Page 87 of The Last Remaining Light

It had also helped that she no longer dreaded the social demands that accompanied her reputation, though that confidence had taken far longer to earn.

Scholarship had never been Elowynn's greatest challenge. People were.

In those first turnings, she stumbled through formal dinners with politicians and senior scholars alike, missed half the veiled barbs hidden beneath courteous conversation, and once inadvertently offended a Conclave matron by admitting she found discussions of noble lineage far less interesting than the fractures spreading beneath drowned observatories.

Lora had laughed about it for nearly a moon and, much to Elowynn's everlasting embarrassment, still found opportunities to bring it up.

But time softened the awkward edges. Early on, Elowynn had decided that she was not going to be someone the Spire had wanted her to be, and instead, she would stop apologizing for being the person she already was.

She refused to change for anyone but herself.

All through her self-discovery, Elowynn learned when to speak and when to let silence make others uncomfortable. She learned which compliments were invitations, which questions were traps, and which scholars preferred being flattered before being corrected. Some, she had decided, really enjoyed the challenge while others didn't like their egos touched.

Elowynn had also learned that confidence was not the absence of fear. More often, it meant walking into a room afraid and refusing to let anyone decide what that fear said about her.

She had made friends—or at least friendly acquaintances. Many admired her. Others sought her favor. Still more wished to claim familiarity with her, for reputation within the Spire often carried nearly as much weight as scholarship itself.

But true friendship remained rare. Lora remained the one exception.

Lora had become less a friend and more a force of nature Elowynn had long ago stopped trying to resist. She still spoke far too fast, still entered rooms without knocking, and still insisted that the only thing worse than Veylspire politics was Elowynn acting as though she didn't enjoy outmaneuvering people within them.

She absolutely did enjoy it, but she would never admit such aloud.

Around the second turning, Alyra had joined them fully. Where Lora rushed toward life, Alyra met it with a measured calm. She held herself with the easy confidence of someone equally comfortable in a workshop or with a sword in hand, and she possessed a patience Elowynn secretly envied. She and Lora had been together long before Elowynn realized it, though once she did, it became impossible not to miss the way Lora's entire countenance changed whenever Alyra entered a room.

Together, they made it their stated mission to ensure Elowynn didn't become “a tragic archive ghost.”

Their words. Not hers.

Unfortunately, Lora and Alyra’s relationship had only doubled their efforts toward encouraging Elowynn to “explore life beyond manuscripts on occasion.”

For a while, she blamed her studies. Veylspire demanded nearly everything she had to give, and whenever something began to ask more of her, it was easy to decide she simply didn’t have the time.

Eventually, though, that excuse became harder to believe.

She enjoyed being desired. She enjoyed the occasional kiss, the flirtation, the possibility of something new. She had explored those curiosities with both women and men and learned enough about herself to understand what drew her attention and what did not.

But something was always missing.

No matter how charming someone was or how easily conversation flowed, Elowynn eventually reached a point where she wanted to leave. There was never any great heartbreak or dramatic ending. Only the self-awareness that whatever she was supposed to feel simply wasn’t there.

For a long time, she had assumed that was just who she was. Perhaps love required a kind of certainty she had never possessed. It was more likely that she was too consumed by her work. Too independent. Too accustomed to belonging only to herself.

She had never considered that the answer might be much simpler.

She already knew what it felt like to be truly known by someone.

And everyone after Caelyn had been measured against a feeling she hadn’t realized she was searching for.

Elowynn was no longer the girl who had left Lumenshire believing people fit neatly into categories. Veylspire had disabused her of that notion long ago.

Caelyn’s letters arrived through the turnings like fragments of Lumenshire carried across the continent.

Some came stained by rain while others arrived late, folded and refolded until the creases threatened to tear upon arrival. More than once, Elowynn suspected Caelyn had nearly thrown those letters away before finally entrusting them to a courier. Some carried only ordinary news she’d come to expect.

Others carried more troubling things.

Caelyn would mention the humming beneath Lumenshire continued worsening almost imperceptibly. Astrylite seams near the lower western archives fluctuated during the heavy storms, and the old foundations would tremble. Agatha had become increasingly secretive regarding the resonance systems beneath the abbey, though according to Caelyn, she remained “very capable of weaponizing tea, guilt, and disapproval with no decline in effectiveness.”