Chapter 16 - Half-Truths and Sunlit Roads
Morning came soft and grey, the light filtering into Iris’ room like mist through a half-open window. She blinked slowly, reluctant to greet the day. Her limbs felt heavy, like her thoughts had anchored themselves to her chest overnight. She sat up and ran a hand through her hair, trying to shake off the cloud behind her eyes.
In the days that followed their dinner at Calanmir, Iris and Elarion saw each other, but only in passing. A wave here, a polite smile there. Always cordial, always kind, but never quite lingering. They met once by the bakery, twice by the garden path, and exchanged a few quiet words near the town’s fountain. But none of it felt the same.
Something delicate had shifted between them. Not broken, not yet, but pulled taut like a thread stretched too thin. Neither of them seemed ready to name it. Neither of them seemed ready to fix it. And so, the days slipped by, full of almosts and nearlys. Close enough to pretend nothing had changed. Far enough to feel like everything had.
It’s been a week since their dinner date, but her words lingered, drifting through her mind like the tail end of a storm.
"I'm not confident I can be good for a committed relationship."
She winced. Maybe she shouldn't have said it. Maybe she could’ve waited. Said it differently. Softer. With a joke. A smile. Anything but how it came out, blunt and bare. With a sigh, she stood and stretched. No amount of stewing in bed would undo it. She washed up, pinned her hair back loosely, and pulled on a simple outfit. Something easy and light. She needed fresh air. Maybe a walk would help.
Selathryn’s morning air was crisp, dappled with golden slants of sunlight. The scent of dewy bark and blooming ferns followed her as she stepped onto the winding paths of the grove. It was early. Few people were out, and the quiet wrapped around her like a shawl. But the more she walked, the more her thoughts churned.
Why was she still here?
She wasn’t a researcher. Not a diplomat. She wasn’t on some divine mission from Sune. There were no lost artifacts or ancient relics that called to her.
She was just here. Drifting. Lingering. Because it was easier than being home.
Yet something about this place had begun to pull at her. The stillness. The quiet rhythm of the grove. Ayda’s bright laughter. The scent of Nymeris’ tea steeping through the walls. The way Elarion smiled when he thought no one was looking.
She hadn’t planned to stay. So why did it feel harder to imagine leaving?
She shook the thought away and rounded a bend into the town centre, or at least the closest thing Selathryn had to one. A modest stone fountain sat in its heart, surrounded by shops with carved wooden signs and herb carts that smelled of sage and fresh soil.
She wasn’t paying attention. Her thoughts wandered, trailing behind her like a stubborn shadow.
That’s when she bumped into someone.
A firm, broad shoulder caught hers, stopping her mid-step.
“Oh, sorry—” she began, glancing up.
Her breath caught.
High Warden Kolvar stood before her, tall and still. His silver hair was tied back with the same sharp precision as the expression on his face. Cold. Unmoving. His eyes narrowed.
“Oh,” he said quietly, voice like iron cooling in the air. “It’s you.”
The chill that ran through her had nothing to do with the breeze.
He wasn’t in uniform. That was the first thing Iris noticed. His high-collared tunic was a muted slate, paired with charcoal trousers that marked him as off-duty, though nothing about his presence felt casual. He stood rigid and poised, as if even out of armour, he carried the weight of command like a second skin.
For a brief moment, Iris couldn’t place him. And then he spoke.
“Caithor’s friend,” he said, like the name left a bad taste in his mouth. “Out for a stroll?”
His voice was low and clipped, just loud enough to carry between them in the open square.
Iris blinked once, recognition settling cold in her chest. “Yes,” she said curtly, lifting her chin. “And that’s none of your business.”
Kolvar stepped forward. Just one slow, deliberate stride. But it was enough. Enough to shadow her. Enough to remind her how tall he stood, how unnervingly calm his face remained even as his eyes bored into hers.
“The safety of this fucking grove,” he said, voice like a knife behind silk, “is my business. And if you keep wandering around with Caithor, you’ll find yourself six feet under before you turn thirty.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “What the— “
He didn’t blink. “Which would be a shame. Pretty little thing like you.”
The words hung between them like fog, clinging and cold. He stepped back, but only slightly. Just enough to tip the scales between looming and dismissive. His gaze drifted over her once more, sharp and clinical.
“You don’t have to believe me,” he added as he turned. “But ask any scout or warden in this grove. You’ll find they all know the story.”
And with that, he walked away.
She stood there for a moment, unmoving, as if his words had frozen the ground beneath her feet. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
Who does he think he is?
