Chapter Fourteen JITTERS Keir
Chapter Fourteen
JITTERS
Keir
It was the darkest part of the night as Keir left Fossholm on horseback.
It seemed to be a rule of complicated pregnancies that the baby always finally came in the middle of the night or on a holiday or right when the doctor had sat down for tea.
But the baby—half elf, half human in this case, a combination that sometimes posed a challenge for the smaller hips of the elf mother—had come with little incident, though she did take her time coming.
Keir led his horse through the Fossholm High Street, stopping to admire the new ‘lectric lights that lined the way to the frozen lake beyond. This was what progress looked like, the good kind of it. He’d treated the pixies who lit the lamps in Herot’s Hollow for burns countless times.
Now they were responsible for changing the bulbs once they burnt out, a much less dangerous task.
Keir was less certain about the benefits of the manufactory. He had seen the injuries in his time studying medicine in Arcas Dyrne. Lacerations, amputations, severe burns, broken limbs. Sometimes in children barely old enough to hold a wrench, let alone work an assembly line.
It wasn’t that Keir doubted Idris, but he knew the prince shared a bit of his father’s penchant for jumping on new ideas without giving enough attention to the details needed to see them through.
But Idris’s flights of fancy were far less destructive than King Derkomai’s, thank the Gods, and with Rinka at his side and Gwenla leading the manufactory charge, he knew they’d do what they could to keep the good people of Wilderise safe from harm.
With any luck, the hospital would be so little used he’d have to shut it down.
Keir peered out over the ice to the eastern shore where the hospital would stand.
It was a short ride from Weldan House, his and Alison’s eventual home, but it was a longer trip back to Herot’s Hollow.
The town he’d turned his back on had come to mean so much to him since Alison had arrived, and he knew it meant so much to Alison as well.
Could she be happy here in Fossholm? Could she be happy in Weldan House, in its cavernous halls and palatial grounds? She’d come to love tending the little garden in her hedge maze. Would she feel the same telling a team of gardeners what to plant?
And what of being the duchess? If Keir continued practicing medicine, and he couldn’t picture giving it up now, would she be content to host balls and festivals even in his absence? To go to court when called?
Was this the life she wanted for herself, or was it something Keir was imposing on her by virtue of who he was? Who he had been born to be, whether he wanted it or not.
He was terrified to ask her, he realized. Selfishly, he wanted her with him no matter what she wanted. She was such a comfort to him. She made him better.
But was that fair to her? What did he offer her? What could he give her that would make the sacrifices she would need to make worthwhile?
Keir rode through the darkened woods along the road to Herot’s Hollow, lost in contemplation.
He didn’t notice the fairy fire until it was right on top of him.
“If it isn’t the finest dancer in Wilderise,” said a familiar voice.
It was a good thing Genn had spoken. Keir never would have recognized the fairy from their figure alone in the light of the fairy fire. Genn was an eighth of the size from when Keir had seen them last, but it was the same fairy—same blue hair, same white wings, same human features. Same mischief.
“I didn’t know you could leave the place we found you,” said Keir. The woods where they had met had been a strange place that seemed apart from this world in a way that seemed alternately sinister and beautiful.
Genn laughed. “You humans always doubt our magic. But I didn’t think you of all people would be one to doubt the power of the old ways. You who have seen them firsthand.”
“It seems I have a lot of doubts lately.”
“The wedding?”
“How did you—?” But Genn gave him a look like, what did I just say? And Keir stopped himself. “Yes, the wedding.”
Genn flitted to take a seat in the horse’s mane. The horse stirred but did not startle, another effect of the fairy’s magic, perhaps.
“How could you doubt the one that led you from the dark corners of your own mind?”
“I don’t doubt Alison. I doubt myself.”
Genn nodded sagely. “Fair. But rather than doubt yourself, perhaps you should just try harder. If you’re worried about failing to do something, perhaps just do it. If you’re worried about doing something you shouldn’t, perhaps don’t.”
Keir considered whether to brush the fairy off his horse and ride on. “Great advice. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Genn laughed. “You misunderstand me. I’m not telling you to leave Alison or that she would be better off without you.
I’m telling you that I think you are fully capable of being who she needs you to be.
