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“I will,” said Sir Oswain, still thoughtful, and he pocketed the ring.

The smell of food drew us all inside, where a large pot of stew and a mountain of oatcakes awaited us.

Mother brought out a flagon of spruce beer that we only drank on special occasions.

It was something of a crush for us all to fit in the cottage, but we managed.

Sir Oswain, Jory, and Rose sat at the table.

Jack took the stool. Mother sat in her fireside chair.

Beran refused a chair, staring at his bowl of stew in one hand and the wooden spoon in the other as though he could not remember how to use either.

“You may eat on the steps if you wish,” I suggested. I understood his discomfort. He turned away to sit on the steps down to the garden.

“We cannot let him eat alone,” protested Rose.

“He feels awkward,” I said. “It will take time to get used to living as a man and not a bear.”

“He shall soon learn,” said Sir Oswain. “But he must be clothed before we journey back to the palace on the morrow.”

“On the morrow!” I said, appalled. “You cannot take him to the city so soon, he needs time to recover!”

“His father would wish it,” said Sir Oswain. He looked at Rose. “The king will be anxious to have both his children returned to him without an hour’s delay.”

“My father the king,” said Rose wonderingly. “It does not seem real. The palace. The city. Oh, Lily, what a new life we shall have.”

“We?” I said.

Dusk had deepened into night, and my faerie lamp rested between me and Jack, giving us light to eat by.

The cooking fire flickered over Mother, and the table held one of our beeswax candles, casting soft yellow light between Rose and Sir Oswain.

The shutters above me were wide open to the balmy evening air.

A rose growing around the window twined inside, brushing my forehead with velvety petals, as though welcoming me home.

The margool had wolfed down stew and oatcakes and now lay curled up like a cat before the fire.

“Yes,” said Rose. “Us. Me and you.”

Her expression shifted to dismay as she saw my look and realised what it meant. I did not say the words aloud, for I did not want to dampen the happiness of the homecoming. But Rose knew my thoughts: I did not belong in a city. I did not belong in a palace. I only belonged right where I was.

We ate until we could eat no more, then exchanged stories of all we had done and seen since we were separated.

It was a festive evening, and the spruce beer did not run out—I suspected some kind of charm upon the flagon.

I was beginning to notice all manner of small magic in Mother’s ways and doings.

I wondered that I had not noticed it before.

Beran sat beside me after dinner, listening to our conversations as though trying to discern a foreign language, watching everyone talk and laugh. His hand sought mine, and I let him take it.

Sir Oswain was the first to rise. “I must leave you ladies and retire for the night.”

“Where are you going?” Rose asked.

“To see if any of my men have waited for me at our encampment.”

“But you will not find your way to the meadows in the dark,” she said.

“You may borrow my lamp,” I offered .

“But what if your encampment is not there?” said Rose. “I have not seen any of your men.”

“Come up to the treehouse,” said Jack. Then he turned to Jory. “You been sleeping there?”

“No,” said Jory. “But I’m ready to try the climb now you’re here to push me up.”

“Beran may have his old spot on the rug,” I said.

“The crown prince sleeping on the floor?” said Sir Oswain, appalled.

“He can come up to our treehouse,” offered Jack. “ ’Tis mortal comfy,” he promised. “The leaves whisper you to sleep. Don’t they, Jory?”

“I suppose one night in the open must be endured,” said Sir Oswain, making an apologetic bow of the head to the prince. “Tomorrow we shall journey to the palace and seek better accommodation on the road.”

“Don’t warrant even a palace bed would be as good as our treehouse,” said Jack.

I quite agreed.

Beran rose and followed the others. Sir Oswain bid us good night.

Jack waved cheerily. Beran turned at the door to look back at me.

He made a low growl. I knew he was trying to speak, and I knew he was frustrated that he could not form the words easily.

I smiled reassuringly and replied, “Good night, my friend.”

I watched them go. The lamplight Sir Oswain carried bobbed up and down as he sauntered away, a little merry from the spruce beer.