That arrogant tone. The way he said Caithor like it was a warning, not a name. The way he looked at her, like she was a naive little girl playing pretend in a world she didn’t understand. The nerve.
But beneath the heat rising in her chest, something colder twisted. He had sounded so certain. Like he wasn’t just spouting cruel nonsense to scare her off. Like he genuinely believed it. And if what he said was true. If every scout and warden in the grove knew some story she didn’t…
What do they know that I don’t?
The question lodged itself in her mind like a splinter, small but impossible to ignore. Part of her wanted to chase him down and demand answers. Part of her wanted to pretend she never heard him at all.
Would it even matter? Would knowing change anything?
She took a breath, trying to steady herself. But the air felt thinner somehow.
Do I really want to know?
Her chest tightened.
Or would it be better if I didn’t?
She wandered the town again the next day, telling herself it was just to clear her head. But her thoughts wouldn’t settle. Kolvar’s words lingered like smoke, curling into every idle moment and poisoning the quiet.
“Iris?”
The sound of her name cut through the quiet like a breeze catching the edge of a curtain. She turned.
Elarion stood a few paces away, dressed in a soft linen shirt and loose-fitting trousers tucked neatly into his boots. The muted green and brown tones matched the morning light, making him look like he’d stepped straight out of a forest painting. In one hand, he held a ceramic cup, steam curling lazily from the lid. Coffee, probably. Knowing him, a café latte.
He smiled, easy and boyish. “Didn’t expect to see you in this part of town.”
She hesitated for half a beat before offering a small smile in return. “Just taking a walk.”
His gaze searched her face briefly, then he nodded. “Early start for a stroll.”
She shrugged lightly.
He took a sip from his cup, then gestured with it. “Did you sleep well?”
There was a pause. “I did,” she lied, voice quiet.
Their eyes met for a moment, and then the silence crept in. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t tense. But it wrapped around them like mist, neither of them quite sure where to step next. Elarion shifted his weight, then stepped closer. Just enough to close the gap. He bent slightly to meet her gaze, eyebrows tugging together with a softness that surprised her.
“You alright?” he asked. “You look a bit off today. Did you catch a cold?”
She blinked. “What? No, what makes you think that?”
He tilted his head a little. “You just don’t seem like yourself. That’s all.”
There was no judgment in his voice. Just a quiet concern that made her heart ache for reasons she couldn’t name. “Maybe I’m just tired,” she said, trying to summon her usual spark. “Happens to the best of us.”
He gave her a nod, though his eyes lingered for another second.
“I was about to head to one of the gardens near the border,” he said, straightening up. “There’s a spot where the lilies are starting to bloom. I thought I’d go see how they’re doing.”
He paused.
“Would you like to come with me?”
For a moment, she just looked at him. His voice was steady. His eyes warm. Not a single flicker of tension or discomfort in his expression. If he remembered what she’d said last week — if it had hurt him — he wasn’t showing it.
How is he so calm?
The question buzzed faintly at the back of her mind, but she pushed it aside before it could take root. Now wasn’t the time. So, she smiled, soft and practiced. “I’d love to.”
His answering smile was instant, and that boyish light in his eyes caught her off guard again. He offered his free hand to guide her through the square, but she simply fell in step beside him.
They walked side by side, winding through the heart of Selathryn.
It was a beautiful morning. The light filtered gently through the canopies above, dappling the stone paths with shifting gold. A soft breeze danced with the scent of pine and fresh flowers.
But the peacefulness didn’t quite reach her.
She caught it in the periphery. Subtle glances, lingering eyes. A pair of scouts leaning near a stall paused their conversation as they passed. A warden by the fountain flicked his gaze toward them before returning to his patrol. Iris kept her face neutral, eyes forward.
Am I imagining things?
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Kolvar’s words were just echoing louder than they should. She didn’t say a word and just walked quietly beside Elarion, forcing herself to keep that smile in place.
And though he chatted about the garden ahead, something in her couldn’t help but wonder if she was walking into something far more complicated than she’d let herself believe.
The garden path curved gently around clusters of herbs and flowers, but neither of them were really paying attention. The stillness between them had begun to feel heavier than the warm breeze brushing against their skin. Elarion glanced at her, his fingers still wrapped around the half-empty ceramic cup. Her expression was unreadable; her gaze focused on some distant point between the stones and the sky.
He spoke quietly. “You’ve been quiet.”
Iris blinked. “Just tired.”
He nodded once. The silence returned, heavier now. A few more steps. Then, softly—
“Are we alright?”
