it as though it was the resident of the tiny house. “Build up the rocks on your side of the fire.” He told Micael who was staring at Faelan in astonishment. “Or else the wind will blow your fire away.”

“Yeah, sure…” Micael said breathlessly and hastened to do so as Faelan arranged more sticks over the tepee, creating a decent sized fire which quickly caught alight.

“Not bad Micael,” Alana came close, “oh…”

Faelan stood up warily. There was a tense moment and I suspected he was getting ready to flee. No one seemed to know what to do or say. Faelan cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.

“Will you not stay?” Bronwyn blurted and he turned towards her. “We have enough food and it is cold, even for an elf, in the mountains.”

Faelan’s eyes dropped to mine.

“Please…” I said softly which seemed to break his resolve. He nodded and sat stiffly next to me.

Alana and Micael chatted lightly as they helped prepare dinner. I noticed Bronwyn glancing at Faelan and he at her. I wondered if I’d made the right decision.

Bronwyn set a griddle similar to the one Asher had used to cook the bear meat, onto the fire and laid the gutted fish on it. While they cooked she cut rounds of bread from a cylindrical loaf and slices of cheese.

“Imagine if we had been able to bring some of that honey up with us?” She remarked.

“That was delicious,” I gushed, “and well done, you two, on catching fish with your bare hands.”

Micael looked grumpy. Alana beamed. “I caught the fish,” she preened, “Micael was very good at holding them.”

“Yes, well…I’m better at bear hunting.”

“Remind me again…who killed the bear?” Alana giggled and Micael rolled his eyes.

“Oh be quiet.”

Alana put the bread and cheese onto the plates then held them out to Bronwyn for the fish with the crispy skin.

“Oh I wish I had thought to bring butter.” Alana moaned.

“Be grateful you have fish!”

“I’d be more grateful if you’d have caught some of it yourself.” She rolled her eyes at him and went to hand a plate to Faelan, a piece of perfectly cooked fish lying across it. “Faelan?”

“Oh, that’s mine.” I lurched in front and grasped it. “Faelan doesn’t eat meat.” I picked up a plate without fish on it and handed it to him. “Here.”

He shot me a grateful look and I smiled.

The meat, though simple, was delicious. The flesh of the fish fell from its thin ribcage and I sucked the juices off my fingers that I had only sucked on earlier that day, searching for the remnants of the honeycomb.

“If I had known food tasted this good when camping, I would have put a tent in the back yard when I was little.” I joked.

“It helps when it is fresh.” Bronwyn admitted, peeling off a section of fish and popping it into her mouth.

“You eat meat?” I froze at Faelan’s horrified tone. I forced myself to twist and look at him as he stared at his mother, disgusted. “How far you have fallen…you are not an elf anymore…” He stood up and went to leave.

“Faelan,” Bronwyn stood up, “whether you like it or not, I was cast out of Iffah because of a mistake I made…and outside of the borders of the divine light of the elves…my body began to need more than the nectar of flowers for sustenance.” Her hand fluttered briefly over her abdomen and I breathed in sharply. “Would you have had me wither away for the sake of your father’s condescension?”

Faelan paused, his back towards us.

“I would have you dead as I was told you were.” He said bitterly and disappeared into the night.

I closed my eyes and groaned.

“Bronwyn…” I cringed. “I am so sorry…”

“He is angry,” Bronwyn put her plate down, “and I cannot expect him to be otherwise.”

“Doesn’t mean he gets to be a jerk.” I muttered.

“Jerk?”

“A foolish person, particularly when they’re unkind to others.”

“Huh, I like it. Jerk!” Alana declared to the stars above. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

“I’ll have to avoid being called it.” Micael sighed.

While they bantered back and forth, I looked at Bronwyn whose eyes were sad.

We spent the night inside the remaining building of the outpost. The fire might have been warm but the wind was bitter. Inside the hut we were sheltered from the worst of the cold. Bronwyn put some of the coals of the fire into a metal tin and latched the lid.

“Here,” she offered it to me, “make sure your feet stay warm.”

I shoved it into the bottom of my bedroll and slid inside, feeling for the tin with ginger toes.

“Oh that’s nice.” I admitted. “Won’t you get cold?”

“My clothing was designed for this weather. I am perfectly warm.” She insisted.

I frowned. “What about Faelan?” I asked softly.

“If he is wise, he will have gone back to Iffah.”

“And if he’s not?”

“He may sit by the fire now that we are not there.” Bronwyn smiled at me. “Like you said, he is not a child. He is a man and an elf which makes him more than capable of looking after himself. Get some sleep, Bethany. You will be home tomorrow.”

Though my body ached and I was exhausted, sleep was as hard to catch as an elf. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling that I could just make out. I could hear the wind rushing around the cabin and now and then, I heard the cry of a wolf or the call of an owl.

I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to will myself to sleep but even that didn’t work.

Adding insult to injury were the snores from Alana and Micael.

I huffed and put my hands behind my head.

“Cannot sleep?”

I turned to look at Bronwyn. Her soft green eyes gazed at me kindly.

“My mind won’t switch off.” I confessed.

“Did you want to talk about it?”

I winced and sighed. “I…to be honest I could use someone to talk to. My mum died eight months ago, I don’t even talk to my dad anymore let alone confide in him and my aunt is in a coma. My life has gotten so crazy, turned upside down in less than two months and every time I think I’ve got a handle on it…something else happens.”

“That sounds fairly normal.”

“Not when it involves fictional and fantasy characters, my aunt in a coma and her infuriating haiku breadcrumbs.” I pressed my fingers to my forehead. “It just…gosh I wish I was a grown up and knew what I was doing!”

Despite my exclamation, my voice was a whisper. I felt tears sting at the corners of my eyes, the weight of responsibility bearing down on me.

“I am over six hundred years old,” Bronwyn said softly, “and even I do not fully know what I am doing half of the time. In fact, in the past decade, I have acted more like an adolescent than a half century gone elf.”

I rolled onto my side. “Yeah…but you seem happy.”

“I am…for the most part.”

“And I guess I am…for about a third of the time.” I admitted. “Frightened or confused for another third and then…” My heart fluttered as Faelan’s eyes returned to me and I could feel a blush rising up my neck.

“Bethany?” Bronwyn whispered softly. “Are you alright?” I let out a shuddering breath. She smiled tenderly and reached out to take my hand and squeeze it. “I know I could never take the place of your mother or aunt, nor would I ever try…but if you need someone to talk to, I am here.”

My heart ached desperately, all the things I had gone through suddenly spilling out of my mouth in a whispered confession to an exiled elf in an abandoned cabin on the side of a mountain in a fictional world. I cried a couple of times as I told her everything, even about the haiku’s Aunt Jo had left as clues throughout the world.

“It sounds as though you are surviving in a heightened state of awareness at all times.” Bronwyn said when I had finished. “You must be exhausted.”

