Page 20

Chapter 20

Going Halvsies

R aewyn

Stepping through the door of the vacant cottage, Tindra and Turi instantly ran to the two small beds in one of the bedrooms and dived onto the coverlets.

“A real bed,” Tindra squealed in delight.

“This is even better than my bed at home,” Turi said. “And you don’t hafta climb a ladder to get to it.”

The two of them ran around, inspecting every corner of the cottage, exclaiming their delight over everything.

It wasn’t a royal suite at Seaspire by any stretch, but it was nice and clean, and compared to sleeping on the ground inside a cramped tent, it did feel almost palatial.

Unlike our home in Waterdale, it had two separate bedrooms in addition to the main living area.

Papa would be spending the night in the healer’s cottage. While Pharis brought in our things and went to look after the horses, I did my own inspection of our new temporary quarters and helped the girls get washed up and ready for bed.

They were asleep before their stories were even read. I stood between their two just-right-sized beds, looking down at them as they dreamed peacefully in perfect comfort.

Poor babies. Their lives had been turned upside down, their days and nights mixed up, spending an excessive number of hours nightly on horseback.

It was a strain on all of us, but I felt particularly bad about dragging small children into the consequences of my mistake.

They deserved better. And there was still so far to go.

It made me weary to even think about it.

I built a fire in the fireplace and set the kettle over it, looking forward to a cup of tea. My thoughts of course were with my father, lying in a cottage not far away, hovering somewhere between healing and death.

We were lucky there was even a question. A few hours ago, I was convinced it was his final day. Now there was at least a chance, thanks to the Elven healer—and to Pharis, who’d found her.

He came in from feeding and brushing the horses after their strenuous ride up the mountain.

Spotting me sitting on the stool in front of the hearth, he smiled. “Looks pretty cozy over there.”

“It is,” I said. “You should join me. There’s a good supply of firewood, and I found several varieties of tea leaves in the cupboard. Isn’t this a nice cottage?”

Pharis looked around at the humble structure. “I suppose it is… as far as cottages go. You like it?”

I nodded. “It’s at least twice the size of ours back in Waterdale—and there are so many windows. My mother would have loved it. She was fond of windows and natural light. I never saw her childhood home, but she said it was much larger than the place she shared with my father.”

Pharis’ brows lifted in interest. He walked over and pulled up the other stool, his long legs comically cramped as he folded himself onto it in front of the hearth.

“You never met your maternal grandparents?”

I shook my head. “Mama gave up a lot to marry my father, including her family. They disowned her for marrying a poor blacksmith instead of a lord from her own region. Papa always said he ‘married up.’”

“So your mother’s family was wealthy?” Pharis asked.

“I’m not sure how wealthy they were, but she had tutors, like you did.”

I made him a cup of tea, handing it to him.

“And she owned a lot of books. When she married my father and left her home, she brought some with her. She taught me to read.”

“So in a way, you had tutors, too,” Pharis said.

I smiled at him. “I guess you’re right. My mother… and then books themselves were my educators… and my friends and boon companions.”

I had to clear my throat which suddenly felt scratchy and absentmindedly rubbed my chest. How many times had I pressed a book to it after reading a particularly emotional passage? I missed my treasured collection.

“And you had to leave them behind,” Pharis said, reading my forlorn expression.

I nodded, picking up the iron rod to poke the fire.

“When we get where we’re going, we’ll find a bookseller,” he said. “You’ll have plenty of money—you can replace them.”

“Maybe. Some of them were rare, I’m told—and others had sentimental value because she made notes in them.”

“Really? In the common tongue?”

“Of course,” I said. “That’s a strange question. How else would she write them?”

Pharis shook his head rapidly, shrugging.

“Oh, I don’t know—you said she had tutors. I thought she might have learned multiple languages.”

“Not as far as I know,” I said.

“What else do you know about her?”

“Well, she was kind, and smart. I remember her being extremely tall, which is why…”

I gestured to my own unusually long legs. Pharis smiled.

“She was very loving,” I told him. “She really loved my father. They seemed happy together, in spite of their different upbringings.”

“It’s funny how people from two seemingly different worlds can connect sometimes,” Pharis mused.

I nodded. Stellon and I had connected in spite of our vastly different backgrounds, and I supposed Pharis and I had managed to form a connection as well during our days and nights on the road.

“And my mother was brave,” I said. “She was strong—inside I mean. When Papa was brought home injured, she went off to fight for our people.”

“It must have been hard for you, being left to care for your war-wounded father at age, what? Seventeen?”

“Sixteen. It wasn’t easy,” I admitted. “But Mama promised me I could handle it, and I did. Before she left, she told me I was in charge of our home now and that I was stronger than I knew.”

“You are,” Pharis assured me. “I’ve seen it.”

“There have been times I wasn’t too sure about that. But she was. When she was about to leave, I was clinging to her, crying, afraid she’d never come home.”

I felt my cheeks go red, remembering my cowardice.

“She told me to get control of myself, to be brave.”

