LAVEN HEPHAESTUS ARVENALDI, II
By scent alone, I navigate my way through the main palace of New Quamfasi to where Ivella has come.
When I enter her study she is sitting, curled in her large chair with her knees tightly pulled to her chest. Her eyes are cast upward, staring at the moon as it shines down, cascading a gentle ray over her.
“Are you all right?” I ask, slowly approaching her.
She smiles and nods, not making any eye contact.
I cannot get through to her, although, I realize it may not be my place to try to reach her through any form of mind link.
“I am fine, just leave me be.”
“Something is the matter; you can tell me.” The nearer I step, the more unwelcomed I feel and the more distant she becomes.
She continues to smile. “No, I cannot . . . I will not.” She looks at me with eyes brightly filled with sadness. “Not until you can give me exactly what it is that you ask of me.”
The one major factor that will burden our relationship.
Then all there is, is guilt. The guilt of having to let someone ignore everything they are going through to cater to me.
‘I am a burden to you,’ I say through the sobs shattering my words.
She is not offended by what I say. If anything, she seems hurt. ‘When have I ever said that?’
‘You have not . . . you manage enough of your own suffering to have to accommodate my own with it.’
Again, her head shakes, and that soft smile does not leave. ‘You are not burdening me. You would only be voicing your griefs and we would sort through them.’
How do you see someone in such grave depression and add yours to it?
How do you recall all that you were without returning to it?
“I do want to tell you . . . but this conversation will not be as easy as you think. I cannot,” I stop, searching for the right things to say. “Anamnesis of those days are the most difficult. I have no way to speak of it without feeling as if I am falling back into it and appearing as that person I know as my weakest.”
“It is that you believe you still need to fake your true feelings around me that proves you and I cannot pursue anything farther than just an alliance.”
I knew my past would cloud over us, but not like this.
“That is not fair to hold that against me.”
“Why?”
“Because I cannot control what happened to me to make me how I am now.”
That smile turns into a forceful quiet laugh. “Do you believe me to be stupid, Laven?”
I do not answer her as her eyes fall deeper into mine.
“I am just as much yours as you are mine. And we both know the reasoning behind why that is. We both know what it is that holds us together so tightly.”
I can feel the falling of my face at her words.
When?
“When did you know?”
Her nails gently scratch against her knees that are close to her chest. “After I discovered the wings, but, I think I always knew. I was never certain, though, after you left Nadrexi when I first went back home I think I knew for certain. Then I became Fae, and I knew it the moment you walked into the bathing room.”
Large wings that weigh her down and sink her into the water. Without shifting properly and naturally, her body’s strength is not where it should be to hold a pair of wings this size. From a child the Fae are taught to hold their wings, Ivella has never in her life had wings.
My clothing soaks and clings to my skin as I scramble into the water.
‘Laven,’ Ivella quietly cries as she looks up at me.
“Knowing the connection is there and feeling it is much more different than suspecting it. Which makes it that much more incomprehensible that you still think you cannot tell me everything from your past that has brought you to now. The trauma of our backgrounds brought us together, what a grotesque way to form love, let alone a mating bond, but how beautiful it is when you aim for the better together through it.”
“Why did you never tell me that you knew?” There has been so much for the both of us to see and experience since that time, still I am not sure how much more a solidified mating bond would change given our current circumstances.
“I am angry with you,” she responds. “I have been for quite some time, why would I tell you?” I do not answer. “You speak of nothing with me. You did not tell me that your imprisonment was because of me, you did not tell me what happened while you were there, you do not tell me of your father who passed, you love your mother but I can see a disconnect and I do not understand why. Why is that?”
Nibbling on my lip, I begin to aggressively fumble about with my fingers.
Because I do not want you to carry a single burden of mine nor yours but I will proudly carry it all even if it incapacitates me. But there is nothing other than inequality when that person loves you enough to do the same and you do not let them.
“If you cannot speak to me, about any of it, then what are we doing? I am supposed to be the person you can tell anything to, yet I barely know you. Yes, I know you, but I do not know you. The you no one else knows or sees. The person you so greatly hide from the world.
“I do not only wish for the best parts of you, I want the worst of you. It may seem anomalous or peculiar to others, it is not to me. It is gratifying to know someone can give you every morsel of themselves without being sensitive to what you think, they just let you hold them through their worst fears knowing you will protect them in their most vulnerable. I could not care at all about those who value only the perfection in their spouse. That is not me, it will never be me. The worth is in the foulest fragments of you and how you cultivate through it. That is what the value is—having someone who is so broken flourish right before you. This is the splendor of love. The laughter is beautiful, the riveting adventure, lovemaking that cripples you from mind to limb. But the ugly, the distraught, the fear, the dreadful pieces of love is what nurtures it. It teaches you the differentiation of choosing to stay and feeling indebted to stay.”
And she speaks exactly what I am afraid of.
What if I give her everything and it no longer is her choosing to stay, she feels obligated to stay because of what she now knows? I could never hold her hostage in a way such as that. Then, she continues like she has heard every word.
“It is as if you are terrified to fathom that after it all I would still be here because I want to be here—despite the ruin in you. The way I can love you terrifies you, and I cannot push you to comprehend how I feel for you. That part must be done on your own . . . I choose you, Laven, because I want to give you those pieces of myself, not because of fate, because I say so. I do not want to let anyone else know me in the way you should. Yet, if I have to, I will. If you want to talk of fairness, I am the only one who is not being treated fairly. And you know well enough that I will not stand for anyone to treat me unfairly. Even a mate.”
She waits. She sits there so patiently waiting for a response.
Ivella looks over the tears gliding down my face, that fall to stain my shirt. Just as I look at hers.
“I–” coming to a strong halt, she continues to wait. “I do not know if I could ever say it.”
The gentlest smile appears on her face. “And I cannot accept that.”
