A knock drew Felitïa’s attention from the food she was preparing. Standing in the kitchen doorway was Zandrue, her face and clothes somewhat muddy. Felitïa dropped what she was doing and rushed over to hug her. “Welcome home! I’ve missed you.” She thought she’d heard dogs barking a few minutes ago, but it had been so long, she never suspected.

“Thanks.” Zandrue returned the hug briefly before pulling away and heading over to the table. “May I? I’m starved.”

“Of course. There’s loads. There was a good harvest this year.”

“So I heard,” Zandrue mumbled while biting into an apple. She looked tired—travel-worn definitely, but there was something else to it, too. She often came back from her “trips” exhausted, and this was the longest time she had ever been away.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back this time,” Felitïa said. “You’ve been gone over two months. Nearly three! I was worried something had happened, that you’d been hurt. Killed even.” As always, Felitïa wanted to ask for more details, but what was the point? Zandrue wasn’t likely to answer, and Felitïa didn’t want a repeat of the argument they’d had when Zandrue had come back after her graduation three years ago. There was no point spoiling this moment.

“I always come back,” Zandrue said. “You know that. I couldn’t leave you and the old guy all alone, could I? Speaking of, where is he?”

“Sleeping,” Felitïa replied. It was just like Zandrue to drag the topic round to something different.

Zandrue laughed, spraying bits of apple about. “Like usual.” She wiped her face on her sleeve.

“I was just getting his breakfast ready,” Felitïa said, returning to the table and the food preparation. “I just baked a loaf of bread. Could you pass it over to me?”

Zandrue glanced around her, and spotted the bread. She tore a chunk off for herself before passing it on to Felitïa. At Felitïa’s smirk, she shrugged, and bit into her chunk. “Hey, it’s not like he’s going to eat the whole loaf himself,” she mumbled while eating.

Felitïa placed the remainder of the bread on a tray along with the fruit she had chopped. “He’s so old, Zandrue.”

“We all get old eventually, Felitïa.”

“I know,” Felitïa replied. “But it’s even worse than when you left. He finally agreed to switch rooms with us.”

“Well, that’s good. It’ll be a lot easier on him.”

“It only took a fall down the stairs to convince him of that. He tried to come down without calling for help the way he promised me he would. I was reading in our old room. I’d just closed up the shop for the night. The sound of the crash alerted me. He broke a rib. He’s lucky it wasn’t any worse.”

“Shit,” Zandrue said. “Is he okay now?”

“Agernon patched him up. That was a couple weeks ago, but he’s still sore and his breathing is ragged. The magic could only do so much. If he had just called to me before going down the stairs. Gods, he can be so stubborn.” Felitïa didn’t hold the broken promise against him. His ability to focus his mind had degraded so much in the past couple years—especially the past couple months—he probably didn’t even remember making the promise.

“Well, at least it wasn’t worse,” Zandrue said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I have a way of picking the worst times, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you do.” Felitïa’s graduation came to mind, and the anger from that time began to make itself known again.

“The thing is,” Zandrue said, “I don’t really pick them. I don’t have any choice. You know that.”

To hell with spoiling the moment. “Yes, so you say. But you won’t tell me why, will you?”

“You know I can’t.”

“Bullshit. Nine years, Zandrue. Nine fucking years, and you still don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that. You know—”

“Yes, so you keep saying. I don’t know why I put up with it.” Felitïa slammed a slab of cheese onto the tray, then picked it up. “To hell with you.”

Zandrue turned away, tears in her eyes. Felitïa was glad her telepathy was going through one of its weak phases. If she had been able to sense actual remorse and sadness to go along with Zandrue’s tears, she’d probably fold and forgive her instantly. It felt nice to be the angry one for a change instead of always being the one placating either Zandrue’s or Elderaan’s anger. Still, the fact that Zandrue wasn’t angry right now said a lot. Gods, she was starting to forgive her anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Felitïa said. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just under a lot of stress.”

Zandrue shook her head. “No, you were right to.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s not much consolation, but it should never be this long again. It should also be less frequent now.”

Felitïa nodded. “Okay. Anyway, I really should get his breakfast to him. Coming?”

“You think he’ll want to see me?” Zandrue asked. “After the argument we had when I left?”

Felitïa smirked and headed to Elderaan’s room. “He’ll be happy to see you, trust me. He’d never admit to it, but he misses you when you’re gone.”

“I have that effect on people,” Zandrue joked.

Felitïa nodded, her anger fully dissipated. “Yeah, you do. I missed you.”

Zandrue smiled. “Same here.”

Felitïa rapped on the door and went inside. “Good morning!” She headed first to the window and drew back the curtains. Elderaan didn’t move from where he was curled up in bed. He looked so frail. Withered. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you. First, there’s a surprise though. Zandrue’s back!”

“Hi,” Zandrue said uncertainly from the doorway. She had a strange look on her face.

