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"You have to wake up, my Elva. You haven't even heard all the stories I have to tell you." The lump in my throat grows, making it difficult to speak around. "We have to go see the Wolpertinger when it snows. Gods, you would love them. They're so ugly." A sniffling laugh escapes me. "They're little bunnies with antlers and wings and sharp teeth so large they cut their own lips open whenever they eat. I haven't even told you about them yet because I wanted to show them to you. To see the surprised, ecstatic look on your face when you see one.
"They only live in the Eyes' territory, right on the border of Elomid and the Forbidden Forest. They're some of the few fair folk who dare venture so far from their home—and only in the middle of winter. Don't ask me why I was already planning that far ahead, even knowing you'd be long gone before then."
Not even a flinch, just the shallow, steady movement of her chest. Every second she's unconscious destroys what's left of my sanity. My people and the visitors from every nation around us are downstairs, trapped in a ballroom, waiting to see if they live or die.
"You can't die, my sweet," I confess to my sleeping Elva. "If you do, everyone downstairs will, too. I know you don't give a fuck about your own safety, but please, just wake up. For them, for your fucking peace you've worked so hard to achieve. Even if it's just to yell at me for doing this to our guests downstairs, please, you have to wake up."
Her colorless, almost lifeless form remains still, just as I knew it would. And probably will remain until her body can no longer try to regain the blood it's lost, and she's gone from this world forever.
"I'm sorry, little king," Olath's voice floats into my ear from behind me.
"Us, too," Onala and Ovoor add.
I really don't want to deal with the incessant, relentless madness from the witches, so I ignore them, hoping they'll just fuck right off.
"It was unavoidable," Onala's somber tone makes my chest ache even more. I don't want their pity. I just want Elva. "There was not a single future in which it didn't happen. Her coming here set her future in stone."
I stand suddenly, the chair flying out from under me. "Then what was the fucking point of all of this?"
"It's not just about her," Onala breathes, her eyes somewhere far away. "This moment impacts every living thing in this world. It had to come to pass, and whether she lives or dies, the future of everyone hinges on her."
"That's such a heavy responsibility for someone so young and frail, someone who's not even conscious." I rub my eyes with a thumb and forefinger.
The witches all share a look. "We care for her too, you know," Olath finally admits. "You're not the only one mourning her."
"She's not dead," I grit.
"She might be," Onala admits. "She both is and is not, and only she can decide which outcome is true."
"So what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait?" I look behind me at the sullen, gray version of my lively Elva, each second of staring at her perfect, barely breathing body an eternity of pain.
"You find her attacker," Ovoor tells me. "You find them and do what you must."
"But you know who it is." My teeth clench, not willing to look at them. "You could just tell me."
"We cannot interfere, little king. You know this," Onala chides me like a child.
"Why not?" I throw my hands in the air. "Why can't you help us? Help her?"
"We can." Olath slowly nods. "We will watch over her while you find vengeance."
Onala adds, "She's under no threat. Not for some time, in fact. Or ever if she dies now."
"So, go do what you must and destroy your enemies," Ovoor comments. "You know who they are, even if you don't know that you know."
Riddles and nonsense, these witches speak.
"I'm staying with Elva," I demand. "Until she wakes."
"There's nothing you can do for her here." Olath lifts my chair, setting it where I had it, and taking a seat. "Go. We have her. She's important, remember?"
Onala places a hand on my shoulder, and I have to fight not to flinch away from her touch. She always looks like any part of her is sharp enough to slice someone open. "Go find answers. If she wakes, we will bring her to you. If she does not, you'll need the proof only your prisoners can provide."
I consider arguing again, but even this bit of information they've given me, and their willingness to stay with Elva, is more than I ever could have asked from them. Whatever the reason, they seem to need Elva to wake up even more than I do. And while I wait, I can do what I do best.
So I grab my discarded helm and cloak, dawning the visage that I've done so many times before. I shake out the fear, the anxiety growing in my stomach, the utter terror of seeing Elva so lifeless. Then I go to face my prisoners.
Nothing.
