32 Dove
DOVE
The next morning, Maerryl and I stood side by side in front of the priory’s high, arched gate. I put a hand against Lightening’s warm flank to steady myself.
“This has to work,” I said.
“It will work,” Mae said, face forward. “Trust me.”
I snorted, and she winced. Hastily, she said, “Sorry. Poor choice of words. But it will work.”
Taking a deep breath, I stepped cautiously through the gate, Maerryl close behind. Making it through, we paused. And—nothing. No reaction from the gate, no smiting. No blasting us backward on our asses.
First step down. Now the really hard part.
Mae let out a whoosh of breath and led her horse forward.
Today’s greeter, a solemn-faced gargoyle-like creature with spiky wings, flew down from a nearby branch and welcomed us.
We were led to Prioress the Elder’s room on request, just as the first time I’d come here.
That day felt so long away, months or years in the past. So much had changed since then—I’d changed so much too.
Once settled by the prioress’s hearth, teacups in hand, Mae and I exchanged a long look. I dabbed the sweat on my forehead with a napkin and tried to calm my anxious breathing. This was it.
Gently interrupting the prioress’s pleasant ramblings about their morning’s walk around the grounds and the particularly large spotted hummingnewt they’d encountered, Maerryl cleared her throat. “Prioress—Lumelle—Dove and I wish to talk to you about something. Something important.”
The prioress added another sugar cube to their tea and stirred lightly. They watched us with a twinkle in their eye. “So serious today. After a pre-wedding blessing, perhaps?”
Mae gaped, then flushed beet red from ear to ear, her adorably round nose reaching an impressively deep burgundy. I found myself stifling a smile.
No, you loon—do not be taken in. Remember everything she lied about!
Mae, trying to recover, said, “No, no. We’re not—that is, it’s not why—”
“We need your help,” I cut over her babbling.
The prioress hummed and took a sip of their tea. “Ahh, I see. Tell me everything.”
Thirty minutes later, we’d come to the end of our story and the bottom of our teapot. The prioress rose to refill it, but I jumped up and tugged it from them, then went over to the side table to prepare a fresh pot. They nodded at me and settled back into their armchair.
“And so,” Lumelle said solemnly, “what are you asking of me?”
Mae let out a slow breath, and I busied myself with the hot water. She said, “We’re asking that you give us the moonstone. To give to Zephyra, and put an end to all this.”
“And in return,” I added, bringing the teapot over and setting it on the table to steep, “we will do whatever you ask of us. Anything, within reason.”
“But we need that stone. It’s the only way forward that won’t end up with one or both of us trapped in Zephyra’s grip, and others put in danger as well.”
She and I had talked everything over for hours this morning, and we kept coming to the same conclusion.
This was our best chance, and Maerryl seemed to think that the prioress would understand.
Less sure, I’d agreed to go along with this because I couldn’t see any other way out of our tangled situation.
We couldn’t have entered the priory if we’d intended to steal or force the stone from its walls.
And we couldn’t say no to Zephyra’s demands.
Even beyond the danger of her not-so-subtle threats against my loved ones, there was the issue of Balfie as well—we had to save him.
Despite everything Maerryl and I had been through, and how betrayed I still felt by her, I’d made a promise.
I would not turn my back on that little boy who lay waiting in the infirmary, frozen in sleep.
This was our one chance to fix everything.
My hands shook slightly as I poured our tea and silence fell.
The prioress seemed lost in thought, pulling off their thin silver spectacles and gazing into their teacup’s swirling depths.
Mae and I waited, as we’d discussed, giving them time to consider our request. The moments dripped by, slow as honey.
And then, abruptly, Lumelle set their cup down with a clink and stood.
Going over to a small wooden box, the image of a seashell inlaid delicately on the top, they reached inside and pulled out a luminescent stone about the size of an apricot.
Returning to where we waited by the fire, barely breathing, they lifted one of Maerryl’s hands and placed it gently in her palm.
“Granted.” With a soft smile, they patted Mae’s hair. “I pass this to you.”
Awed, she smiled at the prioress with relief. “Are you sure?” she asked, and I had to restrain myself from kicking her shin under the table.
The prioress shifted their watchful gaze to me as if they could sense what I was thinking.
They said, “Yes, I’m perfectly sure. As you and your young friend may know, but not fully understand, we of the dual goddess do not claim ownership of anything or anyone.
All who live in the priory have given up anything they once had.
So much time you have spent here, and still you don’t grasp this tenet. I wish you’d stayed with us longer.”
Lumelle closed Mae’s hands over the moonstone with a sad smile.
“Though this precious stone has brought me comfort over the years, it does not belong to me. Any more than the moon itself. Your need for it now is greater than mine, or the priory’s.
