Isobel

by Chloe Garner

  Summer dragged on and faded away, and on one of the last days before the storms started, Isobel and Andie sat on the rocks, watching for sails. Elissa had insisted they take the boys, just to have them out of the house, and so they spent less time talking and watching the water, and more time making sure Talos and Rhesus didn’t tip off of a rock and fall. They had started standing and walking sideways along things, babbling to each other in their strange twin dialect that Andie was convinced was a real language that she could understand, if she tried hard enough.

  “Will you stay this winter?” Andie asked. “If my father comes home?”

  “No,” Isobel said. “When Lykos returns, we will leave.”

  “But there’s snow in the mountains,” Andie said. “The flocks are down for the season. You’d go through the snow?”

  Isobel smiled with a distant nostalgia.

  “What you call snow we call a fine spring,” Isobel said. “It will be hard winter back home by the time we would get there.”

  “You should stay,” Andie said.

  “Rafa and I came to protect your father’s land and to help Elissa tend the house. When Lykos comes home, we will leave.”

  “I hope they stay another winter,” Andie said.

  “Don’t say that, child,” Isobel said. “There’s no reason they should stay out there, killing each other all fall and winter. You should hope that the conflict resolves quickly and they come home soon.”

  “But we want them to win,” Andie said. “Winning means killing more of them.”

  There was a slight snarl that passed across Isobel’s lips.

  “Every man who dies was someone’s son,” Isobel said. “Many of them are husbands and fathers. You should never be eager for death, child.”

  Andie had never thought of it like that. The men her father slew had always been fake in her head, dummies lined up to bring her father glory and prestige. The king had come to eat at their house. That never would have happened, if Lykos didn’t go kill people.

  People.

  “Oh,” she said, cuddling Rhesus against her chest. He squalored after a moment and she set him down to chase after Talos again.

  “There’s no shame in feeling for someone else’s loss,” Isobel said. “You remember the men who attacked us last summer?”

  Andie nodded.

  “They were going to kill Damien,” she said.

  “They were. And they were going to empty the barn and run off with everything,” Isobel said. “They are a big part of the reason we came. Men like that know when someone else’s resources are undefended, and they come for them. They’re savages and little better than animals.” Isobel’s eyes got hard for a moment. “Not unlike your king and his men.” She waited, staring out at the ocean, then picked up Talos from the rock he had climbed into and held him. “But they were men whose families missed them. They were men who thought that this was the best way to make their families’ lives better. Everyone stands on the pile of things that they have with a sword, and hopes no one bigger comes by.”

  Andie had long ceased being able to follow Isobel’s words, but she like the flow of them, and the fierceness of them, all the same. Isobel looked at her and smiled. Two in one day.

  “I’ve enjoyed my time with you, my young friend.”

  “You sound like you’re leaving,” Andie said. Isobel nodded.

  “In the morning,” she said, gathering up Rhesus as Andie wrestled with Talos. Andie looked out at the horizon, and realized that the wispy clouds out on the horizon were sails. There was a hard gust of wind in her face and she looked up at Isobel.

  “It’s okay, child. Everything changes in its season. We have a home and we’ll return to it. We were never meant to stay forever.”

  Feeling despondent and deeply guilty about it, Andie followed Isobel down the thin path through the weedy grass back to the sea market that stood above the harbor and the docks, then down the steps to the deep-sea harbor. The ships were narrow enough that they would come all the way in to the docks - it was the merchant ships that had to anchor in the harbor, laden with their goods. They waited with a crowd of families and members of the little town with a growing sense of festivity as the ships grew closer. Talos squirmed, and Andie though about putting him down and letting him fall in. He’d have to learn how to swim sometime. Rhesus appeared to be asleep.

  After a long wait, as Andie’s patience with Talos wore thin, the ships reached the docks, and the spectators swarmed onto them to greet the returning soldiers and ask about the fates of particular friends and family. As Lykos jumped out of the boat carrying his sword, his helmet, and a satchel of personal items, Andie started to cry. She felt wretched, being as unhappy to see her father as she was, and being so overjoyed that he was back, at the same time. He mistook her tears for simple happy ones and picked her up.

