Iylaine despairs

Iylaine dropped the short branch she was using as a torch into the ashy pit. There was a small pile of wood nearby, and she tossed in a few sticks as well, after lighting them in her hand. That would do for light.

She did not see what she had hoped to see. Her body drooped in disappointment.

After breaking away from Bertie – not a difficult task with Osgyth Lea to distract him – she had wandered a long while in the forest looking for Vash. She had not been able to get outside for the first day of spring, but everyone was outside for Midsummer Eve. It was the best chance she had had, or would have, for a long while.

She realized now that in all the years since she had first met Vash, she had been able to see him precisely once on the first day of spring, and precisely once on Midsummer Eve. And yet, because she had met him then, she thought of those days as being the two days of the year in which she could hope to see him, the two days in which she thought it worthwhile to go in search of him. But what meager grounds for hope it had proved to be!

She had wandered a long while in the forest, far enough from the men that she was certain he would not mind showing himself to her, even if the men could see him on this night. She had even dared to call his name softly, though he had warned her against it. But it did not seem anyone had heard. Certainly not he.

Finally, in a desperation that was almost despair, she had done what she had promised him she would not, and she had come to his cave.

He was not in it. The ashes at the bottom of his fire pit were cold. There was no food around as there had been the last time. There were still his books and his boxes and his deerskins, but nothing that would not survive months or years or centuries of abandon. Nothing to show he had been here at any time since she had last seen him the year before.

She needed to see him. Desperately. The men had been away for nearly two months, and she had never felt so alone. No one truly wanted her. Everyone seemed to see their time spent with her as a bothersome duty to be discharged.

Gunnilda was not well, and Alwy was preoccupied with her health and state of mind. Neither had much time for her.

Bertie still took her out for walks or rides, but he was often with his mother whenever he could get away, and he seemed to prefer the company of his older friends, and the bolder, sillier girls.

Wynna was constantly with Colburga and Osgyth now, and they all seemed to think of themselves as very grown up young ladies and she a mere child, though all four had nearly the same age.

Lord Hingwar came to see her sometimes, but he was awkward and gruff and fairly reeked of duty. And she could not stand him now.

She missed Malcolm. He had said he liked her best of all the girls except his mother. That was something.

She missed her Da. She scarcely spoke to him when he was there, of course – though she almost thought she might now – but he looked at her with longing. She knew he wanted her. That was something.

She even missed the Duke. He did not love her best, but when he was with her, he was truly with her, and truly listened to her, and spoke to her with the gravity she required, and did not laugh at her for being a little girl. That was something.

But more than anyone she wanted Vash. He was different from everyone else, because he did not see the fact that she was an elf as something to overlook or even to forgive, but as an essential part of her, without which he would like her less.

Whenever she felt like crying, she had only to think of Malcolm saying “even if you are an elf,” and the tears would come.

It sufficed even now. She let her knees buckle and sat heavily on one of the skins nearest the fire, and she laid her head on her knees and began to cry. If she was alone, at least she would be able to cry properly without loss of dignity.

Of course, Vash didn’t love her best, either. He had a whole life that she could not even imagine. He had an entire elf family – her family, but not hers – and other elf cousins whom he probably saw every day, and other elf friends. With all of those elves around, it was not likely he thought of her as often as she thought of him. It was not likely he thought of her very often at all.

Perhaps he hadn’t even remembered Midsummer Eve. Or perhaps he knew what night it was, but he did not even associate it with her in his mind. And yet to her it was one of the two most important days of the year! It was like the feast days, whose names the Duke would write in red in his journal. More than that – to her, it was a day that should be written alone on its own page, in letters of burnished gold.

She hugged her knees and sobbed. She abandoned herself so fully to her sorrow that she nearly shrieked when she realized that she was being watched.