37. HOPEBRINGER
Hopebringer
Rosamund kept sending up platters of food and pitchers of drink, until they had to send message via one of the servants that they wished not to be disturbed further.
The three of them sat in Gwen’s suite, Olivia on a packing chest near the door, Isobelle on the bed, and Gwen by the window.
The view that had been so desolate a day earlier was lively once more, even chaotic, with the townsfolk of Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea resuming their daily activities and scurrying to catch up on time lost.
Gwen had conducted a survey of the damage to her armour as she pulled off each piece, with Isobelle’s help.
One of the pauldrons was badly dented, though her shoulder only throbbed a little – a falling rock was nothing compared to the brutal slam of an opponent’s lance.
Scratches down the back of her breastplate told of other rocks that had grazed her, and crumpling at the elbow articulation had limited her movement severely until they got the vambrace off.
Now, having changed out of her padded jerkin and trousers, and having sponged off the worst of the sweat underneath, her fingers itched for a task.
Despite her restlessness, her whole body ached with weariness, and her mind as well – she longed for sleep, for what felt like the first time in months, knowing that the decaying dragon no longer lurked in her mind, waiting for her to drop off.
That fear was still there, but it didn’t hurt, didn’t make her whole being shrink back in horror. It no longer felt like an open wound.
And Gwen was okay with having a few scars.
She glanced longingly at the bed, but it was midday, and Olivia was there, and the bustle and chatter of the town outside was loud …
And Isobelle sat as still as a statue, staring at the fireplace, her gaze distant.
‘Well,’ said Olivia, finally breaking the silence. ‘I suppose …’
But there, even Olivia’s legendarily clever tongue failed her.
Gwen still found a tangle of conflicting emotions rising in her every time she looked at Isobelle’s maid.
She trusted Olivia to be their ally, to help them – or help Isobelle – but she could not shake the underlying sting of betrayal.
But, looking at her now, Gwen felt a swell of sympathy as she took in Olivia’s somewhat lost and bewildered expression.
She drew a breath. ‘Perhaps we ought to—’
‘Is my father a member of your Order?’ blurted Isobelle, colour rising to her cheeks and animating her once more.
Olivia’s eyes fixed on Isobelle and she gave a helpless shrug. ‘I am not allowed to say.’
Isobelle’s eyes flashed, making Gwen glad she was not the object of her ire. ‘Olivia, if you keep holding back all your secrets, I will … I will …’
Gwen swallowed and broke in gently, ‘Isobelle … I think she can’t say. Isn’t that right?’ Her gaze flicked over to Isobelle’s stricken maid, who nodded miserably.
Isobelle’s eyes widened. ‘A spell? They make you accept some curse of silence?’
‘It is voluntary,’ Olivia said swiftly. ‘When I was first sent to watch over you, it was meant to be for six months only. When I requested to stay on in my duty, they …’ Her lips closed again, and a look of consternation crept over her features.
Isobelle stared at her. ‘Why would they insist you undergo a spell like that, all of a sudden?’
‘To make sure she could not betray the Order.’ Gwen’s eyes moved between Isobelle and Olivia, who was staring grimly at the floor, her jaw clenched. ‘Not even if her loyalties began to change.’
Isobelle’s anger drained away, her customarily volatile emotions as easy to read on her face as they had ever been. Confusion, hurt and doubt were there, but so were tenderness and affection.
‘If you can’t say whether Tabitha is right about Lord Avington, can you at least say no, if she was wrong?’ Gwen asked cautiously.
Olivia’s eyes lifted to meet Gwen’s, and she said nothing at all – she just lifted one hand, finger extended towards the ceiling.
‘He’s more than a member,’ Gwen interpreted, brow furrowing. ‘He’s …’ Realisation crashed down upon her. ‘Oh god … he’s the leader? Does he know Isobelle is here?’
‘I didn’t tell him what Isobelle’s letter contained, only that I needed to return to her.’
‘Wait…’ Isobelle, reeling, narrowed her eyes at Olivia. ‘That’s where you went when you left Darkhaven? Reporting back to my father?’
A line stood out along Olivia’s jaw as she clenched it. ‘I read the letter your parents sent you. I thought that if I made a case for your independence in person, they might listen. Understand that this is no silly fling, no phase you might grow out of…’
‘You went there for us?’ Gwen’s throat tightened, her heart thudding with a sudden hope. ‘Did they…’
Olivia only shook her head.
Isobelle was still regarding her maid with narrowed eyes. ‘You lied to me about that too. You told me you were going on family business.’
