Chapter 14 #2
Caterina, Rhiain and Asterin’s eldest, had made a love match in Percy Bircham.
Their son, Wyat, was Ossie’s age and would inherit the Edevane stewardship.
Her twin, Tyreste, had three children with his wife, Eliana Rosewood, sister of Senna: Clarissant, Rhiain, and Kimbra.
Clarissant, freshly turned eighteen, was betrothed to a young steward, Griffath Tyndall, a love match just like her aunt had made, but it was the fact of him hailing from the Westerlands that had caused the most scandal.
Sianha had also done well for herself, marrying the older, widowed Steward Stirling Oakenwell, and had two children of her own, Endeara and Asterin.
Young Asterin would be steward of Oak Hill one day, and Endeara would be formally betrothed to Steward Sylvaine’s nephew, Barrington, in three years when she turned sixteen.
Little Rhydian was not so little anymore. He’d just taken a bride, Viola Waters, daughter of Steward Waters of Bythesea, and she was carrying their first child.
Altogether, Rhiain and Asterin had seven grandchildren, ages nine to eighteen. Emrys had one grandchild he doted on. The Skylark and Edevane names were secure, and their bloodline would endure through the ancestry of many noble houses.
It was a perfect legacy, one Jesstin had missed.
But that wasn’t the greatest tragedy of his absence. No, the greatest was one Sesto himself still could not explain.
“You’ve always appreciated my directness and commitment to truth, but I need you to understand that I do not understand what I’m about to tell you,” Sesto said carefully and waited for his understanding nod to continue.
“Rhiain, As, Emrys, and the children wrote us constantly asking for updates about you. Every week, at least. For years. And then, one day, Daire and I received the most curious letter from Asterin. It said that they missed me as ever and wished I’d return home, with Daire, and didn’t understand why they couldn’t come to Rivenholde, but.
..” He pursed a breath. “But they did not know who this ‘Jesstin’ was. I didn’t know what to say to such a bizarre response, and I wrote as much, but they were adamant.
Rhiain had only one brother, Emrys. Asterin had only two, Theocratin and Castien.
They certainly didn’t share a half brother, and they couldn’t understand why I was so insistent.
.. even suggested I was losing my mind and they were coming to take me home to look after me. Jesstin, I truly—”
“Ses.” Jesstin clamped a hand over his. “I already know why.”
“How?” Sesto gaped at him. “Why?”
Jesstin recounted the months—mere months, which Sesto could not comprehend—he’d spent in Infinita Mori.
How he’d searched for Elloven and how he’d given up parts of himself to find her.
“I didn’t know which vial Elloven stole until now.
” He hung his head but peered up at Sesto. “Seven grandchildren?”
“They’ll be great-grandparents soon enough. Clarissant seems eager to wed her love, despite the misfortune of him being from the Westerlands, and both Asterin and her father, Tyreste, have finally consented after months of her wearing them down.”
“My little nieces and nephews are twice as old as I am now. Tyreste’s daughter is nearly my age,” Jesstin replied. Sesto offered comfort for these stunning disclosures in his presence alone. Words meant nothing against such a loss of self. “And... Sestinn? Castien?”
“Alive. Unfortunately.” It was the most charitable way he could define their continued existence. “You’ll be relieved to know Asterin continued our work with the children in the cellar, until it was no longer necessary.”
Jesstin’s brows snapped together. “How exactly did he determine that? Did he cut off their cocks and turn them into pig slop, as we should have done?”
“Sestinn is frail and bedridden. He’s under constant care. Castien is said to be... ineffective in the bedchamber these days. There have been no children or grandchildren in the cellar for some years now.”
Jesstin leaned back and closed his eyes with a scoff. “Esme?”
“She’s hung on for years, waiting for you to bring Elloven home,” Daire answered, relieving Sesto. “She’s deeply unwell though. It will be prudent for Elloven to visit her soon, if she intends to.”
Jesstin’s eyes traveled to the side as he nodded. “You said Taven is here? Lives here?”
“His time is nearly at an end as well,” Daire said. “You may find this difficult to believe, but he’ll be glad to see you before he leaves this world.”
Jesstin laughed. “I don’t even care anymore. He helped me save Elloven in the Infinitum. I think. I can’t be sure what was real and not.”
Sesto and Daire gawped at each other. “Taven told us the most preposterous tale, and we’d assumed it was due to the early days of his illness.
