Dakadza is gone.
Geddis has eaten dinner without him, still in her usual green chair in the rooms they've shared. She's holding the envelope he left her, staring at it.
Her eyes burn with unshed tears, and she fights not to tremble. He's left her, just like her father and brother and first lover and—
No, she reminds herself sharply. He's left to do something, not left her, and the others hadn't precisely left her, either.
Dakadza is the first who's actually said goodbye, though.
Which also wasn't the others' fault, exactly, but at least her father should have thought to say something to his younger daughter before leaving for years.
Dakadza sought her out and informed her of his departure in person. He even left this letter, for when she's ready to find out what's happened to her son, demonstrating more attention to her, more understanding of her, than anyone else ever has. Not even Liathen.
...Or is she obsessing again, letting her memory exaggerate and focus on the wrong things? It's not as if her continued dislike of Evonalé is ultimately the girl's fault.
Geddis releases the envelope, watches it flutter to the stone floor. She's tempted to toss it in the fire that keeps the room warm through the evening, but she would regret that more than she does letting it sit there, unopened.
She can't bear to open it, though. Her son is dead. He must be, or her magic would Find him.
The only news Dakadza could've left her is how Firthé died, and she can't bear to read it.
YOU ARE READING
1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of ... (#6)
FantasySome mistakes take months or years to collapse. Some take centuries... The elven kingdom of Marsdenfel is poised on a precipice. Its father, Breidentel, has essentially collapsed and become its child. Salles, its old longtime alley, has been chafing...