“I am.” I sniffed and wiped at my nose. “Sometimes I can forget and enjoy my life…but then something like this happens, getting lost in Ilanard, getting hurt…in more ways than one…and I feel lost all over again.”

“I doubt the Bethany who first unlocked the door to ‘House of Figs’ could have ever gotten this far. You are doing far better than you think.” Bethany stroked my forehead like Aunt Jo used to when I couldn’t sleep. “Do not be so hard on yourself.”

I had to laughed, albeit quietly. “I said the same thing to Faelan.”

“Oh?”

“I suppose that is the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I wish I could do something to help.”

“Just being able to talk about it is nice.” I insisted. “At ‘House of Figs’ there’s just me and Jet outside of the ‘fictional’ crew and he’s not the most…nurturing type.”

“You mentioned him several times. Is he becoming more than just a friend?”

“Who? Jet?” I shook my head. “He’s nice, weird but nice…”

“What about one of the others? You mentioned several close encounters with them. Is there something more?”

Immediately Faelan’s eyes were in my mind and I swallowed…hard.

“Who are you thinking about?”

I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my forehead. “Oh gosh…” I buried my head into my pillow.

“Bethany?”

“I didn’t mean to make him kiss me,” I peeked out, “I swear…we were dancing, or trying to and then there was this heat…”

“Did my son kiss you?” I nodded mutely. Bronwyn closed her eyes. “Bethany…I am so sorry.”

“It’s hardly your fault.”

“Oh…in some ways I think it is.” She sighed and looked at me. “You asked about elf ageing today. While we retain our youthful appearance, over the course of thousands of years, we do experience…a decline of certain faculties.”

“I don’t understand.”

Bronwyn pressed her lips together. “Cadeyrn…did not marry for a long time because he was determined that only a pure bride of established bloodline would do. When I was old enough and my behaviour was tempered and true, I wed him at one hundred and twelve years of age. At the time, Cadeyrn was over two thousand years old.”

I felt my jaw drop. “Now that’s a child bride.”

“How true.” Bronwyn wiggled closer so her words were even more confidential. “Cadeyrn’s protracted abstinence came at a price. Elf progeny were already greatly diminished…and his own body had trouble…impregnating me.”

I nodded stiffly, determined to be a mature young adult who could handle these kinds of conversations.

“Despite the challenges, I conceived Cybel within fifty years and Urien, a hundred years later.”

“That’s a big gap from Urien to Faelan.” I whispered.

Bronwyn’s eyes were sad. “By the time I conceived Faelan, I was little more than a living hot coal tin, like the one at your feet, for Cadeyrn. He would have moments of…sprightliness but after Faelan…” A tear trickled out of her eye. “There was no affection. No passion. No intimacy beyond the duty of creating an Iffah heir. After Faelan, I was not even required to warm Cadeyrn’s bed. My heart ached like that of an adolescent, desperate for affection…and I despised myself for wanting it. I threw myself into learning the history of the elves, the traditions and old songs…but I ended up drier than I was before. Everything I did only sucked the life from my body. I felt like the dead twin of the great trees of Iffah…”

She swallowed and breathed in and out several times before continuing. “I began to wander the mountains, as Faelan did, endlessly walking, searching for an answer to a question I hated myself for pondering. And in my wanderings…I came across the humans. I enjoyed watching them, distracted from my barren loneliness by their interactions and their work. It warmed my soul like no fire ever did. I knew I was crossing the borders of Iffah but I reasoned that, if I did not interact, then I was not transgressing.” She licked her lips. “I remember the first time I saw Asher…he was working in the fields…no shirt…hands calloused and rough with a laugh that stroked my soul and set it alight.”

She looked at me as though waiting for me to pronounce judgement.

“Go on.” I urged.

She smiled. “I had an adolescent crush, a fixation upon a man I had never spoken with yet yearned for. I wanted so much to know what it would be like to be loved by something as tangible…as warm and textured as he. Elves are so perfect, so smooth…so cold sometimes and my heart was so lonely.” She paused. “I am not trying to make excuses for what I did…but I did not act out of defiance…but out of desperation.”

“It’s okay, I’m listening.” I assured her.

“One day he was in an orchard picking apples and the others went elsewhere to repair something. Asher sat at the base of a tree, closed his eyes and fell asleep. Impulsively, I crept close to him, studying every facet of him, the light shadow on his chin, the tangle of his hair…the sweat on his brow…the way his lips looked warm and inviting…and I kissed him because, in that moment, I thought that if I did not…I would die.” Bronwyn swallowed. “Instantly I knew I had crossed a line and even as his eyes opened, I darted away and ran back to Iffah. I put myself through the cleansing, saying I had walked too close to the borders in my wanderings. I vowed never to return, terrified of what I had done…”

“Something must have happened.”

“If Cadeyrn and I had been regularly intimate, I would have told him immediately. I knew he would accept a cleansing from a close encounter but a deliberate kiss, no matter the motivation…I could not sully him thus. My rejection from Iffah came second to my determination to honour Cadeyrn’s wishes, no matter how extreme they might be. For weeks I thought I had escaped being exposed…then one night he was feeling uncharacteristically sprightly and summoned me to his bedchamber.” Tears poured out of her eyes. “I threw myself at his feet and confessed all before he could touch me. It was such a shock that he collapsed and I thought I had killed him. I could not heal him without contaminating him so other elves came and looked after him. When he was conscious, he ordered everyone out except me and before he could say a word, I told him I would leave Iffah and never return. He added another punishment.”

“Never to seek out your sons?”

Bronwyn nodded. “That night, the passage of passing was performed and I watched from afar, knowing that it was for me, my funeral. Lost and alone I went back to the humans and it was not long before I found Asher. He was playing with a young boy in the forest, putting him on his shoulders so that he could reach the last of the apples. A woman approached them and the boy cried ‘mama’ and Asher handed him to her.”

“You thought she was his wife?” I breathed.

“I felt like such a fool. I was ready to kill myself and end my ruined life when the woman’s husband, Asher’s brother, approached, put his arm around his wife and picked up his son.” She smiled. “She said, you would make a fine husband one day. I know of a few women very interested if you ever want a little help? Asher declined politely and his brother remarked, you cannot spend your whole life searching for a fantasy girl who kisses you in the woods.”

“He remembered you?”

“He saw me.” Bronwyn nodded. “When they left I walked up to him. He turned and saw me…and the next I knew his arms were around me, whispering that he thought he had lost me. I had never known such an embrace. I wept as he picked me up and carried me to the village.”

“Married the next day?”

“No,” Bronwyn gave a small laugh, “I would have been happy had he bedded me then and there but Asher was a man of honour. He took me to Olwyn’s house and for a time, I shared a room with a much younger Alana.”

“Oh that’s why there’s two beds in her room.”

“Olwyn, being a full blood elf herself and having gone through exile and withdrawals of Iffah, was able to help me understand what I was going through. When she deemed me settled enough, she gave Asher permission to court me.” Bronwyn blushed like a girl with her first crush. “He asked me to marry him within three weeks to which I heartily agreed. Elrond followed a few years later and, well...”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

Bronwyn’s lips parted in surprise. “You can tell?”