Rose stood beside me. She gave a little sigh as the garden gate clicked shut, and I closed the door.

“You go up to bed,” she said sweetly. “You look fit to drop. I shall wash the supper dishes. ”

I did not argue. I tried to thank her, but could only yawn, so she pushed me toward the ladder.

The call of our cockerel roused me next morning, and I hurried down to the garden, eager to watch the dawn break, and listen to the birdsong.

The margool sniffed around the garden. The bees in the meadow began their work, our hens emerged from their roosts, our gentlemanly cockerel fussing over them and flapping his wings at the margool and explaining vociferously that all the hens were his.

Jenny brayed for attention, so I took her and the goats a helping of oats from the sack in our pantry. The goats butted the margool away, and I scolded them for being jealous. Jenny only flicked her ears at the new arrival, she was more interested in her breakfast.

I returned to the cottage to find Jory perched on a stool, wincing as Mother applied ointment to his leg wound.

Jack was making himself useful by stacking up armfuls of logs at the side of our fireplace.

Rose was stirring the porridge. I had picked two roses, one red and one white, and I put them in a little jug in the centre of the breakfast table.

“Where is Beran?” I asked.

“Gone with Sir Oswain,” said Jack.

“They’ve left already?” I felt my stomach twist. Surely Beran would not leave without saying goodbye?

“Gone to the encampment to see who’s there.”

“His name is Eadric ,” said Rose.

“ Prince Eadric,” added Jack.

“He’s still Beran,” I said, sinking onto a chair, the quiet pleasure of the morning overshadowed by the coming separation. “He will be gone forever soon, so it hardly matters what I call him.”

Rose put a bowl of steaming porridge before me, but I had suddenly lost my appetite.

The cottage doors were wide open to let in the mild, fragrant air.

A shadow fell across the doorway, and I looked up to see a tall, broad figure filling the frame.

I stared as a handsome man with a neat, close beard, dressed in a belted tunic, riding boots and breeches, walked in.

His dark hair was still long, but now it was neatly tied back, falling in smooth waves like Rose’s rather than bedraggled locks.

“Beran?” I exclaimed softly, getting up to meet him.

“You look princely ,” said Rose approvingly, bestowing a kiss on his cheek.

I wanted to kiss him in greeting too, but a deep wave of shyness came over me, so I sat back down. I could not emulate Rose’s sisterly kiss; I did not feel sisterly at all toward this tall, imposing man.

Sir Oswain beamed, full of what he considered good news . I sat in increasing dismay as he told of the six loyal men who had waited for him at camp, and how pleased he was that his horse had been recovered.

“We have no sidesaddle, my lady,” said Sir Oswain to Rose, “but if Your Highness would permit the temporary inconvenience, I offer you a seat on Ablican.

He is sixteen hands high and will bear both of us if we journey slowly.

Your brother, His Highness, is the most proper escort for you, but he is an inexperienced rider, and your safety would be compromised.

“One of my men has already set off for the palace to take the news to the king. I expect to be met on the road with a carriage, guards, and every convenience. The king will not delay in dispatching a retinue to meet you and His Highness.”

“Why not wait until the carriage arrives?” I suggested, feeling a rush of dislike for Sir Oswain. “ You go and meet the retinue.”

Sir Oswain looked to Rose. “Whatever you wish, my lady, that is what shall be done.”

Rose’s eyes had that dreamy look. “I should like to set forth,” she said. “And there is no one I would trust more with my comfort and safety than you, Sir Oswain.”

I got up in disgust and went out to the back garden to sit on the mossy stone by the henhouse, my head on my knees.

A strong arm rested across my back, and I turned to shed hot tears onto Beran’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled. “I’m just sad that Rose can’t wait to leave us, and I’m cross with Sir Oswain for hurrying her away, and… I did not think you would be gone from me like this.”

Beran struggled to sound out words. I listened patiently, watching the look of intense concentration on his face as he forced his mind to make human language.

