HIS EVENING STAR

Chapter XVII

Nova

A week had passed since our return, yet the weight of my attempted escape lingered like a physical presence, coloring every interaction, every quiet moment. I felt it in the careful way Elijah watched my movements, in the softened but still-present edge to his voice on the rare occasions he spoke to me. Even now, as I was helping Madam Khatya preserve the last of the autumn vegetables, that tension hung in the air like frost that refuses to melt even in warm corners.

Steam rose from the preserving pots, fogging the kitchen windows against the increasingly bitter autumn air. The familiar scents of vinegar and herbs wrapped around me, though they did little to ease the constant knot in my stomach. My bandaged hands moved carefully among the jars, each twinge of pain from my healing cuts a reminder of my mistakes.

"Hand me that jar, dear." Madam Khatya's voice cut through my brooding thoughts. The old woman had forgiven me almost immediately upon my return, greeting me with a fierce hug and a stern lecture about the foolishness of young hearts. Now I worked with my usual brisk efficiency, though I noticed how she kept finding small excuses to keep me close by – a protective instinct that made my chest ache with both gratitude and guilt.

The back door opened suddenly, bringing with it a gust of cold air that carried the sharp scent of pine needles. My hands stilled on the jar I was filling as Elijah's presence filled the kitchen like an approaching storm. But it wasn't his arrival that made my breath catch – it was what he carried.

Bundled in his arm were the winter clothes I'd given to Fiona and Daisy – the white fox collar, the bear fur coat, every piece I traded away. They looked exactly as I remembered, though perhaps slightly dusty from whatever journey had brought them back. My throat tightened at the sight, memories of Fiona's grateful tears and Daisy's delighted smile rising unbidden in my mind.

"Dinner's almost ready." Madam Khatya's voice carried a careful neutrality as her eyes darted between them. "You've been out since dawn again."

Elijah set the bundle on the table with deliberate care, his movements precise despite his obvious exhaustion. I noticed the dark shadows under his eyes, the slight tremor in his hand that spoke of too many sleepless nights. "These need to be cleaned and repaired," he said, voice carefully controlled. "Some of the stitching has come loose."

"How did you—" I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze despite the fear curling in my stomach. "What did you do to them? To Fiona and Daisy?"

"Does it matter?" His golden eyes held that dangerous edge she remembered from the inn, though something else flickered beneath – something he seemed determined to hide. "You gave away what wasn't yours to give."

My fingers twisted in my apron, the rough fabric grounding me. "They needed them," I protested, though my voice emerged weaker than intended. My eyes caught on his satchel, fuller than usual, with various furs visible at its edges. Fresh furs, I realized with a start. Not the weathered ones he'd just returned. "They wouldn't have—"

"Survived the winter?" Elijah's laugh held no warmth, but his hand lingered almost absently on the white fox collar, fingers tracing patterns I recognized from watching him sew. "And what of your survival? Or have you forgotten our discussion about the consequences of your... generosity?"

The implied threat made my stomach clench, memories of the inn room and his cold anger rushing back. Yet something felt different now – the way his fingers kept returning to the furs, how his eyes darted to his satchel as if ensuring its contents remained hidden.

Madam Khatya made a small sound – something between disapproval and understanding – as she stirred the preserves. I caught her giving Elijah a knowing look, though he steadfastly ignored it, his shoulders tensing under the scrutiny.