“Diggy?”
She looked up at me. “Ho, Tannie.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Probably.”
I waited, knowing she had more to say.
“I . . . was planning to . . .”
“Die in the battle?” I had gathered as much.
“I didn’t think there was any way I would survive. She was so powerful.”
“But so twisted. She made a lot of mistakes. She had a lot of weaknesses.”
Diggy paused. Rocked a little more. “I don’t know what to do now. I was going to do something good and then—”
“Never have to do anything else again?”
“Karlith said living is the harder, better choice.”
“She wasn’t wrong.”
Diggy chewed her lip. “I’m not sure I can be better.”
I stooped beside her and waited until she met my gaze. “We can work on it together.”
She smiled a little—just a tiny bit. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”
“When the stars fall from the sky, the sun fails to rise, and the ocean dries up, maybe then I’ll give up.” I nudged her.
Her smile grew another fraction. “Maybe then.”
I rose and left her to her thoughts. I scanned the bedraggled group of farmers, pirates, soldiers, and weavers, looking for Brac. Warmil was working on him, Aeron at his side.
I approached and smiled at Aeron, tears brimming in my eyes. I wasn’t even sure why. “How is your leg, Aeron?”
“Sore.” She grinned, but it looked more like a wince. “I should like to get home and rest for a while.”
And then it hit me. Usually it would be Karlith by Warmil’s side, supporting their patient with her tinctures and herbs while he put in stitches.
The Corsyth had lost three weavers since I met them.
I bent and put an arm around Aeron’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, Aeron.”
“Me too, Tannie.”
While Warmil stitched up Brac’s side—again—I weaved my way through the Pembroni farmers, greeting the familiar faces. “Farmer Hyde. Uncle Rawn. Well, call me a fluff-hopper—is that Tafarn I see? Blodwyn will kill you for coming, you know.”
He grinned. “Not when she hears I helped save the queen. And you, Tannie.”
I returned his grin.
“Awfully proud of you, Tannie,” Farmer Wenth said.
I raised an eyebrow at his freckled face. “Prouder than when you beat me and Brac in that three-legged race when I was ten?”
“Twice as proud, at least.”
I hugged first him, then Farmer Gwlan beside him. Maybe I was imagining it, but they smelled of Pembrone—fresh-turned earth and green leaves and the salty spray of the Menfor below the cliffs.
And then I came to Celyn. A bruise purpled her jawline. I looked at her with concern. “You take a punch, Celyn?”
She worked her jaw. “Aye.”
“I’m still not sure how all this happened. I suppose Brac will fill me in at some point. But whatever got you here, thank you for coming.”
She nodded and flashed a tight-lipped smile. She seemed unable to meet my gaze.
“Celyn.”
She finally looked at me.
“I know you didn’t do it for me. But thank you anyway.”
Her face blanched. “Oh, Tannie. I didn’t not do it for you. I just . . .”
“Fancy Brac.”
“I—”
“He’s always fancied you too.”
“Tannie, I didn’t mean for it to be like—”
“Celyn.” I placed my hands on her shoulders. “Please. Make him happy, and let him make you happy.”
She laughed, and we both relaxed as the tension faded. “All right, then.”
But a dark cloud of truth suddenly eclipsed our lightheartedness. Did Brac even have a future to give to Celyn? Was it possible he would be traveling back to Urian in irons?
I turned back to where Warmil had just finished stitching Brac’s wound. Queen Braith, Sir Kharn, and Master Insegno were gathered around him, and they seemed to be having a very serious conversation.
I glanced at Celyn. She looked as worried as I felt.
After a few moments of agony, we watched in confusion as Warmil helped Brac lower himself to one knee before Braith. She placed her hand on his head.
Celyn and I looked at each other. What in the world of hairy hedge-nibblers . . .
Warmil wrapped an arm around Brac and helped him stand and hobble over to us. Brac’s face didn’t give us any clues to what had happened—unless stunned was a clue.
“The queen . . .” he began, then paused.
“Yes?” I prodded.
“The queen just gave me a full pardon.”
Celyn let out a cry and threw her arms around his neck.
Brac winced.
Warmil cleared his throat. “Careful, if you don’t mind.”
Celyn’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She stepped back a little, her eyes fixed on Brac. “How? What happened?”
“She said her mother admitted to using strands on me somehow. I don’t understand it. I don’t know quite what she means by, uh, manipulate sentiment.”
“Control your feelings.” I started to move toward him, then caught myself and kept my distance. I was going to have to get used to giving Brac and Celyn space. “That was how they got you to do all those things, Brac. She was using her strands on you.”
“Aye, I guess.” He scratched his head. “Thing is, I didn’t feel like they was forcing me at the time.”
And maybe forcing was too strong a word. They’d played on Brac’s weaknesses that already existed—selfish desires and jealousies that did truly belong to him. But Frenhin used those wicked strands to overpower whatever good sense Brac had—and his Pembroni-bred values.
“And what did you tell the queen?” Celyn asked anxiously.
“I told her I had made the wrong choices myself and should pay the consequences.”
