Page 49 of The Last Remaining Light

Hearthwane, 749 A.V.

The first snow of the turning fell a moon earlier than usual, and it was on the morning Elowynn was to leave for Veylspire.

The final warmth of autumn had vanished from the gardens below the observatories, leaving frost clinging to the ivy vines and dead flowerbeds while cold winds swept through the cloisters in relentless gusts. Cedar smoke began to thicken the air as homes lit their hearths to stave off the encroaching chill.

The remembrance rites had ended only the night before, but even now, traces of them remain throughout the abbey courtyards. White candles still burned low inside alcoves dedicated to the dead while long silver ribbons tied along the archways fluttered in the sea wind. Bowls of winter lilies floated beneath observatory lanterns in tribute to those lost during the Ash Wars, and the lower prayer halls still carried the scent of incense and melted wax.

For a little while after the rites, Lumenshire would continue to be filled with sorrow, the grief from the living having settled deep into the stones.

With snow gathering in small patches across the shoulders of his dark wool coat, Caelyn sat alone atop one of the sea walls long before the tolling of the dawn bells. From there he could see nearly the entire abbey glowing against the backdrop of the late-autumn morning. Astrylite lanterns burned behind stained-glass windows and smoke curled upward from the kitchens and hearth fires into the freezing air.

This was his home, one full of peace and joy and simple routine.

Even before she'd gone, he could feel the shape her absence would leave behind.

The departure caravan would leave shortly after that first dawn bell. Two southern trade escorts would be accompanied by scholars traveling north toward Veylspire before winter storms fully closed the eastern roads. Agatha had spent the last three suns ensuring every detail of Elowynn’s journey had been prepared properly.

Caelyn had spent the entire night trying to forget that this was not the sun his heart was to leave him. No amount of alcohol could dull that ache, so he had given up, instead finding his way here to where he sat now.

A door opened behind him somewhere along the upper terrace, and footsteps followed.

He knew exactly who it was.

“Elowynn,” he said without turning, his voice low and rough with fatigue.

“How do you always know it is me?” she asked, her honey-soft tone squeezing his heart. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she approached the sea wall beside him.

Caelyn bowed his head, a smile touching his lips. “I would know you anywhere, El. Including the sound of your steps.”

She didn't respond, and Caelyn finally looked up, turning to face her.

Traveling clothes suited her less than observatory and abbey robes, though perhaps that was because seeing her dressed for departure made the reality feel unbearable. Dark blue wool wrapped elegantly around her, hugging her lithe frame. Traditional abbey embroidery in silver threads lined the heavy cloak that lay draped across her shoulders. Her thick hair had been braided loosely and fell over one shoulder, though as per usual, the wind had already stolen several strands free around her face.

Beautiful. Always beautiful.

“You were not at the dining hall like you said you would be,” Elowynn said after a time.

Caelyn looked back toward the sea below. “I know. I’m sorry,” he said. “I just…” He trailed off, unable to finish his thought.

Elowynn moved beside him against the stone wall, her shoulder brushing lightly against his coat. The small contact had been too much, yet not enough.

For a while, neither spoke. He was glad for the silence and for her not pushing him to speak further. He was even more glad for her company. The mere fact that she had sought him out before departing didn't go unnoticed.

Time had softened their wounds from the events of the undercroft, and while Elowynn was still sometimes cautious around him, fear no longer dominated her gaze when she looked at him.

He thanked the stars for that every sun. He didn't think he could have survived a constant fear of him in her eyes.

“I kept trying to convince myself it should not hurt this much,” Elowynn admitted eventually, breaking the silence.

Caelyn’s chest constricted. The honesty in her voice made him ache, but he tried to reassure her. His words came out all wrong.

“It would concern me quite a lot if abandoning us forever felt easy for you.”

Elowynn made a soft, wounded sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Do not say it like that.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“As though I am never returning.”