  “Who is this?” he asked. She tried to answer, but couldn’t form the sounds. She buried her face into his shoulder.

  “That is your son Talos, and this is Rhesus,” Isobel said. Andie was handed from Lykos to Isobel as Lykos took his two sons in his arms appraisingly.

  “Two! I hoped for one son, and the gods sent me two. Truly, I have won favor in their eyes on the battlefield.”

  Andie heard the quiet grunt from Isobel that wasn’t intended for Lykos’ ears, and they started back up the stairs.

  “You must be Isobel,” Lykos said, wrestling with Talos to keep him still. Rhesus was perking back up, with his brother in reach, and they were both going to be unmanageable by the time they reached the top of the stairs.

  “I am,” Isobel answered. Andie sniffed, trying to stop the tears but not finding any success.

  “Rafa’s beautiful wife,” Lykos said. “I find that the reports of your beauty don’t do it justice.”

  “Reports from a husband are seldom unbiased,” Isobel said. “And surely we know no one else in common.”

  “No, you’re right, there. How goes it at the house?”

  “Elissa fell ill for some time after the boys were born, but she has regained full health. Rafa and the rest of the men you left behind had some problems with mountain men, here for the livestock, but the casualties were few and a year hence. You’ll find the barn repaired, but not much else has changed. Some of your neighbors weren’t as lucky. Rafa didn’t have the men to pursue them into the hills.” She turned back to the flood of men coming up the hill behind them. “Some of your neighbors will be lucky if their families and servants are still to be found, up there. Most will be slaves, far from here, by now.”

  Lykos muttered something dark under his breath.

  “They will pay for taking advantage,” he said. “I appreciate you and Rafa helping to keep an eye on everything. I am sure your presence has made an immense difference to my family.”

  “That it has, I’m sure,” Isobel said. Andie sniffed again, her stomach beginning to ache with quiet sobs. A few moments prior, she had developed the hiccups. She clung to Isobel’s neck.

  “You’ll stay the winter, of course,” Lykos said. “Celebrate with us. We were victorious.”

  “No. We’ll leave in the morning, simply happy for your safe return,” Isobel said. Andie squeezed the woman’s neck, and Isobel shifted, untangling Andie’s arms and legs and putting her down on the ground.

  “I won’t hear of it,” Lykos said. “You are our guests, and you will be treated as such. You can’t leave the day before my return feast.”

  “And yet we will,” Isobel said. “We have been long away from our own home, and it is time we returned.”

  Lykos set his mouth, but didn’t argue. They reached the small livery stable where Isobel had paid to stable their horses for the afternoon. Lykos helped her onto her giant horse, despite the fact that she didn’t need it, and then boosted Andie up onto Lily. She wasn’t excited to get Rhesus back in front of her for the ride home, but at least it wasn’t Talos.

  “I have some friends I will walk back with. Go on ahead and let t
hem know I’m coming,” Lykos said.

  “Of course,” Isobel answered. “I’m sure everyone will be overjoyed to hear that you’ve arrived.”

  Lykos’ slapped the great black horse’s flank good-naturedly and they were off. Andie didn’t speak, and neither did Isobel. The boys shrieked back and forth to each other all the way home.

  There was a small feast the night that Lykos returned, as much as Helene could manage with a few hours’ notice, and the promise of a much bigger event the next night. They slaughtered a cow and put it out to slow-roast overnight in a giant firepit, and the entire kitchen staff worked all night, preparing food. Lykos had invited most of the town to come celebrate, and there was a rumor that the king might attend.

  Andie didn’t care about any of it. She sat on Isobel’s bed through the evening as she and Valerie packed. The frenzy of the house barely noticed that all of the northerners were packing to leave. Under normal circumstances, there would have been a large ceremony to launch them on their journey, but the return celebration for Lykos made any thoughts to plan something for Rafa and Isobel impossible.

