Chapter 10
Elsedora
In three days, it would be that day.
Part of me wondered if Krait only had agreed to let Lark summer here so that I wouldn’t be alone, which I’d insisted on the past few anniversaries of the date.
He understood the loss of a Source Match well. With Sybilla, he was finally so happy; I wouldn’t reopen those wounds.
Lark had taken off for the stables early, to groom a dull-gray pony that she’d lovingly named Sparkles despite there being nothing sparkling about the creature’s demeanor.
I’d rescued the animal from an auction in Belray and, as a birthday present, surprised my niece when she’d arrived.
When I was a girl, my brother had gifted me a pony.
We’d gotten into a good deal of trouble together, Spots and me.
I threw seeds out for the songbirds from a bench overlooking the sun-soaked ever-plum orchard at the Lamoreaux Estate. The twittering little things pecked at the ground and fought one another for the best kernels.
After every treacherous mission that resulted in no trace of Isolde’s last relic, I found peace in retreating here.
I’d been spending less time in Sahlmsara, as Hurley had taken over more responsibility under Krait’s mentorship.
They didn’t need me in Luz either.
Instead, I served as an advisor in Helos, where tensions remained with the lords. My constant presence reinforced trust in the interim leadership of Sybilla and Krait. The people of the North Corridor found me more relatable—someone who resided among them, who had grown up here.
Most days, I traveled to the North’s capital to spend a couple of hours settling disputes before venturing elsewhere. Thankfully, the Egress within the hallway of a thousand doors still functioned.
The grand hall had once housed those fleeing from Phynx’s cruelty against Source-wielders. Hundreds of families could Egress in and find a place for a safe night’s rest. It used to be warded behind a stone wall—a secret my family guarded during the Great Wars.
During renovations, I’d broken down the wall and replaced it with a door for easier access and travel.
Construction to reinforce the original structure of Lamoreaux had gone well, and now only cosmetic details remained.
Revived to its former glory, the sprawling manor had become a home again.
The turreted roofs held no leaks, and ivy crept up the brick, already overgrown.
A crash sounded near the south wall of the estate. The birds flapped away haphazardly. So much for a peaceful morning.
Someone yelled, “I told you not to set that there, boy!”
Today, workers painted the trim. I rushed to see what the commotion was about.
“Stupid boy, you’ve gone and got paint on the new brick.”
I rounded the corner to find Garish, the old grump who managed the renovations, dressing down a young worker. It seemed someone had painted more than the trim. A bucket had fallen, and a splash of white paint poured down the brick wall.
I smirked. “Garish, give the poor lad a break. You’ve all been working yourselves to the bone. Nothing a wire brush can’t fix.”
“Lady Lamoreaux,” Garish said, and they both straightened. It took everything within me not to wince at the title.
I was the noblewoman of the estate.
My mother had been “Lady Lamoreaux,” though.
The young man who’d spilled the paint couldn’t be much older than Lark—fifteen maybe.
“Start scrubbing,” Garish barked as he flung a wire brush in the teenager’s direction. The boy caught it and ran a hand through his dark brown curls, leaving a streak of white paint there with a sigh.
“We’ll have this cleaned right up,” Garish said and marched away toward where other workers had begun to raise an arched garden trellis. He yelled, scolding them, “Wrong direction, other way!”
I thought it looked lovely, regardless.
“What’s your name, kid?” I asked, hands on my hips.
I’d seen him around the grounds of Luz once or twice, and I wondered if his parents lived in the Central Corridor. Egress travel made it commonplace to work across Corridors, but I found it surprising that I recognized his face.
“Dritan,” he answered, beginning to scrub away at his spill.
“Well, Dritan… with men like Garish, it’s best to find humor in their ill temper.”
The boy’s bright blue eyes widened, and he paused. “What do you mean?”
“It means keep scrubbing that brick before the paint dries—but imagine all you’d say to him if there were no consequences while you do so.
I’ll go first. ‘Garish, you grumpy old goat, how about you paint the damned trim!’” I beat my fist in the air playfully in the direction my construction manager had stormed off.
Dritan laughed but shook his head as he worked away the drying paint. “I’m thankful Garish gave me this job, Lady Lamoreaux. I can’t disrespect him, even in my head. He’s let me work a schedule around school so that I might afford an apprenticeship with a blacksmith next year.”
I smiled and nodded. “Right then. I suppose that makes you more honorable than me. Have you saved enough?”
His face fell. “Not yet. But I’m still hopeful.”
I glanced around the garden beds and the already overgrown ivy. I didn’t have time to tend to it all. “How are you at landscaping?”
He shrugged. “I’m decent with a pair of garden shears.”
“Would you be available to help me here a few afternoons a week?”
A grin spread across his features—so oddly familiar. I’d definitely seen him at Luz. “Yes, Lady Lamoreaux. I’d like that very much, thank you.”
“Aunt El!” Lark ran up the tree-lined hill. “Come see, come see!”
My niece stopped short with wide eyes when she spotted the boy scrubbing bricks.
He stared at her, and her mouth hung agape in awkward awe.
“Good day, Princess Larkspur.” Dritan bowed, revealing the white streak on the top of his head. He inadvertently coated the leg of his breeches with paint from the wire brush. I hoped he was less clumsy with shears…
“Good day!” she squeaked back. I didn’t have time to rib Lark over her girlish blushing. She grabbed my wrist and began dragging me down the hill toward the stables.
