Hilde
What followed was chaotic, to say the least.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve been unfair to you, and I put you in danger, and I just hope—”
“Don’t fret, it’s me who’s sorry,” Han said. Then, “Is that…”
“I’ve things to tell you. And Lord Elmwood.”
Hilde disentangled herself and turned to look at Elmwood. He was standing calmly beside the two men deliberating his fate.
Thorgoode had returned to his seat and was eating pastries again, but slower now.
Finally, the magistrate tutted and handed the pardon to Mr. Winthrop.
“You’d best file that promptly,” he said.
“You can count on it,” said Mr. Winthrop.
“Does anyone,” said Thorgoode, around a mouthful of pastry, “want dessert?”
Han explained to them what had befallen her since she’d left Croftholde the previous day.
She had tried to prevent the Harrier from taking Winthrop captive, but he and his driver had overpowered her.
Then they’d shut her, Lady Isobel, and Miss Floret into the room they’d rented at the inn and ordered the innkeeper to leave them locked up for the night.
But they had escaped shortly after the Harrier left.
“How did you manage to get out?” Hilde asked.
Han shifted uncomfortably.
“What matters is we did. Lady Isobel was in a right rage over how the Harrier treated us and insisted we visit her cousin…the queen. Turns out, she was staying at her country estate not three hours’ ride from Hawkmouth.”
Darling Cherie, thought Hilde in a daze. Lady Isobel’s cousin who loved to garden. Queen Cherilandria the Second.
They had arrived in time for Lady Isobel to seek an audience with the queen at breakfast. Han had waited outside while the noblewomen had their conference. Lady Isobel had emerged with two letters in hand.
One of the letters had been Elmwood’s pardon.
The other was a letter to him from Lady Isobel.
Han produced it from her vest now and handed it to Elmwood.
He took it from her gingerly, as if it might bite him, then tucked it into his own pocket.
“Is Lady Isobel well?” he asked.
Han gave a somewhat surly shrug. “You’ll have to read her letter. I left her in the queen’s company and rode for home in hopes I’d get here in time. Now, will someone tell me what’s been happening here?”
Hilde was about to try to explain, but then Thorgoode rose slowly to his feet and said, “I should like to go to bed now.”
He seemed unwell, pale and bloated, his natural charisma dimmed. He reached a hand out to Hilde.
“Will you see me upstairs?”
“Of course,” she said, standing.
He smiled at Francie and ruffled Ed’s hair, then kissed Cook’s hand. She blushed like a girl.
He nodded at Mr. Winthrop, then clapped Han on the shoulder. They exchanged one of their ineffable looks that Hilde had never been able to decipher but that appeared to project some manner of vaguely masculine respect and understanding.
At last he turned to Elmwood.
“I don’t know that I’ll thank you,” said Thorgoode. “But I do wish you well.”
“And I you,” said Elmwood.
Thorgoode made his way toward the staircase.
Hilde was about to follow, but she paused and sought out Elmwood.
His curls were rioting in every possible direction, his shirt was stained with dirt and possibly blood, and she could see the little lines that appeared around his mouth when he was in pain.
Even so, he still looked like a painting.
He stepped closer to her.
“Perhaps you can convince him to let me try to Charm him again?” he said. “We could attempt it together…”
“I will speak to him,” she said, letting her fingers brush against his at their sides.
It was so strange to lie beside Thorgoode in their bed once more.
He had collapsed onto it, like a spinning top that falls over when it runs out of momentum.
She had taken off his boots for him and covered him with a blanket, then climbed onto the bed beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.
His heart beat slowly against her ear. Too slowly.
“Thorgoode,” she said, “will you please consider letting Lord Elmwood Charm you again? Or at least letting me Charm you? It might help.”
It was the first time she had ever acknowledged her Charm to him. He was very quiet, and for a second she wondered if maybe he had already slipped away. Then he spoke.
“No.”
“I think that perhaps, when Elmwood’s and my Charms are cast together, they do something more. It may be that we can bring you fully back, if you let us try.”
“No,” he said again.
“But Thorgoode…you’re going to die again.”
“Death was not so bad,” he said at last. “And I don’t much care for the way I’ve felt since I came back.
I once tried to go back to an inn where I’d liked to drink as a youth.
When I arrived, I found they’d made the whole place over.
New tables, different name, better ale…nothing was the same.
Nothing was as I’d remembered it. After that, my memories of the place were changed, too. ”
Hilde swallowed back the lump in her throat.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry that we dragged you back here.”
He made a little huffing sound that she realized was a laugh, and it was so unlike his usual roar that it broke her heart.
“I died with several regrets. You’ve given me the chance to set them right.
” He wriggled his shoulder to encourage her to look at him, and she did.
His eyes had grown even more distant. “I will never be sorry that I had the chance to see you one last time, wife. It’s a sight worth returning from the dead to see.
Now, I think I will have a little rest. And then, I have business to attend to. ”