Chapter 52
My legs ache as I walk through the forest, and light pierces the oak leaves.
Dusk is falling, staining the light with copper.
Tristan had to race back to Avalon Tower, and he dropped me off miles from my home, with a pocket of silver coins to get by.
I didn’t mind. Whenever I feel like I’m barely hanging on, walking long distances is the one thing that makes me feel normal again.
And yet, I deeply regret the route I’ve taken. I should have planned this a bit better. Because on the other side of the river, a marble mansion rises from the banks like a grand, ancient temple.
It’s Owain’s aunt’s home.
There, in that palace, is the life I was supposed to have.
Somewhere in there, Vicky lives my stolen life. She’s probably drinking a mead cocktail with fresh berries floating in the amber. I imagine her draped in the finest silks while a servant hangs around, waiting on her every wish.
From the muddy riverbank, I stare across the water.
The setting sun washes the palace’s marble in gold and honey.
Serpentine ivy twines around marble columns and balconies overlooking the river.
Behind the mansion, vast fields stretch out into the distance, alive with the blooms of hawthorn and forget-me-nots.
A curving stairwell sweeps up to grand doors, twenty feet high.
Around me, the shadows grow thicker, colder. I stare with a growing horror as a blonde woman in an emerald-green gown walks out onto the balcony, a drink in her hand. Vicky.
Then Owain steps out, and he slides up behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder. And all at once, I feel like I’m staring up at that Tudor window again, soaked in the April rain.
Swallowing hard, I turn away from them and march on toward Vero’s house. But it all worked out in the end, didn’t it? Without Owain’s betrayal, I might not have saved Vero at all. She’s alive now—and even if I failed in my mission, at least I’m alive, too.
Still, I can’t stop reviewing every mistake I made. It was going well until I got that letter. Maybe I should have seen that Aneirin wasn’t what he seemed. If I’d only pulled the door open the moment he left the letter—
That memory plays in my mind on a loop, and I shiver with the cold. A few minutes, a split second of a mistake that changed the course of everything.
I was supposed to help Avalon Tower, and I can’t do that from outside the Veiled Court at all. So, what am I going to do with my life now?
I wonder when I’ll see Tristan again, but I have a terrible feeling it could be years. We’re not even in the same realm anymore.
As I walk, I think of Aneirin, broken by loneliness. He was already suffering, but Auberon twisted the knife. Auberon preys on the weak, and he’ll keep doing so until someone stops him.
I dread to think what he has planned with the relics.
I shove my hands into my pockets, feeling the silver coins that Tristan gave me.
I could pop into town to grab some food and mead, but really, I just want to see my sister as soon as possible. I haven’t laid eyes on her since the night she drank from the grail.
I keep walking as the sun sets lower and a periwinkle gray spreads over the sky. When the trees grow thicker and ivy climbs the oak, I see it at last. My sister’s new cottage is not far from where we grew up.
A stone house, wrapped in ivy, stands by the river.
Its windows glow with warm light. The wooden shutters still need paint, and the glass is cracked in a few places, but they’ve tidied the gardens outside.
Already, they bloom with violets, cowslips, and lilies.
Most importantly, they’ve repaired the thatched roof.
After years of abandonment, that must have been falling apart.
Someone painted the front door a deep, mossy green, Vero’s favorite color. A metal doorknocker shaped like a hand hangs on the door.
I knock twice and hear the soft sound of voices inside through the wood. After a minute, Balin opens the door, and a grin spreads over his face. His eyes light up at the sight of me, and he pulls me in for a big hug. “Vero!” he calls out.
But she’s already running closer. She joins in, wrapping her arms around me, and the three of us stand clustered together.
At last, I pull away from them and take a minute to look Vero over. Her cheeks are full, with a healthy glow to her skin. Her lips still hold a coral hue instead of purple. She looks so young now.
“You look incredible, Vero. How do you feel?”
“I feel great.” She smiles at me. “But what are you doing here? I thought you were working with Avalon Tower on the secret mission.”
