M
addy shut the door to her and Lillian’s bedchamber and smiled at Lillian. “She’s asleep. I had to tell her three stories tonight. I think she’s excited about tomorrow.”
Lillian had already disrobed and was sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m glad we’ll finally be heading back.”
Maddy had mixed feelings about it. “I’m not looking forward to Garryglen. I wish we could go around it.”
“We have to find out what happened to the horses. And don’t you want to see that magistrate?”
“No, I don’t.”
Lillian gaped. “You don’t want that bastard to see what he did to you?”
“What would that accomplish? It won’t give me back my hand, or the time I spent in that cell.”
“He owes you an apology. He should get down on his knees in front of all the folk who jeered at you and beg for your forgiveness.”
The last thing Maddy wanted was another spectacle. “I can’t be angry with him, Lillian. My story sounded so far-fetched that I can’t blame him for not believing me. I kept saying folk outside the monastery see sisters and drawing the elements as one and the same, but none of you would listen.”
“You don’t blame him because you see yourself as less of a sister than everyone else. He was wrong to send you to prison. He should have inquired of Merrin, not judged you guilty and thrown you into a cell to rot.”
Still standing, Maddy picked up the cup of chamomile tea Lillian had prepared and sipped it. “I did see myself as less of a sister at the time,” she said quietly, “but not now.” Now she had to figure out how she could contribute to the community despite being doubly crippled. But she no longer doubted her place in the Order. Leaving it would only have added another regret to turn over in her mind when she was melancholy. What would she have done with herself? Even more rudderless, she would have drifted. The monastery was home. The sisters, her family. There had to be a purpose behind everything that had happened to her; she just had to discover it. And she’d have a much better chance of doing so among those who loved Salbine.
“If I hadn’t ended up in that cell, I wouldn’t have met Emmey.” She wasn’t surprised when Lillian’s face tightened.
“About Emmey.” Lillian clasped her hands on her lap and fidgeted. “Sophia said we’re to take you back to Merrin. I know you promised Emmey you’d take her home, but we can hire men to escort her—good, reputable men. We’ll spare no expense, hire men from the most reputable guild.”
“No,” Maddy said flatly.
“Barnabus said we can ask that a message be sent, vouching that she returned home safely. We can make it a condition of the contract.”
“No.”
“Maddy, we’re supposed to take you right back to the monastery.”
“That’s not what this is about!” Maddy shouted, then lowered her voice, hoping she hadn’t awakened Emmey. “You just don’t care whether Emmey makes it home or not. So stop pretending you’re concerned about the abbess’s wishes. She doesn’t even know when to expect us. And if she knew about Emmey, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the short detour.”
“I think I know her better than you do. She is my sister.”
Something Maddy sometimes found bloody hard to believe.
“She was very clear,” Lillian added.
“Yes! She wants me back at the monastery, and that’s where I’m going. She’s always seemed like a caring person to me. I doubt she’ll begrudge me a little side trip to take Emmey home. You’re the one who’d like us to dump Emmey with strangers in Garryglen and forget she ever existed.” With the air so heavy between them, Maddy didn’t want to sit next to Lillian. She sank into the chair near the fire, well away from the bed, and glared at her. “Emmey isn’t some random child I took pity on. We shared a cell, a wretched existence, for months. She kept me sane. And I care very much about her. I know you can’t stand her, but I’d hoped that you’d help me take her home because you care about me.”
“Well, that’s hardly fair, is it, framing it like that? Doing what you want means I care about you and not doing what you want means I don’t. Am I supposed to help you jump off a cliff, too?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Lillian folded her arms. “Then what did you mean?”
“That you’d want to support me in this because you understand how important it is to me. I’m not asking you to do anything unreasonable.”
“But I don’t understand it. How can I? I wasn’t in that prison cell with you.” Lillian heaved a sigh. “And I don’t hate Emmey. I’m not comfortable around children. I don’t know what to say to her—not that I’d be able to get a word in edgewise. She never shuts up. And she’s always jumping around and asking questions. I don’t know how you stand it.”
Maddy’s shoulders relaxed as the tension drained away. “She’s a child, Lillian. She has lots of energy. She’s curious. And bright. I see you in her.” She stifled a laugh at Lillian’s horrified face. “Perhaps you should try talking to her. Whenever she talks to you, you dismiss her.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. You give her one-word answers, and usually while looking like a sourpuss.”