“I guessed…sustenance for two?”

“Indeed.” She smiled. “I never thought I would be a mother again, let alone have a beautiful son and now, I suspect a daughter. Asher is a wonderful husband and father.”

“Did you tell him about Cadeyrn?”

“I did. He knew I had been married and intimate before. He also knew I had three sons. Because the elves of Iffah treated an exile like a death, my life with Cadeyrn was over.” Bronwyn frowned. “I know I have not always acted with wisdom and courage…but I wanted to explain all this to you because…Faelan is probably searching for a connection, a resolution to the restlessness of his soul.”

“You don’t mean…” I pointed at myself.

“You are not my son’s answer.” Bronwyn insisted. “Just like Asher was not mine. Olwyn made that clear as she guided me. But I understand that impulsive need, when loneliness has all but consumed you and the ones you trusted, betrayed you…to connect with someone.”

I put my head on the crook of my elbow, my unsettled mind becoming tired and quiet.

“Thank you,” I whispered, “for trusting me…and giving me someone to talk to.”

Bronwyn drew my bedroll up to cover my shoulders, tucking me in like a mother would.

“Sleep now, Bethany. I’ll get you home tomorrow.”

The wind had blown all the warmth out of the air. Not even the climb up the steep path was enough to make me want to shed my jacket. It was hard not to resent Alana darting ahead. Even Bronwyn would not keep up with her and now that I knew she was pregnant, I was a little cautious around her.

From where we were on the mountain, I could see so much of Ilanard. I could see the forest of Iffah blanketing much of the base of the mountains and the rolling hills that emptied themselves onto the pastures of the village of Elvan. Rivers sparkled in the sunlight like fine necklace strands in candlelight and on the mountains, pine needles cast from evergreen trees replaced the leaves that had carpeted much of our journey.

“We are almost there,” Bronwyn pointed, “those pillars mark the start of Xephis.”

There wasn’t much left to them. Whatever grandeur they had once possessed had been eroded by time and the relentless wind. Alana waited for us at the base of them. Beyond, was a large cave or tunnel, I couldn’t tell.

“I did not think elves liked artificial structures.” I panted as we reached the pillars and walked together as a group. I was relieved that Micael was breathing as heavily as I.

“There were once many tribes of elves, like cultures of earth, that existed in Ilanard.” Bronwyn led us into the tunnel. “Iffah elves are but one example…the last example…the final race of high born elves.”

“Ooh, dark.” I whispered. “Anyone got a torch?”

“Wait,” Bronwyn put her hands on the walls and spoke much like Faelan had done to the dry leaves in his hand the night before, “light our way.” She ended…and seams in the rock glowed, as if the tunnel had been tattooed with a delicate pattern in iridescent ink. “It is not as luminous as it once was. Watch your step.”

“Was this just a tunnel or was it more?”

“It was once and still is.” Bronwyn tapped my shoulder and pointed up. “Look.”

I did so and gasped, a network of glowing bridges and tunnels, iridescent rocks and carvings suspended above my head.

“It’s just like the trees of Iffah!” I gasped. “The mountain is hollow!”

“Ah…how sadly apt.” Bronwyn sighed. “This used to be the home of the elves of Xephis.”

It was a relief to be out of the wind but if anything, I found the interior of the mountain to be even colder. The atmosphere was lonely…sad somehow.

“Something terrible happened here.” Alana whispered, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Oh good, I thought it was just me who felt that.” I murmured.

“Your instincts serve you well…but the sorrow of the elves of Xephis cannot hurt you now.”

“What happened to them?”

Empty halls echoed Bronwyn’s words as she spoke.

“King Arran, who was a respected leader of the highborn elves of Xephis, was at the council of elves back when the threat of human contamination had reached a critical stage.”

“Why call themselves highborn?” Micael asked. “Were they better than other elves?”

“They were the tribes that had not lost the purity of their bloodline to human dilution.” Bronwyn explained. “King Arran was old, even for an elf and he had seen the loss of many tribes, grieving that their cultures had whittled away like a winter wind blowing at the autumn leaves. It was he who insisted on enforcing the separation between humans and elves.”

“I thought the separation was meant to help the elves survive.” Alana said. “This place is like a tomb.”

“We are not far from the end. Look there.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

We walked through the tunnel, a light appearing at the far end, scattered by twigs and leaves. Micael went first and kicked and stomped his way through the brush that had grown over the exit. A landslide had blocked part of it and I suspect it had been much larger and grander than the pokey hole we squeezed out of. In the afternoon light, the exterior ruins of Xephis lay bare and barren, like a carcass, picked clean and the bones exposed and bleak.

“Wow,” Micael breathed, “what was this place?”

“The temple of Xephis where the elves celebrated their purity.”

I looked at Bronwyn. “What happened to them?”

“Tell them.”

We turned and saw Faelan standing nearby, his face as cold as the ruins around him.

Bronwyn held his steely gaze. “I should like to know what you believed happened.”

Faelan’s jaw tightened. “The elves of Xephis…fraternised with humans. After King Arran’s death, they lost themselves to human interaction and decay. And in time, the tranquillity in which they existed was torn apart by the consternation of the human race. War broke out…the elves were scattered…and hunted down.” He looked around. “What you see here is the evidence of the loss of resolve…and the consequences of contamination.”

Bronwyn sank onto a pillar and sighed deeply. “No Faelan…that is not what happened to the elves of Xephis.”

He looked at her. “You have lost your way…your testimony cannot be trusted.”

“Oh little bird,” Bronwyn shook her head, “shall I recount some stories of your youth? Your childhood?” I swear for a moment, fear coursed across Faelan’s face. “Well, if you are concerned my memory is that accurate, perhaps you will indulge me.” Bronwyn looked around at the ruins. “The demise of the elves of Xephis is far worse than any fairy tale you might have been told. I know…I read the historical account.”

“There is no historical account.” Faelan insisted.

“There was…before it was deemed heretical.” Bronwyn caught her breath and gazed at him calmly. “The elves of Xephis…died out.”

I waited.

We all waited but Bronwyn said nothing more.

“Um…is that it?” Micael asked.

“That is it.”

“Wait, no war? No intrigue?” Alana demanded. “They just died?”

“Their bloodline was so pure…so…rigid…that they lost the ability to reproduce.” Bronwyn’s eyes were sad. “And no elf lives forever…”

There had been no great climax or cataclysmic event that had wiped out the elves of Xephis. They had whittled away, slowly but surely…until there was nothing left…

I shot Faelan a furtive glance. Calm as a millpond…I wondered at the ocean crashing beneath.

“Bethany,” Bronwyn turned to me, “we should see you safely home.”

“Yes please.” I nodded. “The door was between an arch, the only arch still standing I think.”

