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Homecoming

Anya

T he air was cold, and the clouds were dark and heavy on the day we reached the juncture where the High Road branched off toward Waldron-on-Wend. The harsh wind smelled of snow, and ice crusted the thorny wild rose bushes that edged the road. Briar’s breaths clouded around his wooly head, but his ears remained pricked forward, his steps even and assured.

“You’re quiet,” Idris murmured into my hair, his breath warming the shell of my ear.

For three weeks, we had ridden Briar in tandem, braved cold nights by snuggling close together under the shelter of our tiny tent, and made love under the stars and in the plush beds of welcoming small-town inns. Yet even now, his hot breath on my skin sent a thrill through me, awakening a pressure in my belly that never seemed to fully sleep. It seemed his hands couldn’t bear to not touch me.

Without his Oath, Idris had lost some of his restraint—no less shy and somewhat taciturn in the presence of strangers, but when it was just us, he was open. He’d filled our travel days with flute-song and told me long-winded stories about his time in the Order of the Valiant with honest abandon. The change in him had been apparent, like a bulb opening to spring, and yet he was still the man I’d fallen for in the midst of my lowest lows—protective, humorous, kind.

The loss of his Oath had only increased the intensity of his qualities, like the pale shades of sunrise deepening into the richest chroma of dawn. I felt the warmth of it even now, with his body flush against mine. The absence of his breastplate— Grinnick’s breastplate, strapped to the back of the saddle along with Halgren, his retired sword—only intensified the sensation of his closeness.

“I’m…nervous,” I admitted, even as I tipped my head to one side, allowing him greater access to my neck.

“Are you not eager to return?” he asked, brushing my braided hair off my skin so he could speak against it. “After weeks of excitable stories about Waldron, are you suddenly reluctant to end our journey?”

I chuckled. “I’ll admit I’ll miss having you all to myself. I fear you’ll be quite popular once folks realize how strong and capable you are.”

“These hands are reserved for you and your needs first,” Idris said, taking my thigh in a firm grip.

I hummed my appreciation for that statement—then sobered.

Since we’d left Fenrir, I’d been counting down the days until we reached Waldron-on-Wend. But now that we were mere minutes from home—cresting the final hill—my eagerness to see Hattie, Wicker, and my beloved neighbors was twinged with the faintest insecurity.

What if the town hadn’t missed me? What if they’d only missed my usefulness? My excitement to return to everything I knew had waned with the coalescing knowledge that everything I knew wasn’t the same anymore. I had changed. Would the new me fit with the life I’d come to cherish so deeply?

“You’re afraid it won’t be the same,” Idris answered for me.

“I’m afraid I’ll find that they’ve grown accustomed to my absence,” I said. “What if I wasn’t as important to the town as I thought? What if I didn’t belong in the way I always believed?”

Snow began to drift down from above, swirling in the frigid breeze. Fat flakes collected in my hair, on my cloak, the pommel of the saddle, catching in Briar’s mane.

“That’s ridiculous, Dearest,” Idris said, and I glanced back at him, seeing truth in those blue-green eyes.

He jerked his chin forward. “How could you not belong here?”

We’d reached the peak of the hill, and from its vantage—even with the gentle flurry swirling around us—we could see the town in full. Smoke rising from thatched-roof cottages. Sheep dotting the swell of the surrounding hillsides, their white fleece swiftly blending with the weather. Farmer Quinn’s fence line. The cobblestone curve of Swan’s Row, nudged right up against the gray-blue slash of an ice-crusted river.

Waldron-on-Wend.

Idris clicked his tongue, urging Briar down the hill into town. As we descended, I caught sight of tents lining Stone Hill, and the bright flames of bonfires dotting the festival flats with flashes of orange and red.

A gasp escaped my lips.

“What now?” Idris asked.

“Astrophel,” I said. “Today is the welcoming of winter. My…birthday.”

“Your birthday,” Idris repeated, realizing: “Your thirtieth.”

How could I forget? This was the day my Fate became fixed. Arriving home today couldn’t be more fortuitous.

“Fuck,” Idris added, “I didn’t get you a gift.”

“Are you kidding?” I knocked my heels against Briar’s side, encouraging our horse into a jog. “This is the best gift you could’ve given me. You got me home.”

Snow blurred in my vision as Briar picked up speed. Idris sat steadily in the saddle behind me, his hips rocking against mine, one hand still gripping my thigh. The shepherd boy that Farmer Timmons stationed on the edge of the northwestern pasture—Dwin—poked his head out of the small shelter by the gate, taking note of our arrival. When I waved from the saddle, Dwin hopped the fence and took off over the bridge, racing ahead of us up Stone Hill.

