Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Children.
Legacy.
Love.
Pendefyre has never confessed to wanting any of those things. He has always acted as though the price they demand is too high to pay; has always stated, unequivocally, that tying himself too tightly to anyone would result in a conflagration of direst consequence.
Has he changed his mind?
I cannot bring myself to ask any more than he can bring himself to say. Poised on the edge of a knife that threatens to slice straight through my future, I do the only thing I can do.
I wait.
“I—I don’t—” Penn takes a breath that broadens his whole frame, then takes a sip of water before he attempts again. “I do not know what my future holds, in that regard. I cannot say if I will ever take a wife, or sire a child of my own. Not now. Perhaps not ever.”
Of course not.
“In the meantime,” he goes on, not seeming to notice my flinch, “I will do my best to help raise Nevin. I will try to honor Uther’s legacy any way I can, and support Carys however she will allow. I will keep them close enough to protect.”
But not to love.
He still cannot allow himself to make that leap. Still cannot convince himself that loving is not the same as forfeiting; that to surrender one’s heart can be done without losing one’s free will.
I wonder, not for the first time, if he will ever be able to love freely, or if his affections will forever remain trapped along with his power in a cage of rigid self-control.
The one person he ever truly allowed himself to care for, body and soul, is long gone.
The fading shadow of a memory. A ghost who haunts his every new beginning, reminding him of the worst repercussions that can come of mixing passion and power.
Enid.
The thought of her no longer pains me, as it once did. Instead, it offers a shred of enlightenment about Penn’s complex past. And, in a concurrent stroke, illuminates some harsher realities about his future.
I exhale, long and low. As I do, I feel the world come rushing back in—light and laughter and sound returning in one great whoosh.
There is the thwacking of the palm fronds overhead, the faint sway of the glowing paper lanterns, the stomping of boots on the dance floor.
There is Yara’s snarky commentary, and Vaughn’s resounding laugh, and the warbling whine of a fiddle.
We are back in breathable air.
Back on stable conversational ground.
Setting aside the perilous prospect of us, I clear my throat. “You describe this new guardianship as a responsibility. I think it can be more than that, Penn. If you let it. It can be a source of good, and joy, and harmony.”
He stares at me, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Don’t doubt yourself or your capabilities. Nevin is lucky to have you.”
He blows out a breath. “I am hardly a perfect role model.”
“Children don’t care about perfect.” I smile at him, thinking of my own wizened, occasionally crotchety mentor. “The man who raised me wasn’t, but I still miss him terribly each day. I—”
Reminiscences of Eli are snatched away as Yara’s screech of mirth cuts across the gardens. My head whips to the side in time to watch Farley, drunker than I’ve ever witnessed, falling in a dead faint to the dance floor.
“Timber!” Yara claps her hands, laughing uproariously at her downed partner. “Down he goes!”
I glance back at Penn, mouth agape. “Should we—”
“I’ll get him to the guest villa.” He’s already halfway out of his chair, expression stormy. “The buffoon needs to sleep it off in a bed.”
I don’t know whether to feel concerned or amused as I watch Penn cutting through the sea of swaying couples to Farley’s prone form.
“Do you think he needs help carrying him down the steps?” I ask Cadogan.
When I receive no response, I turn to face the soldier at the end of our table. He’s in the same position he’s been for the past few hours: body eerily still, unfocused gaze trained at the siren sisters. His tidy mop of bright blond hair is uncharacteristically mussed.
“Hey!” I snap a finger to get his attention. “Cadogan!”
He blinks twice, as if to clear a fog, then meets my eyes. His brows quirk in confusion. “Sorry, did you say something?”
Skies.
“Farley’s taken a tumble on the dance floor. Too much Titan gin, not enough common sense. Pendefyre’s gone to carry him down to your villa. Which you would know, if you’d been paying attention to a single thing that’s happened this evening.”
“Ah.” A hint of a blush creeps up the side of Cadogan’s neck. “Right. I was…”
“Entranced?” I finish wryly. “I can see that.”
He runs a hand through his messy mane. It’s an odd sight, him so disheveled.
He’s usually the picture of self-discipline.
“I’m sure Farley will be fine,” he mutters.
“Pendefyre won’t even punish him. Tomorrow’s journey home will be punishment enough.
Nothing worse than a hangover on the high seas.
