Chapter 24
“I know you’re awake,” Sofie called from the kitchen.
Grumbling, Maeve sat up, her legs tangled in blankets and skirts. Shifting her breasts back into her stays, she turned to face the new day.
She’d barely slept at all last night, and although Sofie had been up preparing for the day for over an hour now, Maeve had resolutely refused to get up until called out. She didn’t want to wake and face everything that had happened, everything that had been said.
So much had been said.
With a sigh, Maeve threw her legs over the side of the little daybed Sofie kept ready for patients or the wayward niece or nephew.
Maeve had spent many a night here, cuddled up at the bay window under her aunt’s soft, faded blankets, soothed by the smells of herbs and drying flowers.
She didn’t remember it being so cramped, but then, it was a small bed meant for just a night.
“All right, then.” Placing two plates laden with eggs, sausages, fried potatoes, toast, and spiced apples on the table, Sofie patted one of the kitchen chairs. “Come eat and tell me what’s happened.”
Maeve knew better than to argue, even if she went begrudgingly and said nothing until her plate was half-finished. She didn’t much feel like eating, but not having had supper either, her stomach groaned queasily for want of something.
She’d already told Sofie the basics, of course.
While her auntie always allowed Maeve and any of her nieces or nephews to stay the night if they needed it, explanation was required.
“I wouldn’t want to step on my sister’s toes,” Sofie had always reasoned.
Still, Maeve didn’t relish rehashing what’d happened—even if she’d been doing it all night in her own head.
As she moved food around her plate, Maeve summarized yesterday’s argument for her aunt. When it came time, she reached for the crumpled letter, which she’d cast onto the table last night. Smoothing it out, she handed it to Sofie to read.
“They decided that Soren needs to be protected from me,” Maeve grumbled.
“Does he?” Peering at her from over the letter, her aunt lifted her brows in that significant look Maeve dreaded. “It’s been weeks now. Haven’t you decided whether you like him or not?”
“It’s not that simple,” said Maeve, spearing a spiced apple slice.
“How so?”
Groaning, Maeve abandoned her fork to drop her head into her hands. “I like him very much, auntie. He’s the sweetest, kindest man I think I’ve ever met.”
“Oh no, he sounds terrible,” Sofie deadpanned.
“I wish he was! That’d make this so much easier.” Pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes, Maeve admitted, “I thought it didn’t have to be serious. That we’d deal with it all when the time came.”
“And the time’s come,” said Sofie. “So you like this sweet, kind man. I’m failing to see the problem here, chickadee.”
“That.” She waved vaguely at the letter. “This complicates everything.”
“I thought you wanted a better position somewhere else.”
“I did. I do.”
“So…?”
“I’ll have to choose!” Maeve wailed. Wiping at the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, she shook her head. “I wanted to avoid that. I don’t want to choose.”
“Then you probably shouldn’t have gotten involved with him, dearie.”
“I know,” she groaned miserably.
“But here we are.” Setting her own fork down, as well as the letter, Sofie leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she considered Maeve.
Maeve wanted to shrivel up and fade away into dust. Fates, what a mess this had all become.
It was a long few moments that Auntie Sofie sat thinking, so long that Maeve began to fidget.
She could never hide anything from Sofie; her aunt saw every side of her, the good, the ugly, the fragile.
She was one of the few who’d bothered to get to truly know Maeve over the years, to see her different facets.
Since returning home, the only other person who’d bothered to actually get to know Maeve was…Soren.
Her chest ached just thinking his name.
He knew. Somehow, he knew. Imogen must have said something; it explained his strange behavior on their walk last night.
He hadn’t been angry, although he’d certainly held himself back from her. Aside from that one sweet kiss before flying away. Fates, she hurt even more thinking of the gentle way he’d held her head between his big paws.
He really was saying goodbye.
Because he thinks I won’t choose him.
The truth twisted inside her sharper than a knife.
Eventually, Sofie passed her judgement. “I think we can table what you and Sorcha said to each other. Honestly, it sounds like you’re both right.”
It wasn’t what Maeve wanted to hear, even if she’d come to a similar conclusion during her night of brooding.
