20. Follow the Lodestar
FOLLOW THE LODESTAR
FRANCESCA
L ydia will tut at me like a mother hen, but I toss all the muddy clothes into my hamper.
I make a home for the pin on my cluttered desk filled with childhood trinkets I’ve never had the strength to move.
Eric’s handkerchief, on the other hand, I can’t bring myself to put it down.
Not yet. It’s still damp from where he pressed it to my face.
My fingers pause at the edges of the stained cloth, thumbing over the initials.
E.P.H.A.
It gleams in braided gold thread, and it’s the third letter that really catches my attention: Hyperion, the sun-bearing titan, father of dawn and radiance.
Imagine that, a sun god’s moniker stitched into the starkest man I’ve ever met.
Yet, back in the woods, when that song unravelled me, the fool became a lodestar.
Every note that came from God-knows-where deep in the trees filled my lungs with water, replaying the exact moment the lake tried to drink me whole.
Eric stood there, a fixed thing, a compass I didn’t ask for.
Here I am, blushing like a madwoman thinking about the man who had to physically carry her out of her own hell.
Probably the sickest joke Redford could play.
Still, my thumb circles the H, and I admit silently to myself how much I needed him in that moment. Gratitude settles low in my chest once I fold the fabric and place it aside.
The cold air scrapes at me once I’m naked and reaching for the shower knob.
This time I wait until the water is positively scalding before I climb in.
I imagine my skin sizzling as each droplet hits it, but I savour the burn.
The cloth bristles against me with how hard I scrub, trying to wash away years of memories that are trying to claw their way to the surface.
The shower doesn’t work. I’m still wearing the lake, and I suspect I always will.
Not wanting to bother Lydia, I throw my hair up into a towel and grab my underwear from the counter on the way out of the bathroom.
A cotton pair of ribbed briefs slides over my still damp hips, followed by a bra and my favourite green robe.
The sash sighs when I cinch it tightly around my waist. Soon after, I make my way to the kitchen, where I put on a kettle of water.
Steam curls around my wrists when I’m too impatient to do something else, already waiting for it to finish.
I’ve got my mug set up, a rooibos tea bag already positioned with three teaspoons of sugar.
I stare fondly at the orange box, unwilling to put it away just yet.
Five Roses . Imported directly from South Africa.
If this test kills me, bury me with my rooibos teabags.
I switch off the stove and rummage through the cupboard for a bottle of honey when the door latch clicks.
The sound makes gooseflesh rise on my skin. It’s foolish of me to hope it’s Tommy, but I suspect I won’t be hearing from her until she’s paid for her sins to Godwyn. The thought almost makes me gag, recalling the way she screamed as the flames engulfed her?—
“Chess?” Edmund’s voice.
My heart returns to a normal speed, and I pivot to see him lean partly into the kitchen.
His collar is undone, his pants are wrinkled and there’s swelling around his eyes from having recently woken up.
Did he drive all the way back from the city?
Were I to roll back time, we’d be standing over Gabriel’s body, and I find myself, briefly—so very briefly—wondering whether I’d do things differently.
Should’ve shouldered it alone.
All I did was drag him into the fire because I was too afraid to burn alone in the aftermath of it all. I made him an accomplice instead of a cousin.
“ Francesca ,” he says my name again on an exhale, and the heaviness to it has guilt slithering around my heart. His hands are shaking as he moves to grip my forearms, checking to see whether I’m real. “Father told me about that rubbish prank. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” The response is too fast.
Worry stretches every muscle of his face. His eyes rake over me, like he’s checking for visible damage. He does this every time, and I never have the heart to tell him the cracks aren’t visible from the outside.
As a member of this family, it should’ve been a universal truth to him, yet somehow, miraculously, he was able to maintain that sweetness about him.
“God, you went to the lake again.” One hand frees me to pinch the bridge of his nose. I can see the panic building in the way his jaw twitches.
“Heard it calling. I had to go.”
“You can’t keep chasing ghosts, Chess.”
“And what am I supposed to do if they chase me?”
He ignores my question. “What if you’d gotten hurt? Or fell in? Anything could’ve happened while you were alone out there.”
“I wasn’t alone. Eric was with me.”
The name stiffens his posture. “Good, at least he’s proved himself useful.”
I attempt to steer the topic towards a lighter one. “If what Eric said is true, I have you to thank for his presence.” Red creeps over Edmund’s cheeks, and I’m tempted to laugh. “Did you really have to tell ghost stories?”
