Elven Legacy

Chapter 68

Zemisha

She sat on the windowsill beside the locked glass pane, watching the slaves below as they busied themselves with lighting the garden's shaded lamps against the growing darkness. Beside her on the brass table, the platter of seafood, pasta, wine and fruits they'd brought her remained untouched.

Seconds had stretched on, transforming into minutes, eventually into hours, without Zemisha really doing anything. She hadn't picked up the chess pieces, hadn't gotten dressed in the sea foam gown on the bed, hadn't stepped out in the corridor again to try and talk to the guards.

She had blood on her knee and down her leg from when Neros had hurled the chess board at her. Moreover, she had a few shallower scratches on the side of her face where Neros had slapped her with his ringed hand. Zemisha hadn't cleaned it up. She simply observed the gardens, the ocean, the sunset, the Azurian flags flapping in a wind she couldn't feel, and she waited. And she worried.

Time adopted this eerily slow pace that messed with her head. She supposed she wasn't used at all to having nothing to do, or being bored. At the Veicira Castle, her friends liked to tease her because she took on too many activities.

On top of being Jaden's fiancé and the future queen – with all the meetings, planning and organization entailed by that – Zemisha painted, she performed the saicerra routine every morning with Moira, she helped with Mattisa and Snow, she sampled wines for the castle's cellar, she read and developed her knowledge of Felleran, while also teaching the Azurian language to Jaden and Moira. She also designed gowns which Moira sewed – their newest hobby.

At the castle, there had never been a boring moment. It had been the other way around, time had seemed so fleeting, she'd wished for more of it! Zemisha closed her eyes against a wave of unease and grief. It saddened her that her mind had fallen into the habit of thinking about the Veicira Castle in the past tense. As if she'd never return. It brought tears to her eyes.

If Jaden dies . . .

Oh, gods and goddesses, if something happens to Moira . . . No, I'd have to find a way to return. She would want me to take care of Matty . . .

Footfalls, in the corridor.

Followed by the sound of the guards scrambling upright – they usually sat down, she knew. They must've been ridiculously bored too, though at the very least they had each other.

Zemisha tensed, halfway up from the windowsill already, when the door slammed open.

Neros sidled in, smug as ever, wearing his sword on his back now, and dragging somebody along just behind him.

Moira.

Zemisha's breath hitched and she stood fully up, taking a few steps forward. Neros closed the door and let go of Moira's arm. She was free to run over to Zemisha, tears in her light-blue eyes. Zemisha met her halfway and held her tight, sighing in pure relief because she seemed unharmed.

"I was so fucking scared," Zemisha whispered through soft red hair. Switching back to Felleran had never felt so natural.

"Me too." Moira held her back with almost crushing intensity, but Zemisha smiled and tangled her fingers in her hair. For a blissful moment, she nearly forgot where they were. 

Then, Zemisha noticed Moira stood taller than usual – they'd made her wear high heel sandals. Also, she was all warm skin and soft damp hair in her arms, and she smelled like just-bathed skin with fragrant Azurian oils, ylang-ylang and primroses. Moira wore only a corset of fiery orange satin and golden trimming and laces, and a tiny kit of underwear and diminutive skirt in matching colors. Full disclosure, she looked very much like some imperial courtesan.