Page 26 of This Midsummer Heart (Seasons of Legend #4)

Chapter twenty-five

The Outpost

Titaine

A

s

we

bid

farewell

to Indigo and Veld after too little sleep, I avoid eye contact with Auberon. The dark elf astronomers of the fire swamp, led by a kindly elder called Alona, walk us back to the road, giving us instructions on the best path out and warning us of troubles we might meet along the way.

“I’m sure they will hinder you little,” Alona says, her silver braids bobbing as she nods to Auberon. “There is only the isthmus to truly concern yourselves with. Take care on the Bridge of Miracles, your highness. The heavens speak of more chaos to come, and you are greatly needed.”

She shocks me by continuing into a deep, deferential bow, leaning heavily on her oaken stave. Using my peripheral vision, I glance at Auberon. He doesn’t seem surprised. Uncomfortable, yes, but unsurprised.

Even when the rest of the elves who have come to see us off do the same.

“That’s enough,” Auberon says gruffly. “Formality doesn’t suit any of you.”

Alona glances up at him beneath her thin brows. “You are king.”

It’s a simple explanation, said matter-of-factly. Yet my heart swells for Auberon, even as it begins to ache. He is finally getting the recognition he craved from the dark elves of this region, just as he is leaving the continent, possibly forever.

Auberon responds by striding briskly toward his chestnut gelding, waving off the hostler and leaping into Tiro’s saddle. I almost miss the wince as he does so, as if he is still stiff from sleep.

I am, too. This journey has been long and wearing. Coupled with the loss of magic, it’s like being ground into the dirt day after day and having to slog through the long hours of sunlight regardless. My joints ache, and my back.

Auberon, though, seems a little spryer than before. The awakening of his ancient powers has done him some good.

But there I go again, thinking soft thoughts about him—as if the past were well and truly behind us when I know it isn’t. Auberon may be changing, but I am still the same. We cannot expect a different outcome than last time. I

cannot expect a different outcome.

Sooner or later, he’ll tire of me again. Rather than take the time to earn my trust—to prove himself to me—he found solace in another. Then he played the cruelest trick of all, making me think I was in love with that poor mortal he and Robin dragged into their mess.

He thought he would teach me humility, or maybe show me the benefits of opening my heart.

It was a grand feeling, like riding free on Giselda’s back, or like lying in the garden at the House of Fetes during those late summer nights, surrounded by the sweet smell of flowers and watching the fireflies dance.

For a moment, last night, I felt that way again.

But Auberon and Robin were mistaken. Rather than show me the error of my ways, their trick only proved to me that I was right not to trust Auberon. My heart remained closed.

Sometimes—even now—I wish it could be otherwise. I wish I could forget the past and start over again with Auberon, and bend to his sweet words. I wish I could believe he will be different this time, and that he truly still loves me.

I cannot fall for him again. For if he breaks my heart a second time, no midsummer nights, nor moments of freedom will be able to piece it back together. The truth is, it never fully healed the first time.

Everyone hopes their love will be like a summer without end. But with Auberon, winter will always come.

I thank the dark fae for their hospitality and flutter my wings to reach Giselda’s saddle, not feeling like accepting help at the moment. Then we are on the road again, traveling in silence through the eternal twilight of the fire swamp.

It’s better this way, us not being together. Yet I will treasure the memories of last night, when, for just a moment, my frigid, guarded heart could feel the bliss of midsummer again.

By midday, we reach the outpost by the Bridge of Miracles.

The building is the size of a wealthy merchant’s home in Avalonne, with an attached overhang where those on foot can take shelter while they wait.

To the side, an enormous stables punctuated by rangers standing guard ensures that no one can bypass the checkpoint.

It’s not at all what I expected. The outpost sits atop a promontory, overlooking the land bridge and the frothing, churning sea that nips at the narrow strip of land. Besides being more crowded than I’d have guessed, it’s all very…bureaucratic.

And strangely popular, given the danger. But the runeboats are gone, leaving merchants and travelers to try their luck here.

The line of caravans and carts wends all the way back to the road. It’s almost laughable, watching officious humans inspecting a cart when two different seas stand ready to take its owners by deadly surprise.

We line up behind the traders, Giselda, Tiro and Chiara all nickering uneasily.