Take it. Maybe it will bring this Zephyra comfort too. ”
Or more likely bring her great riches, after she sells it to the highest bidder on the black market, I thought wryly, but kept my mouth shut.
“Thank you, prioress. Thank you so much,” I said in earnest.
“What does it do?” Mae asked, her eyes caught on the moonstone’s silvery glow.
Lumelle settled back in their chair with a light groan, and I passed their teacup over.
After a smile of thanks, they said, “It allows the holder to experience their happiest, most joyful memory—more real, more vividly than you could ever imagine. It feels as if you’re there again, back in the past, living it with a deep, complete awareness.
“The most beautiful feeling in the world,” they said with a content sigh. To Maerryl, they prompted, “Try it, my dear. You might as well, before you pass it on to the Takers Guild.”
Pulling her eyes away from the stone as if by force, Mae held it out to me.
“I want you to use it first. I—I don’t deserve it.”
Part of me wanted to snap back and agree—but it was a surprisingly small part.
Maerryl’s pained expression, try as she might to hide it, snagged at my heart.
But I took the stone, gripping its smooth weight in my cupped hands.
It was cooler than I expected, soothing my damp palms and spreading a steady calm through my mind.
I let my eyes close and focused my attention on its shape and feel instinctively, the way I do when I’m assessing a rock for transformation into a jewel.
The moonstone’s power lapped comfortingly at thoughts, and I let it in. In, in, in…
Lightning’s strong body beneath me, I flew through the grounds of my estate as if on wings.
A bright winter sun shone down on us. Crisp wind bit against my cheeks, my nose, every small exposed inch of skin not covered by warm furs, and I’d never felt so alive.
Every breath hurt a little in the cold air, and I relished it—a freedom, each one.
Heart racing, I urged Lightning faster, farther, wanting to never stop riding and feeling as if I never would have to.
My hair streamed out behind me, and as we swept across the countryside, I let out a high, piercing yell, as loud as I could, louder than I’d ever let myself be.
We leapt over a small creek and a broken fence, and I whooped with delight and fierce, fierce defiance at every one.
This was living. This was who I could always be, if only I let myself.
I leaned forward, pressed low against my horse’s neck, as we shot along the meadow, ground crunching lightly with the first frost of the season. I could ride forever. I could—
The memory shifted, hazy and swirling, from this scene—a memory I’d played over and over before whenever I felt unhappy or stuck—settling anew into the familiar lines of a beloved garden on our grounds. I looked around, confused.
My favorite dahlias, full and heavy heads waving gently over me, their light pink centers radiating outward to blush, then magenta, then deep raspberry.
Back nestled by a blanket and pillows on the ground, I reached up to one bloom, stroking its petals with a gentle finger.
The sky above the flowers was a deepening, rich orange—sun setting rapidly, and I knew I should feel cold.
But warmth wrapped around me, holding tight to my body, seeping heat into my bones and soul.
Maerryl. Her strong arms cradled me as we lay on the blanket, remains of our evening picnic forgotten.
One hand rubbed my upper arm to keep me warm under the blanket she’d tucked over us.
The other hand played with a stray curl at my temple, its bounce bringing a soft smile to her lips.
Peace like I’d never experienced swept my body.
From that little curl all the way to my toes, I felt at ease.
Protected. Cared for. Loved. Mae gave me a gentle squeeze, kissing my temple, and it was as if she’d cast a spell of security over me.
Over my heart. This was it. This was everything to me.
I came to, letting the moonstone fall into my lap. Tears covered my cheeks, and I held tight to the beautiful, pulsing serenity that filled my chest.
Mae’s voice reached me as if from far away, coming closer. “Dove. Dove. Are you alright?” Her concern still hurt a bit, but I cherished it.
I opened my eyes and accepted the handkerchief that Lumelle held out to me. Wiping my face, I nodded. “Yes. I think I’m better than alright.”
To Lumelle, I said again—this time fully understanding the gift that they’d given away—“Thank you. How can we repay you, please?”
Mae added, “Show our appreciation, if that is more palatable? I know that you don’t accept payment, and we respect that.”
“But we’d deeply like to give you something, if we can. Or give the priory, perhaps?” I said, as I tucked the moonstone carefully back into its seashell wooden box.
“I think that can be arranged. The priory could use a good deep clean before the season turns. The stables in particular.” The prioress shuddered theatrically, before smiling into their tea.
“Two weeks till your deadline, you said? Sounds like the perfect amount of time to make an appropriate offering to the goddess with mops and brooms and scrubbing brushes.”
Mae and I looked at each other. I was slightly horrified by this turn of events—maybe life as a Takers Guild prisoner wouldn’t be so bad instead?—and by the pursed lips keeping her from laughing, I knew she could tell.
That imp.
I summoned my courage, tossed my hair regally, and turned to face Lumelle straight on, chin raised.
“Put us to work.”