26 #3
Idhri thanked him and set out through the gardens, past the wide main gate and below the east tower, where the knights’ lackeys and the horsemen slept.
He heard the familiar sounds of horses whickering through the deepening gloom and nightjars beginning to chuckle to each other.
From the cottages outside the courtine came the homely sounds of families bedding down, children calling out, the occasional dog barking the alarm as Idhri passed.
Hugh and Emma’s cottage was near the lake, just where the clearing ended and the woods began.
Emma’s garden was in full spate, vegetables and flowers brilliant even in the darkness.
The two small unglazed windows at the front of the whitewashed cottage glowed yellow with candlelight beneath the thatched roof.
He slowed for a few steps to appreciate the sight, but soon eagerness overtook him, and he ran to the door and knocked.
It flew open, and Emma stepped out to gather him in her generous embrace. “They said you was come!” she cried. “They said, but I couldn’t hardly believe it. I’ve been so worried.”
Idhri hugged her back so tightly she began to laugh.
The dogs came running, jumping up against Idhri’s legs and demanding to be stroked.
“You rascal,” Emma said. “I gave Hugh such a tongue lash for leaving you there in fae country. Anything might have happened! Those fae, you can’t trust them, can you?
Did they hurt you at all? Come in, come in, sit yourself down. Are you hungry?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She never did.
She chattered on, and Idhri, grinning so widely his face hurt, sat at the table while she brought him biscuits and cider, then sat down across from him.
“Hugh is off with the boat,” she told him.
“But he’ll be back tomorrow, or maybe the day after.
You will stay, though? Your room is just as you left it, though I did give it a bit of a dust and freshened your pillow, just in case. ”
Idhri’s appetite had been sated in the castle kitchen, but he couldn’t say no to Emma’s biscuits.
He sat, hardly speaking a word, while she told him everything that had happened during his absence: the war party coming back victorious, Sir Lancelin with a terrible wound, how fearful everyone had been for the young king.
“But the priestesses are here now,” she said, sitting back in her chair with an air of finality. “Sir Lancelin will get well, and you’re home, and no more troubles.”
Idhri brushed biscuit crumbs from his tunic. He had told her nothing of his time in the White City. He certainly hadn’t recounted the recovery of his memories, or the shocking news about his father.
He supposed this was the time to spill everything, but he was reluctant, and he bargained with himself.
He could get it over with now, blurt out everything, or he could wait until Hugh was home.
Perhaps it would be better to tell them both together, and if the news upset Emma, Hugh would be here to calm her.
He knew his master’s feeling about the fae.
If Hugh decided having a half-blood in the house was not something he could countenance, then he could be the one to order Idhri out, and spare Emma the burden.
His weaker self won, and he said nothing. On Emma’s urging, once the biscuits were gone and the cider drunk, he hugged her again and retired to his room. One of the dogs stayed close at his heels, curling up on the rug beside the bed the moment they stepped inside.
The familiarity of the bedroom warmed his heart.
He had a new appreciation for the pretty curtains, sewn specially for him by Emma, and the sturdy furniture, all made by Hugh.
It hadn’t been such a long time since he slept here, but it seemed as if he had been away forever.
A lifetime. He supposed in a way he had lived a lifetime since seeing it—the lifetime he had been unable to remember—and he saw it now with new eyes.
When he last slept in this bed, he had been tormented by the fault in his mind that had hidden his memories away. Now, though he looked forward to the pleasure of lying on his own pillow, looking out at the stars as he was used to doing, he suffered a different sort of torment.
Braithe had said it would take time to adjust to the worst of his memories. She said, in her sweet way, “Now, Idhri, you will always grieve your mother. What happened was tragic. But you will also always think of her with love, and in time, your pain will ease.” He hoped she was right.
He lay down, doing his best to hold Braithe’s words in the forefront of his mind, rather than reliving his mother’s death for the hundredth time. It helped to know Emma was close by, that Hugh would be with them soon, that everything would be out in the open, for good or ill.
Emma would be glad his memory had returned. She would tut over his mother’s hard life and cruel death and do her best to ease his sorrow.
He wished he had no need to tell her he was a half-blood. He wondered if it was possible to keep such a secret.