House of Shadows and Stars

As he herded her towards the door of his chambers, he realized that navigating through the cathedral and to the carriage was going to be impossible. He refused to hold her hand. Their heights were simply incompatible: he would have to lean to the side as he walked just to match her, and part of him would rather never go out again than be seen like that. Carrying her was more impossible. In the end, Elliot settled on the assistance of an iris. With the end of the stem in his hand and the flower in hers, he bridged the gap.

They made it to the carriage without further issue. The ostiary even complimented Elena's hairpiece—not that she noticed—while they trundled down the snow-lined path. Her deadweight didn't help him lift her into the cab, and her seat right at the window didn't help him join her, but Elliot comforted himself in thinking that the Shadowstar residence was not far.

"Their names are Ceridwen and Sirus," Elliot coached her.

Elena pushed her cheek into the window and said, "Mm."

The iris didn't work once they reached the stairs ascending to the front doors. Elliot took her hand to balance and encourage her through each tall step, inwardly noting the committed scrunch of her face as something to tell Nolanel.

Since there was no guard to admit them, Elliot let Elena press the doorbell.

Ceridwen answered just as Elena began scraping her new shoes against the stoop.

"Elliot! I'm so glad we could have you. Sirus is inside; I have him tending my chocolate to watch for bubbles. I hope the two of you have the time to wait for it to set?" Ceridwen took both of Elliot’s hands fondly and squeezed them.

"I hope so," he returned, looking pleadingly at Elena.

Ceridwen shifted her attention to the girl too. "Miss Elena, have you had pan au chocolate afore?"

She thought about it. "Can I have one?"

"They'll be finished soon," Ceridwen promised.

Elliot inched forward. "I apologize for being so direct, but do you have any refreshments immediately available?"

"I'm hungry," interjected Elena.

"Oh, good!" said Ceridwen.

Elena turned her head toward the left wall. "It doesn't feel good."

"We have plenty to fix that—we just have to join my brother." Ceridwen turned slowly to lead the ungainly pair into the estate.

Her massive tulle skirt rippled as she walked, flowing around the legs of side tables and undulating through open doorways. 

Elena pursued the rustling sound as they walked. In under ten seconds, her walk became a run, and the run into a complete forward tumble.

"No no no—Don't—Ugh!" Elliot wailed, reaching for her.

She didn't care. The tiny girl hugged the plush fabric, no worse for wear, and giggled as she stood with iron fists of fluff.

Ceridwen laughed with her, then knelt to to inquire if she were truly fine.

"It's not fine at all!" Elliot started, his voice rising in its pique. "She can be so inconsiderate of people. Clothes are as much of a person as all of their property. She's mistaken a lady's dress skirts for the curtains once, and tried to hide among them—I still have not lived it down."

Three things happened. Ceridwen ignored Elliot, offered her hand to Elena, and waited for the girl to bore herself when help was refused.

Elliot watched those three things from another world. It surprised him how much he hated them. If he were a different man, he would have patience, acceptance, and humor. He knew he had those things—for others. For the girl who was suddenly in his life until he died, and who he did not want there, he had none.

But she was just a child in a new place-—and it was no fault of hers that she didn't trust him. He didn't want to be near her—-she was mercurial and weird and loud—and he had work to do that couldn't include a blind urchin.

They were stuck with each other whether they liked it or not when Nolanel left. He couldn't just tell her that she'd been abandoned so Nolanel could return to war. He couldn't be her father, either, although he had no good reason for that.

He and Elena were acquaintances living together, even if she had no appreciation for poetry and he did not share her fondness for ripping paper into tiny strips. Sometimes he was convinced that she calculated her day according to what would annoy him most.

But if he wanted Elena to behave politely, then he must be polite first. His voice lowered. "Thank you for being so kind. I don't know what I'm doing."

Ceridwen frowned pityingly, but in a way that showed she disapproved. "Do you not recall a whit of Vhene's upbringing when she was so young? Children are not angels, no matter how we paint cherubs."

"Of course I do," he insisted, "but Vhene had Norhi and all the force of the Bellworks behind her upbringing. 'Twas a bit strange, but she still had an entire party of adults to tell her not to climb up the kitchen cabinets."

"I'm sure they were only successful in deterring her half the time."

"That's true," Elliot grumbled.

Ceridwen rose to her feet and allowed the child to hold onto her skirt at they continued. "But Elena has you, your father, and all the rest—she shan't beat the table in a drum march because her food hasn't arrived timely enough. You won't let her."

Elliot impatiently nodded. "Yes, but heaven knows what else she keeps for dinner manners when she's excited. She probably had wolves for parents afore she had Nolanel. He's hardly any better."

Ceridwen looked blandly over at him and centered the charm on her necklace. "I doubt you. Ser Feran is as polite as a knight comes. It's true he intuits nothing in the language of gossip, but at one request he is the most accommodating creature I've ever met in a ballroom."

"That's because he's frightened out of his wits and desperate for guidance. Once he's comfortable and knows you enough, he forgets what it is to compromise."

Sirus whistled a falling note from the kitchen. "Damn," he cringed, appearing in the doorway. "Dwen was correct when she said this intervention would be for you more than the kid."

Elena followed Ceridwen past him into the kitchen. It was a massive, organized, efficient affair of countertops and containers. Elliot remained outside while Ceridwen swept around the island and poured a ramekin full of assorted berries. She handed it to Elena.

Elliot leaned against the opposite side of the doorframe and wagged a hand at Sirus. He wanted to talk of anything—even for a moment—that wasn't children. "Sirus. Have you patronized The Brume Closet recently? I heard there is a mistress proprietor now. When did ownership change hands?"

Sirus pressed deeper into his share of doorframe casually. "Oh, it's not so much of a change. I mean, some change, but just from an old name to a new one."

"Oh, very good," he replied, though he sounded absent. 

For the time being, Elena devoured blueberries in the same silence the room took on. Steam and scents wafted from one of the ovens while chocolate cooled at the other side of the room, away from its heat.

Ceridwen resumed her harassment. "Vhene is also nine, now, in case you've forgotten."

Elliot recoiled and slumped. "Why does the new youth so often do naught but remind me of my age!"

Sirus tilted his head. "How much older are we than him again?"

"Stop making fun of me!"

"I mean, you've asked for it," Sirus shrugged. "Coming here to wallow about how you've made enemies with your own kid."

"But she's not my child," Elliot sulked.