“This way.” Bronwyn stood up and led us across the mesa towards the one solid structure, the small section of wall the door was embedded in. As we approached from the back I was surprised to see that the door was really quite plain. The only decoration was the engraved form of a tree, not dissimilar to one of the ones whose roots reached across the river in Iffah. “You are almost home.”

“My feet can hardly wait.” I glanced at Faelan. “What will you do?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t get a chance to.

At Bronwyn’s horrified gasp, Micael, Alana and myself bolted forward only to find ourselves at the threatening tips of elven arrowheads.

“Hold your ground.” A scout barked.

I looked at Bronwyn who shook her head. I relaxed my fists, my heart beating quickly.

“What is the meaning of this?” Bronwyn asked.

“You will be silent.”

I glanced around as one of the scouts darted away. Faelan had vanished.

The scout returned with Urien with him and Cybel. Bronwyn’s sharp hiss could be heard even over the whistle of the wind.

“What is the meaning of this?” Urien demanded. “Why are these…humans here?”

“Upon my word…” Cybel breathed, his eyes locking onto Bronwyn first. “Mother?”

“Mother?” Micael and Alana looked at each other and then at Bronwyn.

She held still, her jaw tight.

Urien looked up, frowned and then his eyes widened. Cybel stepped forward.

“You…are alive?”

“Yes.” Bronwyn said quietly.

“And in the company of…humans?”

“As you see.”

Cybel stepped forward again. “You…left us…for them?” Bronwyn faltered and I knew she was torn between conveying the truth she had admitted to me last night and the respect she had for Cadeyrn. “You are alive…”

“She is as good as dead in the eyes of Iffah.” Urien’s tone was as hard as steel.

Cybel looked at his brother and then back at his mother before retreating back to his brother’s side.

“Yes…”

Bronwyn let out a sob. I wanted to run to her side but I knew if I moved, I’d be killed.

“You ought to know, that the ruins of Xephis fall within the borders of Iffah.”

Alana managed a snort of derision. “Since when.”

Urien’s eyes glittered. “Since now.”

“You cannot do this,” Bronwyn said tightly, “the borders of Iffah must be sanctified by the king. You may be his first born, but you are not king, Cybel.”

“The king is on his way.”

Oh…things were about to go from bad to worse.

I glanced over my shoulder. I could see the door but I couldn’t reach it without being riddled with arrows. And even if, by some miracle that I made it, with the ruins falling within Iffah borders, I wouldn’t be able to return. Faelan would probably never come back to ‘House of Figs’…everything would be ruined.

I looked around at the elves, shivering in the cool air. One of the scout’s eyes lit upon me before darting away. I frowned then gasped softly. Urien glared at me and I looked away quickly. I was pretty sure I’d just recognised Bedwyr and didn’t want him to get into trouble with the elven warlord.

By the time Cadeyrn arrived, walking sedately up the mountain with an entourage in tow, the sun was low enough for the ruins to cast long shadows across the mesa. I shivered, colder from his expression than I was by the weather. His eyes alighted briefly on all of us, even Bronwyn, and turned to Urien and Cybel calmly.

“Why have you not begun the ceremony of sanctification?” He asked in his calm, cold voice.

“We encountered these…humans…and an elf.”

Cadeyrn blinked. “This should not have halted you so.”

“But, father,” Cybel whispered, “it is our mother.”

Where I expected rage, there was only emotionless acceptance.

“Your mother is dead.”

Cybel opened his mouth…then closed it.

“Yes, father.”

Cadeyrn walked forwards. “This mountain and all that is on it, is to be sanctified, thus extending the borders of Iffah.”

“By what reason do you do so?” Bronwyn asked quietly. “These ruins have lain neglected for hundreds of years…”

“And yet they pose a curiosity for humans, so much so that one was found weeping at the base of the mountain, having fallen from further up the incline.”

Oh great…so this was all my fault!

I winced.

“The elves of Xephis, though a different tribe, were our kin, highborn elves and King Arran was my friend.” Cadeyrn announced and I realised that his tall height allowed him to look over our heads without meeting any of our eyes. He was above us. “These ruins and the memories within are to be preserved.”

“The memories of failed ambition, you mean.” Micael snapped.

“Watch your tongue,” Urien pointed at him, “or I will cut it out.”

I didn’t doubt he would.

“Your majesty,” Bronwyn bowed, “please, heed my words. With the death of one of the twin trees of Iffah, the divine light is not as strong as it was. An extension of Iffah’s borders will only serve to weaken it, scattering it further. The ruins of Xephis have existed without interference. I beg of you to leave them be.”

“You have no say in the matter.” Cadeyrn replied. “Your prejudice is clear…and King Arran would be appalled at the ruins being used as an illicit location for reprehensible liaisons.”

“We’re hardly running a brothel.” I heard myself mutter.

Urien was before me in a heartbeat, his hand up to strike.

“Urien!” He looked back at his father. “Do not sully yourself with her touch.”

Urien sent me the dirtiest look imaginable and backed off…very reluctantly. My legs quivered but I forced my knees to remain rigid. I wouldn’t give Urien the satisfaction of seeing me collapse in fear.

King Cadeyrn observed the scene before him.

“You will be escorted from this land, your trespass upon these ruins forgiven so long as you do not return.”

“I have much to be forgiven for,” Bronwyn stood up straight, “but guiding these three here is not part of it. Please, do not allow my transgressions blind you to reason.”

Cadeyrn looked at her and to my amazement, she held his gaze.

“I was blind to your treachery…I am no longer.”

If it had been me, I will have melted into a puddle of guilt and shame but Bronwyn seemed to have a strength of resolve and a peace with her past that allowed her to stand before her ex-husband without flinching.

“If you will not listen to reason, your majesty, I know you will adhere to rules. I claim these ruins as neutral territory, as they have always been.” Her voice carried strong and firm.

“You are no longer an elf.” Cybel said and I detected sorrow in his voice. “You have no right to challenge.”

“The rules of border disputes reside with both sides.” She quoted. “Up until now, you have remained on your side of the neutral territory and we on the other. This encroachment is beneath you…and I challenge it.”

“I acc…” Urien was silenced at the flick of his father’s hand.

“A moment.” Cadeyrn stepped to the side, Bronwyn standing with him. I strained, as I’m sure we all did, to hear their words. The wind whipped some of them away. All I got were fragments. “…what you are doing…end…badly…”

“…the chance…end it…now…”

“…killed you…spared…”

“…stand…humans…now…your rules.”

“Very well,” Cadeyrn strode back to stand in front of his sons, “as you will not listen to reason…I accept your challenge.”

“Father,” Urien knelt, “I offer you my sword.”

“Nay, Urien, Bronwyn is my responsibility.”

I looked at Bronwyn who had come to stand with us. “What are you doing?” I hissed.

“I will duel to keep the ruins of Xephis from becoming Iffah territory.”

“To the death?”

“It is possible,” she admitted, “though I hope to avoid that outcome.”

