Two days.
That was how long the village had gone without sight of Elaria.
Two days of unanswered calls through the forest paths, two days of villagers whispering behind cupped hands, two days of Lady Virelle pacing the length of her house like a trapped serpent.
By the third morning, hope had thinned into irritation.
By the third evening, irritation sharpened into resolve.
Lady Virelle stood in the center of the main room, her arms crossed tightly against her chest as the fire crackled low beside her. The shadows danced across the walls, stretching her silhouette until it looked larger, harsher.
"She should have returned by now," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else.
Lyssara sat nearby, braiding her hair slowly, deliberately. Her fingers moved with care, but her eyes were bright with something dangerous.
"Or perhaps," Lyssara said lightly, "she does not wish to return at all."
Lady Virelle's gaze snapped to her daughter. "Do not speak foolishness."
"I am not," Lyssara replied, tilting her head. "She has always been ungrateful. Always dreaming. Always staring into nothing as though she belonged somewhere else."
Lady Virelle said nothing, but the silence was heavy.
The truth she refused to name pressed against her thoughts.
Elaria had vanished on the very night her marriage had been discussed.
That was no coincidence.
A knock sounded at the door, sharp and impatient.
Lady Virelle straightened instantly. "That will be Elder Covain."
Lyssara's hands stilled.
Moments later, the door opened, and Elder Covain entered, leaning heavily on his carved staff. His presence filled the room, not with warmth, but with expectation.
His eyes swept the space. "Still no sign of the girl?"
Lady Virelle forced a polite smile. "We have searched the nearby woods. Questioned travelers. Even sent word to the neighboring villages."
"And?" he asked.
"She will return," Lady Virelle said quickly. "She is foolish, not disobedient."
Elder Covain exhaled through his nose. "You assured me she would be ready within days."
Lyssara rose slowly to her feet. "Mother did not anticipate her cowardice."
Lady Virelle shot her daughter a warning look.
Elder Covain studied Lyssara more closely now. "This one is yours?"
"Yes," Lady Virelle replied. "My daughter. Lyssara."
He nodded thoughtfully. "She bears resemblance. Stronger posture. Sharper gaze."
Lyssara felt her stomach tighten. "Thank you, Elder."
Lady Virelle stepped forward abruptly. "Elder Covain, my daughter is still young."
Lyssara turned to her in disbelief.
Young?
"She is the same age as the girl," the Elder said calmly.
Lady Virelle hesitated. "Elaria has always been… more prepared."
Lyssara let out a sharp laugh. "Prepared to scrub floors and wash cups? Is that what you mean?"
"Lyssara," Lady Virelle snapped.
But the damage was done.
Elder Covain's eyes gleamed faintly. "The agreement was clear. A bride would be presented. I have waited patiently."
"We are still searching," Lady Virelle insisted. "Give us more time."
"How much?" he asked. "Another two days? Another week?"
Lyssara folded her arms. "Mother, if Elaria has truly fled, then the matter is simple."
Lady Virelle turned sharply. "No, it is not."
Lyssara stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You said yourself the marriage was necessary. The dowry will secure our standing. The alliance will protect us."
"And it was meant for her," Lady Virelle whispered harshly.
Lyssara's eyes darkened. "Why?"
The question hung between them.
Why her and not me?
Lady Virelle had no answer that did not taste bitter.
Before she could speak, Elder Covain struck his staff lightly against the floor.
"I will not be made a fool," he said. "If the girl does not return by the next dawn, I will take the daughter who remains."
Lyssara froze.
Lady Virelle's breath caught. "You cannot mean that."
"I do," he replied calmly. "Blood is blood. A promise is a promise."
Lyssara felt heat rush to her face. "Mother?"
Lady Virelle's hands trembled. "She is my child."
"And the other was not?" Lyssara shot back.
Silence followed.
Elder Covain watched them both with measured patience. "Decide quickly. I do not bargain twice."
When he left, the house felt colder.
Lyssara turned slowly toward her mother. "You would have given me away without hesitation if I had been the one who ran."
"That is not true," Lady Virelle said sharply.
"Then why does it feel so easy now?" Lyssara demanded. "Why does it feel like you are already mourning her and forgetting me?"
Lady Virelle pressed her fingers to her temples. "You do not understand the weight of this."
"I understand perfectly," Lyssara replied. "I understand that I was never meant to be chosen."
Lady Virelle looked at her daughter then, truly looked.
For the first time, doubt crept in.
That night, Lyssara sat alone in her room, staring at her reflection in the dim light.
She imagined herself standing where Elaria once had. Silent. Obedient. Sacrificed.
Her lips curled.
"No," she whispered. "I will not be her replacement."
Outside, villagers gathered in hushed clusters, murmuring about the vanished girl, about strange winds in the forest, about a song that had been heard echoing far beyond the trees on the night Elaria disappeared.
Some said it was a blessing.
Others said it was a warning.
Lady Virelle heard none of it.
She sat awake until dawn, staring at the door, waiting for footsteps that never came.
And as the sun rose, Elder Covain's ultimatum echoed in her mind.
