Page 48 of The Divine Shallows
Finnor, looking slightly flustered, began to rise, but Elowyn halted him with an outstretched hand.
“Wait, I’m sorry if I came across as rude,” Elowyn said, her tone apologetic. “I know you’re just following my father’s orders. It’s been a chaotic few hours, and I’m feeling a bit... on edge. And as a reminder, you can just call me Elowyn.”
She offered him the friendliest smile she could muster, attempting to ease the tension, and Finnor settled back into his seat. Before she could speak further, her stomach growled loudly, and her face flushed inembarrassment.
“You must be hungry. I’ll have the kitchen steward bring you something,” Finnor insisted.
Finnor braced his arms on his knees and heaved up from his seat in a fluid motion as he strode out of the bedchamber to fetch a servant. Elowyn watched him leave the room before she hung her head and rested her face within her palms.
What in the seven hells just happened?
Just hours ago, she and her sister were being hunted in the Elberrin Forest by dreadful, decaying hounds. Now, Elyria was in Lochwald witnessing the Third Day while Elowyn found herself back in the safely in her room. A pang of shame pulsed through her as she recalled her own weakness and frailty in the face of peril—she had fainted for Goddess knows how long. Elyria was strong and noble-minded, self-sacrificing as always.
Elowyn shut her eyes tightly, allowing her insecurities to pummel her self-esteem. She had led a life of comfort and safety, facing little adversity beyond the scorn of her title. She was acutely aware of her limited talent as a sorceress, always paling behind Elyria in progress. She felt useless. How was she to protect and lead an entire kingdom if she couldn’t even defend the one soul who mattered to her most?
Tears of frustration streaked down her cheeks as she grabbed a nearby pillow and buried her face in the plush. A muffled scream escaped her lips as she released her pent-up anguish into the fabric. Rising from the pillow, she pounded her fists into the sheets, groaning. Her earlier giddiness felt like a distant memory. Her thoughts briefly flashed to Draeden, wondering if he noticed her absence. Would he care for her if he truly discovered how weak her character was?
The door creaked open, and Finnor entered the room, carrying a tray of savory-smelling food. Elowyn’s stomach betrayed her with a loud rumble; her face whitened in horror. Finnor paid it no mind, setting the tray on her dining table nearby and arranging the food for her.
“The kitchen was deserted, so I improvised,” Finnor explained, histone accommodating. “I found some smoked ham, cheese, bread, and apples. Hopefully it will suffice.”
He pulled out a cushioned chair from the dining table and approached Elowyn, offering a steady hand. She found herself staring at the moon-inked dragon scales on his skin and the crescent moon in his palm. She winced as an image of him drenched in inky black blood briefly flashed through her mind.
He appeared so amenable, so dutiful and deferential before. She knew Finnor truly was an indomitable divine warlock. He was Eriden’s Commander of the Feyguard for Goddess’ sake. Nevertheless, he remained modest and respectful in his mannerisms. Elowyn wondered if it was his background as a blacksmith that influenced his humble demeanor.
Gratefully accepting his hand, Elowyn allowed him to guide her unsteady feet to the dining table and help her into the seat. She offered a thankful glance before eagerly digging into her food. Finnor simply nodded and headed towards the door.
As she finished a particularly unladylike bite, Elowyn blurted out, “Do you want some?”
“No, thank you,” Finnor said politely. “I appreciate the offer, nonetheless.”
“You can stay until I’m done if you want,” Elowyn offered, gesturing to the chair beside her. “I imagine it must be rather dull standing outside my door.”
“All right,” Finnor agreed, though he seemed wary as he took the seat.
“Out with it,” Elowyn prompted between a bite of her apple.
“Spare me your wrath when I tell you what else your father ordered me to do,” Finnor said gravely.
Elowyn halted her chewing abruptly, fixing Finnor with a piercing glare. “What else did he command?”
Finnor swallowed hard, choosing his wordscarefully. “My new living quarters are to be on this floor, near your chambers. King Eamon wishes to ensure that I can swiftly aid you should any harm befall you or our kingdom.”
He hesitated, his expression growing uneasy as he continued. “Additionally, he instructed me to place wards on your doors and windows. I am to be alerted if any being, fey or creature, enters or exits your chambers.”
Elowyn’s demeanor swelled with anger as she glowered at him, the room enveloped in a heavy silence. Her appetite vanished, replaced by outrage.
Finnor’s eyes reflected the gravity of his next words as he spoke in a hushed tone. “Tomorrow, the king intends to bind your soul to mine with an Eternal Tethering spell, ensuring I can protect you if it be daylight or nightfall.”
All at once, Elowyn stopped breathing.
This couldn’t be real.
Numbness spread through Elowyn’s body as she absorbed the weight of Finnor’s words. The realization hit her like a tidal wave. The Eternal Tethering spell, a sacred bond sanctioned by the Moon Goddess herself, would bind her soul to Finnor’s for eternity. If she faced danger or met her end, he would offer his life in exchange for hers.
Her fate, her very essence, would no longer be solely her own. Every decision, every thought, would be shared with Finnor. Once the spell was cast, there would be no turning back. Not even the Goddess could perform its undoing. If Elowyn’s life hung in the balance, it would be Finnor who held the power to decide her fate.
The realization dawned on Elowyn that her father must have already petitioned the High Priestess for the Moon Goddess’ blessing. But why? She wasn’t yet of age or political status to receive a spell of such divine classification. Typically, it was bestowed upon monarchs at their coronation, a means to safeguard their kingdom’s future.