“She can’t be that bright, because she doesn’t seem to get the message,” Lillian muttered.
“Or perhaps she keeps trying because she understands that you’re special to me,” Maddy said, trying not to sound reproachful.
“I don’t see how. Since she’s arrived, we’ve barely spent any time together. It’s, ‘Emmey, let’s go to the market. Emmey, let’s practice our letters. Emmey, let’s hang the wash. Emmey, let’s go see the horses.’”
Was that what it was about? Jealousy? Maddy bit back remarks meant to tease; they’d only add oil to the fire. Plus, she’d erred. She’d assumed that Lillian knew she was welcome to join her and Emmey in all their activities. But despite her blustering, Lillian was shy, and her discomfort around children only worsened the situation. Expecting her to take the initiative with Emmey had been a mistake. Lillian wouldn’t participate unless invited, and conversing with Emmey might be easier if they were busy, not staring at each other. Maddy wanted Lillian’s support, but realized she hadn’t been supporting Lillian. “I’m sorry. I know I’m spending a lot of time with her, but I won’t be with her for long. You and I . . .” Should she say it?
We have the rest of our lives together.
She chickened out. “I want to spend time with you, as well as Emmey. Next time we practice our letters, would you help us? It will be more fun if you come up with what we should write.”
“I suppose I could,” Lillian mumbled.
“And will you think about taking Emmey home? You don’t have to decide until we’re ready to leave Garryglen. I assume we’ll stop overnight there.”
“Barnabus won’t like it.”
Maddy sensed victory, but didn’t let on. “Well, you think about it. And I am sorry I’ve been neglecting you. I didn’t mean to.” When Lillian’s face softened, Maddy abandoned the chair to join her on the bed, making sure to sit to her right so she could pat Lillian’s leg. “This probably isn’t the best time to bring this up, but Emmey has to ride with you to Garryglen.”
“Barnabus already mentioned it to me.”
She silently thanked Barnabus. “I know I’ve been practising on the mare and can ride on my own, but I’m not confident enough to have Emmey ride with me.” She almost said,
Perhaps when we leave Garryglen
, but stopped herself in time. “I’ve had a good talk with her, so she knows to behave and not to talk your ear off. No throwing her off Baxter along the way.”
Lillian’s eyes narrowed. “It would be too easy for you to find her. If I wanted to get rid of her, I’d be much sneakier about it.”
Maddy rested her head on Lillian’s shoulder. “I know you would. And I know you wouldn’t.”
“No, I wouldn’t. She might drive me around the bend, but I’d never leave her to fend for herself.”
Nor would Lillian hire men to take her home. She just hadn’t admitted that to herself yet, but she would. Maddy was sure of it.
*****
Lillian waved to Maddy and Emmey, surprised to see them waiting outside the inn. Since arriving in Garryglen the previous afternoon, Maddy had refused to leave their rented room. “Sorry we took so long,” Lillian said.
Maddy shielded her eyes and looked past Lillian. “That’s not ours.”
Leading a chestnut horse, Barnabus stepped to Lillian’s side. “No, it isn’t.”
“Bastard didn’t have them,” Lillian said. “They were long gone from the inn by the time he sent men to retrieve your belongings. Bloody savages must have made off with what they could the moment you and Jonathan were taken from the inn.”
“It’s fortunate I hadn’t brought any sentimental items with me,” Maddy said as Emmey reached up to stroke the chestnut’s nose.
“He very generously compensated us for them,” Barnabus said.
Lillian snorted. “After we’d told him he’d condemned a sister to life in prison and that she’s now maimed as a result? He was practically throwing coin at us. The bastard’s lucky you didn’t want him harmed.”
Maddy shook her head. “It wouldn’t have accomplished anything. I want to leave it behind, get on with my life.”
“I know.” If not for Maddy’s wishes, the useless bastard’s life would have ended today, and no funeral pyre would have been lit for him. They would have swept him up from the floor. “And now you can. Barnabus has a pardon and an apology in his bag.”
“Did he give you the horse, too?”
“We traded for him,” Barnabus said. “He’ll make a fine Salbine horse, but unfortunately he isn’t one now. He could throw the sister if you draw, Mistress.”