My mind’s eye could still picture her stern face in that moment. “I remember the sound of her voice when she said, ‘Raewyn, you’re stronger than you know. You don’t need me. You don’t need anyone—don’t ever forget that.’”

She’d also advised me to guard my heart carefully and avoid getting swept up in my feelings, saying that love didn’t conquer all.

There was no reason to mention that part to Pharis.

His handsome face pulled into a frown. “I guess I know now why you have a hard time… receiving.”

After a pause, he said, “Everyone needs someone at some point. I’d never have made it without Stellon and Mareth.”

“I know, you’re right, and I’d be dead right now if not for Stellon… and you.”

Stretching my feet out toward the toasty fire, I said, “You know, it’s funny, I’ve never told anyone what my mother said that day. I have—had—a close friend in the village that I talked to about lots of things, but not that. It was the last thing Mama said to me. I guess it just seemed… too private to share.”

“You shared it with me,” he said, the appealing rasp of his low voice sending shivers down my spine.

“Right.”

Suddenly I was embarrassed, the heat in my cheeks rivaling the flames in the fireplace.

Why had I done that?

Pharis didn’t seem to think it was strange. In fact, he smiled. “You and I are both pangolins, as it turns out.”

“Pangolins? What’s that?”

“They’re these little hard-shelled animals with overlapping scales—they look a bit like tiny dragons. Their protective armor keeps them safe under attack, and they can roll themselves into balls to guard their vulnerable underbellies.”

Recognizing myself in that description, I had to laugh. “I do that.”

“So do I,” Pharis said. “I pretend nothing bothers me.”

“I noticed. You use humor as a shield.”

“And you use stubbornness,” he said. “And independence.”

I nodded, acknowledging the truth of it.

“Actually I think I use hard work more often.” This was the first time I’d even realized it.

“Of course some work is good and necessary,” I said, “but I have to admit, I overdo it. I keep going far beyond the point of exhaustion. I just find it hard to stop, you know?”

Pharis nodded, and I continued, “It got to the point I didn’t feel comfortable with rest. I’ve gotten more sleep on the road with you than I ever did at home because under these circumstances, I’ve been forced to rest.”

“I would like to see you have an easier life, little Wyn,” he said. “You deserve it.”

I stared into the fire, blushing again though I wasn’t sure why. Then I looked over at him.

“You deserve a good life, too. You’re a good person, just like Stellon said.”

Pharis snorted then began coughing, apparently having inhaled a sip of tea.

“You are,” I insisted. “You’ve said before that you’re a bad sort, but I just don’t see it.”

“Well I’ve certainly been living like a monk since leaving Seaspire.”

He sounded as if he was complaining. Then he added glibly, “Not a single skirt has been chased in weeks.”

“And I’m certain all those High Fae skirts are longing for your return,” I said, playing along.

Then I got serious again, remembering what Stellon had told me about his brother, that he considered himself deeply flawed.

“What happened to make you think of yourself in such a derisive way?” I asked.

Pharis rose from the stool, stepping away from the fireplace.

“That conversation,” he said, “calls for something a good bit stronger than tea. And it’s late. We should get some sleep.”

He strode to the second bedroom door but stopped in the doorway.

“There’s only one bed in there.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m planning to sleep out here by the fire.”

“You’re not going to sleep on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed,” he argued, sounding perturbed. “You’ve been sleeping on the ground for weeks.”

“So have you. You should take the bed. I insist.”

Pharis looked back over his shoulder at me. “We could share it.”

When I raised my eyebrows, he put up both hands and said, “Not that way. I promise to stay on my half.”

I already knew from riding horseback with Pharis there were no equal shares—he was so large, he couldn’t help but take up the majority of whatever he was sharing.

And I’d looked at the bed in that room. It was a small double mattress.

Plus the memory of our sparring session hadn’t even begun to fade from memory.

Did he ever think about it?

I couldn’t tell. Pharis had been nothing but a gentleman since recovering from the fireweed poisoning. When I’d asked if he could remember what he’d dreamed about while feverish, he’d said it was all a big blank.

I love you.

He might have forgotten them, but the words he’d mumbled in his delirium still echoed in my mind.

And no, as long as I was still this acutely interested in who they’d been intended for, we would not be sharing a bed.

The morning we’d begun this cross-country ride, I’d introduced Pharis to my family as “a friend.” He’d certainly behaved like one.

It was my own behavior I’d begun to worry about. And my own heart.

Because somewhere between Waterdale and Havendor, I’d developed some rather un-friend-like feelings for Pharis.

And when this friendship came to an end, which it inevitably would, I wasn’t sure how my heart was going to survive it.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said in answer to his query about going halvsies on the bed.

“The girls. Don’t want to set the wrong kind of example,” I explained.

His expression darkened.

“It’s a good thing they weren’t in the palace then,” he growled. “To see you willingly and happily sharing a bed with my brother.”

Pharis went to the door, retrieving his cloak from the hook where he’d hung it.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Sleep in the bed or don’t,” he said. “I’m going to sleep in the tent.”