By the time we’d reached the bridge ourselves, folks were collecting in the stone circle. Murmurs reached my ears, and I listened to the doubt and excitement that swept through the revelers as Briar climbed the rise. Evening was descending, brought on more quickly by the thick snow clouds—but the moment the raging bonfires came into view again—so close, now—I knew the long night would be filled with merriment. With joy. How could it not, when I was back in Waldron-on-Wend?

We were halfway up Stone Hill when I heard my name ripple through the throng of townsfolk. Then the cheers started. Shouts of glee, of welcome, of relief.

“Still afraid they didn’t miss you?” Idris asked me.

The cheers intensified, folks jumping up and down, waving, crying out. Tears welled in my eyes and my muscles tensed with anticipation. I gripped Idris’s hand, overcome.

A sharp cry pierced the air, and then I saw Hattie elbowing her way to the front of the crowd. She threw back the hood of her cloak, her blonde curls bouncing as she hurried closer. Seeing her flushed cheeks and freckled face broke all my remaining doubt and restraint. Without bothering to halt Briar, I dropped the reins, swung my leg over his neck, and slid onto the snow- dusted ground. Then I was running up the last little stretch of path.

“Anya!” Hattie called, her voice barely audible over the raucous, deafening cheering of the crowd at her back.

“Hattie!” I shouted back, running full speed through the field.

A dark shape broke free of the revelers, bounding past Hattie and straight toward me. I dropped to my knees and opened my arms, and then Wicker’s gangly body slammed into me. He licked my face with hot wet kisses, whining and wiggling. I sunk my fingers into his wiry fur, hugging him close, tears slicking my cheeks.

Then Hattie was there, knocking me back with her own embrace. “You’re here! You did it! What took you so long?”

“Lots to explain,” I said, burying my face into the crook of her neck and shoulder, her cloak scratchy against my snow-chilled face. “But I did it. I’m here. I’m back.” Then I was sobbing with joy, shuddering against my friend with one hand still gripping my old dog’s fur.

The rest of the crowd was pressing in, now, familiar faces shouting joyful welcome.

“You brought a man ,” Hattie whispered into my ear as she released me. Her brow arched suggestively. “The man from your Mirror of Death?”

“Long story,” I told her.

“I’ll say.” She pulled me to my feet. “Does it have a happy ending?”

I glanced back at Idris, who had just dismounted and was already fielding questions from Hugh and Vera. He made eye contact with me and smiled, bemused, but warm and true.

When I looked back at Hattie, the suggestiveness in her expression was all the more plain. “Happy ending, indeed,” she teased. “Death by orgasm, perhaps? By the Fates, look at him. He can’t take his eyes off you.” Her eyebrow arched impossibly higher. “Seems your Fate is fixed on him . Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Just in time for Astrophel!” Martha said, sweeping me up into a big hug of her own.

“Martha, it’s so good to see you,” I said, rocking with her from side to side.

She pulled back and touched my cheek, affectionate as a mother. “We were worried sick ,” she said. “Are you well? Is it all resolved?”

“All resolved, yes.”

With that out of the way, Martha leaned in. “You’ve missed quite a bit of town news. Illian is engaged to the jeweler’s apprentice now!”

I glanced in Idris’s direction. He was doing his best to make his way over, in spite of the town’s curious attention.

“You hear that, Idris? Illian is engaged.”

He smiled like this was the most welcome news of the evening. “It’s about time.”

Martha’s mouth fell open in a look of shocked glee. “Seems you have some news of your own?” she prodded, eyeing Idris, but our conversation was cut short by a long line of others demanding hugs. Vera, Hugh, Farmer Quinn, Farmer Timmons, then Timmons’ son, Francis, who appeared ever so slightly dismayed by Idris’s presence.

By the time I made it to the tents, my muscles felt doughy from the constant kneading of my friends and neighbors. The festival was starting up again after the interruption of our arrival, music floating on the icy wind. Folks placed sausage rolls, mugs of cider, and snowflake candies into Idris and my hands, and cumbersomely, we walked with Hattie over to a table by one of the bonfires.

Hattie and I sat close, with Idris settling across from us and Wicker lying on my feet underneath the table. The snow was still falling in earnest, but nobody around us seemed to mind (though Wicker seemed happy to have found a bit of shelter).

“Where’s Briar?” I asked suddenly, realizing the disappearance of our horse.

“Handed him off to…” Idris trailed off, glancing around. “Someone?”

I laughed, loving the look of him across from me, with the festival tents and lanterns spread out behind him. His cheeks were tinged gold in the light of the nearby bonfire. His eyes were boring into mine, dazzling even in the growing dark.