I sigh. “Yeah, that’s over. I’m free now.” I try to smile, but I suspect I simply look exhausted.
“So, what happened?” Vero asks.
I swallow hard. At some point, I’m going to need to tell her about Auberon, but maybe not just yet. “Everything will be okay.”
It doesn’t even sound confident.
“Right,” says Vero.
I step into their cottage and cast an appreciative glance around the room. From an abandoned cottage, they’ve really fixed this place up. The stone walls are painted white, and they’ve set up bookshelves, with three books so far.
There are plants all over the place. Vases around the cottage hold wildflowers, and something delicious in the oven smells of apples and honey.
On one side, cut flowers are set out on a rough-hewn table. A washbasin stands by a warmly lit hearth. On the other side, chairs and a sofa cluster around a wood-burning stove. And through a door I can see the bedroom. Just one bedroom, with one bed.
“I’m going to make tea,” Balin declares. “Have a seat. You’ll stay with us now, right?”
As Balin makes tea, Vero drops onto the sofa and curls her legs underneath her. She’s dressed comfortably in soft leggings and a bright red shirt that matches her hair. The roots are starting to grow back in cherry red.
“What do you mean, everything will be okay?” she asks. “You were monitoring the monarchists, right? What are they up to?”
I swallow hard, trying to figure out how much to tell her. But she’s not exactly a little girl anymore, even if I think of her that way.
I look between Vero and Balin. “What I’m about to say cannot leave this cottage.
The fewer people who know, the better. Auberon is still alive, and some people are working to put him back on the throne.
Someone stole the grail from me and gave it to him, and I have no idea where he is or what he plans to do with it.
But Avalon Tower will be trying to find him, I’m sure.
They’ll try to stop him, as they did before.
And if they ever need my help again, I’ll jump at the chance. ”
Silence hangs in the air, and I know what they’re thinking. What good could you do? Your magic is broken.
“How could he possibly rule again?” asks Balin. “His reputation is ruined, even with the nobility.”
I shrug. “He thinks possessing the ancient relics like the grail will prove he’s meant to rule. Or maybe they’ll give him more power through some sort of ritual. I don’t know. I think I need weeks of rest before I can even think clearly again.”
Vero brightens. “Perfect! Stay here, then. We’re making apple cake, but it’s always best the way you make it.”
My mouth already starts to water.
“You can stay in the bed with Vero,” Balin says, handing me a cup of tea. “I’ll take the sofa.”
As I take a sip of my tea, Balin slides onto the sofa next to Vero. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, and she leans into him.
Tristan said he found them shagging, and I wasn’t entirely sure if he was joking. They never were lovers before. Now, I see that Tristan was serious.
Maybe Balin was waiting all this time for her to recover. Before, she was dependent on him. She would have been trapped. Now, she can leave him if she wants. It was the only way for them to be together.
And clearly, she doesn’t want to leave him.
As if suddenly remembering that I’m here, they both straighten, and Balin pulls his arm away again.
“What’s Tristan doing?” Vero asks.
I shrug. “Back to Avalon Tower. I’m sure he’ll come see us sometime.”
My heart squeezes as I remember what happened the last time we escaped the Fey realm.
Tristan practically dragged Vero and me into London, and we were so close for a few months.
But he needed more than just looking after a little girl, more than the day-to-day tasks of making lunches, cleaning clothes, and working in shops.
The boredom was driving him mad. So, after a few months, Tristan joined Avalon Tower.
He found a new life, and I’d go months without seeing him. Sometimes over a year.
I say that Tristan will come visit us, but I’m not even sure I believe it.
I wonder, for a moment, if I made a mistake when I told him we should only be friends. I know that no one is more important to Vero than Balin at this point, and she’s taking the risk of love with him.
The steam coils before my face, and I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t pushed Tristan away. Would we have stayed lovers after I was banished from court and I was no longer playing the role of a baroness? Or perhaps I’d bore him now, too.