I grabbed her arms. “Bronwyn, this isn’t worth it! We’ll sneak me out some other way…”

“It is not just about the door,” she said sadly, “it is time someone said enough, no further. The only reason Cadeyrn does this is because of me.”

“Um, pretty sure I’m the one who was caught in Iffah territory.” I argued.

“You might have been the catalyst, but I was the cause.”

Bronwyn removed all encumbrances. I watched, frightened beyond all measure.

“Bronwyn, please,” I grasped her hand, “think of the baby…”

She paused, doubt entering her mind.

“Are you ready to face me?” Cadeyrn had shed his outer robes, Bedwyr standing by his side with a single long sword in his hands.

Bronwyn faltered and I prayed silently for her to reconsider.

“I am.” Faelan said, coming out from behind the door. While the elves, particularly Urien and Cybel, reeled in shock, Faelan turned towards his mother. “My sword is yours, if you will have it.”

“Faelan,” Bronwyn pleaded, “do not do this. Not against your father…think of what you will lose!”

Faelan’s eyes dropped to Bronwyn’s belly before lifting again. She pressed her hand against her chest. He nodded to her and she bowed her head, less in acceptance and more in defeat.

Faelan turned, his eyes briefly meeting mine before he faced his father.

“Faelan?” Cadeyrn gazed at his son in disbelief. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Xephis needs to remain neutral territory, a buffer between Iffah and Elvan.” Faelan said quietly. “I ask,” he dropped gently to his knees, “I beg your consideration. Please, father…”

Urien’s rage had nowhere left to go and he reacted faster than even Cadeyrn was able to anticipate. His fist connected with Faelan’s face and the tender elf with a propensity towards a sweet tooth and perfectionism, fell to the ground.

“You dare challenge the king?”

“Urien, enough!” Cadeyrn yanked his warlike son away and knelt before Faelan, his hands hovering above his son’s face as though he was too afraid to even touch his skin. “Faelan…”

“I will be fine.” Faelan said, his chin and cheek red and bruising.

Cadeyrn dropped his hands. “Do you mean to persist in this matter?”

“I do.”

“I beg of you to reconsider…”

Faelan winced as he stood up. “I think it is safe to say my reputation is already ruined. Let it be for something.”

Cadeyrn stepped back. “I will not hold back, my son.”

“I know.”

Cadeyrn returned to his former position and held out his hand. Bedwyr put the long sword into it. It was a katana shape, long and deadly with expected and beautiful elven detail scribed into the blade.

“Urien,” Cadeyrn said quietly, “give Faelan your sword.”

“Father!”

“I would prefer the twin blades the scouts use if I may.”

Cadeyrn nodded to Bedwyr who unsheathed the blades, much shorter than the king’s sword and far less adorned. He handed them to Faelan who tested their weight and stepped back. In the setting sunlight, the scene looked set for an elven western showdown.

“He wouldn’t strike his own son down,” I looked at Bronwyn, “would he?”

“Cadeyrn will cease to see Faelan as his son…to the point of him being dead.” Bronwyn whispered. “Please…”

“I, Cybel, marshal of the duel, fought over the ruins of Xephis, give you both one final chance to concede to the other.” Cybel looked at Cadeyrn who shook his head. He turned to Faelan who did the same. Cybel’s face showed a crease of conflict. “Very well…” He dropped his hand and stood back.

In the next instant Cadeyrn’s sword came down where Faelan had been, striking stone. I let out the tiniest shriek, barely able to comprehend just how fast Faelan could move. He had slipped to the side and when Cadeyrn’s sword came slicing through, Faelan was able use the ruins to shield himself from it. He ducked in and out of the ruins, avoiding his father’s violent attack and deflecting the blows he could not miss.

“What is he doing?” Micael demanded through gritted teeth.

“He is not attacking, merely defending.” Alana drew me and Bronwyn back as Faelan and Cadeyrn’s lightning fast duel began to creep closer to where we were standing.

“Faelan hopes to wear his father down and demand that he yield.”

“Will that work?” I looked at Bronwyn.

“King Arran might have been the oldest of elves…but Cadeyrn was the most skilled with the blade.” She shook her head.

“Woah, look out!”

Faelan leapt over the ruins, doing the splits, flattening himself as the blade of his father swept mere inches above his head. Faelan scrambled out from his father’s reach but Cadeyrn struck out at him with cold skill. His anger was ignited.

“Face me with honour!” He cried. “At least grant me that in the wake of your treason!”

Faelan was too busy putting distance between himself and the long tip of his father’s blade. The ruins were hardly flat and steady and it was only a matter of time before Faelan’s foot caught on a treacherous piece of slate and he went into a roll, his double blades up, his father’s sword connecting with them with a scream of metal. Bronwyn shrieked and Cadeyrn flinched. Faelan used the moment to kick out, knocking his father onto his backside.

Cadeyrn stood up and I saw his expression change from cold emotionless reason to fury.

“Oh crap,” I winced, “he just got angry.”

“Cadeyrn now sees Faelan as an enemy.” Bronwyn whimpered. “Am I going to lose my son?”

If the duel was fast before, it was a blur now but astonishingly, Faelan and Cadeyrn were an equal match, battling around, through and over the ruins, steel ringing out when it could not be avoided. I honestly couldn’t tell if anyone was gaining ground or winning but at one point, it was abundantly clear. Faelan managed to fake his father around a broken pillar and darted out the other side, his blade at Cadeyrn’s throat.

His father’s eyes, wild and angry, blazed at Faelan.

“What are you waiting for?” He demanded.

“Do you yield?”

Cadeyrn’s eyes narrowed. “I have never yielded in my life. I will not start now.” Faelan’s jaw tightened. “Go on, Faelan, confirm your treason…take the life of your father and king.”

Faelan’s jaw was tight, like it was the seal keeping all of his emotions in but a small hiss of air exposed his fear and in that split second, Cadeyrn reacted, sliding out from around Faelan’s blade and knocking his son to the ground, the tip of his blade at his chest.

“No!” I don’t know which of us was louder, Bronwyn or myself as we cried out.

“I will show you the same condescension,” the way he said it sounded like an offense rather than a mercy, “as you just bestowed upon me. Do you yield?”

Faelan looked up at his father, cheek bruised, filthy from the fight and hair scattered behind him.

“Will you leave the ruins of Xephis in neutral territory?”

“No.”

“Then I remain your adversary. You will have to cut me down.”

“You think I will not? You think I have not suffered the treason of others close to me and the grief the loss of their presence has brought?” Cadeyrn demanded, his face pale and his brow dotted with beads of sweat.

“I think you will have to decide just how much your pride means to you.” Faelan said, trembling. “I will not yield.”

Cadeyrn shook his head. “Then you are no longer my son.” He adjusted his hands on the handle of his sword and raised it up.

“No!” Bronwyn screamed, dashing forward.

But before she could reach him or Cadeyrn could drive the blade down, he stiffened like he’d been struck by lightning. He staggered backwards, clutching at his chest and collapsed onto the slate.