Hattie looped her arm through mine and rested her head on my shoulder. “I don’t want to bring things down, Anya, but Fates , I was so afraid,” she said breathlessly. “I felt so lost without you.”

“I’m sure you were just fine without me,” I said, leaning into her touch.

The smile hadn’t faded from Idris’s cheeks as he watched us. It remained even as he sipped his cider.

“Capable, sure,” Hattie said, “but ‘ just fine ,’ no. We all missed you sorely, but me most of all.”

“Of course,” I said, taking a hefty bite of my sausage roll.

“Of course,” she emphasized.

A thousand questions spread between us, but there would be plenty of time to relay the long tale later. Right now, I needed a taste of normalcy.

“How’s the Possum?” I asked.

“Prettier than ever,” Hattie said. “While you were gone, I had a whole slew of repairs done. Hugh took care of the mold in the storeroom. Farmers Timmons and Quinn took care of the tree out back, going so far as to chop and stack it for firewood. Francis even swept your chimney, no strings attached.”

“Seriously?” I asked, finding it hard to swallow another bite of sausage with the sudden lump in my throat. “You all pitched in for me?” An old panic rose, reminding me of my mother. “But how will I ever repay—”

“Anya, we love you,” Hattie interrupted fiercely. “You’ve done so much for this town. It was high time they did something in return—and they were happy to. Excited, even, to get it all done in time for your return. Not because they felt indebted but because they care about you. I know your mother felt like love was transactional, but…well, we all just want the best for you. That’s it. You owe us nothing.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and squeezed her hand back, blinking the fresh tears from my eyes.

“Who’s Francis?” Idris cut in.

“Her betrothed.” Hattie waggled her eyebrows.

Idris looked to me, eyes wide.

“He’s no one,” I assured him.

“Just a chimney sweep,” Hattie said with a wink.

I couldn’t help but laugh, and Idris joined in reluctantly, still looking confused. I twisted my foot out from Wicker’s weight and found Idris’s leg under the table, nudging his knee with the toe of my boot. He caught my ankle—the one that had been injured—and, with a firm hand, slid his palm underneath the hem of my skirt and up my bare calf.

“Who’s your betrothed?” Martha asked, sauntering over to our table and fixing her attention on Idris. Her cheeks were flushed, betraying her tipsiness. “Better be this tall glass of dark ale.”

Idris released my leg, a mauve flush coloring his cheeks.

“Martha,” I said. “The festival is exquisite. I’m sorry I missed the planning.”

“Oh, not to worry, dear,” she said. “You have many more years here to plan and organize, but for tonight, just enjoy yourself. You deserve it, after your long journey north.”

Two months ago, before the Fate Ceremony, I would’ve been horrified to have given up my place among the planners of Astrophel. But tonight, as I looked around at the musicians and tents and fires, I decided Martha was right. I quite liked simply sitting here, enjoying the festivities.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Martha added with a toss of her hands. She rummaged around in the front pocket of her apron and procured two baubles strung with colored yarn. One was a wooden horse painted in swirling gold. The other was a carved pine tree painted in many shades of green and brown.

She handed the horse to me and the tree to Idris. “Welcome to Waldron, Anya’s betrothed,” Martha said to Idris, then—before I could correct the misunderstanding—she danced away from our table and over to the nearby bonfire, around which folks were twirling to the rhythmic thump of drums and the accompanying lilt of a mandolin.

I glanced at Idris, wanting to apologize for Martha’s teasing, but he was focused on the small tree she’d given him.

“It’s a tradition in Waldron,” I explained. “At Astrophel, we hang ornaments on our bedposts for the Fates. They’re meant for good luck.”

He looked up, appearing surprisingly moved by Martha’s gesture. “I don’t have a bedpost.”

“You can borrow mine,” I said, popping a snowflake candy in my mouth.

“Good luck, indeed,” he murmured.

Hattie rested an elbow on the table, staring him down with a protective intensity I hadn’t seen from her before. “So, tell me, Idris. Are you going to murder my friend?”

I choked on a sip of cider. “ Hattie .”

“What? We all saw your Mirror. The rest of town might not remember his face, but I committed it to memory.” She tapped her temple. It was uncharacteristically threatening.

“What happened to death by orgasm ?” I whispered forcefully into her ear.

Now it was Idris’s turn to choke on a sip of cider.

“It occurred to me that the handsome ones are usually the ones who get away with it,” Hattie said.

I shoved her with my shoulder, knocking her off balance. “It’s all been cleared up,” I said. “I promise. I’ll explain it all—but for tonight, just let me enjoy being home.”

Hattie nodded, even as her eyes narrowed at Idris. “You promise not to harm her?”

Idris set down his own mug and met her stare with equal gravity. “I wouldn’t dare.”