Chapter Fourteen
Sephie felt as if she was free for the first time in her life. Free from the expectations—and disappointment—of others. Free from responsibilities. Free from all the restrictions that built prickly hedges of “thou shalt nots” around well-born ladies.
Free to fall in love, for each day she spent with Taz, she learned more about him, and with everything she learned, she lost a little more of her heart.
Furthermore, singing with him was a revelation.
They seemed to understand one another without thought, without conversation, melodies and harmonies weaving in and out and soaring to heights she had never imagined.
Every day, it seemed more and more impossible to think of living without him.
However, he did not again raise the question of marriage.
Nor did he mention having second thoughts, and he treated her every day as if she was someone special, someone precious.
Perhaps he was, as she had asked, just giving her time.
Should she tell him she had had time enough?
Or should she just relax and enjoy learning about the fae?
Any of the fae women Sephie knew would speak up.
They did not see men as more important or more capable than women, or one man as more important than another.
Like other humans, they all had different gifts, both magical and mundane, but they did not rank them.
A person with a gift for magical weaving was not less nor more valued by the community than a person with a gift for weaving without magic, and a person who could cause a tree to grow a branch broad enough for a house floor was not less nor more esteemed than a person who could teach astronomy to the children and any adult with an interest, or throw a perfectly proportioned pot.
The only expectations, as far as Sephie could discover, were to find what one was good at and do it well, to treat one another kindly, and to cherish and protect the children.
She spoke to Taz about it one morning. The fae had not yet arrived and they had the rooms to themselves.
“I did not know families could be like this. Is it only the fae? But Lord and Lady Baradine love their adopted children just as fiercely and completely. Did you know love like this when you were a child?”
Taz shook his head. “From my mother, perhaps. Before she died. I was only eight, and I cannot be certain what I remember and what I merely wish to have been the case. Especially since, for years, I couldn’t bear to think about her at all.”
He fell silent, staring into nothing, and she took his hand as a gesture of sympathy. He turned hers over and placed a kiss in it. “What about you, Sephie? Did your mother love you the way these fae folk love their children?”
No. Not in Sephie’s memory. But perhaps, as Taz said, she was too young to know.
“I am like you. I would like to think so. But I have few memories of her. Just a person in clothes that rustled, jewelry that glittered in the candlelight and a cloud of perfume. I think my nursemaid used to take me to see her when she was dressing for dinner. She would kiss my cheek when she saw me. If she was in a very good mood, she would hug me and rain kisses all over my face. And then she would tell the nursemaid to take me away.”
She sighed, the memory so distant that it seemed a dream. “Fae mothers see their children more than once a day, I think. Like you, I was eight when she left. She was running away with a lover, and died when her carriage went over a cliff.”
After that, nursemaids didn’t change quite so often, but Sephie couldn’t say she cared for any of them, and nor did any of them care for her.
“Father left me to my nursemaids and governesses then. My gift manifested when I was fourteen, and he had me tested. When I got everything wrong, he sent me to live with my Granny. I never saw him again. Granny didn’t like me, either. ”
“I am sorry, Sephie,” said Taz. “You deserved better.”
“All children do, I think. Let’s not adopt children, Taz.
I think I would be a bad mother.” That was presumptuous of her.
He had not repeated his marriage proposal.
On the other hand, he touched her often, and took care of her in little ways, such as serving her before himself, giving her his hand to step over tree roots, and lifting low branches out of her way.
She held her breath for his reaction. Would he scold her for assuming that he still wanted to marry her now that he knew her better? No one had ever liked her once they got to know her. Not even her own parents.
“I do not think we have to repeat the mistakes of those who raised us,” Taz said. “If we do adopt, let us be as much like fae parents as we can.”
Those who raised us. The phrasing made her wonder. “Who raised you, Taz? Your father?”
Taz shook his head, and in a rush, as if the words had been dammed up behind his teeth, he said, “They killed my father, too. He was the reason they came. He was trying to organize a strike at the mine where he worked as bookkeeper. The mine owner sent in a gang to abuse Mam in front of Dad and the neighbors, and then to kill them both.”