If Elaria did not return, Lyssara would be the bride.
Whether she wished it or not.
The house was quiet, but not at peace.
Lady Virelle sat at the small wooden table, her fingers wrapped tightly around a cup she had long forgotten to drink from. The flame of the lamp trembled, casting restless shadows against the walls, as though even the light was uneasy.
Lyssara stood near the window, arms folded, watching the night beyond the glass.
"She is not coming back," Lyssara said at last.
Lady Virelle did not look up. "Do not say that."
"We have waited two days," Lyssara continued, her voice steady but edged with impatience. "Two days, Mother. No footsteps. No message. Not even a rumor strong enough to cling to."
"She could be lost," Lady Virelle replied quietly. "Or frightened."
"Or free," Lyssara said sharply.
That made Lady Virelle raise her head.
"You think she fled because of us," she said.
"I know she did," Lyssara answered. "You saw her face that night. You heard her voice when Elder Covain was mentioned. She knew what was coming."
Lady Virelle closed her eyes briefly. "It was necessary."
"For our survival," Lyssara said. "Yes. You taught me that."
Lady Virelle's grip tightened around the cup. "I did not expect her to disappear."
"But you expected her to obey," Lyssara replied. "You always did."
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths.
Finally, Lady Virelle spoke. "Elder Covain will return at dawn."
Lyssara turned from the window. "And if Elaria is still gone?"
Lady Virelle did not answer immediately.
"Say it," Lyssara pressed. "Say what we both know."
Lady Virelle's voice was low. "Then he will take you."
Lyssara let out a humorless laugh. "So the sacrifice simply changes faces."
"You are my daughter," Lady Virelle said sharply. "Do you think this does not tear at me?"
"Then why agree to it at all?" Lyssara demanded.
"Because the world does not bend for poor widows," Lady Virelle snapped. "Because alliances matter. Because protection matters. Because I refuse to be cast aside."
Lyssara stared at her mother, seeing not cruelty, but fear.
"So we planned it together," Lyssara said slowly. "You and I."
Lady Virelle did not deny it.
"We chose Elaria," Lyssara continued. "Because she was quiet. Because she endured. Because she would not fight back."
Lady Virelle looked away. "She was suitable."
Lyssara's lips curved bitterly. "And now she has ruined everything."
Lady Virelle rose abruptly. "Do not speak of her as though she is a curse."
"Then what is she?" Lyssara asked. "A blessing? A ghost?"
Lady Virelle turned to face her fully. "She is a problem."
The word settled heavily between them.
Lyssara exhaled slowly. "Then problems must be solved."
Lady Virelle studied her daughter's face carefully. "What are you thinking?"
Lyssara hesitated, then spoke with deliberate calm. "We cannot wait for her to return."
"We have no choice," Lady Virelle replied. "If she walks through that door before dawn, the matter ends."
"And if she does not?" Lyssara asked.
Lady Virelle's jaw tightened. "Then Elder Covain will demand certainty."
Lyssara stepped closer. "We can give him that."
Lady Virelle's eyes flickered. "How?"
Lyssara lowered her voice. "By ensuring Elaria cannot return."
Lady Virelle inhaled sharply. "You mean finding her."
"And if we cannot?" Lyssara pressed. "If the forest swallowed her whole?"
Lady Virelle was silent.
"Then," Lyssara continued softly, "there will be no doubt. No waiting. No hope for Elder Covain to cling to."
Lady Virelle's hands trembled. "You are suggesting we end the search."
"I am suggesting we close the door," Lyssara replied. "Properly."
Lady Virelle turned away, pacing. "If the villagers believe she may yet return—"
"Then they will keep watching," Lyssara interrupted. "Whispering. Questioning. Hoping."
She stopped in front of her mother. "Hope is dangerous."
Lady Virelle looked at her daughter, truly looked at her.
"When did you grow so cold?" she asked quietly.
Lyssara's expression hardened. "When I realized love does not protect you."
Lady Virelle swallowed. "And if she is alive?"
"Then she is choosing not to come back," Lyssara replied. "Either way, she has chosen herself."
Lady Virelle closed her eyes.
After a long moment, she spoke. "The villagers must believe she is lost."
Lyssara nodded slowly. "And Elder Covain must believe there is no alternative."
Lady Virelle opened her eyes again, resolve replacing hesitation. "At dawn, I will tell him the forest has claimed her."
Lyssara's breath eased. "And the marriage?"
Lady Virelle's voice was steady now. "Will proceed."
Lyssara looked down at her hands. "I will not beg him."
"You will not need to," Lady Virelle said. "He already wants certainty more than affection."
The lamp flickered again.
Outside, the wind brushed against the shutters, carrying with it the faintest echo of something distant, something melodic, something unresolved.
Lyssara frowned slightly. "Did you hear that?"
Lady Virelle shook her head. "It is nothing."
But Lyssara was not so sure.
Far away, beyond forest and fate, Elaria's absence was becoming more than a disappearance.
It was becoming a decision made in her name.
And when dawn came, the village would awaken to a truth carefully shaped by two women who had already chosen who must bear the cost.