“Brac!” I knew I shouldn’t scold him. He was trying to be noble. “Did Frenhin accidentally give you more honor than you started with in the first place?”
He made a face at me. “Ha ha.”
“And what did the queen say to that?” Celyn pressed.
“She said I had certainly made some bad choices, but in light of my efforts here on this mission, she was pardoning me anyway.”
Celyn burst into a teary laugh.
Brac looked at her, the shock finally melting away. “I get to go home.”
“Aye.” She laughed again and gripped his hand.
Despite his wounds, he scooped her into his arms, and my heart just about burst.
It was just what I’d always wanted for him.
He squeezed Celyn, then released her. “Just give me a minute, Cel.”
He motioned to me, and we stepped away from the group. “Tannie, I’m sorry about all that’s happened. I know I said it before, but I need to say it again. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Already done. And I hope you’ll forgive me. If we could start everything all over again, I think . . . I think we would hurt each other less. Love a little better.”
“Aye.”
I glanced over his shoulder at Celyn. “Brac?”
“Aye?”
“Marry that girl,” I whispered.
His ears flamed red. “Aw, Tannie.”
“She’s way too good for you, but for some reason, she’s willing to put up with your sunbaked self.” I poked him. “Marry her, before she changes her mind.”
He laughed. Then he scooped me into a hug that felt like the summer sun and warm hay and a floppy farmer’s hat.
Tears trickled down my cheeks. “Go remember how to be Brac, all right?”
“Aye, I will.” He hesitated. “Tannie?”
“Hmm?”
“Your pirate looks lonely.”
I pulled away and turned. Mor was leaning against a tree on the other side of the group, all by h
imself.
I smiled at Brac, then took my leave.
Mor’s arms were folded across his chest, his head drooping. If he had been smirking at me, I would have thought we were back in the Corsyth during that spring moon when I’d first met him.
But he wasn’t smirking. He was staring, and I knew it would take time for the wound of Zel’s loss—all the losses—to heal.
He noticed me finally, and a genuine smile warmed his face. “Tannie.”
I just about collapsed into his arms. I nestled in against his chest, pretty sure I could have stayed there for the rest of my life.
“Mor?”
“Aye?”
“I have no idea where home is, but can we please go there?”
He took my face in his hands. “Tannie, my home is wherever you are.” He grinned. “Farm girl.”
It didn’t matter that my father was somewhere nearby and that anyone who happened to look over could see us. Mor leaned down and kissed me—properly, this time, so that my knees buckled and painted-wings flitted in my stomach.
Strands of happiness and hope for the future poured out from us and swirled into the air. They lifted my hair and rattled the bare branches of the trees above us.
We might have stayed there another hour except the strands had definitely drawn some attention. Whoops and whistles sounded. Even a smattering of polite applause.
Mor and I finally broke apart with a laugh. And then a voice sounded from the trees above, and we looked up to find Diggy staring down at us from her perch.
She shook her head. “Akē.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
TANWEN
I stood on the cobblestones of Pembrone’s main thoroughfare.
Pembrone—dusty, poky, ordinary, and beautiful.
It was the middle of winter, and the wind was snappish. Or else we might have had a welcoming party to greet us, since so many Pembronis were returning home. Father had sent word to Cameria from Ir-Golyth, so we were expected.
We had left Dylun, Aeron, and Warmil in Bowyd so that Aeron might rest at a proper inn with a real bed, but they would be close enough to the Corsyth to check in there. The guardsmen, Kharn, Brac’s aide Eny, Master Insegno, and, of course, Queen Braith had headed back to Urian.
And Venewth’s crew had slipped away before anyone had a chance to say good-bye—except for Mor. They had made amends properly, at least, and Mor said he knew how to reach them when he wanted.
I guessed pirate crews didn’t fancy hanging around government officials and royalty.
The rest of us had traveled back to the peninsula. Back to Pembrone. Back home.
Cameria met us in the front courtyard of our cottage. She burst into a wide smile. “Well, well.” Then she laughed and threw her arms around my father. “Welcome home, my lord.”
He grinned in return. “Will you never stop calling me that?”
“No, I will not.” She kissed both his cheeks. “Tanwen!” She embraced me, then nodded to Diggy.
Diggy offered an awkward wave, then slipped behind Mor.
“Come inside,” Cameria said. “I have cider ready.”
We followed her into the cottage, and my jaw dropped. Last I saw this place, it had been tossed by Gareth’s soldiers who’d been sent to capture me. It had been a disaster—everything strewn about, most of the furniture broken.
I remembered well the devastation of seeing everything in the world that mattered to me scattered about and ruined.
How small my world was back then.
But Cameria had righted everything.
Broken furniture was repaired. That which was beyond repairing had been replaced. Everything sparkled, totally spotless, and she had even added new curtains and decorated with evergreen branches. Soft, woven blankets took the place of threadbare ones, and a pot of spiced cider simmered over the fire.
Father looked stunned too. He turned to Cameria. “Everywhere you go is better for you having been there.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Oh, do stop that.” She called out, “Arystia! They’re here!”
The nurse we’d met in Urian emerged from the hallway, holding an orange-haired infant on her hip—little Dafyth.
