Page 31 of The Beginning (Covert Moon, #1)

Eamonn

The Fae Realm

* * *

T he next morning, I had breakfast with the other Watchers, all of us quiet as we started the day.

The dining hall had a subdued atmosphere—not uncomfortable, just the natural rhythm of men settling into their daily routine.

The porridge was thick and filling, accompanied by bread that I’d been told since arriving here that was quite good for an outpost. I'd learned to appreciate these small comforts over the past two months.

Those on duty met in the guardroom for assignments for the day.

The room buzzed with quiet conversation as men discussed patrol routes and checked equipment.

Those not on duty were free to do as they pleased.

Some even went to the Human Realm, some went to other places in the Fae Realm.

The freedom was something I was still getting used to.

We kept a book in the guardroom that allowed each man to track his whereabouts, which was a good thing.

Each entry was brief but telling—names, destinations, expected return times.

It also seemed a bit loose to me, but we didn't do things in as formal a fashion as had been the standard at the castle.

Daily life for me at the castle had been structured, with rigid schedules and precise formations.

Here, there was trust. Trust that each man would do his duty without constant oversight.

I would've said that it was far too loose of a style for me, but after two months, I could see why this was a better style for this command.

Men worked harder when they felt respected rather than monitored every moment.

I also noted that in the book, there were no notations for me giving me a day off.

My name appeared in the duty roster every single day since I'd arrived. How, when I did most of the paperwork, I didn’t know.

My officers must have me as on duty at all times.

That didn't bother me as much as perhaps it ought to have.

The truth was, I wasn't sure what I'd do with a day off anyway. Where would I go? What was waiting for me back at court? Nothing pleasant, that was certain. At this point, I wasn’t even sure if Wenda would wait. Or if I would blame her if she didn’t.

The morning was spent going through the reams of necessary paperwork, ordering supplies, and making sure that all was in order at my command.

There were requisition forms for everything from lamp oil to boot laces.

Inventory lists that needed checking and double-checking.

Reports on the condition of the gates, the walls, the living quarters.

It was tedious work, but I found a strange satisfaction in the orderliness of it all.

Prior to luncheon, one of the Watchers came in and deposited a bundle of letters on my desk.

"Mail's here," he said. The postal service between realms was irregular at best, so a delivery was always noteworthy. With nothing more but a nod, he was gone.

I reached over and thumbed through the stack of parchment.

The paper crinkled under my fingers, some pieces bearing official seals I recognized.

Mostly official letters, but there was one from my mother.

Her familiar script made my chest tighten with guilt.

I'd need to answer her today. Her last letter had been full of worried questions I couldn't properly answer, gentle reproaches about my lack of correspondence, and news from home that felt like it belonged to someone else's life.

The last letter was in slightly finer parchment than the rest, and I recognized the handwriting immediately. My heart did something complicated—a skip and a sink all at once.

Wenda had finally written.

Hefting the letter in my hand, I noted that it seemed thin. One page, at the most. That was odd. Her previous letters, back when they'd come regularly, had been thick missives full of court gossip, detailed descriptions of her daily activities, and affectionate ramblings that I'd treasured.

Pushing aside my work, I got up and left my office. I wanted to be somewhere I could breathe properly if this letter contained what I was beginning to suspect it might.

Four letters only over a two month period gave a man a hint of his lady’s mind.

"What's that, Captain? A letter from your lady love?" Niender, an older Watcher, teased me as I walked by. He was mending a piece of harness while he walked, his weathered hands moving tying knots without needing to look.

"I'm sorry?" I looked up, distracted.

Niender laughed, the sound echoing in the corridor. "It is a letter from your lady love! Well, good on ya, Captain. Give 'er a kiss from me," he said, making an exaggerated face and pursing his lips in a ridiculous manner.

"Be on your way," I said, my voice gruff. But there was no heat in my tone, and I was grinning despite myself. Niender's good humor was infectious, even when my stomach was knotted with anxiety.

I hurried out into the small garden, wanting privacy to read my letter.

The garden was modest but well-tended, with herbs growing in neat rows and a few flowering plants that attracted bees.

It was peaceful here, surrounded by stone walls that blocked out the sounds of the compound.

As I broke the blue wax seal, I looked more closely at it.

The wax was pristine, the impression clean.

It was the seal of the house of the lady she worked for.

That was a good sign—that Wenda was allowed to use the seal.

It signaled her closeness with the lady, her trusted position in the household.

Maybe things were going even better for her than I'd hoped.

I unfolded the single sheet of parchment, my eyes taking in the familiar slope of her letters before I began to read.

D earest Eamonn,

It's been difficult since you left the castle to know what to say.

The words don't come easily anymore, and I find myself starting letters I can't finish.

I've cried over your disgrace, hoping that your luck would turn, and you would be restored to the King's graces.

But when my lady graciously inquired of you, King Jharak told her that you would be stationed at your new outpost for quite some time.

The way he said it suggested it might be years, not months.

In speaking with your mother, she tells me that you can't give her much detail about this Captain of the Watchers position, and you've given her no indication of when you might return.

Your letters to me have been equally vague about your prospects.

Eamonn, we've been talking of our future for so long, but with the way things stand, I must be honest and share my heart with you.

I can't be certain that we have a future.

King Jharak told my lady that there are no women within your current command, that there are no accommodations for families.

How does that allow us to move forward with our plans?

The wedding we spoke of, the home we dreamed of building—how can any of that happen when you're stationed at the edge of nowhere with no end in sight?

While it breaks my heart to say so, I don't see how we can move forward.

We can no longer be aligned as we have been.

I am sorry to have to say this, but I feel it would be better if you and I were to go our separate ways.

Things have been going so well for me that should I leave my lady's house, I would suffer greatly.

My position here is secure, respected. I know that you want only the best for me and clinging to a future that may never come isn't what's best for either of us.

I shall always care for you, and our time together is something I shall always cherish. I will remember you fondly. Be well, Eamonn.

Your friend,

Wendalina Nightstar

T he letter dropped from my hand like a stone. The day was sunny and bright, and there was birdsong all around me—sparrows chattering in the herbs, a thrush calling from somewhere beyond the wall—but it all faded as the words rattled around in my head.

Better that we go our separate ways. She'll always remember me fondly.

Fondly?

As though I were a pet raven, or a house cat that had provided some momentary amusement!

Fondly! She would remember me fondly?

The word tasted bitter in my mouth. Fondly was how you remembered a pleasant afternoon or a decent meal, not the person you'd claimed to love, the man you'd spoken of marrying.

"Damn you!" I shouted to the empty garden, to the blue sky, to the fate that had torn my life apart and scattered the pieces.

In a moment, one of the younger Watchers poked his head into the garden, his face creased with concern. "Captain? Is everything all right?"

The concern in his voice, the genuine worry, somehow made everything worse. These men were beginning to hopefully respect me, looking to me for guidance, and here I was falling apart over a letter from a woman who'd just dismissed our entire relationship as ‘remembered fondly’.

"Please leave me," I said, my voice coming out in a growl. I retrieved the letter from the ground and clutched it in my hand so tightly the parchment was creasing.

"Damn you," I said again, but quieter now, smoothing out the letter where I'd crumpled it.

My hands were shaking slightly as I read it again, my anger and sorrow growing side by side like weeds in untended ground.

The hot prickle of tears in my eyes contrasted with the aching lump in my throat.

I blinked hard, refusing to let them fall.

She no longer felt it a good thing to be aligned with me. What an interesting turn of phrase. She was worried for her future, a future that no longer included me. How quickly love turned practical when inconvenience entered the picture. How easily promises were forgotten when they became burdens.