Page 123 of Pretense

“I see.” Melantha rested a hand on Jalissa’s arm. “Then I say give him a chance. It is not like he is going to ask you to marry him the minute he returns. Take your time courting him. While you are courting, you can always walk away if you are convicted deep in your heart that it is not the right thing to commit to marriage with him.”

“But it will only hurt worse if I wait to break it off instead of just breaking it off now.” Her throat squeezed with tears at just the thought of doing that.

Melantha huffed and patted her arm. “I hate to break it to you, isciena, but you cannot find love without risking heartbreak. It takes a great deal of trust to hand your heart to someone else and, sometimes, you hand it to the wrong person and they break it.”

Right. Melantha had been engaged to that elf…what had been his name? Jalissa had been about Ryfon’s age back then, and she had never liked Melantha’s betrothed all that much, so she had been relieved when they had broken it off.

“But when you give your heart to the right person, that makes it all worth it.” Melantha’s face softened into the mushiest, softest look Jalissa had ever seen on her.

“But how do you know?” Jalissa could not help the slight whine to her voice. It was just so frustrating, probably because there was no hard and fast way to tell. It was as Machasheni Leyleira said. She had to ask herself if it was right, good, honorable, and true, and then, if it was, trust that it was the right decision.

But trust was hard. And harder still with someone who had deceived her before. He was a spy. Deception for the good of his kingdom was a part of who he was, and she could not deceive herself by thinking that would change, even if he no longer played the role of spy.

Melantha gave a light, wry laugh. “I am not the right person to ask, I fear. I was already married to Rharreth, so he had to be the right one. We had already made the commitment to each other, so unless we wanted to be miserable, our only choice was to work hard to make the feelings match our duty. Same for Farrendel and Elspetha.”

An arranged marriage was starting to sound better and better. At least then Jalissa would not have this crushing worry that she was making the wrong choice.

But, no. She needed to sort through this confusion. Besides, whenever she pictured an arranged marriage, she found herself picturing a wedding with Edmund, and that brought her right back to where she started.

Melantha searched her face again. “If you want better advice on knowing for sure before you marry someone, maybe you can ask Rheva. She agreed to marry Weylind. She must have seen something beneath all the grumpiness.”

Jalissa could not help the laugh that burst from her. That was a good point. Though, Weylind used to be a lot less grumpy. Jalissa had been a toddler back then, but she remembered that much. Her only memory of Weylind and Rheva’s wedding was that Rheva’s dress had been pretty, but then she had fallen asleep during the ceremony, or so she had been told. “Maybe I will talk to her. She is always good at listening.”

“Yes, she is.” After a moment, Melantha turned to better face Jalissa, capturing her gaze with that piercing look that would turn out a lot like Leyleira’s when Melantha was older. “But I know you, isciena. You already know what you want to do, and what you will do in the end. You have always been so scared of failing and making a wrong choice that you overthink something until you finally get your head to where your heart has been all along. I have seen you do it with everything from buying a new dress to forgiving me just now.”

Jalissa froze. Did she really do that?

She had known that forgiving Melantha was the right thing to do and, truthfully, her heart had wanted to do it all along. But her head had taken a while to get there.

She had done it with Elspetha, too, when she had first joined the family. Even though Jalissa had wanted to see Elspetha as a sister from the start, she had pulled back from that initial impulse, her head and Melantha’s attitude convincing her that she needed to be cautious and hold her at a distance. It had taken Farrendel’s capture for Jalissa to finally turn to her as a sister.

Was she doing it again with Edmund? Had her heart already made the decision, back there in the snowy mountains of Kostaria even as she told him no when all she really wanted to say was yes?

Melantha smiled before she headed back the way they had come. “I look forward to your wedding, isciena. Whenever it is.”

With that, she disappeared around the corner of the porch, most likely on her way to rejoin the others.

Jalissa slumped against the rail, shaking her head. After all this inner turmoil, could it really be that simple?

The good things in life usually were. Sharing moments with a sister. Pestering a brother about his grumpiness. Listening to her younger brother go on and on about mechanical jargon that she did not understand but enjoyed hearing just because it made him so happy to talk about it. Sharing a squeal of happiness with the sister she had gained just over a year ago.

Seeing the twinkle of laughter in a pair of muddy, blue-green eyes. Feeling so loved and protected when she was with him, as if he truly saw the very depths of her in a way no one else had before.

Melantha had been right. Jalissa had made her choice, despite months of stewing and not admitting it to herself.

Bootsteps sounded from the other side of the porch near the door, out of sight from where Jalissa stood. The click of the door, then a flood of voices, louder than before, filled with greeting.

And was that…could it be…

Heart beating hard inside her, hardly daring to hope, Jalissa raced around the porch and shoved past the elf guard standing there, yanking the door out of his grip before he could shut it behind whoever had just entered.

She burst into the room, then skidded to a halt at the sight of the person standing only a few feet inside, the canvas pack at his feet.

Edmund. Whole and alive and here in Tarenhiel as he had promised.

He turned, his eyes—green while surrounded by all the greens of Tarenhiel—meeting hers. A part of her had expected him to be worn and haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and a bushy beard covering his face.

Instead, he looked good. Better than good. He was clean-shaven, the better for her to see the smile quirking his lips. He wore black trousers, black boots, and a deep green tunic of elven style, the cut too fine and fitted to be anything but made specially for him. And yet, the elven garb looked right, even with the very human curve of his ears and curl to his short brown hair.

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