“Father!” Faelan lurched forward even as Urien and Cybel sprinted to his side. “Father!”

His face was as white as marble and there were shadows beneath his eyes. Faelan put his hand on his chest.

“His heart…it has given way.” Faelan yanked his vest off and put it beneath his father’s head. “Remain strong. I will heal you.”

Cadeyrn’s hand grabbed Faelan’s wrist even as his eyes were faced heavenward.

“Father…please…”

“You…would have to…give so much of yourself…to heal me…there would be…no life left…in you.” Cadeyrn panted.

“I have to try.” Faelan begged.

“It is done…the duel is yours…my head was resolved to kill you…but my heart…yielded…” Cadeyrn gestured with his other hand. “Cybel…”

“Father?” He knelt and grasped his hand.

“Abide by the rules of the duel…and the traditions of Iffah…Xephis…is to remain…neutral…forever.”

“Yes father.” Cybel nodded.

“You are…king now…of the Iffah elves…watch over them…” Cadeyrn’s eyes became unfocused and he could no longer hold his hands up. Faelan and Cybel held onto them tightly.

“Father…what of Faelan?” Cybel asked, his younger brother looking at him fearfully.

“Faelan…has made…his choice.” Cadeyrn panted shallow and fast, unable to catch his breath. “No…no retaliation…is to be made…”

“Father…”

“Promise me!”

“I swear it.” Cybel bowed his head.

“Watch over…the…elves…”

Cadeyrn’s words faded away and his head dropped back, his body sagging against the ground.

“Fa…father?” Faelan looked up as Cybel stood. “Wait…he cannot be….”

“King Cadeyrn, the last of the highborn elves…is dead.” Cybel’s voice was low and quiet yet carried in the shocked silence.

“Homage to you, King Cybel.” Urien said, kneeling and the other elves did the same.

Cybel nodded. “Prepare my father’s litter. He must be taken back to Iffah at once for the passage of passing.”

The litter was swift in coming and Faelan helped lift his father’s body onto it, laying his hands across his chest, curling his fingers around the handle of the sword.

“We must go if we are to lay the king to rest tonight.” Cybel announced.

“What of Faelan?” Urien demanded. “What of Xephis?”

Faelan stood apart from us, at the back of the elves, staring at the body of his father being taken away.

“The duel was honourable and the terms, set.”

“You are king, now. You can challenge it.”

Cybel looked back at Faelan. “I choose to honour my father’s dying wishes. Xephis will remain neutral.”

“And Faelan?” Urien pointed.

Cybel’s shoulders sagged briefly.

“Faelan…has made his choice. No retaliation will be made,” he turned to his brother, “but if he should breach the borders of Iffah…he will be shown no mercy.”

Urien nodded. “Very well. I can live with that.”

“Wait,” Faelan darted forward, “the passage of passing…the funeral of my father…Cybel, please…allow me to attend!”

“You are no longer Iffah, Faelan.” Cybel said sadly. “You are not welcome there anymore.”

He turned his back and followed the litter down the mountain, Urien striding after him.

Faelan took a couple of faltering steps towards them but it was as though an invisible line had been drawn in the sand and Faelan dared not cross it.

I inched towards him and tentatively reached out my hand for his.

“Faelan?” He turned to me, his expression haunted and his eyes, full of despair. How could someone hurt so much and not weep? He pulled away from me to stand at the edge of the ruins, staring towards the valley where his home was…where it had been.

I tucked my arms around myself and looked back at Bronwyn. She was speaking with Alana and Micael. I approached to hear her say,

“…let them know. I will join Micael at the outpost tomorrow and we will travel back to Elvan together.”

Micael and Alana both nodded, collected their belongings and, after a quick goodbye to me, left the ruins the way they had come.

“Where are they going?”

“Back to the outpost,” Bronwyn explained softly, “Alana will travel as fast as she can to Elvan in the morning. She can fill Asher in on what happened. Micael will wait for me at the outpost and we will travel to Elvan tomorrow.” Bronwyn sighed deeply. “You have endured much and I know you must want to return home as soon as possible…but can I beg you to stay, until we see the lights?”

“I don’t want to run off on Faelan.” I promised. “What can I do?”

“I am going to prepare something to help him grieve. Would you sit with him?”

“I’m not sure he wants my company.”

“He may not want it…but he needs it.”

I braced myself and turned back to where Faelan stood. I knew he must have known I was there, standing behind him. He probably didn’t know I was opening and closing my mouth, gaping like a fish, unable to think of what to say.

As I stood there, feeling a right fool and utterly inadequate, a low, soft horn echoed over the valley.

I imagined that it was the call to let the elves know their king had passed, summoning them for the passing, whatever that was. Faelan looked like he was on the verge of bolting after his brothers, to hell with the threat of Urien’s retaliation. He seemed to dance on his toes, itching to run, to chase after them yet knowing he never could.

Suddenly he lunged out at a pillar and, despite his slender frame, threw his weight on it, roared with all his might and toppled it to the ground. He put his hands on his head, bent over and cried like a banshee, howling into the night. When the scream had rendered him hoarse and his lungs were empty, he sank to his knees at the edge of the ruins, shoulders bent and spirit, broken.

Only then did I dare approach, sitting next to him with my feet over the edge.

I peeked at him, tears streaking down his cheeks, guilt, grief and shame riddling him. That which had been beneath the calm façade had finally broken free of his restraints…and it had nearly destroyed him. I wasn’t sure he was entirely safe from devastation yet either.

“I’m sorry, Faelan,” I whispered, “if I had never come…”

“None of this,” his tone was as hollow as a dead tree, “was your fault.”

I swallowed. “I know this won’t mean much…but what you did…I think…it was the best anyone could have done in that situation.”

Faelan didn’t respond. Eventually he shifted his legs and draped them over the edge of the ruins. I wanted to lean on him to let him know I was there. I wanted him to lean on me but he was stiff, staring at the valley of his former home. I tried not to shiver. I was cold. Faelan’s arm went around me awkwardly. It was hardly an embrace but it was kindly meant.

I peered up at his face which had become impassive again. “What will be happening in Iffah?”

“The horn will draw the elves to the river where my father’s body will be placed upon a water litter.” He explained softly. “The litter will be walked down the river to the edge of the far border of Iffah then be released so that it can travel to the ocean where the horizon never ends. The elves of Iffah will light lanterns, signalling the light of his life being offered to the heavens.”

“Sounds beautiful.” I trembled and Faelan shifted even closer. “Sorry.”

“Do not be.”

Not long later, the first of the lanterns could be seen drifting into the sky. And then another and another, hundreds of tiny golden balls of light, like delicate balloons, rising towards the inky darkness, letting everyone who saw them glow know that an elf breathed their last in Ilanard.

Faelan’s shoulders quivered and I felt him struggle with breath in his lungs, trying to retain control over his emotions.

“Hey…it’s alright to cry.” I whispered, seeing tears trickle down his face.