“Come on, this is not a day you can sleep in,” Felitïa said to the still unmoving Elderaan. He’d lost so much weight recently, making him almost skeletal in appearance. Something at the back of her silent mind tried to tell her something, but she pushed it aside. “You know you have a meeting with that new supplier from Endoria. What was his name again? Aromeed or something like that? I have to admit, I’ve forgotten. I’m not sure why, but that hardly matters. I’m sure you remember, and that’s all that’s important.” She barely noticed Zandrue slip past her up to Elderaan, and begin to check him over. “You know how necessary it is that we find a new supplier. We’ve got a huge backlog of orders for herbs from the Ninifin Forest. And don’t forget the Singean prayer beads.”

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“Felitïa,” Zandrue said, her voice shaky, as she let go of Elderaan’s limp arm. It fell back to the mattress without so much as a response from the sleeping man.

“We sold the last one of those over a month ago, and it’s only a matter of time before Amar Padara decides he needs more of them. I still don’t know what he hopes to achieve with them, but he does provide good business.”

“Felitïa!” Zandrue snapped.

Her tray was shaking for some reason. The fruit was starting to bounce off. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t steady it. “Look at this. You’re going to lose all your food.”

“Felitïa!”

“He’s just hiding.”

“Felitïa, he’s—”

“He’s just hiding!” She screeched that far more loudly than she had intended. Zandrue jerked back, tears in her eyes. Zandrue was crying again? Whatever for? So what if the Room only indicated one other presence with her—Zandrue’s. So what if Elderaan’s was missing. He was just hiding it from her, playing a game with her. He did these things sometimes, didn’t he? She couldn’t remember him doing it before, but he could mask this thoughts, so why not his entire mental presence?

Zandrue grabbed her and she dropped the tray. “His food!” Felitïa cried.

Zandrue shook her. “He’s dead, Felitïa. He must have died in his sleep during the night.”

“Of course he’s not dead,” Felitïa replied and laughed. “He’s just pretending.”

“He’s not pretending, Felitïa. He’s dead.”

“He’s too strong.”

“He’s not strong. You said it yourself in the kitchen.”

“But.” Felitïa looked past Zandrue at Elderaan’s still unmoving form. In the past, before his mind had started to go, he had always been very good at hiding his feelings from her. Now, however, there was nothing there. It wasn’t even just a lack of emotion. There was simply no presence at all.

She looked back at Zandrue. Tears were streaming down her friend’s face. Zandrue hugged her close as a wail escaped Felitïa’s lips. Then came the sobs, unbidden and uncontrolled.

* * * * *

The funeral was a quiet affair. Elderaan didn’t have a lot of friends and associates—not that were still alive, anyway—so there were only a few people there. Zandrue, Agernon, and Drummor, as well as Madame Ezmelda, Pedrin, and the other members of the Council (one of whom, Angelida, was particularly distraught throughout). That was it, apart from the priest and Felitïa herself.

It was also a short, simple service. Elderaan had never been particularly religious and probably would have preferred no funeral at all—especially not one officiated by a priest of the Universal Religion. However, he had left everything to her, and in the province of Belone, the only way she could legally access that inheritance was if a representative of the Church signed off on the death, and they would only do that with an official funeral.

Felitïa also found the funeral useful for herself. There was a finality to it that forced her to face the reality of Elderaan’s death. Now she just had to figure out what to do next.

When the funeral was done, Ezmelda placed her hands on Felitïa’s shoulders. “He was a good man, and his legacy is ensured in you. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” Pedrin and the rest of the Council then came up to offer their condolences, after which the entire Council left together.

Felitïa looked over to the others to see that Agernon had already left without saying a word. He was too stubborn to admit how much Elderaan’s death had affected him. Drummor remained, consoling a grief-stricken Zandrue. Felitïa went over to them and they stood there for a while, watching the gravediggers fill in the grave.

* * * * *

The next two weeks were a mix of contradictions. Any particular moment felt like a slog, like it would never end, yet when Felitïa looked back over the moments that had already passed, it was like they had shot by so fast there was no chance to experience them. Still, she accomplished a lot during them, while at the same time it felt like she’d thrown away all of Elderaan’s accomplishments in the process.

They had discussed this several years ago—what she would do in the event of his death. She had put a lot of work into helping him with the shop, especially the last couple years as his health declined when she had pretty much run it herself. Yet she knew she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in the shop, and Elderaan had understood that. So he had prepared a list of potential buyers for her.

The sale turned out to be a lot easier than she had expected. High Mistress of Conjuration Angelida was eager to take over the shop. Felitïa had had virtually no interaction with Angelida over the years, beyond official functions at the Hall of Knowledge. She barely knew her name. However, Angelida and Elderaan had had a number of interactions in the past before Felitïa came to Quorge. In fact, during the brief deliberations over the sale of the shop, Felitïa got the impression that Angelida and Elderaan had had a very close, possibly romantic, relationship at some point. Felitïa had never even thought about that aspect of Elderaan’s life and he had never displayed or talked about any interest in romance with anyone. It did explain Angelida’s reaction at the funeral.