“Kairos yapped my ear off. I needed to get him to shut up, and ghost stories seemed to do the trick. Didn’t know he’d go and tell his brother, though. Or that the fool would investigate.” A sheen of relief slips over his gaze. “I’m thankful, though.”
“I was just about to make some tea,” I say to fill the air. Something has been missing since Eric left, and I can’t put my finger on it. “You want some?”
He nods, stepping back slowly to not frighten me, and takes a seat at the island. “Tea me up, Cousin. It’s already been a long morning.”
I prepare two cups and have to stop myself from gagging when Edmund purposefully reminds me that he takes milk in his. He chuckles at the exaggerated look of disgust I throw him, and the sound takes me back to sunlit kitchens at Marathid Manor back when Aunt Edith wasn’t a raging psycho.
He must think the same, for his smile glitches the slightest bit before he shrugs the memories off and holds out a hand for his cup.
There’s no contact as I pass it, but his pinky twitches, seeking out that touch, that certainty I’m still present.
I force my glum thoughts to recede and give him better, taking his free hand and giving it a hard squeeze.
His smile turns watery, and he returns a nod, both thankful and apologetic.
I see Uncle Hamish in that apology. There’s grief in those eyes, and, like his father, I know he can’t name them.
My tongue is too tired to repeat the same words of fond scolding, so I settle for another squeeze before retreating to anchor myself on the marble countertop against the wall.
The robe keeps slipping off one shoulder, refusing to obey the hasty knot I made, but I welcome the sun rays on my bare shoulder.
Minutes tick past as we sip quietly at the tea.
Edmund finishes first but doesn’t ease the grip on his cup, clinging to whatever warmth still resides in the clay.
The liquid burns my tongue, but I savour it, relishing in the heat that trickles down my throat and branches out to every frozen crevice it can find.
I pretend to ignore the way Edmund taps his cup. Middle finger thrice, followed by two taps of the index and then a slow drag of the pinky. That kind of repetition Edith always called mindless, harmless until it isn’t.
I let it ride before breaking the quiet. “How was the city?”
His thumb drags along the rim of the cup, and he doesn’t meet my gaze. “Not as lively as you’d think. Left here with a pit in my stomach. Should’ve trusted it. Should’ve stayed here with you.”
My pulse thunders at the confession. “I’m not an emergency, Ed.”
“No,” he agrees instantly, offended that I even suggested it. His gaze slides to my bare knee, then snaps to my eyes. “You’re not. But I worry, even when I try not to.”
The barstool scrapes when he stands, and restlessness flickers beneath his skin. I know this version of him, too many thoughts trying to leave at once. He tugs at his undone collar.
“Tell me you slept,” he all but begs.
“I did,” I say with a gentle nod, brows dipping in the centre at his agonised stare. “Tell me you did. Please.”
“I tried; I promise I did.” He snorts at my exasperated sigh because he always gives me grief for not taking care of myself, yet he doesn’t seem to mind when it comes to himself.
“Mind kept circling, you see.” He twirls a finger in the air, watching a film behind his eyes that I can’t see.
“I’m sorry. Rough morning. Would you stay with me today? Do some reading?”
Kairos is leaving soon, and I’ve to see him off; Gran wants me to look at flower arrangements for the ball soon, and there are probably things I’m missing, floating around aimlessly in my head, but the way he asks makes me pause.
Brittle and scared, it folds every corner of this world into something small enough to hold, and I find myself nodding.
He mirrors my nod, though his is shakier.
“I’m trying to believe today’s lighter. The sun lets me pretend, but the wind calls me a liar.
” He stops in front of me, close enough that the heat from his skin creeps beneath my robe.
“I wanted to talk to Percy, but…” His gaze catches on the exposed bra strap.
One heartbeat. Two. “I don’t want to bother her with these storms.”
His hand settles onto a bare thigh. The touch is new, and my breath stutters. I pray my mug hides it, but there’s no space to retreat. His thumb circles a few times against my skin, tender in its awfulness.
It’s just Edmund , I tell myself. Just Ed trying to ground himself when the storm gets rough. Just like he did with Lolly the tiger plushie, and his phase of cigarettes smoked behind the castle.
“Ed,” I mutter, choosing gentleness. “Storms pass. It’s okay to rest.”