Perhaps all those things needed to be said, rather than remain festering, but she could at least regret that so much of it was done in anger.
Delivered like that, the truth held little power.
“For now, we need to sort out what you intend to do with your lion-man.”
Maeve nodded, a desperate relief overcoming her. “Tell me what to do, auntie,” she implored. She couldn’t bear to choose.
But instead of deciding for her and putting Maeve partially out of her misery, Sofie instead said, “Tell me something, Maeve. Were you happy in Gleanná?”
Maeve sat back in her chair, utterly astonished by the question. What did that have to do with Soren?
“Sometimes, I suppose.” She would’ve enjoyed her time at Queen Angharad more without a certain Brianne Kewleigh.
“Was there somewhere in the city you wanted to work in particular? Or live?”
Maeve shrugged. There’d been beautiful neighborhoods she could aspire to live in, and there was so much to do in the evenings—the theater, concerts, science exhibits, elegant restaurants, and plenty of seedier, even more fun establishments across the river.
You could get lost in a city as big and vibrant in Gleanná.
“Did you find there what you couldn’t find here?”
“No,” she admitted. For all the capital offered, nothing had truly stuck with her beyond fleeting enjoyments.
“Do you think you’ll find it in Dundúran?”
“I don’t know…”
“What about further, in Kilkarach or Adrigoll or even Caledon?”
The thought of such far-off places only shot anxiety through her veins. Usually, she loved the idea of seeing something new and exciting. She did want to travel. But so far…forever…?
Maeve thought she could do it, in the end. She considered herself brave enough to go and resourceful enough to succeed. But…she’d be lying if she said the thought didn’t scare her. To strike out on her own, to take on the world alone…it didn’t have the same allure as it did even a year ago.
“It’d be an adventure,” she said, although her voice held no enthusiasm.
Even as she said it, more tears welled in her eyes.
“But everywhere I go, I don’t belong.” What if she did everything she could, sacrificed everything to make a new life for herself somewhere far away and exciting…
only to find she didn’t belong there either?
She couldn’t bear it.
“Wanting a place to belong isn’t so strange, chickadee,” her aunt said gently. Maeve looked up when she felt Sofie’s warm hand close over her own. “‘Wherever you go, there you are.’ That’s how the saying goes, I believe.”
Maeve’s breath caught in her throat.
“You can go anywhere in the world, Maeve. I hope you get to see and do everything you want to. But know, you’ll still be you in the end.”
She wished for the floor to open up and swallow her as a wave of nauseous sick overwhelmed her. Tears slipped down her face as Maeve grappled with the horrible thought—was Sofie right?
“I haven’t been running from myself,” she murmured, almost in defiance. Maeve didn’t hate who she was. She wasn’t always proud, sure, but she didn’t long to be like Sorcha or Brianne Kewleigh. She’d only ever wanted to be herself.
“No, but maybe you’ve been trying to find where you belong.” Squeezing her hand, Sofie delivered one last bludgeoning of truth. “Belonging doesn’t always have to be a place, chickadee.”
Sofie stood, leaving Maeve behind to stare in shock at the empty space she left. Rounding the table, Sofie hugged Maeve’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I love you no matter what, Maeve. But I think it’s time you be honest with yourself—and that sweet, kind lion-man.”
Maeve couldn’t respond, could do nothing at all except sit there as Sofie prepared for her day. Eventually, her healer’s bag slung over her shoulder, she called, “You can stay a little longer if you need, but clear up the table, would you?” And with that, Maeve was left alone with her thoughts.
Usually, Sofie would’ve gently kicked her out. Her auntie was happy to offer sanctuary—but not forever. She liked her space and her quiet. Although as a healer she was good with people and always surrounded by them, Sofie enjoyed living on her own.
Maeve had always admired that. Had considered whether she herself wanted a life like that.
By rote, Maeve began to clear the table and wash the dishes. She performed the menial cleaning in a stupor, not really seeing or feeling the dishes, water, or soap.
Wherever you go, there you are.
She’d heard the saying before, or thought she had, but to have it placed before her now…
Fates, was Sofie right? She usually was.