Angelida offered a very fair price for the shop, quite a bit more than the minimum Felitïa had been willing to accept, so she didn’t even bother looking for anyone else. She accepted the offer, she and Angelida signed the papers, Ezmelda witnessed, and it was done. Elderaan’s Mystic Palace was out of her hands and no longer her concern.

Despite Elderaan agreeing to this, Felitïa felt guilty about it. The store was his legacy and she was selling it away. Plus, his agreement had been years ago. What if he had changed his mind in the last couple years?

She knew she was being silly, but it didn’t help that Agernon was not happy either. “You owe him better than this,” he told her. “That store was his life. And yours. How can you throw it all away? What will you do now?”

The shop had been a major part of her life, but only because of Elderaan. She had loved her life with Elderaan, but the last few years, she had started to feel the need for something more. She needed to get away for a while.

She and Zandrue were going to travel, visit some of the other major cities in Arnor. Maybe she could find some place, book, or person that could teach her about her telepathy. It would also keep her close to Zandrue and make it harder for Zandrue to pull one of her disappearing acts. Not impossible, of course, but Felitïa would take what she could get.

She stood now in the door at Elderaan’s Mystic Palace, taking one last look at the place that had been her home for nearly fourteen years. Angelida was rushing about, instructing her own apprentice how she wanted to rearrange things. Outside, Zandrue was approaching with their horses.

Zandrue had spent the last day getting the horses used to her presence. Stopping them from bolting had been easy enough. The hard part had been getting them to accept her as a rider, but Zandrue was actually pretty good at handling horses despite their initial reactions to her—perhaps because of their initial reactions.

Felitïa took Elderaan’s white cloak off its hook. She had had it resized to fit her. It was a bit of a rush job—Elderaan was shorter and broader than she—but it would do. It would be one thing of his she could keep with her.

She put the cloak on and picked up her pack—the same pack she had used after she ran away from the Royal Palace. She had placed a few items from the shop in there as well—some dried Ninifin herbs and a couple other things—having doctored the records to show them as sold since they technically belonged to Angelida now. That had been Zandrue’s idea, and Felitïa felt guilty doing it, but they could be sold if funds ran low. The money from the shop wouldn’t last forever, after all, and a lot had already been spent on the horses, travelling gear, the resizing of Elderaan’s cloak, and more.

Felitïa called out a goodbye to Angelida, who responded with a “Goodbye, dear,” while not taking her eyes or attention off her planning. Then Felitïa stepped outside.

Lying against the wall beside the door were their supply bags and, beside them, Zandrue’s unstrung bow, quiver of arrows, and Felitïa’s old sword—in its new scabbard. Getting the scabbard made without showing the sword it was designed to hold had cost them a pretty penny.

Zandrue finished tying the horses to the post and began to load the saddle bags. Felitïa moved to help her. “How did he take it?” Felitïa asked.

“Not great,” Zandrue replied. “What did you expect really?”

Before picking up the horses, Zandrue had agreed to stop in and tell Drummor they were leaving. Felitïa hadn’t been able to do it herself.

“We should have asked him to come with us,” Zandrue continued. “I think he was hoping I’d ask.”

“Agernon needs him,” Felitïa said. “Drummor’s the only one he has left.”

“I suppose so. I’ll miss him, though.”

“I should hope so, given how much sex the two of you have.”

Zandrue smirked. “I suppose I’ll miss that, too.” She grabbed the sword and strapped it to her belt under the heavy wool cloak she was wearing.

“At least I don’t have to listen to the two of you anymore.” Felitïa had lost count of how many times she was stuck sitting in the front of the shop late at night waiting for them to finish since they couldn’t get away with it at Agernon’s.

Zandrue slung her quiver over her back and picked up her bow. “I’ll find someone else. Don’t worry.”

Felitïa rolled her eyes.

“You ready?”

Felitïa took a deep breath. “Just about, I think.” She looked back at the shop door and then at the sign hanging above, creaking in the cold breeze. She wondered whether Angelida would keep the name or change it. Probably change it. She seemed to be changing everything else.

Tears began to well in her eyes. She turned to Zandrue and leaned against her, burying her face in her best friend’s shoulder. Zandrue put her arms around Felitïa and they stood there for a couple minutes while Felitïa sobbed a little and then composed herself.

“Okay, I’m ready.” She untied her horse—Simeria she had decided to call the mare—and took the reins. She hadn’t ridden a horse since her year with Emund’s caravan. It took her a few moments to remember how to mount; Zandrue helped her, then mounted her own horse.

Felitïa took one last look at the shop, then rode out of town.