  “Child,” Isobel said, when Andie observed this. “Their priorities aren’t wrong. Let them be happy. We leave quietly. This is how I want it.”

  Rafa sat with Lykos all night, listening to war stories. Normally, Andie would have snuck out to sit with them, hiding from Charis and anyone else who felt they had the authority to send her to bed. Instead, though, she stayed with Isobel. No one came looking for her. No one worried over whether she was up too late. She lay lower and lower on Isobel’s bed.

  She woke in her own.

  It was dark and damp with early-morning cold, and Valerie was standing over her.

  “We go,” she said, looking over her shoulder.

  “What?” Andie asked, jumping out of her bed. Valerie hugged her, and Andie hugged her fiercely, then dragged her out into the main room. Isobel was wearing her heavy green dress and a cloak.

  “Are you sure you won’t stay for breakfast?” Elissa was asking. “We can wake Helene.”

  “No. This is as it is supposed to be,” Isobel said. “I don’t want a fuss.”

  She caught sight of Andie, and there might have been a sharp look for Valerie. Valerie squeezed Andie’s hand, and Andie looked up to discover the girl was crying. Andie’s heart dropped. It was real. They were going.

  She ran to Isobel and wrapped her arms around the woman’s legs.

  “Please don’t go,” she begged. “Please. Stay. Don’t leave me.”

  “Show dignity,” Isobel reprimanded. “This is the way of life.”

  Andie cried until someone pried her away from Isobel, and then she wrung herself loose, running out the door after them. She stood at the door to the barn, crying, as Rafa held Isobel’s horse and the woman mounted. Rafa got up onto his gray charger and servants around them prepared the rest of the animals for the trip back north. Isobel gave Andie a soft look as she rode past.

  “All is well, little one,” she said. “The world heals marvelously. Be patient.”

  Rafa leaned down to shake hands with Lykos, and then they were gone, first just their backs and their horses’ haunches in view, and then, down a dip and around a turn in the road, they were gone completely. Their servants took the rest of the morning getting ready, and then Valerie hugged Andie again and they, too, were gone.

  The barn felt empty.

  The day felt empty.

  Andie wandered, numb, back into the house, but couldn’t sit still for more than a minute or two. She went to Isobel’s rooms, then to her own, and then she sat with the boys until Lykos called for them.

  She went to wander in the woods, turning over rocks and climbing trees.

  In the end, she lay down on a tree, watching ants crawl over it. She fell asleep and missed Lykos’ feast entirely.

  She woke in darkness, feeling sad for reasons she didn’t remember.

  And then she did remember.

  And then she realized she didn’t know where she was.

  It took her a long time to make her way back to the house. The shutters on her room were closed, but she knew how to lift the bar from outside with a stick off of one of the bushes. She tumbled into her bed and cried most of the rest of the night, finally finding sleep again at dawn.

  No one ever asked her where she’d been.

  The seasons rolled.

  Winter came, with stories and fires and toddlers who laughed and ran and screamed. Then spring, with its lambs and its kids and its calves. Elissa revealed that she was pregnant again. Summer was hot, but Andie didn’t go to the beach. Nessius had increased her schoolwork considerably, and she was taking on more responsibility caring for the boys as the household grew in stature. They entertained more, and men started looking at her with the same eye they used on her mother’s Arabian horse. Andie fled company.

  Fall took her mother to bed with a cold, and Andie and Charis had a shouting match that ended with Lykos backing Andie. She and Charis were never friends, but that was when the woman started showing respect for the willful child as the future head of a household.

  Winter brought another brother, Eos. Spring a year later, there was Kalliope, a baby sister. That spring, Lykos left for war again, and Andie, now eleven, managed the children as Elissa maintained a consistent level of social entertaining. Andie hoped that Isobel and Rafa would return, but the woman with her long, dark hair was a fuzzy memory that some nights she wondered if she had made her up.

