Mia's POV
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A snow storm started around sunset. It's dark now, but outside the windows I can still see the snow swirling, dancing around in a chaotic mass, white flecks in the night. The wind howls outside, pulling the snow in every direction. It's almost as if the weather knows what was set in stone today. A storm to mirror the storm to come. The snowflakes stick to the windows as they silently slam against it, melting from the inside warmth and running in teardrops down the glass panes.
A long, refreshing sigh escapes me as I stroll down the carpet-laid floor, heading to the alcove. Even though the storm isn't exactly peaceful, there's something comforting about storms. They are fun to wait out, because you have to stay inside and be all cozy. Then, when the storm is over, there is that specific, crisp post-storm smell that fills your nose and makes the world around you feel clean and new.
The alcove is a perfect place to watch the storm, since sleeping isn't an option right now. I tried, but I kept tossing and turning and sweating, until I eventually decided to walk it off.
The fireplace, like usual, is lit, and the huge window that usually shows a city of trees now only shows a few hundred feet ahead of it, the rest shrouded in snowy clouds. I'm sure El or Knox could still see just as well, though. A gust of wind whistles against the tree outside, throwing more snow onto the window. I watch the storm for a few minutes, how the snow sticks to the sides of trees and covers the cobblestones of the paths below me.
Eventually I walk over to stand in front of the fireplace, staring into it. The flames lick high, shifting from orange to yellow to red to the occasional blue. The black logs holding the flames glow and pulse with embers, snapping and popping. I close my eyes and take another deep breath, trying to acknowledge my thoughts, then let them go. Standing meditation, I guess.
After a few minutes of staring into the fire my thoughts go deeper into my head, my eyes unfocusing involuntarily as I let my thoughts consume me. Every thought, worry, and question I've had today all get their turn in the forefront my thoughts, until I've gone through every one of them. I don't answer the questions or think too hard about the worries, I just listen to them, then let them go.
It works. Mostly. All except that one nagging thought. Is it my fault that there is going to be a war? Did I say the wrong thing?
I know El talked to me about it, but it still hasn't sunken in yet. I need- I don't even know. I think I need some reassurance that yes, war is happening or no, war is not happening, in order to accept what is to come and move on.
A ringing replaces the thoughts in my head, a note only I can hear, and I blink, resurfacing from my thoughts, back to the crackling of the fire and the howling of the storm outside. Warm, smoky air fills my lungs as I take a deep breath, noticing that while I was thinking I was so focused on my thoughts that my breaths were getting shallow. Is that possible, to forget to breathe? It shouldn't be.
My ears pick up the sound of soft footsteps, and I turn. Knox is walking down the hall, hair down and dressed in the usual night wear, a loose top and baggy pants. Hot, per usual. I almost start laughing as the thought pops up. What the hell, Mia.
He must notice my movement because his eyes, which were on the ground a second ago, now pierce mine.
"Not surprised to see me?" I ask, smirking. Knox shrugs with a small smile, walking over and stopping by the window.
"Not really."
"Why are you up?"
"The usual, couldn't sleep. You?"
I give him a look, raising my eyebrows. "You know why."
Knox nods, looking down, his hair falling over his shoulders. When he looks back to me his eyes hold emotions I try to read. Not pity, which is what I would expect from the conversation those eyes are about to start. But worry, the kind that isn't worrying because of the situation itself, but because they care about you.
"I probably shouldn't bother asking if you're okay," he says quietly, staring outside at the ongoing storm. I sigh and look at my feet, covered in only socks. It reminds me, suddenly, of when I was running away from the Cin for the first time, and my slippers got ripped off of my feet when I jumped into the snowbank. How I ran through the snow in only my socks, until Knox gave me his boots.
"No, probably not," I answer. Silence stretches between us, and I can feel the tension building, like electricity buzzing in the air. The words are on the tip of my tongue. It sounds stupid, but I need more reassurance about this. Knox is the prince of this place, after all. He should know what's best almost as much as Rose.
"Did I make the right choice?" I wanted to say it with poise, but instead it comes out almost a whisper. I sound scared, which I hate. But there's no use hiding my emotions from Knox. He seems to be able to read me like a book even when I lock it. Somehow he always seems to have the key.
"Yes, Mia, you made the right choice," he says, enunciating the words. Like it will somehow make them have more meaning. He walks over till he's standing next to me, staring at the fire with me.
"I just- it's all so confusing." My thoughts are discombobulated now, especially because he's standing so close that his shoulder brushes mine as he shifts.
"What if I said yes? Maybe I should have gone, found a way to die there so nobody would know where the stone is and there would be no war, maybe-"
My words are screeched to a halt as Knox grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him.
"Mia, stop. You're going to drive yourself crazy if you keep second guessing yourself. You made the right decision. You never, ever go with the Cin. Ever. Okay? You being here, fighting in a war, is safer, better, than being with the Cin." His voice is suddenly very serious, and I'm a little taken aback.