He’ll spend most of the sail to Caeldera heaving over the side, I wager. ”
I grimace. “Poor Farley.”
“No more than he deserves.” A shade of his typical solemnity creeps back into Cadogan’s expression as our stares hold. “And you? Will you be sailing with us tomorrow?”
A lump lodges in my throat. “I…I don’t know yet.”
“Mmm. Well, you’d better make up your mind soon. We leave at daybreak.” He looks back at the sirens, mouth instantly going slack. “Even if there are reasons we wish we could delay…”
His words are a stark reminder that I still have not made a decision about my rapidly approaching future. I am running out of time to choose. I can feel each second ticking away, each passing moment slipping through my fingers like sand in an hourglass.
A part of me wants nothing more than to pick up the pieces of my old life again.
To settle back into the familiarity of the crater, with its roaring falls and jewel-toned lake.
Mornings in the infirmary, healing patients who need me.
Tea with Carys as baby Nevin naps. Evenings with Lestyn, poring over medicinal texts.
Sparring lessons with Jac. Rounds of twyllo with Farley.
And Penn.
Everything…with Penn.
I can see it so clearly: a fresh start in Caeldera, mine for the taking. But each time I think of leaving Ll?r, my heart feels as though it will be torn in two.
Gods, what is happening?
Why do I feel this way?
When did the path beneath my feet diverge in two?
I need clarity. I need advice. I need someone, anyone, to tell me what to do, for I feel woefully unequipped to make the decision on my own.
Almost before I’m consciously aware of it, my senses are reaching out for a familiar presence.
Seeking out a person I’ve grown accustomed to turning to with a near constant torrent of questions about everything under the sun.
A person who is always available with answers to all of life’s many curiosities.
A person whose insight—and whose presence—has been woefully absent from me all day.
Soren.
It’s almost amusing: weeks ago, if someone had asked whether I could ever trust such a man with my innermost confidences and deepest shames, I would’ve laughed in their face.
How strange, then, that he is the only person whose counsel I want at this crossroads I’ve come to.
The only one whose opinion about my future truly seems to matter.
I want, with a shocking desperation, to know how he feels about the prospect of my leaving his city.
If I’m honest with myself, it is more than a mere want.
It is a need. Without it, there is a hole punched straight through my list of pros and cons, a missing weight upon the scales that sway in the winds of my destiny.
I must speak to him.
I must know if…
I must…
But I do not feel him anywhere. I do not see him, either, when I turn to look.
Not at his seat at the head of the main banquet table, not on the dance floor.
Not anywhere my eyes move. I reach out with my senses, testing the limits of our bond, stretching it across the city from wall to wall, twining through the labyrinth of canals all the way to the sea gate.
Still, I cannot feel his presence. It’s as though he’s vanished off the face of the earth. As though he’s retreated from me until my decision is made.
The one time I actually crave his snarky commentary, he decides to respect my autonomy? The one time I desire him to push my boundaries beyond reason, he regards them with utmost politeness?
Skies, I could throttle the man. My hands curl into frustrated fists in my lap. The movement knocks the thick envelope resting there to the ground.
Carys’s letter.
Perhaps it holds some insight. Perhaps my old friend has some sage words of wisdom to impart, some lessons from afar to help make an impossible decision slightly easier.
I sweep it up like it holds the solution to all my troubles, my grip tight enough to bend the parchment. I push out of my chair so suddenly it startles Cadogan from his siren-induced haze.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I lie, heart thudding madly. “I just need some air. I’m going to walk the ramparts for a while.”
“Do you want company?”
I shake my head. “I will be back soon.”
He looks troubled, his old instincts rearing up inside him. But I am no longer under the protection of the Fire Court. He is not sworn to guard me as he was back in Dyved. His mouth presses shut and, with a short nod, he lets me go.
I wind a slow path around the edges of the dance floor, not entirely sure where I am headed. A quiet place. Somewhere I can read the letter in peace, away from the drunken revelry. The aviary, maybe?
The gown floats around my legs like water, lightweight silver threads catching the candlelight with each step.
My eyes move across the crowd, studying every face—most of them unfamiliar to me.
Regardless, everyone smiles as our eyes meet, relaxed by the thrall of good food and better wine. Spirits are high.
Folks always love a wedding.