“I should be there.” He rasped. “I should be standing with my brothers at the head of the river as all of Iffah says goodbye. I should be there.” He wept and I tucked my arms around him. “But I am not…”

“You can say goodbye from here.” I said weakly.

“The light…the lanterns…if only to honour my father’s way of living…”

“Faelan,” we turned to see Bronwyn standing behind us, two lanterns in her hands, “will you help me…say goodbye?”

“You…where?”

“All of Iffah would have made their own lanterns upon hearing the horn,” she explained as I marvelled at the detail, a beautiful symbol scrawled upon the fine film that formed the circle of the lantern, “even as a young girl, I learned how to do so and I have made them many times.”

Faelan’s hands itched to take it. “I am no longer an elf,” he lamented, “I should not participate.”

“That’s a load of crap.” I snorted. “Faelan, you just said you wanted to honour your father’s way of living, that includes saying goodbye to him in a way that would please him. He could have told Urien to cut you down…but he gave the order for you to be spared. He might not have agreed with you…but he didn’t stop loving you as his son.”

“Your actions were based in compassion,” Bronwyn sat on the other side of Faelan and held out the lantern to him, “not rebellion or a confession of wrongs. Faelan, would you say that I cannot farewell your father?”

“Do you still love him?” Faelan asked.

“I do. Not as I do Asher and one day I will explain what happened…but Cadeyrn was my husband for many, many years…and despite the ten years of grief, I do not resent him.”

Faelan let out a shuddering breath and took the lantern. He swallowed and then began to speak softly in his elvish tongue to the small ball of fibres suspended at the base of the lantern, anointed with a fragrant oil. After a moment the fibres caught fire and the lanterns immediately began to glow.

“Ready?” Bronwyn looked at Faelan.

He nodded then turned to the lantern. “Father, may this light give you safe passage home as you pass from this life to the next.”

“Cadeyrn, may your journey be kind and may you find rest for your soul.” Bronwyn said softly.

They released the lanterns together, the glowing gold orbs rising into the sky and, driven by the same breeze that was blowing the other lanterns, they caught up with the blossom of golden light, indistinguishable from the other lanterns.

“Thank you, my son.” Bronwyn took his hand and squeezed it.

“Are you both…alright?” He asked pointedly.

Bronwyn touched her belly. “We are well.” Faelan nodded. “Not for the first time am I glad that you have ‘House of Figs’ as your sanctuary. It has become your haven and I know you will be safe there,” Bronwyn took a deep breath, “however, if you ever want to visit Elvan, I know Elrond would love to meet you…and perhaps…your stepsister?” Faelan swallowed. Bronwyn patted his hand. “No rush. Just know that…you will always have a home with us if ever you need it.”

He nodded and we turned and watched the lanterns drift up into the heavens, causing the clouds they passed by to glow golden. I felt Faelan’s weight shift and suddenly, the elf who had never shown weakness or vulnerability, sagged against me and his head rested on my shoulder.

“Bethany,” he said softly, “can we go home now?”

“Yeah,” I nodded and stood up, helping him to rise, “let’s go home.” Bronwyn walked us to the door. “I feel like we’re abandoning you in the dark.” I admitted.

“You are forgetting the elf eyes.” She smiled. “I can see perfectly well, and the walk will warm me up. I might even reach the outpost before Alana leaves.”

“Would you like me to leave another book at the outpost sometime?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Bronwyn smiled. “Again, no rush…you have your own responsibilities to look after.”

“Oh yes,” I shuddered, “I forgot about those.”

“Well, having only known you for two days, I can honestly say I have confidence in you.” Bronwyn assured me. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I am here.”

“Thanks. I might be taking you up on that offer.”

I looked at Faelan and he nodded, putting his hand on the door and giving it a push. The Observatory was bathed in soft sunshine and at first glance I couldn’t tell if it was dawn or dusk. We turned around and waved at Bronwyn who set off for the outpost before we closed the door. A moment later, Rob appeared.

We had to reassure him that we were fine and he, in turn, informed us that though I’d spent nearly four nights in Ilanard, only two days had passed and Rob was on the cusp of coming to look for me. He assured us that ‘House of Figs’ was fine, Eustace was well, the egg still unhatched and Rafael and Bastian had been on their best behaviour, despite their concern at our absence.

“I’m gonna get an earful from them tomorrow.” I muttered. “Faelan,” I looked at him, “would you like to take my bed and I’ll sleep in Aunt Jo’s tonight and we’ll figure out the logistics tomorrow?”

“Actually, I would dearly love to rest in the arms of the fig tree.”

“Are you sure?”

Faelan nodded. “Trust me, it is the best place I can be right now.”

He headed out the front of the house and I folded my arms and grimaced.

“Query, was your visit a little more turbulent than you expected, Bethany St James?”

“Oh only…a lot. I’m famished.”

“I would be more than happy to make a meal for you.” As we entered ‘House of Figs’ Eustace ambushed me with an enthusiastic hug.

“It’s okay, Eustace, I’m alright.”

“You scared us all to death!”

“The mortality rate of the occupants of ‘House of Figs’ did not rise in Bethany St James’ absence.” Rob looked confused. “Query, who died?”

I laughed and it was good to do so. Rob made a simple meal which I really appreciated and then begged to have a shower. I felt somewhat human again after cleaning the grime and grief away, changing into warm pjs as the night air had a bite to it. Spring was fast approaching and, a lot like Ilanard’s weather, it was starting to be sunny and at least pleasant if a little cool during the day but the nights refused to give up the chill. I retrieved an extra blanket from the linen cupboard then paused, imagining Faelan shivering in the fig tree.

“I know he’s an elf,” I muttered, bundling the blanket into my arms, “but that doesn’t mean he can’t catch a cold.”

In my dressing gown, uggs and warmest pjs, I ventured outside where night had solidly set in. I approached the fig tree and peered up into the branches.

“Faelan?” I called softly.

There was the slightest shift above and he leaned out of the shadows, his pale face already healing from his brother’s slug to the chin.

“I am here.”

“I brought you a blanket.” I offered it up to him, half expecting him to reject it.

Faelan gazed at me calmly then slipped out of the tree, landing nimbly on the grass. He scooped the blanket from my arms and gave me the smallest smile.

“Thank you.”

I nodded. “I know you said you don’t suffer the cold like we do…but if you do or you want to come inside…I have to lock the front door but my window has never locked properly. An elf jiggle and it’ll slide right up. I’m sure Aunt Jo won’t mind if you sleep in her bed.”

“Again, thank you.” Faelan nodded, his mask of calm solidly in place.

I tucked my arms around my body. “Alright then. Goodnight.” I turned to go and was halfway across the lawn when I heard him call my name. “Yeah?”

“Have you spoken with your father?”

I blinked. “Um…”

Faelan held onto the blanket, his eyes downcast. “You said once that, should he die tomorrow, you would regret all the things you never got to say…”

“Oh…” My heart ached as he closed his eyes.

