Chapter 6 #4
Jak shakes his head. 'Naught useful yet. Just vague references to the hand of Fate and the rarity of the Kismet. Nothing about where they come from, or anything specific.'
Morgan puts all the knives into a rolled bag and stows it in a wooden chest in the corner.
Then, he takes the meat off the fire. The other two get plates and cutlery, laying the table for the four of us.
They all have their jobs, and it's clear that they've lived in the same house together for a while.
I'm struck by how domestic it is. How cozy. Is this what a home feels like?
When it's time to eat, I sit with them as an equal and listen to them chat about the village. Though Jak and Morgan barely speak to Locke, he doesn't seem to care. His gaze is on me whenever I look up, though he quickly glances away whenever I notice.
The third time I catch him, my eyes narrow at him. What’s his game?
'What is it?' I ask sharply.
He shrugs and looks away again.
I keep a surreptitious eye on him as I eat the rest of my meal. My plate is whisked away when I’m finished and Jak washes them in a large bowl of water.
After the meal is cleared and the leftovers put under some kind of conjure by Locke to keep them fresh, I wonder how we’re to spend the evening. What do freefolk do after dinner?
But Jak and Locke go straight back up the stairs, I assume to continue perusing Locke’s books. Morgan sits by the fire, and I join him in the other chair without a word.
‘What do you do here?’ I ask him. ‘In Halsford, I mean.’
‘Usually, the sorts of jobs that require a strong back,’ he rumbles with a chuckle.
‘But aren’t they all afraid of you?’
He leans back into the chair, resting his head on the back and letting it fall to the side to look at me. ‘Some are.’ He gives me a small smile. ‘Most are, but I hope that by being here more and helping, they’ll realize that I’m an asset, not some Dark Realm beast to be feared.’
‘Do you think that…that they’ll feel the same about me? If I can learn some skill, I mean?’ I ask uncertainly.
His hand rises toward me and, after a moment’s hesitation, I put my hand in his. He looks surprised that it was so easy as we sit side by side. Like the weapon cleaning, it’s quiet and calm. Easy. It’s what I’d imagined having a home was like, I suppose.
But all too soon, I find my eyes beginning to droop after such a long day, and I gaze longingly at the chamber where I’m to sleep, wondering when he will say that it’s time to retire.
'If you wish to sleep, Bryn,' Morgan says low as he notices where I’m looking. 'You need not say a word. Simply go to bed.'
My lip curls upward just a little bit. I was thinking like a slave again, I realize.
'Thank you,' I say. 'I think I shall.'
I go into my chamber, well, Locke's chamber, closing the door behind me and making sure the casement is secure. I take off the dress that Locke gave me this morning. It seems like such a long time ago now.
I stand in front of the looking glass and peer at my thin, wan body.
I don’t look much different now than I did this morning.
Perhaps a little more color is in my cheeks, though.
I probe my ribs, and the other areas where Voss hurt me, but they merely ache a bit now. The healing potion was a potent one.
I hope I see Lia again soon, so that I can ask her why she helped me and why she kept it a secret, but I’m not sure if I will.
There's clearly a lot of underlying politics that I don't quite understand yet.
It was the same in The Barrack, though. There are always games like this to play, I suspect, no matter who you are, or where you are.
It shouldn't take me too long to learn how to play the ones here, or to avoid them all together.
Whatever Lia’s role as a council advisor entails, it seems to take up much of her time though. Likely so does the family I heard tell of.
Three mates!
But, I frown at myself in the looking glass, isn’t that the number I will have after this ritual and the subsequent…claiming?
Will they do it all at once or will they…
my mind supplies unhelpful memories of Jak and Morgan filling me at the inn all those weeks ago, of Locke in Merediea when he fucked me in his room before conjuring my memories away.
If I don’t think about that last bit… I shift, my body heating oddly and I wonder if another of these odd attacks is upon me again.
But it doesn’t get worse, it’s more of an underlying ache, a longing.
I sink into the mattress, getting under the covers this time and trying not to think of that place between my legs that wishes Morgan or even Jak would come into my room tonight to give me some relief.
My body betrays me!
Turning to the side with a huff, I berate my weak and pathetic state. How could I be thinking such a thing after what they did?
But it was mostly Locke, my traitorous mind argues. Weren’t Jak and Morgan treated the same as I was by the cunty mage?
I didn’t know what he was going to do. I couldn’t have stopped him just as I couldn’t get out from under the conjure he used once it was done. So, why should I expect more from Jak and Morgan?
