Chapter Twenty-One
Athdara’s steps were heavy.
She felt as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
Never, since leaving Breda, had she felt such soul-crushing disappointment and grief.
She’d had to endure so much in her young life, most particularly in the last two years, but leaving Tay was going to be the most difficult choice she’d ever had to make.
Leaving Breda Castle hadn’t been a choice—it had been a necessity.
So had leaving Niko with the farmer and his wife.
Joining Blackchurch hadn’t been a difficult choice—that, too, had been essential.
Therefore, leaving Tay behind was indeed her choice, and the most terrible one she’d ever had to face—because she knew that by doing so, she was condemning them both to a lifetime of sorrow.
One without the other would be miserable.
However, she was genuinely afraid of what would happen if Tay came on her mission to regain the Toxandria duchy. He was well established at Blackchurch—he enjoyed prestige and a great reputation. But he would simply be a cog in a wheel in her quest to regain her father’s duchy.
It wasn’t Tay’s legacy at all, but hers.
She didn’t want him to wake up in twenty years and wonder how he could have ruined his life so completely by leaving everything he’d worked for behind.
Therefore, Athdara wasn’t entirely sure she could look him in the eye tonight and not break down weeping.
She’d come in through the rear door to the cottage, taking a shortcut from the field she and Fox had been working in.
Fox knew nothing of her plans; she didn’t tell him.
St. Denis, St. Sebastian, and Ming Tang knew, and that was enough for her.
She didn’t need to announce it to any more of his friends because, somehow, word would get back to Tay.
She needed to have the element of surprise if her plan was going to work.
That meant this would be their last night together.
God, she could hardly face it.
“Athdara?”
Tay called to her the moment she entered the cottage because that particular door had very squeaky hinges. It announced itself all over the house.
“It’s me,” she called to him, turning to bolt the door before continuing inside. “Where are you?”
He came down the steps from the floor above. “Here,” he said. “Waiting for you. I thought we would share supper with the others over in the kitchen hall.”
The kitchen hall was where trainers and other Blackchurch personnel gathered. It had once been a gathering chamber for the church, small but with a high ceiling, but it had been turned into a feasting hall years ago. They called it the kitchen hall because the kitchens were attached to it.
Athdara shook her head. “Would it be too much trouble if I declined?” she said. “I do not particularly feel like supping with everyone tonight. I’m rather tired.”
He looked at her closely. “Do you feel poorly?”
“I feel well enough, thank you. I’m simply… weary.”
His dark gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. “Of course you are,” he said. “Forgive me. After the news you received today, certainly you would want time to think and reflect. I should have known that.”
She smiled weakly. “There is nothing to forgive,” she said. “But you should sup with your friends. I will simply go to bed.”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “You have been working hard all day. You must eat something.”
“Mayhap I will later.”
“You will do it now.”
“But I do not wish to go to the kitchens, and there is nothing here to eat.”
He moved past her, into the kitchen area, and began banging around. Athdara followed him at a distance to see that he had lit an oil lamp and was looking in baskets that were neatly organized on a table against the wall.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He began pulling things out of one basket. “Marina keeps food in here,” he said. “She thinks I do not know that she eats in the middle of the night, but I do.”
Athdara grinned as she headed over to the table. “You are not supposed to know that,” she said. “She gets very hungry in the night.”
“I know. I’ve heard.”
“That is her food, Tay.”
He ignored her and pulled forth a half loaf of bread and a clay jar of something, which he sniffed.
“Something pickled,” he said, handing it to her. “See if this is to your taste.”
Athdara peered at it, smelled it, and then pulled something out. “Cucumbers,” she said. “They are pickled cucumbers.”
She popped a piece of the cucumber in her mouth as Tay rummaged around in another basket. “Here is half of a meat pie,” he said, pulling it out and setting it on the table. Then he pulled out another small bowl that was covered, sniffed it, and scowled. “Cabbage. I hate cabbage.”
He put it back in the basket. He eventually raided Marina’s baskets for bread, pickled cucumbers and onions, beans with garlic and onions in a small bowl, and half the meat pie. When all was said and done, there was a veritable feast before them, and he took it over to the kitchen table.