We trudged through the soggy field between the plum trees. I’d spent so long in the Sahlms’ deserts that the shades of red, brown, and beige had grown dull.
My favorite part about Lamoreaux this time of year was all the color—rich purple leaves, green grass dusted with a faint shine of morning dew.
Bushes of wild berries and an array of flowers cropped up wherever they pleased.
While I’d have Dritan protect the structure of the estate from ivy and tend to the gardens, the untamed nature of the orchard would remain untouched. It brought me too much joy to alter.
At the bottom of the hill sat a five-stall stable, fitted with living quarters over it.
I’d stayed in that loft for years while the construction went on.
I’d finally gone through all the centuries-old, dusty crates of memories and preserved what I could.
My father’s old watch ticked at my side.
I’d had it repaired and offered it to Fen, but he told me to keep it or give it to someone special to me.
At the stable doors, Cassidee and Wyeth stood with their backs facing me, staring at something just inside.
The two horses and Sparkles were whinnying with excitement. I’d taken in Emmerick’s old faithful black draft at his request to live out his retirement in the orchard alongside my mount, a small bay mare. The horses kicked the stall doors, clearly dismayed by whatever occupied their barn.
Cass threw a live fish into the mouth of a creature the size of a large wolf. The animal’s beak remained wide-open, waiting for another, and it let out a high-pitched chirp, leaping up on its back feline haunches like a kitten batting yarn.
A Griffith chick.
With the head and talons of a hawk and the body of a giant cat, the flying predators were distant relations to Lynx. Only Griffiths were, more fortunately, graced with flight.
The chick flapped its veiny, featherless wings. The beastly little thing chirped again and ruffled the feathers around its neck.
“What do we have here?” I asked, giving both Cass and Wyeth a skeptical glance.
“This is Mayra,” Cass said, with a wide grin.
“And what is Mayra doing in my barn?” I crossed my arms.
Wyeth lifted a brow. “She needed a home.”
My dear friend’s normally black hair turned a dark shade of green—a cursed tell. She was lying.
The pair’s meddling always came from a heartfelt place.
“Fine… she had a home with us, but we thought you might like to keep her instead,” Wyeth conceded.
Cass outstretched her arm to motion around the space. “You have a great stable. You have the means to care for her.”
I looked at the chick. She clumsily tried to stomp on a fly with her feline-like paws—unsuccessfully.
“What do I do with her? I don’t know the first thing about raising a Griffith.”
“They bond with whoever cares for them. Which makes them easy to train. I’ll help you along the way. They grow quickly. You’ll be able to fly her in just a year.”
Lark bounced up and down beside me.
“Fly her?” I asked. I’d never even taken to riding horses.
“Your Source magic is Wind, Red. Haven’t you ever had the itch to fly?” Cassidee asked.
Sighing, I couldn’t deny it.
“Aunt Wyeth—do you have a bonded Griffith?” Lark cut in.
Wyeth huffed a laugh. “No. I am of the Soil, and that’s where I prefer to keep my feet firmly planted.”
Cassidee met my gaze. “You’ve been scouring the realms on foot for over a decade. This will help you cover more ground. Also, it will make your trips to Helos all the easier; you won’t have to go up the mountain in that rickety pulley system anymore.”
Cassidee made a practical point.
I sighed. “Well, what do I feed her?”
Cassidee rubbed the chick’s beak, and I begrudgingly grew endeared by the way the animal purred and leaned into the touch.
“She eats mostly fresh fish. When the rest of her feathers come in, I’d take her to the lake just beyond your property to let her fish on her own. It’s good for their strength and mind.”
“What if she flies away?”
“She won’t. They’re loyal animals, and they long for companionship. Fierce protectors, too—they look out for their own.”
My throat constricted. I gripped my necklace, rubbing the skeleton key and teardrop gemstone strung upon it. The gem had been my mother’s. The key opened the cupboard to the mirror.
I wished Emmerick would wander into the orchard and be by my side to meet Mayra too. He’d enjoy the idea of my having a fierce protector.
“Can I pet Mayra?” Lark asked.
“You can, but be careful,” Wyeth warned. “Her beak is sharp, and her wings are weak still.”
As my niece scratched Mayra’s feathery head with a laugh, I cast my two friends a narrowed glance.
“This is the best and worst distraction tactic you two have come up with yet. I see exactly what you’re doing.”
Wyeth let out a sigh. “A bit of company isn’t always a bad thing, Elsedora. This estate is sprawling, and you’re here alone most of the time.”
“I’ve earned a bit of solitude. Plus, I can find myself plenty of company. I don’t need a flying beast to feel less lonely.”
“I have no doubt,” Cass laughed out, earning an elbow from Wyeth. “But do you like her?” She nodded toward my new wobbling, screeching pet.
Lark knelt, and Mayra curled her neck up and over the girl’s shoulder.
“Of course I do. I’m a sucker for anything with fur or wings. Plus—do you want to see that kid’s face if I refuse her now?”
Cassidee hummed a satisfied “I told you so” to Wyeth.
Mayra left Lark’s side and approached me on unsure taloned feet. She pecked gently at my hand until I scratched her neck, and then she closed her eyes, contented.
My heart squeezed; my eyes burned. I would not cry in front of them.
The risk of disappointing Lark wasn’t the only reason I didn’t refuse her.
I needed this silly little bird.