And Sephie had thought her family history was sad! She clung to Taz’s hand, struggling to think of something she could say. “I am so sorry,” was the best she could do.
“That was when my magic manifested. I tried to attack the men who were hurting my Mam, and the neighbors held me back. Apparently—I don’t remember it, but I have been told—I started hurling things at them with my mind.
Anything that wasn’t fastened down. One of the neighbors knocked me out so I didn’t get myself killed along with my parents, and after it was all over, they sent me to the nearest mage.
And that’s how I came to live with He—with the Hawk. ”
“He raised me after my parents were killed. I owe him for that. And on top of that, there’s what I owe to the English. They destroyed my family. Do I not have a right to my revenge? They enslaved my country and they persecute my people. Should I not fight to throw them out?”
“Not all English,” Sephie protested. “I am part English.”
“Your Granny was Cymry,” you said. And your father shares our blood, too, through his mother. You are more Cymry than English.” He paused, then changed the subject. “Hawk must be wondering where I am. He probably thinks I am dead.”
Taz frowned, and alarm prickled at the edges of Sephie’s mind. He wanted to go back to the man he called the Hawk. Would the Hawk welcome her? Did she want to be welcomed by the man? He had saved Taz after her friend’s parents were killed, but Sephie did not like the sound of him, nonetheless.
If Taz chose to return to him, Sephie was going too. Taz might need her.
He smiled, then. A wry smile, but a smile, nonetheless.
“The Hawk felt the same way about my gift as your father felt about yours. I have been trying to please the Hawk for eighteen years, and I have never succeeded.” He paused again as if realizing something.
Indeed, for he then said, “Do you know what, Sephie? I think it is time I stopped.”
“Good for you.” Sephie agreed. “Though I imagine he will be pleased now you have come properly into your magic.”
“True, but don’t you think it is possible that both of us were made worse by the people who should have supported us and helped us, and instead criticized us at every turn?”
“That is what Cousin Jasper believes,” Sephie told him.
“He says that the focus of our training is too narrow, and those who don’t fit, and who can’t be forced into a category, are neglected or even abused.
He says he could not properly control his gift until last year, when danger to Cousin Delia released his power to turn into a dragon. ”
“You like your cousins,” Taz commented. “Even though they are the enemy.”
“They work for the land of their birth,” Sephie protested. “You work for the land of yours. Our countries are enemies, but that does not mean there are not good people on both sides.”
He nodded. “That is true,” he acknowledged. “I am still on the side of Cymry, Sephie.”
That was as far as they got before they were interrupted by a chime from the bell on the door.
It was their usual escort of fae, but this morning was different, their usual smiles perfunctory, their eyes somber. Taz asked the question that Sephie was considering. “Is something wrong?”
Ligard did not prevaricate. “The meeting has decided that you should return to the outside world. Druisten is waiting in the clearing to take you to the forest of your choice.”
Just like that, their sojourn in the forest was over.
“Eryri,” said Taz. “If we go to the Gwydir forest in Eryri, we are only a half-day’s walk from the Hawk. Would that suit you, Sephie?”
Not really, but Sephie didn’t have an alternative plan. Anywhere in England—or Scotland, for that matter—could mean falling back into the hands of her cousin. “I suppose…” she said.
Packing did not take long, though they left with more than they’d had when they arrived. Ligard, Acha, and the others insisted that they take the clothing and jewelry they’d been given since they arrived. The wonderfully fine clothing took up a remarkably small amount of room.
Far sooner than Sephie was ready, they arrived at the meeting circle where Druisten and Taz had a brief conversation about their destination. The fae had their own names for their forests, of course, and Taz needed to describe some of the landmarks around the forest he’d chosen.
“It is an ancient forest,” Druisten acknowledged, “and has been home to the fae in the past. It will, perhaps, house us again in the future. It is still connected to the gate system.”
Most of the fae said their farewells in the clearing, their tones, and actions casual, as if Taz and Sephie were going to be back soon, or perhaps as if their presence had barely caused a ripple on the surface of their forest peace.