Page 55 of This Midsummer Heart
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.Icannot 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 thinkoneof 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.”
