Vesta lets out the breath she’s been holding when E’ni’cala tells her that it’s been sent. Relief softens her shoulders, and she returns the hug tightly. “Thank you,” she murmurs. When she draws back, she nods, offering a warm, if weary smile. “I’ll have tea waiting for you next time. And perhaps a few new chapters from my book.” She readies herself to leave. “You take care of yourself too, alright?”
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“Yes, it is.” Vesta slips the bag over her head and places it gently in the elf’s hands. “I appreciate this, E’ni’cala. Truly. And tell Lord Marquanthis that I am grateful to him as well.” Her gaze drops to the floor, a soft smile touching her lips even as sadness lingers in her eyes. “This matter is very dear to me.” She says quietly. “I leave it in your hands.”
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Vesta’s confidence falters, just slightly.
“Well… I don’t have any coin. But-” She shifts her bag off her shoulder and nudges it towards E’ni’cala, opening it with a small, almost sheepish motion. Inside rests a wheel of cheese, carefully wrapped. “I have this. I’ve been saving it for an emergency. I’m hoping it’s enough.”
She exhales softly.
“If not, I can volunteer my services as well. For as long as it takes. Scrying, healing, whatever is needed.”
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Ignoring the blood and whatever else she might have on her, Vesta steps forward and wraps E’ni’cala in a tight embrace. She holds on for a few long seconds before pulling back.
“Sorry. It’s been a rough morning.” She sniffs, brushing quickly beneath her eyes. “I… need to send a letter to Tristan. A missive.”
Her fingers twist together in front of her.
“I know I could go to the Mage’s Guild, but I don’t really know anyone there. And this…” Her voice wavers just slightly. “This is too important to place in unfamiliar hands. I need someone I can trust. I was hoping you might know someone here.”
She straightens a little.
“I can pay, of course.”
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Vesta approaches the Guild of Light looking like a shadow of herself. There are no silken skirts, no glittering jewelry save for the ring on her finger. Her curls are not carefully arranged. Instead, her hair has been pulled up hastily. Her clothes are practical. Where kohl and shimmer would normally frame her eyes, there is only bare skin and the faint redness of someone who has been crying for far too long.
She pauses at the entrance just long enough to steady herself, gathering what composure she can.
Once inside, she moves quietly to the desk. Her voice is softer than usual, stripped of its usual lilt.
“I would like to see E’ni’cala, please.”
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“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Vesta turns towards the vardo, taking a few steps before hesitating. She pauses at the threshold and glances back at Storm.
“My ear’s always open for you too, Storm,” she says softly. “Goodnight.”
She gives her a small wave, then slips inside the vardo and closes the door gently behind her.
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“Yeah…” Vesta says quietly, her gaze lowered. “Friends should matter to us…”
She smooths her skirts absently, drawing in a slow breath.
“I feel a little better. Not a lot. But… it’s something.” She gives a small shake of her head. “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”
There’s a faint, tired curve to her mouth.
“I don’t think there’s anything else.” A brief pause. “Thank you for listening, Storm.”
She hesitates, then adds softly, “Sorry to disturb you with my antics.”
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Vesta listens to Storm, nodding here and there, though her gaze stays lowered at first. Eventually she wipes at her face again, dragging in a slow breath that trembles on the way out.
“I can’t… not- not yet.” She shakes her head, fingers twisting in her skirts. “Not until I can get it together. Not until I can make it up to her.” She exhales shakily and tips her head back towards the sky for a moment, blinking hard as if trying to dry the last of the tears there.
“It’s not her fault that I’m a coward. I can at least make an effort that’s more than just words.” Her breathing begins to steady. The sobbing has stopped, though her voice is still raw around the edges. She presses her palms flat against her cheeks, grounding herself.
“I can’t ask her to look into Forsetidale business.” She swallows. “I just have to wait to hear from Tristan… and hope nothing is terribly wrong.”
She mutters something in Tovi under her breath, then lightly slaps at her cheeks again, leaving them flushed. “It sucks not knowing if he’s okay…”
A few more tears slip free, but she brushes them away almost irritably this time.