Nearly an hour passes by in the hot sun, the time crawling by without any conversation. Every time I chance glancing at Auberon, he is resolutely looking away; at other times, I am sure he’s looking at me when he thinks I won’t see.

Gates of the Beyond, you’d think one

of us would know what to say.

I’ve had declarations of love before, but most were wildly inappropriate, made by fetes and mortal men who didn’t truly know me and wanted only my beauty. But to have one from the man who once knew me better than anyone, who used to have my heart so completely?

I don’t know what to do with that. For he’s surely seen me at my worst, my most angry and vindictive, and loves me still. It is a proposal I cannot reply to, because I said yes to him once before. And I cannot ignore how that ended.

We’re older now, but maybe only marginally wiser. Otherwise, how could we find ourselves in this same situation again? Maybe modern fetes and elves simply aren’t meant to be together.

At last, I clear my throat, breaking the silence between us. “Auberon, I—“

“No, don’t say anything.” Though he still does not face me, he is ready with his words so quickly, my mind must catch up. “I knew I wouldn’t win you back so quickly. You’ve always been more mind than heart. The knowledge of our last time together stops you from saying yes.”

He turns to face me. Instantly, I feel uncomfortable under his intense gaze. Is it just my imagination, or are his eyes darker than before? “Mark my words, Titaine. I’ll have your heart again. I won’t give up until I do.”

“That sounds…vaguely threatening.” I arch a brow at him. “ Is

it a threat?”

His eyes twinkle down at me. “That, dear Titaine, depends entirely on your current views of me.”

I have to roll my eyes at that. I barely know what they are myself. I suppose he’s…less annoying of late. But I’m spared from a response as he dismounts from his horse to stretch his legs and back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a wisp of pure darkness, like a ripple in the very fabric of this place. My head snaps towards him, only to find no trace of it.

Auberon looks back at me, confused, before shrugging of my alarm and wandering off. Nothing there at all. But I wasn’t imagining it.

Auberon is the first dark elf in centuries to have any significant dark magic at his beck. Except I don’t think it is

at his beck. He can’t control it at all. Will he find help at Nox, or will it only grow more difficult to hold in check?

I shake off these thoughts. They’ll do me no good now—not when there is still the Bridge of Miracles to contend with. I cannot be distracted.

I pat the side of Giselda’s neck, leaning low across her so that my golden-brown hair falls into her mane of white. “Soon, girl, it’ll be time for the ride of your life. You’ll be free to run just as fast as you please.”

Giselda tosses her head as I rise to sit straight in the saddle again. I’ve lost sight of Auberon, but I’m not worried just yet. He’s probably just gone to the privy.

When he is still not back after twenty minutes, I start to worry. The line is moving forward at last.

One of the rangers at this outpost approaches me, eying me somewhat warily. Though the points of my ears are covered, he senses that I’m not human.

For the first time, I realize that everyone around us is.

There’s not a magical being in sight.

“Traveling alone?” the ranger asks in accented Renian, his tone and body language stiff as new leather.

I shake my head, replying in the local tongue, even though it is native to neither of us. “My companion has stepped away.” I swallow down my discomfort. “These two horses were loaned to us by the Mayor Arquina of Adellor. We were asked to leave them here.”

“Adellor?” The man’s brows shoot up. “I heard they were open to trade again, but you’re the first travelers who’ve passed through from there—on this side, anyway.

A caravan came from the south just yesterday, headed back home.

The next will be happy to take them along, I’m sure.

We’ll look after them at the stables in the meantime. ”

“What do we owe you?” I ask, patting my bodice nervously.

“They’ll pay up on the way through when they collect the horses, ma’am. The traders from Adellor keep their word, even if no one crosses quite so often now. Lina is from there, actually. Oi, Lena!” he calls.

“The last caravan—did they have any trouble with the crossing?” I ask.

Slowly, this man is thawing—more so when a female ranger joins him, a ledger and pencil in hand.

“They made it alright. Just not the caravan behind them. It’s why we’re spacing the number of travelers even more.” He points his chin at his companion. “Did they make the cut for tonight?”

My heart beats a little faster. We’re so

close to making it to the southern wolding. Yet I have the unsettling feeling that delaying even one more night could mean losing my magic—just when I will need it most.