Page 29

Half a Heart

Dusk was falling as we reached the border. I could see the shimmer of green light wavering between the kingdoms—a light so thin that I realised with a shock that the door was about to close for another year—we had only minutes remaining before sunset.

The fae steeds let us slide from their backs, then turned and were gone, leaving a flurry of leaves dancing behind them. The canopy above trembled as their royal magic shook the branches as they passed beneath them.

“ Hurry !” I urged, seeing the evening shadows stretch toward us like grasping fingers.

Sir Oswain crawled across the border, unable to stand; Beran and I somehow dragged poor Jack by the legs. We all collapsed, watching as the final shimmer of green flickered from the Faerie side of the border.

As the last ray of sunlight withdrew from the sky, I felt the shift in the air. A nightingale in the ash tree I lay beneath began warbling an announcement—it trilled out that the gateway had closed.

We lay sprawled among curling ferns, waiting for the world to cease spinning and the travel sickness to pass. Jack suffered the worst, for he had neither a margool nor a rose to ease the effects.

Beran groaned, and as my head cleared I realised I was lying within the circle of his arm, my hand resting against his chest. If it had been his bearskin, I might have been perfectly at ease, but it was the unfamiliar warmth of the skin of a man, not a bear.

I jerked my hand away and sat up too quickly, making my head spin round again.

Beran looked at me, a question in his eyes at my reaction.

“You smell,” I said, trying to laugh away my embarrassment, though my cheeks burned.

I put my head in my hands for a moment, waiting for the last wave of nausea to pass. Beran gently stroked my hair back from my face so he could see me.

I understood his look of concern, and forced a smile to reassure him. Then I glanced around, recognising our surroundings, even in the gloaming, and my smile turned to a laugh of joy.

“Oh, Beran, we are home!”

He stood and pulled me to my feet, and tried to form a word.

“H-o-m-e,” he said with great effort.

“Yes! Home !”

Sir Oswain insisted on shaking hands with everyone by way of congratulations. But when he offered his hand to me, I abandoned formality, throwing my arms around him. Then I hugged Jack and kissed him soundly on the cheek.

Beran caught my arm and pointed to his own face. Still laughing, I kissed his bristly cheek, then the other.

And then he grabbed my face and kissed me full on the mouth. This was going a little too far, I thought as I pulled away, blushing again. And besides, he still smelled of bearskin.

We were a happy, if tired and hungry, party as I led the way along a familiar track through the woods.

I wanted to run all the way home, but my body was weary and still readjusting to the mortal world; everything felt a little strange.

And every time Beran’s hand found mine, intertwining our fingers, pressing our palms together, a different kind of strangeness ran through me.

We stopped at the bubbling stream that flowed underground from Faerie, drinking deeply. The margool leapt into the stream, flapping its wings and rolling in the water like a chicken taking a dust bath.

We passed the guardian tree, its leaves rustling a welcome as we neared the cottage, I heard the jackdaw call out—“ Home ! Home !”

And there were the willow fences—there, the thatched cottage with roses rambling up its walls.

I took a deep breath of rose-scented air, and another scent mingled with it—one just as familiar.

A scent as evocative as our roses in winter, bluebells in springtime, honeysuckle in summer. The smell of pipe smoke.

The cottage door stood open to the summer evening. Sitting on the topmost step was Mother.

“You are late,” she said, as though I’d simply missed supper. But I saw the flicker of relief pass over her face.

“And you are early!”

She stood, holding out an arm to gather me to her. I buried my head in her shoulder, inhaling the scents of tobacco and the outdoors, and something else; something I had never been able to name before, but now I knew exactly what it was: the scent of green magic.

“Beran is here,” I said, when she released me.

“So I see,” said Mother, her pipe still between her teeth.

“He’s the crown prince,” I added.

“So he is,” she said calmly, as if this were not news at all.

“Is Jory with you?” Jack said eagerly as he greeted Mother.

“He is.”

“Lily!” came a voice from the doorway.

“Rose!”

There was laughter and exclamations as my sister rushed to greet us. Jory limped forward and grabbed Jack, first cuffing him upside the head and calling him a sapskull for going off on such a scrape without him, then pulling him into a fierce hug.

“Sir Oswain!” said Rose after she had hugged me and then a blushing Jack, and exclaimed over the margool that had followed me home. She made a little curtsey, her eyes glowing and her cheeks flushing almost as deeply as Jack’s. “I am so very glad to see you returned safely.”

“Your Highness,” said Sir Oswain, bowing low. “I hardly dared hope to see you again. It is like a dream that I never wish to wake from.”