“We will have to replace what we have pilfered,” Athdara said as she dug into a quarter of the meat pie. “Marina will be despondent if she comes here for a midnight snack and realizes we’ve eaten her booty.”
Tay was tearing into the bread. “I will have a kitchen servant bring over more food tomorrow,” he said. “She will not starve, I promise.”
“Are you certain? She eats more than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“Even me?”
Athdara snorted. “Except you.”
Tay took a big bite of the bread. “Tell me what kinds of dishes you favor,” he said. “What can I expect to eat in Toxandria?”
Her smile faded. “Much the same as there is here,” she said, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as the subject of their future together was brought up. “Our cook used to make pies of pork and apples, seasoned with pepper and honey. They are quite delicious.”
“Oh?” he said, chewing. “And your wine?”
“Magnificent. We are located near Burgundy, after all.”
“Do you import your wine from Burgundy?”
Athdara shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “We had many vineyards, though I do not know if they are still there. I have no way of knowing what my uncle has ruined. Our vineyards used to be very productive.”
“We shall find out soon enough,” he said. He slowed his eating and looked at her. “After the news today, I assume you will want to leave soon.”
Athdara couldn’t look back at him. “Aye,” she said, which was the truth. “Tay… have you thought about this? Really thought about this?”
“Of course,” he said. “It is all I have thought of all day.”
“And… and you still wish to come?”
“I still wish to come.”
She nodded, head lowered, but had stopped eating. He was chewing, watching her and waiting for her to resume her meal, but she toyed with the food in front of her.
“Athdara,” he finally said. “Look at me.”
She did, lifting her eyes to him.
He swallowed the bite in his mouth. “I know you are concerned that I am resigning my position,” he said.
“I know you feel as if you have forced me into making this decision, but truly, you haven’t.
I have never been as happy in my life with anything or anyone as I am with you.
I make this choice freely and willingly. ”
He was only succeeding in making her feel worse for doing what she felt she had to do.
For leaving him a missive telling him that she had never loved him and had only used him.
That she had a lover waiting for her in Toxandria.
Lies, all of it, but she simply couldn’t let him sacrifice himself like that.
The fear of his eventual resentment was a real thing.
Why couldn’t he see it himself? He was just making this harder.
“I… I would like to leave by the week’s end,” she said, hating that she had to lie to him. “It will give us time to prepare for the journey and time for you to prepare your recruits for whoever will replace you.”
“Bowen will replace me, for now,” Tay said, resuming his meal. “At some point, they will choose someone more prestigious and worthy, but for now, Bowen is quite capable.”
She still couldn’t look at him as she spoke.
“It will take us at least a week or more to reach London,” she said.
“I have been thinking… thinking that I should leave Niko where he is. We discussed bringing him here, once, but that is no longer a possibility, not if you and I are gone. However, I do not want to bring him into a war, even if I am fighting it on his behalf. He will be safe with the farmer.”
“You do not think he will be safe at the home of Roubaix?”
She shrugged. “It is difficult to say,” she said. “I suppose he would be. But he is so young. He has known so much strife and upheaval. I want to keep him as safe and happy as possible until I can take him back to Breda.”
“How old is the lad now?”
“Eight years,” she said. “He was six when we fled Breda. So very young.”
“You must do as you feel best,” Tay said. “But it is possible that… Nay, forget I said anything. Leave him where he is if that is where you feel he belongs.”
She finally looked at him then. “Please speak,” she said. “You do not think I should leave him in London?”
“He is not my brother.”
“But if he was—what would you do?”
Tay shrugged, eating the last of the bread.
“I would bring him home with me,” he said.
“I would leave him at Roubaix, where he will be safe, but you should not leave him out of this fight. He may be young, but children have fought wars. They are strong and brave. If you are fighting for his legacy, then let him be part of the fight.”
They were wise words. Athdara saw his side to it. It wasn’t unreasonable. She was, after all, fighting for Nikolai. Perhaps he should be part of it—but there was a greater part of her that simply wanted to protect him.
“I will think on it,” she said. “Thank you for your advice. It means a great deal.”
“You are welcome.”
“When was the last time you fought a battle?”