“Go—fa-ther,” he said, pointing to himself, then gesturing westward where the road lay.

“I understand,” I said, still sniffling. “You want to see your father. Of course you do.”

He pointed at me. “Co-me,” he said, the word drawn out slowly in a growl. He pointed to himself. “Wi-th m-e.”

I shook my head sorrowfully. “I cannot leave Mother. I don’t belong in a city, Beran. I would pine away. I know I would.”

There was nothing more to say. We sat for a long time, my head on his shoulder, his arm around me, until Jack came to find us and tell us that all was ready. It was time to go.

The horses stood harnessed in the bridle track outside our gate.

Jack and Jory were to ride a pair of mules left behind by the fleeing party of rough men before the border had opened.

Their mounts looked unfavourable compared to the sleek horses of Sir Oswain’s stable, but Jack did not care.

He laughed that it would be a slower ride than on a faerie queen’s steed.

“Sir Oswain wants us there when we present the crown to the king,” he said, his eyes shining. “Says we should have a share in the king’s thanks. What a grand fellow he is, to be sure! Of course, you should be there too, Miss Lily. Sure you won’t come? Wish you would.”

I shook my head.

His eyes clouded. “Shall miss you, Miss Lily. You’re the bravest girl I know. Won’t ever forget you. Try not to forget me.”

“I will never forget you, Jack, son of Jago.”

Mother had woven a fresh wreath of red roses for Rose to wear.

“Wait,” I said, and I ran to gather an armful of roses, red and white—one of each for every rider.

“Will it stop me getting travel sick?” joked Jack as I tucked two stems into the clasp of his cloak.

I could not answer, for I was struggling to keep back tears. I gave Jory his roses, hugged him, and wished him well. I even managed to overcome my annoyance with Sir Oswain long enough to shake his hand and wish him a safe journey.

I knew Rose was waiting to speak to me.

“Thank you for the cloak,” she said, fingering the soft, strong, faerie-made cloak I had given her for the journey. “It is infinitely better than our homespun ones.”

“I would like it back,” I said. “For you won’t need it when you get your new wardrobe.”

She gave a little laugh.

“Send it with news,” I added. “I will be longing to know how you are. Promise?”

“Of course. I promise. I shall send a courier to you. Oh, Lily, won’t you come with me? A whole new life awaits us!”

“I cannot leave Mother, even if I wished to leave, which I don’t.”

“Then I shall come and visit you very often if you will not come to me.”

I forced a smile and nodded, but I knew it was unlikely she would return often, if at all. Her world would become far larger, and busier.

We hugged, and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. I felt something soft falling on me, and we drew apart and looked up as a shower of red petals rained gently down upon us.

“Thank you,” she said to the red roses that had protected her all her life. “Farewell.”

She dashed away tears as she took Sir Oswain’s waiting arm and let him lead her to his horse.

Beran had waited until last.

I could hardly stand any more goodbyes. I felt as though my insides were being grazed by a sea monster or pierced with a dwarf lord’s sword, nothing I had known of danger or discomfort in the past days compared to this sudden and horrible sense of loss, except for those long minutes when I had thought Beran lost to me forever.

He might yet be lost to me forever .

He reached for me, but I stepped back, shaking my head. Red petals floated to the ground.

“If you hold me,” I said thickly, “I won’t be able to let you go.”

He made a groaning, low growl. I could distinguish the word Li-ly , but that was all.

I could not look at him, for I knew his eyes would beseech me to change my mind. But I could no more leave Mother alone than he could fail to go to his father.

He rode away with half my heart. My other half was bound to my home.

Could I live with half a heart?

I would have to.

Rose tried to look back, but Sir Oswain’s cloaked shoulder obscured her view.

I stood at the gate, red petals still falling down upon me, until I could no longer hear the hoofbeats of the horses.

Mother led me slowly back to the cottage.

The garden was strewn with a carpet of scarlet. On the walls and thatched roof, around the doors and windows, twined white roses.

But not a single red rose remained.