I groaned inwardly. I much preferred the manly, courageous Sir Oswain of our adventures to the lovelorn swain he became in Rose’s presence.

I noticed that Rose was not surprised by this royal greeting. “Did Mother tell you?” I asked.

“About who I am? Yes, she did.”

“Am I supposed to curtsey to you now?” I said, a little wryly .

“You are still my little sister, Lily. Nothing can ever change that. Though you are welcome to curtsey if you like.”

I managed to smile, but it was not easy, for everything would change between us now. “Do you know who this is?” I asked, bringing Beran before her.

Rose regarded the dark-haired man with his unkempt beard and eccentric attire.

She looked down at the bearskin belted about his waist, the long clawed paws and huge head hanging down against his legs. “Beran?” she said confusedly. “Beran is not dead. Is he?” She looked up at the face of the dark stranger, her expression full of confusion.

“Does she know?” I asked Mother, glancing between Rose and Beran.

Mother gave a small shake of her head.

“Know what?” said Rose. “Tell me. Quickly.”

“It is Beran,” I said, taking hold of Rose’s hand and squeezing it to impart courage for the revelation that was about to come.

“Beran is dead?” Rose looked ready to cry.

“Beran was under an enchantment. Now he is free. He is the crown prince who was stolen as a child. He is Prince Eadric.”

Many emotions passed across Rose’s face. She and Beran regarded one another. She was the first to speak.

“ Brother ?” she said, her voice and fingers trembling as she reached to take one of his large hands in both of hers. “All this time I had a brother visiting us, and I never knew.”

“His speech is slow,” I warned her. “He has almost forgotten his language. ”

“Eadric,” said Rose, looking up into his dark eyes, so like her own.

“E… El …” Beran struggled to enunciate. Rose encouraged him, sounding out the syllables of her true name until he managed something that sounded like “ Elaine .”

“Well, blow me down,” said Jory softly, who had been watching this meeting. His voice lifted. “The crown prince is alive ?”

“And Sir Oswain has the crown,” said Jack, grinning at all the happy reunions.

“And the treasure?” said Jory eagerly.

Jack’s face fell. “We did find it. But then we lost it again.”

“You lost it?”

“Had to hand it over to the queen to pay our way home. Three sackfuls. My back still hurts from carrying it. Sorry, Jory.” Jack hung his head.

“So close,” said Jory. He was silent for some moments as all his crushed ambitions dissipated like sand through his fingers.

He sighed. “Could you not have shoved something in your pockets? Ah, well. You made it home. That’s the most important thing.

” He slapped his brother’s shoulder. “Come and eat, Jacko.”

Jory turned to go into the cottage.

“Wait!” cried Jack. He was staggering about on one leg.

“What are you hopping about like a jackrabbit for?” said his brother.

“Trying—” said Jack, holding on to one foot, “to get… my boot off!”

His boot flew off, and a shower of gleaming gold coins and jewellery scattered to the ground. Jory’s eyes widened, and he limped hastily back to his brother .

Jack tugged his other boot free, stumbling backwards as more treasure spilled out.

“ I filled my boots !” he crowed. “These fae-made boots are so comfy they fit like a glove no matter what you put in ’em! Ha !”

“Jacko—you are a champ !”

“So I’m not a numskull anymore?” said Jack, grinning.

“Oh, you’ll always be a numskull. Little brothers always are. But you’re the best numskull of a brother a fella could wish for! And a rich numskull at that!”

“We’ll have to split it three ways,” Jack reminded his exultant brother as they gathered up the treasure. “Miss Lily and Sir Oswain are owed a share.”

“What use do I have for jewels?” I said, laughing at his grinning face. “You can keep my share, Jack.”

“Keep it all,” said Sir Oswain magnanimously. “My reward is to return the crown to my king.” He glanced at Rose. “And to see my king’s heirs restored to their father and their rightful place.” He managed to look sorrowful as well as devoted at the same time. Rose rewarded him with a gracious smile.

“I did fill my pockets,” said Jack, “but I had to empty them out.” He pulled out the lining of his pockets in demonstration, and something small fell out, glinting as it hit the ground. “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” said Jack, picking up the object. “A ring got left behind!”

“A lady’s ring,” said Sir Oswain. Jack held it out to him for examination.

“A good-sized ruby,” said Sir Oswain. “The colour of a red rose,” he added, and looked thoughtfully at the ring for a long time, prompting Jack to say, “Take it, sir. ’Tis but a small share of the spoils. ”