Chapter 2. Pains of the Past

SAELYNA

Silver Stallion is the more popular of the two bars in the village. It is a short distance from our house, and that’s where I’m headed.

When I step into the semi-dark room, I notice there are fewer people than there usually are. Then I recall most of them haven’t returned from the Glade. They would, anyway, anytime soon. And the last thing I want is Derrick Marwell talking again about how I had gotten drunk and danced off with Elwyn, so I must hurry about my business and get home soon.

I don’t necessarily like drinking. Not really. It’s the escape it offers, the temporary zone of stillness, that baits me. Or baited me. Elves don’t generally get drunk; the magic in our system is too strong, it dilutes it; but there are certain conditions that beg to differ.

Like when the magic in your body is weak and the drink in question, is Halden mead. It had happened, during the Fall Festival last year. I still hate thinking about that night with Elwyn. The memories alone should keep me off the bottle. Instead, it only dampened it.

Usually, Cyran is here to regulate how much I take. But since he’s mad at me, I figure a couple of them would be great.

Quain looks up at me as I approach the bar. He’s one of the few elves I grew up with that’s still alive, and one of the fewer I call a friend. He flashes me a grin that would make most girls swoon. Not me. It just reminds me of the look on his face when he’s dizzy. Or st**ed. Most girls don’t see that.

“Hey. How was today?”

I perch on the stool and bow my head. “The same. Except…” I look up and whisper, “I got some king peas.”

The smile on his face disappears as fast as his genn, the hare. “A jest,” he says, “A joke, right?”

I hold his eyes for a while, long enough to let him know I’m not joking.

I almost laugh as he splutters and fumbles for words. He finally settles on a harsh whisper of “Are you mad?”

I shrug. “Believe it or not, I’ve been asked that question today.”

“Well, clearly, you told the person that you are.”

“You brought the information to me.”

“I didn’t think you’d go and actually do it!”

He exhales and touches his forehead. “You cannot do that, Saelyna. Do you have any idea what happens to…”

“You think I don’t know?!” I snap. I’m getting pissed, but he wouldn’t see it. He’d only hear my voice quiver with emotion.

“No,” he says softly, “No you don’t.”

“Look, I messed up last year, and…” I take a deep breath and try to control the tears, and my voice.

All I see is Cyran’s fallen face, the open gate of the pasture and the King Forest.

“I messed up last fall, and I’m just trying to atone. Please, Quain, I need to make things right.”

He sighs. “I know. This should have been the last thing you’d want to do.”

“You didn’t see Cyran’s face when he came back that morning. Like I had destroyed everything he worked so hard for…which, literally, I did. He deserves more than that. I just want to pay him back.”

Quain nods. “Sycamore row, tonight, by 10. Don’t be late.” He turns back to cleaning glasses. “What can I get you?” he asks.

“A mug of ginger ale.” I suppress a groan at the sound of that voice.

Honestly, he’s the last person I want to see right now.

Elwyn Nordinger slips into the stool next to me effortlessly and flashes me a smile. “Hello there,” he says in a smooth Sneyan accent, “Long time no see.”

Now there’s no avoiding him. I’d been keeping away from Elwyn for a very long-time now. It was easier the last couple of months; he had won the King’s Hunt and went away to Qarax for his reward.

Now he’s back. And he’s here, next to me, where he definitely should not be.

“You ok?” he asks.

I straighten slowly and manage to glance at him.

He looks different, and I expected that. His hair is separated into two longs, carefully plaited braids. His skin has taken on a brown tan. He wears a silk crimson coat that smells of olive incense, and the rings on his hand flash with the slightest movement.

He looks just like a High Lord, and I wonder if it is possible to loathe him any more than I do now.

“I’m fine. That is, until you came along,” I tell him.

In reply, he chuckles dryly and says, “Right. Good one there.”

Quain returns with two foaming mugs of ale and sets it in front of us. Right on his heels, is Foden, the fat, squat proprietor.

He stops on sighting Elwyn and calls out a greeting. “God’s peace be with you, Elwyn!” He reaches over and shakes his hand vigorously, like they have been friends for ages.

“Nice to see you too, Foden. How is business?” Elwyn asks calmly.

“Good, good. Do stay a while, though, will you? Only, Brin Dalox and Jimmy Casta wished to see you and hear news from Qarax. I’m sure a great many feels as well. You haven’t exactly been very conversational of late,” Foden says.

“Ah yes. Indeed. I’ve been only three days, Foden. I’ll entertain these noble men with my experiences in the capital, but for now, I wish to speak only to Saelyna.”

Foden stares at me, back at Elwyn, then back again. “Aye,” he says at last, his beady eyes glinting with some mischievous thought, “There must have been a reason for your return.”

Before I can say anything to counter his misjudgment, he dons his hat and shrugs on his coat. “Well, I’m off to the council meeting. There’s been raveners near the west wings. Dead sheep… Gods peace be with us…” He shudders and then looks up, like he just realized he had been speaking aloud. “Apologies…”

“Raveners?” I ask.

“Indeed…but you need not worry, Saelyn.” To Elwyn, he says, “Drinks on the house.” Then he takes up his cane and, tipping his hat to us, heads out of the bar.

“That was strange.” I don’t hear what Elwyn says next, though.

Raveners. Flesh rippers and blood suckers. The tales surrounding their kind were restricted to the Leftydes, mostly thought of as myths. Of course, I knew they were not myths. I just never imagined they’d come this far south.

Elwyn touches my arm and I jerk out of my revery. “You don’t look good. What’s the matter?”

I pull my arm away. “I would rather not talk to you, Elwyn. Surely, you should have realized that by now.”

He nods. “Why is that?”

Oh, I don’t know because you’re a living reminder of how I fucked up last Fall?

“Elwyn, we don’t have anything. Ok? We were just drunk that night, and acted on impulses we could not control. It should never have happened. At all,” I say.

He bristles at this. “Is it about the farm? I could pay back…”

“Elwyn!” I snap, “I would rather not have anything to do with you, alright? We got drunk, we fucked, then got drunk again and did things I don’t even want to remember! That’s all. And that’s it. Ok? Nothing more. Gods, just leave me alone.”

I must have been loud because half the bar is quiet now. I don’t care, not really. It felt good to get it out.

I don’t look at Elwyn as I call Quain and order a bottle of malt wine. Little alcoholic contents, but enough to numb the pain a bit. And to help me think.

When I step into the street, I see people come down the street in little groups. They are just arriving from the Glade, I realize, and the majority are headed here.

I turn and walk towards the village green. It’s a longer route back to the cottage, but I have no interest in running into any other person; desirably or not.