“Ugh. I’m annoying myself with all this. If I could fight half as well as I cry, the famine would have been resolved ages ago.” She gives a breath of a laugh that borders on hysterical, then reins it in, drawing her shoulder back, finally caring enough to sit properly.
“I still need to find a group to go hunt werewolves. That definitely can’t happen until I know Tristan’s okay. But I’m going to do it.” Her jaw tightens slightly. “I might even… take a swing at them myself.” Her fingers curl into her skirts again, but this time it’s in resolve.
“Perhaps Jade would appreciate something tastefully made from a werewolf.” She shudders, as if the words are contradicting themselves. “Maybe something from the teeth. Or whatever those from Seshtau like.”
She waves a hand dismissively.
“She knows how terrified I am of the creatures. If I'm willing to face that for her… maybe she’ll forgive me for being stupid.”
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Vesta follows Storm with uneven steps, her breath hitching, small broken sounds escaping her no matter how hard she tries to swallow them down.When Storm tells her to sit, she collapses onto the rock, skirts spilling over the stone. She draws her knees to her chest and tries to steady her breathing, but it only comes in sharp, shaking pulls.“I-I’m sorry if I’m bothering you,” she blurts through tears. “I know this is ridiculous. I know I’m not exactly… likable. I know I can be a bitch, and dramatic, and if you think I’m insufferable and pathetic I really don’t blame you. If you never want to speak to me again after this because this is embarrassing, that’s fine, I just-”Her voice cracks.She folds in on herself, burying her face in her hands as a sob tears out of her chest. It’s ugly and unrestrained. She drags her palms down her face, then slaps her own cheeks lightly as if she can shock herself back into composure.“Normally I’d just talk to Tristan,” she says. “But yesterday the Forsetidale Knights showed up and said he had to come back with them. They had their swords drawn and everything-”Her breathing quickens.“And I know it’s because of me. After what happened with Jade, I got drunk and upset and tried to leave Volaire in the middle of the night when it was freezing, and if Tristan hadn’t come after me I would have died. And it’s not the first time I’ve almost…” She trails off. “So I know I scared him, and he stayed by my side. He’s been missing classes. There’s rumors going around, and now all the nobles are furious, and Charlotte’s putting out the fires. He had to go back. He said not to worry, but how am I not supposed to worry when it’s my fault?”The words tumble faster and faster, barely separated by breath.“And I can’t even scry to see what’s happening, because if I look and something’s wrong, I won’t be able to fix it. I’ll just spiral. And I can’t handle that right now because I’m just-”She scrubs at her face again, eyes red and glassy.“I can’t talk to Edgar. I can’t talk to Zinna, or Zuigrii, or E’ni’cala, because I can’t bear looking like a fool in front of them.”Her laugh is brittle, collapsing immediately into another sob.“And I can’t talk to my best friend because I fucked that up too. I yelled at Jade in front of her barony. I knew we were walking into a death trap and I panicked. It turned into a screaming match. She pulled her rank on me, so I left. Kalil told me she could have me killed for it, and I know that.”
Her hands curl into fists in her skirts.“Every time I think about apologizing to her, all I see is death. All I can think about is the time she did actually kill me, and I’m scared to go through that again. She’s my best friend. I love her.” Her voice thins. “And I’m scared of her…”Her shoulders shake harder.“It’s so stupid! She apologized to me. I doubt she would actually hurt me. And I still can’t make things right. I’m just a coward.”She presses her fists to her eyes.“Jade would do nearly anything for me and I can’t do this for her.”Her voice cracks completely.“What is wrong with me? I ruin everything. My clan calls me a curse and maybe they’re right.” She says hollowly. “Everywhere I go, I just fuck things up.”The words spill out without restraint now.“I wasn’t even supposed to live this long. I was supposed to burn out. And now I’m engaged, and I have people I actually care about, and I can’t even be there for them because I’m selfish and stupid and weak.”She chokes on the last word.“I’m drowning in all this guilt.”She drags in a shaky breath.“And now I sound like some self-loathing pity party and you’re probably regretting not just turning me away, and I can’t even leave because I don’t want to be by myself-”Her voice breaks again, sharp and painful.“I’m sorry,” she whispers hoarsely. “I should be pulling myself together instead of just crying about this shit. I’m sorry.”