We all stood for a long moment. Grief rose in my chest, and I could almost feel it in Mor too. I knew Father had told Cameria about Zel in his letter.
But Diggy’s eyes lit up. “There you are, little one!” She rushed to Arystia’s side. “May I?”
Arystia nodded and handed off the baby.
Father turned toward Cameria. “And the other refugees?”
“Safe. We all came here first, but eventually, we got everyone placed in towns across the peninsula. Some in Pembrone—you were right, Tanwen, the people here are generous. Many opened their homes and have been willing to share what they have, even when it’s not much.”
It hadn’t even been a question for me. Of course they had.
“Commander Jule has been staying in Physgot,” Cameria added. “I sent word when I received your letter, so I expect he’ll pay a call in the next day or two.”
I let the sounds of Father and Cameria discussing all that had happened in our weeks apart drift away. After grabbing a cloak hanging on a peg by the back door, I went out into the garden.
Cameria had done work out here too. She had weeded and prepared it for the spring planting that would occur in a few moons once the threat of frost was past. Though the ground was cold, something felt comfortable about it, and I plunked down cross-legged in the dirt by the far wall.
The Menfor Sea beat its steady rhythm against the cliffs below, just as it always had and as it always would. I longed to return to it someday. To sail and adventure, maybe without the threat of death hanging over our heads. Then we could return home—here to Pembrone. Visit Queen Braith in Urian.
I was ready to live instead of simply escaping death all the time.
And at the thought of escaping death, strands swirled out of my hands.
The story didn’t need my voice, because it wasn’t really a story at all. Just memories. Memories of a kind lad from a farm—the one who had felt so familiar to me when I first met the Corsyth weavers. The one who had made me feel like I wasn’t alone among a group of people so much worldlier than I.
And his beloved wife with her beautiful hair, sweet smile, and daring final sacrifice.
A feathery, light-green strand and a rich, orange ribbon swirled together, then popped into a crystallized story—a sparkling sweet-root. It dropped into my hand, and I placed it up on the rock wall.
More memories poured from my hands—memories of kindness that warmed the aching hole in my heart and eased my longing for family. No, not just for family. For a mother. And she had cared for me like a mother. She had cared for all of us that way—healing, guiding, and sharing the light that filled her soul.
A rainbow of story threads danced together, then popped into a sparkling ball of crystallized yarn.
I placed Karlith’s story on the wall alongside Zel and Ifmere’s.
If I could have sung the next recollections, I would have, because it would have been fitting. Her voice was so hauntingly beautiful it was like it didn’t belong in this world. I closed my eyes. I could almost hear her music, feel the way it lifted my heart. And when I allowed the memory of her final moments in this life to come to me, her death was no longer the horrifying, traumatic event it had been at the time. I could see it now the way Karlith had.
Sparkling pale-green strands crystallized into a formal dancing shoe—the kind the ladies at the palace wore for special occasions.
I placed my story of Gryfelle next to Karlith’s.
And then came the memory I still struggled to make sense of. The one that smarted the worst, somehow, though I had known the others longer. Maybe it was because he was the first to go. Maybe it was because I was inches away from him when his final seconds ran out—right there yet unable to do a thing about it.
Whatever the reason, I couldn’t put it away o
r make it beautiful. His death was ugly and cruel. Useless. There was no message behind it, no lesson to be learned except that sometimes the world is like that—senseless and wicked. And, sometimes, people we love are casualties of that wickedness.
“I’m sorry, Wylie,” I whispered.
With a soft plink, the strand crystallized into a knotted rope and dropped into my hand. I placed it next to Gryfelle’s.
I felt the presence of someone behind me. The footfalls were so soft that I knew who it was.
He spoke first for once. “Tannie girl.”
I wiped my face and stood up. “Aye, Father?”
“Are you well?”
“Sort of.” I laughed—a bit muddled with tears. “Aye, I’m all right. Grateful to be alive. And missing the ones who aren’t.”
Father eyed the crystallized stories along the wall. “You have lost a lot of friends on this journey.”
“Aye. It hurts.”
He nodded.
But before he could say anything, I added, “I know, I know. It’s supposed to hurt.”
He feigned surprise. “So you do listen to me.”
I gave a shaky laugh, and he wrapped his arm around me.
“Father?”
“Aye?”
“Karlith believed this life wasn’t the end—that she would see her husband and her wee ones and Gryfelle again. Do you think that’s true?”
He smiled and pulled me in close. “Tannie girl, this life we live, this world that has been given to us, it’s a wonderful thing. But believe me when I say this is just the beginning.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
BRAITH
Braith stood in the palace garden where the nightmare had begun. Snow drifted through the air, a few flakes finding her bare arms and sticking there. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel each sting.
“Braith?”
She turned. Kharn ducked under a trellis covered with winding branches—bare twigs devoid of a single sign of life.
He scrutinized her dress—black, again. Braith dressed for perpetual mourning now.
But he didn’t mention it. “Where is your cloak?”
“I left it inside.”
“It’s freezing out here.”
“I know.”
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