Love is a choice you make. Choose her, each and every day, but don’t forget yourself.
Find the balance. Sometimes it will be easy.
Sometimes it will be hard. If I thought you were incapable, I would tell you so. ”
Keir couldn’t decide whether to be comforted by the words or disturbed by how much the fairies seemed to know of him and Alison despite only having met once before. But heeding the fairy’s advice, for Alison’s sake, he chose comfort. “Thank you. I’ll think on what you’ve said.”
“Oh, and if you’ve ever gone and made a right mess of it, ask her to dance. There’s no way she could stay angry with you long if you’re dancing.”
The fairy stood and stretched its back and wings, then flitted away, following the fairy fire into the woods on the other side of the road.
“Will you come to the wedding?” asked Keir just before they left sight. “Alison would want me to ask, at least.”
“Of course,” said Genn as the fairy fire flickered, vanishing from sight.
“No, no, no,” said Willow. “Try again.”
“Willow, I’m not a writer. I’m not even much of a talker. I don’t know how I’m meant to do this.”
Keir sat at his desk surrounded by crumpled up pieces of paper and scratched out lines. He’d been at it since the cat had woken him at midday with news of Alison’s finalized vows.
Vows that she had apparently written herself.
“She wanted it to be a surprise, but I thought you’d be embarrassed if you showed up empty handed. Since I’ve heard hers, I can listen to yours and let you know if they work together.”
Which was thoughtful of the cat—she was right that Keir would have been embarrassed to have to read the standard vows after Alison had poured her heart out—but Alison was a poet. Words were her gift.
Keir wasn’t even great at saying comforting things to his patients. In fact, on more than one occasion since their return, he’d wished she could join him again on his house calls, and not just for the pain relief her magic was able to provide.
But he didn’t want to keep her from the wedding planning or to monopolize the last of her time as a single woman, and so he’d made do with his own inadequate faculties.
Those same faculties were proving equally inadequate in describing his feelings for her.
“I promise to love you in good times and bad—”
“See, that’s what I’m saying. Do you really want to focus on bad times at the wedding?”
“But that’s traditional. The standard vows have a similar bit.”
“So it’s not very original, is it?”
Keir sighed. “Just give me a hint about what she’s written.”
“Try to be more specific,” said Willow. “Less platitudes, more details. Let the audience fill in the generalities.”
Well, Keir had to hand it to the cat. That was actually useful advice. Alison had mentioned that Willow made a fine editor, but Keir had thought she was just being kind.
It took the rest of the afternoon, but he finally came up with something decent. It wouldn’t win any awards, but it was heartfelt and heavy on the specifics Willow had mentioned.
“You’ll keep it a secret, won’t you? I’d like it to be a surprise to her on the day.”
Willow purred in response.
“And you too, Dinah?” asked Keir. The caramel cat was curled up on the couch. She’d been sleeping for most of the day, but Keir couldn’t be sure what she had heard.
“Food,” said Dinah.
“Too right,” said Keir, heading into the kitchen.
Back at New Year’s, Keir had spent some time looking through boxed up things in the cellar of Weldan House while Alison had gotten dressed for the ball.
It hadn’t taken him long to find what he was looking for.
There were only a few pictures of Keir’s mother that had been taken with a picture-taker.
A traveling dwarf had visited Fossholm one Winter Solstice before Charlotte was born.
He had come up to Weldan House with his picture-taker and a number of other strange contraptions, and Keir’s father had turned him away.
But hearing of the picture-taker, Keir’s mother had chased after the man, running down the gravel drive still in her slippers and dressing gown.
She’d insisted he stay for Solstice supper that evening after taking their portraits in the afternoon.
The dwarf had obliged, and Lady Ainsley had been most generous in her praise and compensation.
Lord Ainsley, despite his earlier misgivings, had gone along with the affair willingly.
She had been the one person he couldn’t say no to.
The portraits themselves were boxed away with Lady Ainsley’s other things after her passing.
Keir didn’t remember the day himself, but he’d heard the story from the servants, and he’d gone looking for the portraits.
He went back every time he forgot his mother’s face, which happened unfortunately often.
How cruel memory could be, to give access to some terrible things so easily while denying him the beautiful moments he most longed for.