Chapter 15 Stone and Saga
Stone and Saga
Asterin had been so generous with his time. He wasn’t a solicitor, an accountant, or a bailiff. Elloven could have afforded all three, between her father’s village property, the money left to her by Taven, and the land she’d own sooner than she should.
Of course, Asterin believed he was speaking with “Ellie,” the daughter of the Elloven he had known, who she’d told him had passed recently. All that was “her mother’s” would become hers, and while it was no Edevane or Skylark fortune, it would get her by until she decided what to do with herself.
“These are the last of the signatures required,” Asterin said and passed a stack across the table.
He was still a strikingly handsome man as he approached seventy, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed how much she stared at him every time he came over.
He’d never believe the reason wasn’t what it seemed on the surface.
She’d never be able to reconcile the people she’d once known to who they’d become.
She no longer saw Castien in the man and wondered how she’d ever struggled to tell them apart.
“Final deed of transfer for Nightwood upon the death of your grandmother, Esmeray.” He nodded tightly.
“This will expedite matters and avoid judicial delays when the time comes.”
She lived above a seamstress’s shop, in the village of Nettle’s Den, a half-hour ride west of Riverchapel.
Other women, widowed or single for their own reasons, lived along the row of apartments, and she liked the quiet safety such a community provided.
She hadn’t said more than passing pleasantries to any of them, but words came late or not at all for Elloven these days.
Trust was even harder. There wasn’t one person in her close circle who hadn’t lied to or betrayed her, and solitude was the only surety.
Elloven signed the deed and handed the stack back to Asterin. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. Looking after my grandmother all these years. The coordination of all the paperwork I’d never have figured out on my own. I really could have ridden to you.”
“Nonsense.” Asterin tucked his pen into a padded pocket at his breast. “Does a man good to get out. Rhiain has me restricted from longer trips these days, so I make do with short jaunts.” He smiled. “Do you remember me telling you about Sesto? Our old friend who used to be in business with us?”
Elloven nodded, but a lump formed in her throat. “You said he’d been living abroad and was returning soon.”
“He’s coming home at last. He and his partner, Daire, whom we are so excited to meet.” His smile faded. “They waited for Mr. Considine to pass. You said you’d never met him?”
“I’m afraid not.” It wasn’t news anymore. She’d learned two weeks ago about his death, but it was still hard to think of him as someone who had been and not still was. Another relic of the past she’d left behind. “When are you expecting them?”
“Tomorrow, if the weather improves. They’ll stay at the inn in Parth until the roads are passable again.”
Elloven didn’t know why she was compelled to ask, but the past six months had, if nothing else, rid her of the need to spend much time thinking at all.
“I heard someone mention a man, Jesstin, in connection with Sesto.” The matter of the stolen vial was a mystery that had nagged at her since the Infinitum.
She needed to solve it, not for Jesstin’s sake but her own closure. “A relative of yours?”
Asterin sat back with a brow raise. “I don’t know how to answer you, Miss Hawthorne.
That name is a curious one in our home. Sesto insists he’s.
.. a relative, yes, but we cannot find his name in any records kept for either the Edevanes or Skylarks.
We think Sesto is mixing him up with Sestinn, my father.
” He stood and dusted his vest, then checked his timepiece.
“Forgive me, you only asked a simple question, and I gave you a story. But there’s a concern amongst some of us that Sesto’s mind may be going, and we’re resolved to tread delicately until we understand better.
If you meet him, please be mindful of this.
His words shouldn’t raise alarm, but he may not understand all he’s saying. ”
“Of course,” Elloven said, rising to see him out. It didn’t concern her a whit that Jesstin had lost his family, not when he’d taken hers, but it did trouble her that it had been her failure to steal both vials. “I’ll be especially mindful, should our paths cross.”
“He may...” Asterin frowned. “Approach you with strange insinuations about yourself as well. Pay no mind.”
The exchange had come to a natural conclusion, but Asterin was pressing, however gently.
Sesto had obviously told him something about her that hadn’t sat right.
In his updates over the years to the Skylarks, he would have mentioned her “mother” countless times.
She was the reason both Jesstin and Sesto were in Rivenholde and, indirectly, the reason Sesto had stayed.
