Page 54 of Fey Empire

There are cool flagstones under my feet. Crooked rafters not far above my head. The far wall is almost all taken up bya fireplace. A fire burns merrily in the hearth. I spy a large wooden sink in one corner, under a small latticed window.

There is a large, sturdy oak table taking up most of the room. To my left is a closed door of weathered wooden slats. I’m guessing the bedroom is behind it.

It’s lovely in here. So cosy and homely. But I don’t want to live here. There isn’t any room for a start.

“Please, have a seat,” Llywelyn says as he gestures at the table. His tone is calm, but there is a frantic edge to him. Why is he not happy to see his brother? Is he worried about getting in trouble for breaking his exile?

Selwyn moves towards the table. He pulls out an ancient-looking chair. He pauses and picks up something from the seat. He holds it aloft.

It looks like a rattle for a baby. A hand-carved one.

Llywelyn pales.

The human snatches the rattle from Selwyn’s fingers. “I’m practicing carpentry so we can trade more things at the market.”

Selwyn nods and sits down. He pulls out the chair next to him and gestures to me. I sit down too.

Llywelyn steps up to the fire with jerky movements. He picks up a large bronze kettle and places it on the flames. Then, he and his pet join us at the table.

A tense silence settles. Outside, the birds are singing and the sun is shining.

Finally, the kettle boils. Llywelyn stands and busies himself with making tea. As he reaches for cups on a high shelf, the narrow cupboard beside him clatters open and a wooden drying rack falls out onto the stone floor.

The drying rack is full of squares of white cotton.

The human moves swiftly and shoves the drying rack back into the cupboard and shuts the door. Who puts a drying rack away with laundry still on it? And why so many large napkins?

Actually, I think they might be nappies.

“How is the child?” Selwyn asks genially.

Llywelyn says, “What child?” at the exact same time as the human snaps, “There is no child.”

The look in the man’s eyes is cold and dark. Murderous and calculating. I can see my death in his eyes.

“Forgive me, Brother,” Selwyn says in that same merry tone. “I saw your parent braid, and I assumed.”

Llywelyn’s long, elegant fingers fly up to his hair. To the small braid woven along his temple. He pales even more. Then he takes in a breath and puffs out his chest and tilts his chin to a haughty angle.

“I am very proud of… our chickens. I consider them my children.”

“Ah, I see, how delightful,” beams Selwyn. “Is the tea ready yet? I’m parched.”

Llywelyn scurries into movement and in no time at all, the table is set and tea is poured. None of the cups match, and the porcelain is chipped. The tea, however, is delicious.

“Are you enjoying the fey court?”

I blink. Oh goodness. That was the human, speaking to me!

“Oh yes, thank you! Very much!” I blurt incoherently before biting my bottom lip.

“It is still our honeymoon. Laurie hasn’t even had one moon to settle in!” snaps Selwyn.

Llywelyn and his human look at each other, then they look at me and Selwyn with raised eyebrows. I flush and busy myself with my tea.

Everyone else copies me and takes a sip of their tea while they compose themselves.

“Is Dyfri wed?” asks Llywelyn.