  Elissa had given her Valerie the horse as a gift, and she spent her spring and summer riding, when she didn’t have other responsibilities. Charis had sharp words for her when she got home, but she ignored the woman, feeling as though her time out on her own was the only time she had to be herself and think about what she wanted out of her life. When she got home, there were fights to referee and a tutor to satisfy, though most of the schooling went to Rhesus and Talos. Eos would start soon.

  She learned to patch minor wounds from Talos and Rhesus, as well as the art of diplomacy and manipulation. They were as willful as ever, and impossible to force to do anything, because there were two of them. Divide and conquer was as much a domestic tactic as it was on the battlefield.

  Lykos was away two winters this time, and he returned to find his daughter eight inches taller and her light hair darkening to match her mother’s. The king again came to Lykos’ welcome home feast, two days after his return, and there was discussion now as to who Lykos would marry Andie to. Andie had barely met the boys in the other estates, and the boys in town tended to throw things at her to try to upset the high-strung Valerie. Andie had resorted to taking Lily to town, when she had to go, to save Valerie the stress.

  Her days were full of sameness as Lykos left for another war and returned, and as her siblings grew up and turned into real people.

  And then, in the spring before Andie turned fifteen, Elissa came to her room with a letter.

  “A merchant from town gave this to Charis,” Elissa said. “It’s from Isobel. Do you remember her?”

  “I do,” Andie said, putting down her hairbrush and smoothing her dress, trying not to betray too much eagerness. She wanted to tear the letter out of her mother’s hands and read it for herself, but it was clear Elissa wasn’t going to let her.

  “She says that she would like us to send you to her, for her to marry you off to one of the princes in her kingdom. She says your prospects may be better there, as the firstborn daughter of a Greek nobleman, rather than as Lykos’ daughter, here, because his estate will go to Rhesus and Talos.” Elissa looked up at her. “I won’t send you if you don’t want to go, but she isn’t wrong. There are a lot of nobles who would like their son to marry you in order to form an alliance with Lykos, but not the king’s son. He’ll want to marry into more money than you’ll bring. I’ve heard they may arrange for him to marry a princess from one of the trade routes.”

  Andie had been trying not to think about the marriages she might need to
consider in the next year or two, but this was unexpected to a degree that she was unprepared for.

  Why was Isobel summoning her, after all these years?

  Did she want to leave?

  Staying wasn’t an option, in the long run. She would inevitably find herself with a husband and a new household. The only question was where.

  Was a Greek noble better than a northern prince?

  She wanted to read the letter. It had implied Isobel was a queen, the way Elissa had read it, but Elissa had rolled it back and put it into a pocket.

  “Think about it. I want you to make a decision before I discuss it with Lykos.”

  “I want to go,” Andie said. It was impulsive, rash, but something in her wouldn’t resign her to the tiny piece of the world where she had been born. She might only end up some man’s wife, stuck in his home for the rest of her life, but at least this way she would see the little bit of the world between here and there.

  “I want to go,” Andie said again. Elissa looked at her with mild surprise, then nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll convince your father. The merchant is going to be going back north yet this summer, so you should get together what you need to to be ready to leave.”

  There was a moment of quiet between them. They had never been close, not the way some of the girls in town were with their mothers, whispering and planning as they looked at the men of marriageable age at the market, but Elissa had always loved her, and Andie would be heartbroken to leave her mother. Elissa straightened her dress and nodded.

  “It’s a good decision, daughter. I hope it makes you happy.”

  Lykos gave his blessing to the plan, and the household launched itself into a flurry, preparing Andie for her departure. The cook packaged dried fruit and meat for her, and everywhere there was someone mending clothing or packing baggage for the next several days. Andie walked as in a dream, unable to believe that the only home - the only place - she had ever known would be behind her in a matter of days. She spent hours with Lily, feeding her treats until the old mare wouldn’t take any more, and Eos went for walks with her in the woods. The boy was crushed. Rhesus and Talos were too proud to show sadness, but Eos had a softer soul, and he often cried while they walked. Kalliope was too young to understand what was going on.