Page 35 of The Divine Shallows
“But I can’t help it. I still love him, even now. I’d do anything for him, but he would never do the same,” Lyra said, her voice hollow with despair. “It’s cruel.”
As Lyra finished the wine, lost in her own thoughts, Elowyn felt helpless. She had never experienced a love so intense, so consuming, before. Unable to offer any more comfort, Elowyn squeezed Lyra’s hand gently before rising from her seat.
Well, it was more like Elowynstumbledto her feet.
Extending a hand toward Lyra, Elowyn declared, “No more tears. Today, we’re celebrating Sylas and Elyria. I’m setting one rule: we’re here to have fun. No moping or sulking allowed.”
Lyra looked at her through watery eyes and pitifully raised her hand in agreement.
“Okay, we might be off to a terrible start, but we can turn this around. Come on, let’s get you some water,” Elowyn said, gently tugging at Lyra’s limp arm and helping her stand.
Lyra lurched upright at the pull, sniffing pitifully. “Your dress is really pretty.”
“Thank you, it’s a gift from my sister—It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever owned,” Elowyn replied, grateful for the distraction.
Lyra ran her hand along the periwinkle organza and tilted her head as she brushed the goldenaureumdraping from Elowyn’s shoulders. She examined the pattern of dragon scales embellishing the golden silk, acknowledging what it symbolized.
“What’s it like being a princess of Neramyr?” Lyra murmured, still admiring the golden cloak that skimmed between her fingers.
“Well, I’m not sure,” Elowyn stumbled over her words. “I guess it’s all right…”
Elowyn could have said so much more, but she was unsure of what was appropriate. Being born into a position of power and respect, she hadn’t felt like she earned any of it. She had grown up with a negative view of royalty, especially given her family’s circumstances.
Every day she felt the weight of her responsibility and her duty to the realm. As a princess, she would never be able to escape it. Her life was set in stone the moment she was born into it, shackled to a fate that she didn’t choose. But she knew there were worse fates out there. She lived in splendor and opulence, never knowing what hunger was or the burden of a laborious livelihood. She felt guilty about feeling resentful about things; she knew she should be grateful for the hand she was dealt.
“You’re lucky, you know. One day you’ll marry a prince and live happily ever after. Maybe if I had been born a princess, things would be different... Theo would still love me,” Lyra said defeatedly, slumping back onto the bench.
“Oh, no. We arenotdoing this. Firstly, being a princess of Neramyr isn’t all that glamorous. Secondly, you’ve broken my rule twice now, and we’re not going to have you break it a third time,” Elowyn lectured her, hauling her upright again.
Hooking an arm around Lyra’s waist, Elowyn supported her as they began walking down the natural stone that led back to the exit. Elowyn’s mind became less foggy as they ambled through the path, though she was certainly still tipsy. Lyra’s aura remained thoroughly morose, dismal at best. As for her mind, Lyra was definitely plastered.
“This sky fountain was one of my favorite things growing up as a feyling. And now I can barely look at it without my heart aching,”Lyra murmured as she grieved. “I fear I’ll never feel happiness in this place again.”
Elowyn sighed in exasperation. She opened her mouth as a curt response danced at the tip of her tongue, but chose to close it, keeping her frustration at bay. Peering at Lyra’s desolate aura again, she saw the weeping wounds. Huffing, Elowyn steered their path to a stone clearing and planted Lyra in the middle of it.
Slightly confused, Lyra stood there silently, her legs now steady enough to balance herself for the time being.
Elowyn stepped a few paces back and released a breath. “It’s just elemental magic,” Elowyn said to herself as she rallied her confidence.
She lifted her moon-inked palm and called to her magic, summoning it from the well of her reserves. From the lake behind them, two streams of feylight floated towards their direction, drifting through the air in a delicate dance. With a twist of Elowyn’s wrist, the streams twirled and whirled, effortlessly weaving around Lyra in a playful pattern.
Lyra reached out and brushed her fingers along the feylight streams as they began to curl around her, ascending upwards until they crested at a peak above her head, collecting into a sphere. Tilting her head back, Lyra gazed up at the feylight orb in awe.
Elowyn shifted her palm and unfurled her fingers purposefully. Responding to her command, the feylight orb above Lyra shattered, fracturing into a starburst of thousands of feylight droplets. The shimmering droplets showered around Lyra, painting a rainfall canvas of brilliant emerald, amethyst, and aquamarine as the crystals in the atrium reflected off it. Lyra audibly gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth as her eyes widened in wonder. Reaching out again, she grazed the feylight canopy surrounding her, a shadow of a smile danced upon her lips while her eyes glittered with delight.
With her other hand, Elowyn called to the wind, beckoning it under her command. She willed it into a gentle breeze that flowedtowards Lyra, brushing her cheeks, and swaying through her hair like a morning dove taking flight. A tiny laugh escaped Lyra’s lips as Elowyn urged the breeze to warm, wrapping Lyra in a balmy, breathy blanket. Shifting her palm again, Elowyn directed the feylight droplets to morph into crystalline snowflakes. Thousands of ice crystals drifted around Lyra, each with its own unique lattice artwork. Lyra caught them by the cupful, spinning underneath the frozen crystals.
Watching a tiny sliver of Lyra’s morose aura glow faintly amidst a sea of black, Elowyn sensed a glimmer of light fighting to stay afloat—a beacon of resolve, an unyielding gateway to healing.
As the last of the feylight faded in a halo around her, Lyra steadied her feet. “Thank you,” she murmured softly to Elowyn.
“Your happiness is your own, Lyra. Share it with those who want to nurture it; shield it from those who threaten to take it away. Trust me, your life will be better for it,” Elowyn spoke with candidness, her sympathy apparent as she took Lyra’s hand once more. “Now that you’re smiling again, let’s make it back before the Favor of the Seven begins.”
But Lyra didn’t budge as Elowyn moved to usher them forward. Her eyes clear and sober, a mountain of appreciation behind them that words could never convey.
“I’d like it if we could become friends,” Lyra said, looking to Elowyn.
Taken aback by the sudden invitation, Elowyn hesitated. Anxiety bubbled within her, but she reminded herself that her father wasn’t here to know. For tonight, she allowed herself to believe it would be okay.