What if, all this time, Maeve had been chasing her own tail, looking for somewhere when, really, what she needed was something. Someone.
Her stomach churned, threatening to bring up her breakfast.
Sitting down on the daybed, Maeve’s head spun.
She’d made a mess of everything. There was no denying it.
Maeve had accused Sorcha of lying because it was easier, but it was time to admit she’d been doing the same thing to herself.
She’d known there would be consequences getting involved with Soren.
She’d known he wasn’t someone who could have a casual tryst that lasted a mere season.
And yet, she’d wanted to play with that fire. She shouldn’t be surprised when she got burned.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you.” That was the last thing Soren had said to her. He meant not to keep her out late, of course, she knew that, but she couldn’t help hearing a foreboding ring behind it.
Had he begun to distance himself already, believing she’d sever their relationship soon anyway? Did he think her so callous that she’d string him along like that knowing she’d leave soon for Dundúran?
Did he know her better than she knew herself, guessing that she’d choose position, ambition, before their budding relationship?
Fates, what a burden to bear.
She couldn’t say which of his thoughts and assumptions were right—nor which of hers were, either. Maeve didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what she wanted.
Because while Soren was so sure that Maeve wouldn’t choose to stay with him, Maeve felt just as certain he wouldn’t choose to come with her.
What an impasse they had.
Peering blearily and unseeing at her aunt’s bright, cheery cottage, Maeve decided something.
This couldn’t go on. She had to decide, one way or another. And to do that, she needed more information. She had to know how Soren felt, what he wanted, what he hoped for.
Could he want me enough to ever…? She didn’t dare finish that thought, even as it lodged sharply between her ribs.
Maeve hurriedly laced her boots and tied her hair back with a spare ribbon. With the dishes done and the daybed made, there was nothing left for her to do but close Auntie Sofie’s door firmly behind her and hurry out to find Soren.
Maeve was sweaty by the time she ran into Danann. Even without school today, there were few people out and about in the town proper, meaning there was no one to run into before making it to Soren’s door.
While at first she thought it a blessing, the longer she stood there, her knocking going unanswered, the greater her desperation grew.
She tried the cabin next door that Diar and Akila shared. Still nothing.
Leaping off the porch, Maeve walked quickly to the center of town, searching frantically for someone, anyone to ask.
Her attention snagged on a red flash walking down the path.
“Briseis!”
The dragoness watched her approach in surprise, her concern clearly mounting the nearer Maeve came.
“Maeve, are you all right?”
“Do you know where Soren is?”
“Oh, I believe he’s clearing brush on the northeast side of—wait, are you really all right—?”
“Thank you!” Maeve called over her shoulder as she ran for the northeast.
She was already out of breath and her hair tangled, but she pushed her body, unwilling to stop. Maeve had to see him, had to talk to him—she wouldn’t let the sun go down without seeing him.
Skidding to a stop behind a row of cabins, Maeve peered down the slope at the forest. It was obvious where Soren had been working, all the brush and brambles cleared into a neat, thorny pile.
However, there wasn’t a manticore in sight; just a few squirrels and birds exploring the newly cleared land.
Groaning in frustration, Maeve caught another path that took her down toward the schoolhouse. She looked everywhere—in the classrooms, behind the shed, under the building. She didn’t find him anywhere.
Desperation clutched her tight, keeping her chest from expanding to get a full breath. On the verge of tears, Maeve couldn’t think of anything to do but run in the direction of home. Sorcha would know where to find Imogen, and Imogen might know where Soren hid.
It wasn’t a good plan, but it was her only one, and so Maeve started out, dust kicked up behind her.
She followed the path south toward her family estate, a path she knew so well by now. That was where she and Soren had first kissed, there’s where he’d shown her his turuk, and over there was where she’d first given him—
A great shadow passed overhead, zipping by in a dark blur. There wasn’t time to look up, but Maeve couldn’t help a shiver thinking what size of bird could cast such a shadow.
By the time she heard the flap of great wings, it was too late.
Arms closed around her, her feet left the ground, and she went tumbling into the grass.