“Yes, well.” Lillian pointed to her left. “Maddy, we passed a street vendor, two corners down. He has jellies. Why don’t you take Emmey and see if she wants anything?”
Maddy gave Lillian a suspicious look. “You want me to take Emmey—”
“I’d like a word with Barnabus. Alone.”
“Oh. I see. Emmey, let’s go see this vendor.”
Emmey’s face lit up. “Can I have a jelly, Miss?”
Maddy took Emmey’s hand. “You certainly can. I might have one too.” She met Lillian’s eyes before heading for the vendor.
When they were out of earshot, Lillian shifted position so she could keep her eye on Maddy while talking to Barnabus. “I’d like you to ride this horse and let Maddy ride Griffin.”
“I don’t see how that will help. I’m not immune to injury.”
“No, but you won’t be with us, so you won’t have to worry about me drawing.”
Barnabus’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, Mistress?”
“I’m going with Maddy to take Emmey home.”
His face clouded. “The abbess was clear. I thought we’d hire men.”
“Maddy doesn’t want that, and she already has too much to worry about without also worrying about the girl. I know we’ll be disobeying the abbess, so I’m sending you back to Merrin now. I’ve prepared a letter for her that explains what we’re doing and that we won’t be long.”
“You want me to carry this letter to the abbess,” Barnabus stated flatly.
Lillian nodded.
He blew out some air. “I’ll go with you, and face the abbess’s wrath later.”
“No. The abbess sent you with me so you could,” Lillian waved her hand around, “negotiate on our behalf. Maddy can do that. She’s good with folk. And we’ve accomplished what we set out to do. There’s no need for you to remain with us and earn the abbess’s displeasure.” Lillian watched him ponder his path, hoping he’d agree to return to the monastery. Everything she’d said was the truth, but she’d left out one detail: that she wanted to travel with Maddy alone, wanted private time with her before they reached the monastery.
Since leaving the prison, their conversations had rarely gone beyond trivialities and Emmey. It was next to impossible to have a private conversation with Barnabus and Emmey around, and Maddy was usually worn out by the time she came to bed. After they’d returned Emmey to her ma, it would be just the two of them. Lillian yearned to know how Maddy was feeling and how she’d reached the conclusion that her place was in the Order, considering her uncertainty when she’d left Merrin. Perhaps she was selfish, but Lillian wanted Maddy to herself before their former lives at the monastery swallowed them up again.
“I suppose the abbess will start to worry if we don’t return soon, though we could send her a message,” Barnabus said.
“Or you can simply carry one.”
Barnabus still seemed unsure. He stroked his beard. “I suppose you have a point when you say we’ve completed our task. I believe the abbess mainly sent me to negotiate for the sister’s freedom, if she lived.”
“If we’d needed to go to that bastard to get her out of prison, I assure you the negotiations would have been very short,” Lillian said through clenched teeth. “He would either have immediately signed documents for her release, or whoever took over after his death would have.”
Barnabus couldn’t keep the amusement out of his face. “I can’t say I would have disapproved, Mistress, though I would have advised restraint.”
Lillian grunted.
“If I return to Merrin and you and the sister meet misfortune, the abbess will never forgive me.”
“You know I can handle any trouble, and would be the one to do so, even if you’re with us.” The primary role of defenders was to protect the mages as they drew. They also stepped in if the mages tired, though the latter would only occur during lengthy battles—the sort waged during war, not with bandits along country roads.
“You could be injured.” The second reason defenders would step in. Again, important during war, not important when dealing with a group of ruffians Lillian could take down in seconds.
“You know that’s highly unlikely, Barnabus. The abbess didn’t send you to protect me. She sent you to speak for me.”
He surrendered. “Very well. We’ll pack the horses after lunch and go our separate ways. We could ride together until Leaton, but you’ll reach Pinewood sooner if you take the eastern route.”
“Yes, we’ll do that.”
Barnabus tipped his head toward the horse. “I’ll take him to the stables.”
Lillian nodded and walked toward the vendor’s stall she’d suggested to Maddy. She met Maddy and Emmey strolling toward her, devouring a couple of jellies. “You’ll have to wash,” Maddy was saying to Emmey. “I think most of yours is on your hands and face! Oh look, here’s Lillian.” She searched Lillian’s face. “Everything all right?”