“Please…do not suffer the same as I.”

Calling my father was the last thing I wanted to do…but in light of Faelan’s tender plea, I knew I could not say no.

“I will. Right now.” Faelan looked relieved. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep well.”

I entered my bedroom and looked at my phone. It was fully charged with the usual blinking notifications that occurred when its owner was absent for two days. I sighed and sat on the bed. There was a message from Casey asking how I was, a few updates on apps, several emails including an official termination of work…and a message from dad.

He just asked how I was and if we could catch up sometime.

I braced myself and instead of hitting reply by text, I pressed the call button. It took a moment to connect and then I heard the round of ringing on the other end. After several rings my call went to voicemail. I gulped, realising I had to leave a message because he would see the missed call was from me.

“Uh…hi…dad. It’s me. Um…I’m just calling to say…well, I’m fine and yeah…sorry I missed you.”

I hung up and sighed. “So much for that.” I turned to put the phone back on the bedside when it buzzed in my hand. “Hello?”

“Bethany! I am so sorry I missed your call!”

“Oh…that’s okay. Sorry for calling so late.”

“No, no…that’s totally fine.” There was an awkward pause and I wished fervently for something to say. “How are you?”

“I’m…pretty good.” I sat on the corner of my bed. “You know, keeping busy.”

“How’s Jo?”

“Still unresponsive.”

“I’m sorry…” He cleared his throat. “So…how is ‘House of Figs’?”

“Busy.”

“You sure you’re okay with reopening it without Jo? It’s not exactly your field of expertise.”

“It’s fine, actually.” I nodded. “Rob handles the books and the other guys make the coffees and food, water the plants…Aunt Jo got them to a place where they could manage it without her…for the most part.”

“What did Jo do there, if so much of the rest of it is taken care of?”

“She unlocks doors and trains the guys up. If ‘House of Figs’ is any kind of success, then it’s because she made sure it wasn’t a one woman show.”

“That’s great.” I heard him tap his teeth. “What do you do?”

The question was probably asked in innocence, making conversation but I still felt as though it was bait for the inevitable criticism of my answer.

I cringed. “I…well…I take orders and seat people…and live in the rooms above the café…”

“You’re a waitress?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…that’s good. I mean, it’s not career good but while Jo’s in a coma…I know you’ve said you don’t need the help but Kendra would be more than willing to come up and look after things and you could get back to your old life.”

“You know what? I don’t miss my old life. Coming back to Glenwilde has been a real eye opener…and a nice place to be despite the circumstances. I’m doing just fine, I promise.” I insisted strongly, standing up and pacing. “Don’t send Kendra up. She’ll just…I can do this without her.”

“As long as you’re sure.” I wanted to grind my teeth but swallowed down my retort. “Hey, so…the real reason I wanted to talk to you is…well, your birthday is in three days. Are you planning a party?”

“Nah.” I shook my head. “Too much going on.”

“You need to mark the occasion. Turning twenty one is a big deal.”

“I can’t believe you remembered when my birthday was.” I admitted, hoping to steer him away from the party idea. That was the last thing I wanted.

“Oh…well…Jenn actually reminded me.”

My grip on my phone tightened. “Oh…” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice. “Well…I suppose she used to be your secretary so I guess she’d be good at keeping track of things.”

“She’s the phone who suggested I call.”

“You needed her to tell you to call your own daughter?” The line slipped out before I had a chance to really think about it.

There was a pause. I cringed, waiting for Dad to tick me off.

“I know you don’t have much reason to like Jenn…but she is very kind.” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. “I…I didn’t know what to give you for your birthday. I thought about an obscene cash dump in your account so you could splurge on something…but Jenn said it might be a bit impersonal and to call and ask if there was anything you’d like.”

I put my hand to my forehead and closed my eyes, turning my phone away briefly, wishing the earth would swallow me up.

“Anything I’d like…” I whispered.

“You know…within reason. I think you’re beyond asking for a pony these days.”

“I never wanted a pony.” I had wanted a bedroom full of books, outings with family…a boyfriend I could trust and who valued me, a job I liked and a family that stayed together.

“You know what I mean.” His voice sounded a little pathetic. “Help me out here, Bethany. I’m…trying…to make an effort. What would you like?”

I swallowed, my chin trembling and raised the phone back up. “What I’d like, what I want more than anything else in this world, is to go back in time to ten years ago and when you and mum were arguing about moving to the city, you put your foot down and we stayed in Glenwilde.” There was silence on the other end of the line. “I want to have gone to a school where I didn’t feel like a stupid country girl trying hard to fit in, wearing a starchy uniform that itched. I want to have had family dinners, to study subjects I was interested in and not bloody mandarin. I want to have gotten a job as a waitress and for you to be proud of me when I got my first paycheck. I want you to have stayed in your old job where you didn’t have a damn secretary who made you stop paying attention to mum!”

My chest was so tight it was like a pressure cooker and I wondered if my chest would rip out of it in an almighty explosion. I hadn’t cried but I was shaking like mad. I was glad he couldn’t see how upset I was.

“Bethany,” his voice came back to me sadly, “I’m sorry you think you were hard done by. Your mother and I worked so hard to give you a good life. Maybe we got it wrong but we had good intentions.” I pressed my hand to my mouth, silencing my sob. “And I know you don’t want to hear this…but it wouldn’t have mattered where we were…your mum still would have got sick and died.”

I hated hearing it.

I hated it because it was true.

No matter how my dad had acted, my mum still would have fought a losing battle.

But the finality of the way he said it ignited my rage.

“Yes but at least I wouldn’t hate my own father who abandoned me to run back to the other woman and announced without consideration to my broken heart that you asked her to marry you!” I yelled into the phone. “I feel like an orphan!”

In a desperate attempt to get him as far from me as possible, I hurled my phone against the wall, breaking the case, shattering the screen and causing it to go dark. I sank onto my bed and sobbed into my hands, all the hate, anger and bitterness threatening to overwhelm me. I didn’t care who heard me. I couldn’t handle the grief in my heart anymore.

I didn’t hear the fig tree scratch the glass pane.

I didn’t hear the rise of the window.

I didn’t hear the soft touch of elf footsteps on the floor.

I didn’t know he was there until he sat beside me, his arms around me and I leaned against him and cried and cried.

“I am sorry, Bethany.” His words urged softly. “So sorry.”

My words were lost in my grief and I clung to him without reserve. Finally, when I could manage to string two thoughts together I choked out,

“I’m supposed to be comforting you…you’re the one who’s sad.”

“You are sad also.”

“No I’m not. I’m angry.”

“Yes…but you are also sad.” Faelan laid his cheek on the top of my head. “Shall we be sad together?”

I nodded. He shuffled back to sit against the bedhead and I curled up against him, his arms holding me warmly and without reserve or awkwardness.

I was exhausted, drained and hurt, yet I was also warm, full and safe.

And sometime during the night…I fell asleep.