Chapter 22 #2
Thomasin stood in the corner like a coat rack, unsure how to behave while being waited upon.
Yes, she had been in command of an entire syndicate, but her underlings didn’t do household chores for her or see to it that she lived in luxury.
They had just done whatever horrible thing Thomasin had ordered them to do.
This was Edith’s life, though, she thought, watching as Edith settled in front of the vanity and began brushing out the tangles from the limp strands of her hair.
She let the servants go about their work without even a second glance.
If Edith could do it, so could Thomasin.
She decided to embrace the week of luxury, and it was disconcerting how quickly she did indeed get used to it.
The being waited on, the always being clean and fed.
The days passed, and they fell into a comfortingly domestic routine. Edith was quiet, sad, but with every day, the color returned to her face, and her theories about Merlin’s staff became more exciting.
They weren’t forgetting Jay. They never would. But just because there was a terrible sadness that now lived in their bones didn’t mean other emotions like happiness or curiosity couldn’t find room inside them too.
Edith knew that better than anyone. Thomasin’s eyes drifted toward the urn on Edith’s bedside table.
Not for the first time, Thomasin wondered about Edith’s grandmother, what she was like, why she hadn’t gone on the quest with Edith sooner.
Edith never really talked about her. An anecdote or a memory here and there, but nothing too real.
Despite her curiosity, Thomain did not want to push her for more.
Everything was going so well between them. She didn’t want to change that.
“I like seeing you like this,” Edith said to her one morning.
They faced each other, curled up under the covers.
Thomasin’s knee pressed into Edith’s, and their hands were twined together in the space between them.
She had been idly tracing the fingertips of her free hand through Edith’s hair.
Thomasin’s eyes were half closed, and her mind was still fuzzy with sleep when Edith spoke.
She opened them fully to find Edith’s penetrating gaze studying her.
“Like what?” Thomasin murmured, brushing Edith’s hair from her shoulder and leaning in to kiss the bare skin next to the strap of her nightgown. Edith shivered, and Thomasin smiled as she drew back.
“Relaxed,” Edith said. “Peaceful.”
Thomasin swallowed thickly. “You don’t think I’m going too soft?
” It was the one thing she worried about, that Edith would no longer like her now that she had given up her life of crime.
Edith had been attracted to the brave, reckless crime lord who lived on the edge of death.
It was strange. Thomasin had never cared about whether or not other people liked her.
She had only ever cared if they feared her, and they almost always did.
She wanted Edith to love her beyond the power, and the violence, and the trickery.
But no one had ever wanted that version of Thomasin before, the truest version.
The featherlight touch of Edith’s fingers on her jaw brought her back to the bed they shared.
“I love you, Thomasin. You can be whoever you want with me. Ruthless criminal, charming rogue, girl who stays in bed until noon.” Thomasin gave a short laugh at that.
In her experiments with luxury, she had learned she loved to sleep as late as possible.
Especially if Edith stayed in bed with her, and Thomasin could tuck herself close to the sleepy warmth of her.
Edith’s thumb stroked Thomasin’s lower lip, cutting off her wry laugh. “I love all of you,” Edith finished.
Thomasin sobered, pulled Edith against her, and rolled so that Edith ended up lying half on top of her.
She giggled, and Thomasin wrapped her arms around the other woman in a crushing hug, peppering kisses along her jaw until her lips made it to Edith’s ear.
The giggling ceased when Thomasin whispered, “I love you too.”
And then, with the reassuring weight of Edith’s body against hers, Thomasin fell back asleep and did indeed stay in bed until noon.
It was during another lazy morning that a delighted scream rent through the air, and Thomasin dropped her spoon into her bowl of porridge.
“I’m not awake yet!” she shouted back, her eyes bleary with sleep.
This was not one of the pleasant mornings where she could revel in Edith’s company.
Edith had been hunched over the writing desk since dawn, staring at her translations.
Now, she was bolt upright in her chair, arms thrown above her head, fists pumping in victory.
“I’ve got it!” Edith squealed at the same very high volume, completely ignoring Thomasin’s previous comment.
She jumped from the chair and onto the bed, bouncing on her knees next to Thomasin.
Edith shook Thomasin’s shoulders and shouted over and over again, “I’ve got it! ”
Thomasin decided what the hell, and shoved her breakfast tray from the bed. She rolled to her feet, pulling Edith up with her, and the two of them jumped up and down on the plush mattress in pure celebration. Edith’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Thomasin didn’t see the point in resisting her.
They ended up lying on the bed in a heap of tangled limbs. Thomasin swept Edith’s hair off her face. It was loose and un-styled, the way Thomasin preferred it. “I gather you solved it?”
Edith was still mildly out of breath from all the jumping. “The symbols were a cipher,” she said, stretching to grab the sheet of paper she’d been working on from the desk. She held it above them, pointing to the symbols and corresponding letters as she explained it to Thomasin.
“See, this bit had me stuck, because it didn’t fit into the pattern,” Edith said, pointing to a line of five symbols, the first a geometric squiggle shape, and the rest diamonds with an X through the middle. “But then I realized these aren’t letters, they’re numbers!”
“Okay.” Thomasin nodded thoughtfully. “So what does it say?”
Edith grinned, anticipation glittering in her eyes. “ ‘To reunite staff with the bearer, join Einion and the twenty thousand at the gates.’ ”
“Gates? Like the gates of Avalon?” Thomasin knew more than well enough by now that Avalon was where this quest was leading them.
“It has to be!”
“So this is it?” Thomasin’s brows rose. “The staff is the final clue?”
Edith shrugged. “We won’t know until we get there.”
Thomasin took the sheet of paper and reread the translation, which Edith had scrawled at the bottom. “Get where exactly? And who’s this Einion, a knight?”
Edith sat cross-legged at the head of the bed, leaning against the wall. “Have you ever heard of Bardsey Island?”
Thomasin racked her brain but came up short. She shook her head with a slight frown.
“There’s an island off the coast of Wales that they call ‘the island of twenty thousand saints,’ and Einion was the first to be buried there. After him, the island became a holy place where only the best and bravest saints were laid to rest, although now it’s entirely abandoned.”
“How do you know all this?”
Edith’s grin grew even wider. “Because that’s not the only thing the island is known for. Legend says that Merlin himself is buried there.”
Thomasin inclined her head. “Well, I don’t know about you, but that sounds a whole lot like the gates of Avalon to me.”
Edith chewed on her bottom lip. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it? That Merlin too would be buried in, or at least near, Avalon.”
“Like you said, only one way to find out.” Thomasin smirked, the thrill of the next adventure seeping into her bones.