"How do you know that?" I ask in a harsh whisper. Knox folds his arms over his chest and looks away, as if in deep thought. A moment later he walks out of the alcove, into the hallway. He turns and beckons for me to follow. I trudge silently behind him.
We walk up many stairs, then down a small hallway I've never been down. The end of that hallway opens up to a larger one, another one I have not yet seen. It's bigger than the other ones, and has tapestries and paintings of elves along the walls. I see a portrait of Rose, sitting with perfect posture and smiling softly. Knox stops at a door under a portrait of a beautiful elf woman, with golden blond hair and light brown eyes. The door has no lock, and he steps inside, the lanterns somehow automatically glowing to life.
The room is about the size of my bedroom here, and the walls are covered in paintings of elves. The paintings are all held on the wall by identical silver frames. Tiny diamonds that look like stars are nestled in nooks and crannies of the frames, winking out at me. There is no furniture, but I notice when I look up that the ceiling is a window, the magic of the place keeping the snow off, allowing me to see the dull glow of the stars above the raging snow.
Turning back to the portraits, I gasp. Right there, surrounded by a beautiful silver frame is a portrait of my dad. He has short hair, how it always was when I grew up with him. His ears are pointy, which is something I never considered. How did he hide them? I've seen pictures of him at home, from old photo albums, but this one feels right. He's in a golden tunic, and his face is young and happy, smiling down at me with bright green eyes.
I smile up at the picture, feeling an emotional tug in my gut at the sight of him here. My eyes shift around the rest of the room, at all the portraits hung on the wall, so many you can't even see the wall itself.
"What is this place?" I breathe, turning in a full circle.
"The Relic Room. Well, that's what it translates to in English, anyway. It's sort of a memorial for all the souls of the leaders that have passed on."
"Why are we here?" I walk over to Knox looking around more.
"To show you something. See anyone familiar?" He gestures to the wall in front of him. I scan it for a second, then spot it.
There is a portrait of an elven man, with light blond hair and a kind but strong look in his amber eyes. Knox looks so similar to him- same straight nose, same eyes, same hair. Under the portrait of the man there is a smaller one, of a family. In it I see Rose and the man in the picture above, standing side by side, looking forward with soft smiles. Standing in between them, hands clasped in front of him, is a little elf boy. His ears are slightly pointed, and he is about as tall as Rose's waist. Blond hair, amber eyes, looks about five or six years old. A bright, toothy smile on his face lights up his whole expression. Knox.
"That's you!" I laugh as I look at the picture more.
"Yeah," Knox replies, leaning over with me to study the painting. He points to the man that looks so alike to him.
"That is my father, Rothilion. He was good friends with your father, actually. But he perished from the last war, too." A sad look crosses Knox's face. The kind of sorrow that looks far away, like a memory, but you know how they must be reliving the agony inside.
"He was taken as a prisoner of the Cin during the war. We never saw him again."
A raw feeling lurches inside me, my heart aches for him. I'm not sure if I should ask anything. But I know he's strong.
"Did you try to rescue him?"
"Of course. Every rescue attempt ended up more and more as a suicide mission. Everyone was taken or killed. The ones who made it back told my mother about it, but I never heard. I was five when he was taken, too. But time is different here. You might not remember your dad well from that long ago, but here, where we can live thousands of years..." He blows out a tired breath and shakes his head, closing his eyes.
"I remember him like it was just last week that he was here."
Pain stabs at me, deeper than any physical pain. I understand him. Not quite to the extent of how elves remember, but I know how it feels to lose someone so important to you.
I don't know what kind of instincts these are, but I listen to my gut and grab Knox's hand.
"I'm so sorry." Those words don't nearly sum up how much I empathize with him, but it'll have to do, and I think he knows what I mean. He squeezes my hand gratefully and turns towards me, grabbing my other hand.
"That is what happens when you go with the Cin," he says softly, looking me straight in the eyes. I had forgotten why we were here for a moment, but when I do I understand. I see the pain in his eyes, the longing for someone who could or could not be dead, for which you have no way of knowing. That is a torture in and of itself.
"That is why you never go with the Cin. Ever. Okay?" There is a determination in his voice, one that tells me he will not let me disagree.
"Okay," I reply, looking down at our joined hands, feeling the warmth of his hands spread through my cold ones. I feel safe here, but another some small part of me I don't understand suddenly feels the need to pull my hands away. Which doesn't make sense.
"Besides, I wasn't going to let you say yes to their deal anyway."
When I look back up Knox is smirking, and I laugh silently. I'm grateful for the mood lift.
"Oh really? What were you going to do, fight them off all by yourself?"
"If that's what it would've taken, then yes," he replies, his tone half nonchalant and half serious. I just stare at him for a second, not sure what to say.
Knox turns and takes one last look at his father. I step away from him to get another look at mine.
I take in every inch of the picture, smiling fondly at it for a few more seconds. I wish I could tell him how much I miss him. But he is dead, and I have to accept that. He will always live in my memories, and I can accept his fate. Soon I will have to accept mine.
I walk out and don't look back.
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Background story moment;)