Page 2 of The Last Remaining Light

They looked at her as though grief itself clung visibly to her skin.

And perhaps it did.

Only now did Elowynn finally understand the expression she had seen on her father’s face during those final moments within Astermere’s observatory. At the time, she had not possessed a name for it.

But now she did.

Grief.

Rain drizzled against the courtyard stones while the sea crashed its violent waves on the cliffs far below the abbey walls. The south never seemed to stop weeping. It was fitting for her heartache. For the grief she could now name.

"Lady Elowynn?" called a voice in a songbird tone.

She slowly lifted her head from where she was curled over herself, the tears long since dried, her breathing steady once more. It was one of the younger Sisters that stood nearby holding a lantern close against her chest.

Sister Maelin was petite and round-faced with kind brown eyes and curls that constantly escaped the edges of her silver hair-veil.

"Your mother is asking for you," she said in a soft tone and concern lining her face.

Elowynn stared at her blankly for a moment before nodding, though she had yet to move. Beyond the courtyard walls, thunder rolled somewhere from far across the sea.

The bells rang again.

Low.

Mournful.

For one terrible moment, the courtyard vanished around her, and she was back inside the observatory at Astermere. Back beneath the alarm bells and splintering crystal while darkness spread through the aethercurrents beneath the Hold. She remembered the silver light from her father’s hands and how it reflected across his face. Then the sorrow in his eyes as he looked at her and her mother.

Elowynn’s breath caught like a barb in her throat. She was choking, gasping, her hands coming up to clutch at her throat.

"M’lady?" Sister Maelin said a bit louder, worry lacing her voice as she stepped closer.

The courtyard returned.

Rain. Fog. Stone. Sea salt.

Elowynn loosened her fingers from her throat and pressed her palms against the damp earth beside her. Cold. Real.

Her father had taught her long ago that when fear threatened to drag her somewhere else, find what was real. Find what could be touched. Find what could be seen.

She swallowed hard before finally forcing herself back onto her feet. Her mouth was dry, and she licked her lips. Elowynn stood for a moment, the Sister close by with a hand offered out, just in case—but Elowynn forced the smallest of smiles.

“I am alright,” she whispered.

Sister Maelin watched her for a moment longer before pulling her hand back and bobbing her head once. “As you say, m’lady.”

Elowynn took a steadying breath before following Sister Maelin back down the stone paths and toward the main building of the abbey.

The interior of Lumenshire smelled of old books, candle smoke, tea leaves, and rain-soaked stone. Suspended astrylite lanterns glowed overhead while thick shadows gathered between the vaulted archways. Unlike Astermere’s crystalline grandeur, the abbey felt worn by centuries of weather and prayer. Even the stone floors had been smoothed by countless footsteps over countless turnings. It felt old in a subtle way. Not proud or boasting, but something that would endure for centuries more to come.

Sister Maelin eventually stopped before a narrow wooden door within the western wing.

"She still has not eaten much," the young sister said. "Perhaps she will if you sit with her awhile."

Elowynn nodded once before entering the chamber as quietly as possible. Her mother sat beside the rain-streaked window with untouched tea cooling near her hands.

Lady Seralyth Selvicta looked thinner than she had only a moon before. The elaborate gowns of the north had long since been traded for plain dark dresses borrowed from the Sisters of the abbey, though no amount of simplicity could fully conceal the regal composure she carried even now. It was her face, however, that startled Elowynn most. Grief had sharpened the elegant softness of her features into something far more fragile and hollower. It was beginning to make her look unrecognizable.