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Nill is crouched a few feet away from Storm, rolling a small black die across the dirt with careful concentration. She glances up as Vesta approaches, before dropping her gaze back to the die, uninterested. When Storm asks what’s wrong, Vesta bursts into tears. They start flowing down her cheeks, and she drags the heel of her hands across her face, visibly irritated with herself at being unable to keep it together.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry,” she rushes out, voice wavering. “I’m trying not to be so… dramatic, I just-” She hiccups. “I just don’t have anyone else to talk to. Tristan got taken to Forsetidale by the knights, and I can’t get into the manor to see Edgar, and I obviously can’t talk to Jade right now, and I was up crying all night and I just can’t-”
The sentence collapses under another wave of tears. Her shoulders hitch as she struggles to steady her breathing.
Nill looks up again. Her expression stays flat, but her wings give an awkward, unsettled twitch.
“I… will go do the helping of Cassia,” she announces quietly.
Without waiting for a response, the pixie gathers her die and scampers off, disappearing around the nearest structure. Vesta shakes her head quickly, as though embarrassed to have caused a scene.
“I just… I thought maybe I could talk to you,” she says, her voice smaller now. “But if you don’t want to deal with me, I can just go back-” Her words falter. “I-I’ll be okay by myself. I just…”
Her arms fold tightly around her torso, shoulders trembling as she stares stubbornly at the ground, unable to meet Storm’s eyes.
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The day after Tristan returns to Forsetidale, Vesta finds herself walking the road to Kog’Thrak with more urgency than she means to show. Her steps are quick, arms folded tight against herself. Her hair has been hastily twisted into a messy bun, loose curls falling free. Dark circles shadow her eyes, faintly puffy from a night that offered little rest. When the village comes into view, she slows. She stops just outside the entrance, hesitating. After a moment, she turns and takes several steps back the way she came, only to halt, jaw tightening. With a frustrated breath, she pivots again. Forward. Back. Forward once more. The indecision plays out in small, restless movements before she finally steels herself and steps inside. She approaches a guard and asks, as evenly as she can manage, where she might find Storm. Given a direction, she nods and moves on. As she walks through the village, she keeps her gaze forward and to herself, ignoring any looks that may follow her.
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Vesta’s brow knits together, the composure she’d put on beginning to fray around the edges.
“Oh. I… I didn’t know.” The words come softer than she intends. For a fleeting second she simply stands there, hands hovering uselessly at her sides. She shifts awkwardly, eyes flicking to anywhere but the guards. “Sorry for disturbing you, then.”
With that, she turns on her heel. She folds her arms tight against her chest, and her head dips, silvery curls spilling forward to shield her expression. Without another word, she begins walking in the direction of her vardo, eyes fixed firmly to the ground.
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When E’ni’cala leaves for the evening, Vesta insists on walking her back to the Guild of Light. The thought of returning to her empty vardo makes her chest tighten, so she begins walking towards the manor portal instead.
She curtsies to the guards as she approaches, smoothing her expression into something composed.
"Good evening. I'm here to visit Sir Edgar."
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Vesta returns the smile, but it’s thinner now, carefully placed and not quite reaching her eyes. She leans forward and takes E’ni’cala’s hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“You’re more than welcome to stay,” she says softly. “But if you’d rather go, I understand.” A heavy sigh slips from her.
“If I don’t keep myself distracted, I’m going to start overthinking. Or try to look in on it.” Her gaze drifts to the cabinet where she keeps her scrying materials. “I probably shouldn’t. It isn’t my place to intrude on matters that don’t concern me.”
Her fingers tighten slightly around E’ni’cala’s before she lets go.
“I’m sure whatever it is, Charlotte and Tristan will resolve it,” she says, aiming for confidence.
But the worry lingers in her expression, and her eyes keep flicking towards the door, as though she half expects him to walk back in at any moment.
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