Even if they’d forgotten their brother, they wouldn’t have forgotten her.
“I’ll bear in mind what you’ve told me, Asterin. ”
Asterin kissed her hand at the door, followed by conducting a brief, clinical inspection of her face. Was it just her imagination, or did he see through her ruse, that she wasn’t the daughter of Elloven Hawthorne but the woman herself?
“It has been a pleasure meeting and working with you, Miss Ellie. Your mother was an exceptional woman, and you carry her legacy with honor. It’s truly striking, the resemblance. Almost like rewinding time.” His hand tapped his thigh. “One more thing, if you’ll indulge me.”
“Of course.”
“I asked you on a prior visit, but have you decided whether you’ll seek employment?
Not that you need to, unless you intend to live a more lavish lifestyle.
Only, there isn’t much to do in Nettle’s Den other than apprentice work in a guild-run shop, or vending at the open markets.
The seamstress roles go the fastest, and usually to their daughters.
There aren’t enough people in the village to sustain a consistent assembly of women engaged in compassionate causes.
You could ride to Riverchapel or Oldcastle, but the carriage you have outside.
.. Well, it’s fine for local jaunts, but its best days are behind us.
I’m afraid it wouldn’t make a suitable or reliable form of daily traverse. ”
Elloven was just as stumped as she’d been the last time he’d asked.
She’d been keeping busy working on writing a fable her mind wouldn’t let her ignore.
But her self-imposed exile from Rivenholde had come with a vow to abstain from the neurotic, consuming habit of unwinding every word, every gesture, every choice, and every intention.
It was the most powerful tool she had for self-preservation.
She gave her focus only to the moment. The hour.
Perhaps the day. Occasionally, the week, but only those when she had someone else’s time in her hands, such as when Asterin visited with more paperwork and updates.
The more she wrote of her fictional tale, the sillier the endeavor seemed.
No one would ever see it, and she’d earn no coin from it—nor was it actually fiction.
It was a truthful narrative of her time in Infinita Mori, and every word healed her as it passed from her hands, through the quill, and onto the page.
But soon, she’d come to the painful parts, and for all the methods she’d built to protect herself, she wasn’t sure any of them would hold.
“Miss Elloven?”
She pinched the inside of her arm. “Forgive me, my mind wanders.”
“Curious ones often do.”
“I may spend some time at Nightwood. I need to sort through my mother’s belongings and try to get ahead of grandmother’s estate sale, but also.
..” She’d visited three times, always at night when she knew Esme would be lost to her cocktail of sleeping draughts, dream leaves, and truffle stool.
One night she’d stayed almost until dawn, always in silence because she wasn’t ready to face her, any more than she was ready to lose her.
“Now that I’m settling in, I can take over the household duties from the woman you were so thoughtful to hire. ”
“It’s a small expense, one we’re honored to cover.
Anne does more than keep the house tidy.
She’s an excellent nursemaid to Esme. She makes herself available at all hours.
Her salary reflects her duty and sacrifice.
” He grew solemn. “Be that as it may, her services will not be needed much longer. Then again, your grandmother outlived the physician’s prediction by far, so perhaps she has years ahead of her after all. Who am I to guess?”
Being locked away at Nightwood, for years, was a suffocating notion. The dust choked the very light from the place. She’d fix that, when it was hers. “I wouldn’t want to take employment from someone my mo—my grandmother has grown fond of. I’ll consider your words. Thank you.”
Asterin nodded, gave her a light bow, and left.
With him went the totality of her calm. Blood rushed to her face, an acidic tang overtook her mouth, and the ringing in her ears was as deafening as if someone were standing next to her blowing a whistle.
The brand on her leg pulsed, and she felt again the mark being laid, her flesh having held perfectly onto the horrid memory.
And oh, the memories were a flood. Fabrien grinning as he left the iron in the fire longer than he’d needed to.
Castien buying her the most beautiful dresses and then cutting them off her later.
Taven explaining on her fourteenth nameday how her first time would hurt, pretending to care for her well-being, when he hadn’t even bothered to hide the hunger in his eyes or the bulge between his legs.