Olivia looked at her, face set with stubborn dignity. ‘I didn’t lie,’ she murmured. ‘I went on behalf of my family.’
Gwen’s breath caught, and she bit her lip as she looked at Isobelle.
The other girl’s eyes filled with tears, and she leaned forward as if wishing to run to her old friend and embrace her.
Gwen had seen how important Olivia was to Isobelle from her first day in Darkhaven Castle, but Olivia kept her feelings to herself.
But of course Olivia loves Isobelle too, Gwen thought. Who could know Isobelle and not love her?
Too overwhelmed to respond as she might wish, Isobelle dashed her tears away and buried her face in her palms. ‘What you’re saying can’t be true,’ she mumbled. ‘My father is just a diplomat. He …’
‘Didn’t you say he used to come here in the summers, before you were born?’ Gwen asked, as gently as she could, wishing Olivia weren’t there so she could go to Isobelle’s side. ‘He must have been visiting Tabitha and her mother. Until …’
‘Until they found out he had started another family.’ Isobelle’s voice sounded hollow. ‘Until they found out about us, and Tabitha’s mother went mad.’
Quietly, her shoulders began to shake, and she buried her face more tightly in her hands.
Gwen rose to her feet and glanced at Olivia, who was already standing as well. Olivia looked between them, lip caught between her teeth, obviously wanting to go to her charge’s side. But she only nodded at Gwen, and slipped quietly from the room.
Gwen knelt down before the bed, reaching out to take Isobelle’s wrists in her hands, running her thumbs along the joint where her palms still shielded her eyes.
She said nothing, thinking of the way Isobelle had held her in their shared dream, that golden feeling of warmth linking them.
Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine sending that warmth into Isobelle via their joined hands.
I love you, she thought fiercely. And I’m right here.
And somehow, Isobelle seemed to sense it.
With a sob, she abandoned the edge of the bed and threw herself into Gwen’s arms with such force Gwen very nearly toppled over backwards.
Isobelle pressed her face against Gwen’s neck and shook with the intensity of her feelings, as Gwen tightened her arms around her.
Slowly, the quaking body in her arms began to quiet again, and with a loud, wet sniff, Isobelle lifted her head a little. ‘I’ve got snot all over you,’ she mumbled.
Gwen huffed a little laugh, brushing at Isobelle’s wet cheeks with her thumb. ‘It’s an improvement over dragon guts and sea monster ink.’
Isobelle swallowed and sat back on her heels a little. They were both kneeling, legs interposed, and Isobelle rested her hands on the tops of Gwen’s thighs. But her gaze was troubled rather than heated.
‘What do I do now?’ she whispered, sounding so lost that Gwen’s heart quaked inside her.
Helplessly, Gwen shook her head. ‘I don’t know.
I think … I think, for now, you … wait. Rest. Heal.
Keep these truths somewhere safe to turn over and process slowly …
just don’t bottle them up somewhere deep down.
I know for a fact that doesn’t work.’ She offered Isobelle a tentative, if somewhat wry, smile.
Isobelle’s answering twitch of the lips was very small indeed.
‘No one is who I thought they were,’ she mumbled.
‘My father is a man devoted to hunting people like me. My best friend is an agent sent to monitor whether I become a threat. And I … I am something different, too. Nothing is what it was.’
Gwen caught at Isobelle’s hand, and lifted it to press Isobelle’s palm against her cheek.
‘I am,’ she said firmly, ducking her head to catch Isobelle’s eye.
‘I am exactly who you know me to be. And so are you. You may know more about yourself now, have a new calling, but you are still you, Isobelle.’
Isobelle’s gaze avoided hers.
Gwen’s thumb brushed the back of Isobelle’s hand. ‘This doesn’t change who you are,’ she whispered. ‘Only what you know. Isobelle … you’ve been a hope witch since the morning I met you. You’ve probably been one since the day you were born.’
‘Hope witch …’ Isobelle’s lashes flew up, her eyes round with surprise finally meeting Gwen’s. ‘You mean, you remember? The dream?’
Gwen felt her own eyes widening. ‘Of course I do. I remember every moment.’ Her throat tightened, as certain of those moments came flooding back to her.
Isobelle’s light in the darkness of her nightmare; the touch of her lips, more vivid than any sensation in a dream ought to be, as she broke their enchanted sleep.
Gwen looked around, crawling a few paces to the chair where her sword belt was slung. She drew the blade and returned to Isobelle, tugging her to sit cross-legged with her, legs still tangled together.