Page 45 of Fate of Echoes and Embers (Heirs of Elydor #3)

ISSA

Thus far, I’d visited the kitchens, the servants’ quarters and the armory. It had been surprisingly difficult to track down Edric, who was typically in the keep. I’d been told he visited my chamber earlier, when Marek was with me, but no one had seen him since.

“There you are,” I said.

Edric turned from the entranceway of the stables and ran to me. I embraced him, holding back tears. Grateful he was alive, I thanked the steward for all he had done.

“I’m told you were a voice of calm amid the turmoil.”

Edric pulled me out of view, between the stables and hay supply.

“I’d not recount the events in front of the stableboys. They were particularly shaken.”

Of course they were. They were children, and would carry the scars of seeing the fallen bodies of my people paraded through the courtyard, a particular fact that I could not shake from my mind since hearing it.

“I’m sorry, Edric. For leaving?—”

“My lady, had you been here, you’d likely not be alive.”

My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I overheard Draven speaking with one of the Gyorian mercenaries, their leader, on the day after Warren was killed. I’d spare my lady the details of the conversation but… I am glad you were not here.”

I wanted to ask him to recount the conversation, but there was a part of me that did not want to hear it. To hear of Warren’s fate now…

“We knew the Aetherians had arrived. He was nervous, and rightly so. I thought Hawthorne Manor would be no longer after the fighting began. Many of us did.”

“Elydorian battles are notoriously brutal,” I conceded. “But we knew, without Draven, and in the presence of both Aetherian and Thalassari forces, they would likely retreat.”

We spoke more of the days leading up to Draven’s coup. I assured him my next visit was to the families of those who had been killed, and our conversation turned to Hawthorne’s future.

“Edric, have you heard of a Lady Evelyne?”

I could tell, from the look in his eyes, he had.

“A cautionary tale, an old myth, of a Hawthorne who fell in love with, and was murdered by, a Gyorian. It’s a name I’ve not heard for many, many years.”

“Not a myth at all,” I said. “She was real. And was not murdered but fled Hawthorne, in fear, living out her days in Gyoria.”

He was confused, as I’d expected. So I told him Adren’s story, one he clearly did not believe.

“Come with me,” I said, grabbing the old man’s hand. He followed me as we searched for Adren, finally finding him in the healer’s cottage.

“You’ve been hurt?” I went to him. Adren frowned and pointed to Hawthorne’s healer. “She is relentless,” he accused. “It is a scratch, nothing more than?—”

“Not a scratch,” Mistress Delia shot back, looking at Adren in a way I’d never seen her look at any man. “I found him limping along, refusing treatment, despite a broken ankle.”

“I’ve suffered many broken bones,” he said. “It will heal.”

Elydorians healed more quickly than humans, it was true, but in the meantime, a broken ankle would be as painful for Adren as it would for anyone.

Not surprisingly, it was now wrapped. No one, simply no one, refused Delia.

My mother had always said the healer was the only person at Hawthorne who terrified her.

A comely widow who had served Hawthorne well, Delia was as revered as my father had been. Perhaps more so.

“Is he finished?” I asked the healer.

Delia’s grimace confirmed he was, though not of her liking. “His shoulder?—”

“Is fine.” Adren stood. “Thank you, mistress.” His fist to chest in parting was not overlooked by the healer, who understood its significance.

“We would speak to you,” I said, Adren standing and attempting to mask the fact that he was indeed injured.

We left Delia’s cottage, Adren glancing back to the healer one last time before she closed the door, and we walked a short distance when I stopped them both.

“Thank you,” I began. “Call it duty, or say what you will, but I owe you my life.”

“Marek was there,” Adren said, predictably. “He’d never have let Draven pull you away. More importantly, it was you who delivered the first blow.”

We would likely debate the details of Draven’s death for many years to come, but that was not what I wished to discuss.

“Adren,” I said. “Will you show Edric the pendant?”

He hesitated.

“He has been Hawthorne’s steward for many years. And has heard of Lady Evelyne, but believed her story to be a myth.”

“She was no myth,” Adren said, producing the evidence. “Lady Evelyne was my grandmother. She gave this to my mother.”

Edric took the pendant, inspecting it. After a long while, he looked up.

“This is why you offered Hawthorne aid against your own?” he asked, handing it back.

“I offered aid because Kael is my friend. Issa is my friend. And aye, for this too.” He put the pendant away. “They are not mine,” Adren finished. “Those mercenaries are like Draven. Ambitious, dishonorable?—”

“It is well known,” Edric interrupted, “Gyorians do not like humans.”

“Our king does not like humans. And aye, there are some who agree with him. But not all. Just as not all humans would betray their lord, or lady, to seize power for themselves.”

“Adren,” I said, not knowing how else to broach the topic. “You have been excommunicated from your clan by Prince Terran for remaining loyal to Kael, and offering us aid.”

He grunted his agreement.

And now came the more difficult question.

For a brief moment, when Draven was injured but not down, I had only one thought.

It was not of the vow I’d made to my father but one of never having Marek embrace me from behind as Tidechaser cut through the water, open seas and blue skies before us…

“You have a strong claim to Hawthorne Manor,” I rushed to finish, seeing Adren’s hesitation.

“This is my home. These are my people. But it was never my dream to remain here, something Edric, and my parents, knew well. But they became sick and…” I swallowed, thinking of them.

Of Warren and the others. “You’ve served Hawthorne well this day.

And can bridge the divide between our clans, I believe, and re-shape its future.

Along with that of Estmere and Elydor too. ”

He understood, even if Edric did not. Yet.

“Do not give me an answer until you think it through. But if you’ll have it, Hawthorne Manor is yours.”

Edric gasped.

Adren simply stared at me as if I’d gone mad.

“I love this land, and my people,” I rushed to add. “But I also love Marek of Thalassaria. Remaining here was my parents’ dream,” I repeated, “but never my own.”

Edric looked from me to Adren. “I will say, this is most unexpected.”

A heavy ache pressed against my ribs. Would he, and the others, not be able to look past the fact that Adren was Gyorian? Would they feel abandoned by me?

“Although Warren would not have thought so,” Edric continued. “He knew, we all knew, you were in love with the Navarch. He worried for you, while you were away, but I think he knew this might happen. You stepped into your parents’ role here, and did Hawthorne Manor well, my lady. We will miss you.”

“He didn’t yet accept,” I reminded Edric as we turned our attention to Adren. “Perhaps being lord of a border holding is not your dream.”

Adren appeared thoughtful. “I do not need to think it through, Isolde. I serve Kael of Gyoria, but there is no longer such a person now that he’s pledged himself to Aetheria.

I’ve no notion of what comes next— for Mev and Kael, the Gate, for Elydor— but if your people would have me, I would honor my grandmother’s memory by protecting Hawthorne Manor and the humans. ”

“You would?” I asked, incredulous.

“I would be honored.”

“Does Marek know?” Adren asked.

“Not yet. If you’d said no… there are few that Hawthorne would accept in my stead. But a rightful heir… They are a proud people, their customs old.”

“I am Gyorian.”

“And Draven was human.”

Neither had an argument to that. With luck, the people of Hawthorne would see it that way too.