He’d been rather addled for a while,” Sesto said.
“He claimed... Well, he claimed to have been pulled through time, back to that day in Mythgarde when Elloven saved you, except everything was different.”
“We know he has time magic, but he’d never been trained,” Daire said. “As Sesto said, we assumed it was his mind going.”
“He did the right thing, for once,” Jesstin said. “Maybe I’ll tell him that before I leave.”
“Before we leave,” Daire said assertively, and all Sesto could do was listen, dumbstruck.
The little croft was never supposed to be their home forever.
They’d always planned to journey to Riverchapel.
But they’d made a life. For Sesto, he’d lived as many years before Rivenholde as in Rivenholde.
They had friends. Professions. Joys and sorrows.
“Which we should do as soon as Miss Elloven is ready to travel. We’ll go to Nightwood first, of course. ”
Jesstin was listening, but his bleary eyes were on Sesto.
“Where will you go?” Daire asked. “Not the Hermitage, I suppose. Sesto wrote to your banker as your ‘business agent’ and had your trust transferred to an investment account where they won’t ask questions about your long absence. We’ve sent small deposits over the years to keep it active.”
“I can’t believe you stayed so long,” Jesstin finally said. “But this is your home now. You don’t have to leave it for me. I can take Elloven myself and then I’ll find my way. I always have.”
“You’ll not stay with her?” Daire seemed confused, but Sesto knew what Jesstin was going to say before he said it.
“She deserves better than the man who murdered her brother.” Jesstin paused to swallow.
“Now that she’s safe, I can’t keep that from her.
” He frowned at Sesto’s disproving scowl at the word murdered.
“Gennady didn’t slaughter that girl, Sesto.
He was trying to save her, and I wouldn’t listen.
He was trying to save all of them. I saw the truth of that night in Infinita Mori. ”
Sesto had always assumed there was more to that evening; it had never quite fit what he knew about Gennady Hawthorne, who had been an honorable young man who was all heart until that fateful event.
But he knew in his soul Jesstin was not a cold-blooded murderer either.
“Whatever truth was revealed to you, it was not obvious the night you killed him. You know this. You loved Gennady like a brother. And you risked everything to save Elloven. You returned her from the dead, Jess. Who else has ever been able to say as such? She’s alive because of you.
You gave up thirty-three years of your own life, and your entire family.
She will surely take that into account.”
“I know what I have to live with.” Jesstin picked the edge from the dry bread he’d barely touched.
He’d grown up too, even if only months had passed for him.
It was a proper man sitting across from Sesto now.
And, like with all proper men, there were wounds that not even time could heal.
“Thirty-three years. The world has moved on.”
“The world is what it has always been. It will be whatever you make of it.” It was Sesto’s turn to grab Jesstin’s hand.
“Of course we are going with you. Our season here has been more beautiful, more peaceful than I could ever have imagined, but it is ended now. It’s time to go home.
I miss—” He caught himself before he went on and on about the family.
“We’ll begin our next season in Riverchapel, as you will. ”
Jesstin smiled sadly. “I’m happy to see you two together.” He nodded to himself. “You don’t have to live for me. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
He would not be fine. He was not fine now.
But Jesstin was only half the reason Sesto was resolved to go.
Saying aloud how dearly he missed Rhiain and the rest of the family would only deepen Jesstin’s wound, but Sesto ached for them every single day.
“It’s already decided,” Sesto said. “There’ll be plenty of nights to share stories, but you’re exhausted.
I’m afraid we gave our only other bed to Elloven.
If you don’t mind sharing with Daire, I’ll make up a space for myself on the sofa. ”
Jesstin shoved back from the table. “You go back to sleep. I think I might take a walk.”
“Now? Right now?” Daire asked.
“Why not?” Jesstin stood. “If Elloven wakes before I’m back, let her know we’ll set out for her mother’s tomorrow. Assuming she feels up to travel.”
“Exactly how long do you intend to be gone?” Sesto crossed his arms and stayed defiantly seated.
“I see age hasn’t made you any less dramatic. The consistency is nice.” Jesstin’s grin was subtle. “I need to breathe the air for a while and remember who I am, especially now that everyone else has forgotten.”
“Not everyone else,” Daire said softly. “Not a day has passed that Sesto hasn’t spoken your name.”
Sesto flushed in discomfiture. It was true, and he wasn’t embarrassed by it, but nor did he know how to explain the depth of loss he’d felt for three decades.