I suppose I’ll never know.
When I look up from my tea, I see Vero and Balin staring into each other’s eyes, smiling at one another like idiots. They start to lean in closer, and I’m certain they’ve already forgotten that I’m here.
I clear my throat. “You know, Vero, I was thinking I might actually find our old cottage and try to fix it up. I might move in there for a bit. It’s not far from here, and there will be more room.”
Vero’s attention snaps back to me as if I startled her awake. “You don’t want to stay with us?”
“Of course I do. At some point. But wouldn’t it be nice to have our old home again? I have so many beautiful memories there. Might as well claim it before someone else does.”
She nods wanly, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing that Tristan did—that my memories are a rose-tinted version of the truth.
* * *
I find my old house by the river, and a crack opens in my chest at the sight of it.
It is smaller than I remember and crooked, practically tumbling into the river. Brambles, thistles, and nettles grow over the garden.
A rope hangs from the tree where Father made me a swing, but the hemp rotted through, and the wooden seat fell into the dirt. I cross to the little rotten plank and pick it up where it’s sitting among the thorns. The red paint is mostly chipped off.
I trace my finger over the hole my father drilled in the wood to slide the rope through. I imagine him using a metal gimlet to pierce the wood. He made this before I left. This is what’s left of him.
I blink the tears from my eyes and carry the wooden plank into the house with me like I’m a little girl holding a treasured doll.
Inside the cottage, weeds are growing from the dirt floor, and cobwebs hang from every dusty corner. The thatched roof is barely hanging on, thinned in places to expose the wooden ribs. Wind whistles through holes in the roof.
There’s only one bedroom. I used to sleep in a little oak bed next to my parents.
When I found Vero here, she was sleeping on a canvas sack stuffed with straw and rushes.
Now, it’s ripped and threadbare and smells of mold.
Above the bed frame, I see the little flowers my father carved for me, worn with time.
Mother painted them red and white to add color to the drab room, but most of the paint has chipped off now.
On one of the walls, I see small ink marks. Father was keeping track of our heights as we grew. Mine stops abruptly at eleven, Vero’s at eight.
I pull the wooden swing tighter to me and blink to clear the haze from my eyes.
By the hearth, I find sticks with paper animals and figures of people glued to them—a raven, a king, a stag, a queen…
once, they were painted bright colors, though they’ve now faded to the color of pale tea stains.
A memory sparks in my mind of my mother telling me stories and using lantern lights to cast shadows with these little figures.
In all her stories, the kings and queens were kind people who wanted to keep everyone safe, and they’d protect the kingdom from ravening wolves and monsters.
Why burden children with the truth?
I pick up a figure of a knight with black armor and faded golden tattoos across his cheekbones.
The Ruthless Knight. I’d all but forgotten her story about him.
Maybe this is why I dreamt of him and he slipped into the depths of my thoughts, setting up a home there.
In Mother’s stories, he rampaged through the kingdom, threatening to do terrible things.
Every time, a queen would stop him with her powerful magic.
Then she’d bury him.
I twirl the stick between my fingers.
My stomach rumbles, and my first thought is of collecting acorns.
That’s what we used to do, forage for acorns and fruits that the forest gave us.
Tristan is right, of course. It was never enough.
We were starving half the time. And yet, I was actually happy here because my parents turned our meager life into magic.
It wasn’t the house or the forest that made me happy—it was them.
But you can’t really go back, can you? There’s no idyll, no sylvan paradise, because I’m not the same person I was before. I was happy then in my ignorance.
What did Rion say? Your own stories tried to warn you—the serpent and the garden and the fruit tree. The god who brought fire…
Before my fall, I didn’t yet understand the violence and brutality that lurked beneath the glittering surface of the world. I didn’t understand the evil that flowed under the blooms like a poisoned river.
Now I carry the poisons with me in my bones.
My chest feels hollow as I set to work dusting away the cobwebs from the bedroom.