She froze for the slightest second. It was such a simple question. Gentle. Meant to soothe, not provoke. But it settled somewhere sharp in her chest.
“Sure,” she said, too quickly. “We’re fine.”
Elarion didn’t press. Not with words. But his eyes stayed on her. And that look, steady and careful, made her shift her weight. Her hands clasped in front of her, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
“I mean…” she added, her voice quieter this time, “nothing’s really changed, has it?”
Still, he didn’t react the way she expected. No sigh. No withdrawal. He just tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle he had almost solved.
“Maybe not,” he said at last. “But maybe we should talk about it anyway.”
Her throat tightened.
“I’d rather not,” she muttered, trying for a casual tone. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I’d rather not guess where I stand with you,” he said, not unkindly.
She forced a smile. “You’re overthinking it.”
“Iris.”
The way he said her name, low and patient, scraped against her nerves. Not because it was angry. But because it wasn’t.
“I’m serious,” she said, more sharply now. “We don’t need to turn this into something.”
He folded his arms loosely across his chest. “Why not?”
She looked away.
“Because some things are better left alone.”
“Or is it because it’s easier to run than to stay and work through it?”
The words cut a little too close. Her jaw clenched.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I’m trying to.”
“Well maybe you shouldn’t,” she snapped. It came out sharper than she meant. But it was too late to take it back. Elarion stilled. The look in his eyes didn’t change, but the silence between them did. It grew heavier. Charged.
Iris turned, hugging her arms to her chest. “Can we just drop it?”
“Is that what you always do?” he asked, voice softer than she expected. “Just pretend things are fine?”
“It’s worked so far.”
“Has it?”
She whipped around, her eyes bright with frustration. “What do you want from me, Elarion?”
Elarion didn’t flinch. His voice was calm, but steady. “I just want to get to know you better, Iris. That’s all.”
The words were simple, but they clanged against her defenses like a hammer. She scoffed, shaking her head. “You don’t know the real me. And I don’t know the real you either.”
“You expect me to open up,” she went on, “when you’re hiding things too. That’s not fair.” There it was. The spark of something sharp, something that sounded like anger but was really fear, hidden behind clenched teeth and a furrowed brow.
He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “I thought what I’ve shared with you was enough. I didn’t mean to—”
She was spiralling now, and she knew it. But her pride wouldn’t let her stop.
“Why do you even care so much?” she snapped. “Why does it matter to you?”
He almost cut in. “Because I—”
But the words caught. His voice softened. “Because you’re not just anyone to me, Iris. I don’t want whatever this is to end before it even begins.”
That did it. Her chest tightened. Her thoughts scattered. Everything he said felt too much, too fast, too close to something real. Her instinct flared to push, to retreat, to protect herself before he had the chance to hurt her.
“My life is none of your business, Elarion.”
“I— I just thought that this… thing between us meant something. Even if just a little bit.”
“It doesn’t have to,” she said, almost too fast. “You’re the one who decided this was more than it was.”
The silence that followed stretched too long. She saw the change in his face. Something cracked behind his eyes. He didn’t move. Just looked down, quiet and small in a way that twisted her stomach.
She wanted to take it back. But her mouth kept moving.
“You can’t expect me to trust you when you won’t even tell me the full truth,” she said, not knowing if she was trying to justify herself or hurt him. “For all I care, maybe the High Warden was right. Maybe you are dangerous.”
He lifted his head, slowly. Hurt bloomed across his features, like a bruise forming in real time. Iris saw the change in his expression. His patience was slipping, the hurt breaking through in small, trembling fractures.
“Iris,” he said, voice low and held together with threads. “I would never hurt you. You have to know that.”
But she didn’t answer. And in that silence, something in him twisted. His fists curled at his sides. Not in anger, but in the desperate effort to stay still. To stay soft. To not let the frustration boiling in his chest spill out and make everything worse.
He wasn’t raised to stay silent like this. He was raised to speak with steel and certainty. But here he was, holding back the storm in his throat because she was already trembling with her own. He could feel it rising, the ache of being misunderstood, the sting of her doubt, the quiet devastation of watching her retreat again. But he swallowed it down.
Because he cared.
Because somewhere between her sharp words and guarded glances, she had started to matter more than he’d expected. More than he was ready for. And so, he looked at her. And though his heart was tired and his voice was thin, he chose not to fight.
He let out a breath, shaky and quiet.
“Corvellen and Serelune,” he said, finally. “My brother and sister.”
His voice was quieter now. Not cold. Just worn. He looked down, away from her.
“They died because of me.”
“I killed them.”