And, unlike me, they realized something was wrong and were able to find a way to get their memories back as well as travel to Merediea.
I close my eyes, letting all these thoughts fall away from my tired mind. I can think more on it all in the morning.
The bed is more comfortable than I'm used to. I focus on the way it feels. A small part of me would still prefer a nice warm hearth, but the mattress beneath me is well-stuffed and firm enough that it doesn't overly bother me, and I find myself easily drifting towards slumber.
'Buh for Bryn.’
‘That's right, that's very good.'
I smile, glad that I've made him proud. There's a warmth unfurling inside of me as I look up at the white-robed man with the light brown beard and hair that’s curling a little at the nape of his neck.
I can hear a waterfall, but I can't see anything past the immediate vicinity. I think we're in a room, and I'm sitting in a comfortable chair that’s low to the ground, with a short-legged table in front of me. There's a quill in my hand. I've got drops of ink on the parchment.
But he doesn’t mind that I’ve ruined it.
He sits across from me.
'Shall we move on to Ruh?' he asks.
He points at a word that’s written on the top of the parchment. ‘That’s your name, little one. Buh, Ruh, Yuh, and Nuh. Do you see how the letters mean sounds?'
I nod, saying something to him that makes him chuckle, and I realize that this man feels familial. He feels like close kin… like an uncle or a father. I care about him, and, when he pats my head and smiles into my eyes, he seems to care about me as well.
But then the dream changes and the light room disappears. I’m in a darkened corridor. I look down at myself. I'm me, no longer a child.
I look behind. I’m in the passage between worlds. There's a portal open at my back, and I can see the one in front of me as well.
I start to walk, but as I do, I come upon a figure. He's very slow and he’s limping. And where there were white robes, now there are soiled, gray ones, with holes and rips.
I reach out to touch his shoulder, but when he turns and opens his mouth, all I hear are screams.
LOCKE
I wake early, and when I come downstairs, Bryn is already in the kitchen. She's looking through cupboards.
I frown as I notice she's wearing the clothes she came here in, the ones that I procured for her when we were traversing the Dark Realms, when I gave her one of the illusion medallions to pretend that she was a fae.
I don't like being reminded of it, I find, of the ways that I enticed her to put her trust in me before the pits.
She doesn't see me at first, so I watch her at my leisure. She seems relaxed despite everything that happened yesterday at the fucking Village Hall, more than happy that she's been allowed to stay here despite the price they’re making her pay.
After I already made her pay several times over.
My jaw tightens as I think of Calder, Voss, and Tavish. If anyone shouldn’t have the power in Halsford, it would be those three. Voss and Calder care only for the fae in the Underhill. Tavish cares only for coin.
I hear Bryn gasp, and I bring our little human back into my focus. She's turned and seen me staring at her again.
She frowns at me, her eyes darting to the food on the top of the food cupboard in front of her and then back at me, her expression guilty.
'Morgan said that I could—' she begins defensively, eyes wide.
Scared.
Fuck, I hate that she fears me. There were but two days or so in our journey that she didn’t and I constantly think of them.
I put my hands up to soothe her.
'Of course,’ I say in the calmest voice I can muster because it seems to work well for Morgan. ‘Our house is your house, Bryn.'
She gives me a narrow-eyed look, clearly wondering if I’m trying to trick her, but then she goes back to her task, which looks like an omelet.
‘There’s tarragon in the second jar,’ I say.
She glances back and her brow furrows.
‘You’re using mushrooms. They’ll taste better with the tarragon.’
She takes hold of the jar, pulling the cork out and smelling it.
‘This is for toothache,’ she remarks.
My brows rise in surprise. Jak has given me it once or twice for that ailment. ‘Aye, I believe it is, but it’s also delicious in a mushroom omelet.’
She takes a pinch and adds it to her meal. I try not to overtly stare at her. I should turn away, not loom or linger, but I like watching her. She ignores me now as she puts the pan on the iron rack over the fire and begins to brown the mushrooms.
I glance into my room, the one she’s now sleeping in and I see the dress she wore yesterday draped over the chair in the corner.
'It's yours, you know,’ I say to her back. ‘The dress. You need not ask to wear it.'
Her lips curl up into a small sneer, and I realize I've said the wrong thing. Again.
'I wasn't going to ask,' she mutters.
'Of course,' I say. 'I just…
I take in a deep breath.