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Elain shed the pale blue cloak she had draped across her shoulders, untying the knot from around her neck, as a bead of sweat trickled down her temple. The warm afternoon sun beat down on her, as it often did in the middle of spring, when crisp mornings made way for balmy afternoons. She had been working in the sprawling gardens of the River manor for the larger part of the clear sunny day, but she wasn’t close to being done just yet.
Elain sat with her legs folded beneath her on the soft grass before one of the new garden beds she had been digging out earlier that morning. She had spent the better part of the last hour turning in fertilizer to enrich the soil, readying the earth for her peonies.
She was finally relocating the budding shrubs from the greenhouse, where she had been nursing them for close to two years now. They would be perfect by mid-summer; when they were needed. She smiled a little smile at the thought, and at how that vision had come to her all those years ago. It seemed being a Seer had its advantages after all…
As Elain mopped her brow with the back of her hand, surely smearing soil in its place, she longingly thirsted for a cool glass of water. She peered down at her simple cotton sundress, now dirty beyond hope, and frowned.
She couldn’t possibly trudge into the house with this much dirt caked onto her clothes now. She’d leave a great muddy trail on those sparkling pale floors all the way through to the kitchens. Elain cursed herself for having forgotten to don an apron before getting stuck into her work.
She was just about to stand up and attempt to dust off as much muck as possible and go grab herself a drink, when a rogue shadow swirled and thickened in a dark mass on the small wooden stool beside her. As the shadow retreated, disappearing into the sunlight, it revealed a tall, chilled pitcher of fresh lemonade and a punnet of fat, ripe strawberries.
Turning to glance up at the manor behind her, keen brown eyes darting across its grand façade, she spotted the Shadowsinger in a window on the second floor. His profile could be seen from where he stood in Rhysand’s study, no doubt in a meeting of some sort with the High Lord and the General. But the dimple in his right cheek was just visible, indicating to Elain that he was indeed supressing a smile.
She turned back to the stool, smirking at the snack deposited there by the meddling Illyrian and reached over, pouring herself a glass and taking a long drag of the cool drink. It was heavenly, the perfect balance of sweet and tart. And ice cold. Wonderfully refreshing in this heat.
She popped a plump strawberry into her mouth, savouring the sweet nectar of its flesh, and she sighed in delight. Strawberries were her absolute favourite. She enjoyed them even more so when beautiful, scarred fingers would linger against her lips as they fed them lovingly to her, one by one. On warm summer days when the humid weather rendered everyone a little lazy and she could lounge in the tall grass with her head in his lap…
Now sated, Elain turned back to her work. As she picked up her hand trowel once more, she could feel those stunning hazel eyes focused on her. She could always sense him. She didn’t need any magic to do so. His intrinsic nature was engrained within her very soul. They had always silently danced around each other, like an expertly choreographed gavotte that only the two of them knew the steps to. A mischievous little grin bloomed across her face as an idea struck her.
She worked for a little longer, digging holes deep enough for her shrubs to nestle into at even increments across the flower bed. As she stood back to inspect her handiwork with a hand on her hip, she snatched her wide brimmed hat off her head, fanning her warm face with it. She closed her eyes, her chin tilted up to the heavens and a serene look of bliss graced her face.
Cracking an eye lid open, she spotted a shadowy mass in the corner of that second story window now, the dark plumes of shadows churning like smoke across the Shadowsinger’s handsome face.
Feigning ignorance of those piercing, watchful eyes, she dropped her hat to the ground at her feet and gathered her thick, unbound hair in a fist. Her long, golden-brown tresses cascaded down her shoulders and back, and she twisted it back onto itself, attempting to secure it into a knot, exposing her long, elegant neck.
She lolled her head heavily to one side, a slim hand sweeping across the back of her nape, languidly working out a kink in her tight muscles with the tips of her fingers.
She stretched slowly, her back arching. The lines of her body elongating gracefully as her elbow rose toward the blue sky in an elegant display of tensility. Elain twisted her body just so, allowing herself a glimpse of the manor at her back. Azriel was facing her fully now, seemingly having completely given up on pretending to pay attention in his meeting, watching her sensual little display out in the garden. Her eyes sparkled with mirth.
She jumped in surprise when a shadow darted along her throat. The dark wisp twining through the tendrils of loose hair that still hung around her neck, across her collar bones, and she laughed a soft throaty laugh. She stretched an arm out to one side and watched as the bold shadow danced along her skin there, twirling along her forearm and snaking between her outstretched fingers. It cooled her flushed skin, and she allowed the rogue shadow to frolic and dance across her smooth flesh. Its caress was as soft as a breeze off the ocean, invigorating and yet serene at the same time.
Lost in the feeling of the Shadowsinger’s silent charges worshipping her skin, she felt a gentle tap on the inner gates of her mind.
She opened them, just a sliver, allowing entry to the High Lord.
Elain, love… You’re doing a fantastic job at thoroughly distracting my Spymaster. I’m certain he hasn’t listened to a single word I’ve said in the last quarter of an hour.
Elain chuckled.
Do you blame him, Rhysand? What in the Mother’s Sweet Realm could be so important that you’ve all been holed up in that stuffy, boring office all afternoon on a day like today?
Rhys’ voice came through faux scorned, clutching at the metaphorical chest in his mind.
Boring?! You wound me, sister… but, I beg of you. Just ten more minutes. Please.
He sounded exasperated and desperate enough that Elain couldn’t help but take pity on him. She just laughed again and waved her hand in dismissal.
Reaching down for her discarded hat, she replaced it atop her head, turning toward the window one last time and shooting a clandestine little smile Azriel’s way.
She watched his eyes glow golden before reluctantly turning from the window to once more join his brothers in whatever meeting they were holding.
As she settled back on her knees at the edge of the upturned earth, a final ribbon of shadow eddied and spun besides her kneeling form, before whipping off abruptly to its master once more.
Left in its’ wake was a slip of scrap paper, bearing a hastily written message in a familiar, elegant scrawl:
Just 43 days until I can call you my wife. Those peonies will look devastatingly beautiful in your arms, my love.
Elain dipped her head and smiled to herself, tucking the note into the pocket of her dress to add it to all the others he’d given her. One for every day since he had proposed.