by S H Cooper
I’m only halfway up the path when the front door opens.
Mother’s eyes go wide and the color drains from her face, which is half hidden behind her shaking hands. She slumps against the frame for a moment, unable to hold herself up, and then, probably for the first time in her life, the respectable Lady Katherine McThomas is barefoot with her dress yanked up around her knees, and she’s running. She pulls me from the ground and smothers my face with kisses and tears, screaming all the while.
When the lads come through the gate, she drags me along as she rushes to meet them. I’m squashed between her and Drake, then her and Joseph, then both of them at once. She keeps grabbing our faces and smoothing our hair and hugging us.
“You’re safe!” She’s sobbing, then she’s smacking each of us soundly across the back of our heads while yelling, “What were you thinking? Leaving in the middle of the night like that! Do you know what that was like? Waking up to find all of my children gone?” And then she’s crying and holding us again.
“We’re sorry, Mother,” I say when I’m able to pry my face away from her enough to speak, “but we had to! We had to find the cure for Father!”
“Oh, Mary.” She cups my chin and her smile thins. “You’re a good, brave lass, but…”
“Mother,” Joseph rests a hand on her arm. “We’d like you to meet someone.”
My brothers step aside to reveal Ilyana, still standing with the horses. She has her bag tucked under both arms. She bows as best she can despite her burden
“Hello, Lady McThomas,” she says.
“Who is this?” Mother asks warily.
“This is Ilyana. She’s going to make Father better.”
Mother remains cautious even after we’ve talked her into letting Ilyana go to Father’s bedside. When she tries to ask what’s going on, we shush her with promises that we’ll explain everything soon.
Father has grown thin and drawn in the time since we’ve been away. His eyes are dark and hollow and his skin has become brittle like paper. At least he does not look so troubled, like the last time I saw him. I lean over his bed and kiss his forehead with a whispered promise that it will be over soon. He feels cool to the touch.
Ilyana kneels and pulls out herbs bound together in twine, and a mortar and pestle. When Torren pops up, her wings buzzing in agitation and complaining about her time spent crammed into a sack, Mother goes very still.
“Is that a…” Mother trails off into a disbelieving whisper.
“Oh, hello,” Torren says sheepishly.
“There is a lot to tell you,” I say. “After.”
“After what?” Mother hasn’t been able to stop staring at the fae.
“After Father wakes.”
Ilyana plucks parts from her different herbs and crushes them together into a fine, dark paste. She adds something course and sand-like from a glass phial and then a splash of something white and milky that I recognize. When she’s done, she bows repeatedly over the mixture, murmuring in the same songlike chant she’d used over me. When she scoops a handful of the grainy paste from her mortar, Mother moves as if to object. Drake is the one to stop her.
“Give her a chance, Mother,” he whispers.
Mother studies his face, somber and earnest, and finally nods, still uncertain, but willing to trust in her children.
Ilyana asks the lads to pull back the furs that cover Father. She has them lift him into a sitting position and, with her free hand, undoes his bandages. Once they fall away, she instructs Drake and Joseph to lay Father on his stomach. The wounds from the arrow still appear as angry red gashes torn into his flesh and I lean into Mother, who wraps her arms around my shoulders. With practiced ease, Ilyana smooths the ointment over his skin, chanting once more while she does it. Once done, she presses her hands over the holes and holds them in place with her eyes closed.
The lads huddle close to Mother and she releases me to link her arm through theirs. I don’t think any of us are breathing.
When Ilyana opens her eyes again, so too does Father.
He blinks blearily up at us, his brow knit together in confusion.
“Kitty? Children? I had the most terrible dream.”
The celebration lasts long into the night and spills out into the village after word gets out that we have come back and Father has woken. Visitors flood our home with food, music, and dancing. Life has returned to the McThomas house. Father quickly tires, though, and Mother is left to play host to all of our guests. She practically floats from room to room, pulling Ilyana along to introduce her as the woman who saved Father. Drake and Joseph are welcomed back by their squire friends, who demand to know where they’ve been.
Torren, after a thimble of mead, is snoring contently from the depths of Ilyana’s bag.
While the others get swept up by the party, I sit beside Father. I’m curled against him with my head on his shoulder. Despite his exhaustion, he insists that I tell him exactly what happened after the ambush at Whicker Field. I hesitate, but he gives me a few affectionate shakes until I’m giggling.
“Tell me,” he says again.
I twist my braid in my hand and stare into my lap, but I do. I tell him everything, from meeting Torren to my time in Meverick’s castle. How I almost died because I’m bound to Meverick through an ancient magic. The more I speak, the more unbelievable it sounds, until I’m sure if I look up at him, he’ll be frowning dismissively and angry that I’ve lied to him. When I’m done, he is quiet, and I’m certain he’s upset with me.
“I’m sorry I was on the field that day. I’m sorry I left home! I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I didn’t see any other way. Please don’t be angry, Father, especially not at the lads. They kept me safe and I --”
“Mary.”
The way he says my name is so unusual, I don’t know what to make of it. I dare to lift my head so I can see him.
Tears glimmer in his eyes, and his jaw is tight with emotion. He takes my face in both hands and leaves a long, hard kiss upon my forehead. And then, in a trembling voice, he says the words I’ve been waiting to hear my whole life.
“My lamb. I am so proud of you.”
About The Author
S.H. Cooper is a Florida based author who grew up on tales of swords and sorcery. When not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband, pets, and a nice cup of tea. You can visit her online at www.authorshcooper.com or on Twitter (@MsPippinacious).