Margot gathered up Florian and Sylvaine, and they went.
‘I will never consent to look at another clock in my life!’ said Thandrian later, having taken every single timepiece in the whole of Pharamond’s emporium and piled them into a heap upon one of his work-benches. She climbed up onto the table and began to stamp them into pieces, smiling fiercely all the while. ‘There! Let that be an end to that horrible tick-tocking!’
The explosion had greatly weakened the tangled knot of magic that had long held Thandrian bound, and Moon’s interference had dissolved it altogether. Thandrian had weathered her release from the clock-room well, all things considered. Her hair had gone entirely white, it was true, and she moved with the frailty of one to whom movement had been for too long a rare luxury. But she took such pleasure in it that nobody wanted to stop her, and until she actually injured herself there seemed little hope of her slowing down.
They had all returned to Laendricourt to find everything… changed. The house contained all that had used to be comprised in Laendricourt and Landricourt separately, only now it was merged, and nothing of it was in ruins. The roses retreated, though not altogether, for Rozebaiel would not hear of it. The high walls that used to surround the house and its gardens on the Arganthael side were gone, but beyond their confines lay no dangers; there was only the town of Argantel upon the horizon, just as it ever was.
The Chanteraine Emporium was still in its customary spot, and it had suffered no damage. Later, Margot was to find that her own cottage was just as she had left it, and Florian’s too. Not that she was certain they would either of them return permanently to their old homes; where did the seasons live, after all, especially when it was not their turn to preside? But that was for later. For the present, it was enough to know that the sundering was mended, and that there was just as much magic across the house and the valley and the town as there ought to be — and not a drop more. The clock no longer chimed across the valley every afternoon, and the Gloaming no longer came in.
Sylvaine ignored her new status for as long as she could, and revelled instead in her mother’s return. They closed the shop for some days, and received only those visitors who had endured the chaos of Arganthael along with them. Margot watched with pleasure as the fractured family slowly mended; as Thandrian regained her health and her strength; as Pharamond remembered how to smile, and Sylvaine delighted in it all.
Only Oriane did not return to Argantel. When she left with Walkelin, she was not seen again at Laendricourt for some time. When she arrived at last upon the eve of winter, she came on the arm of the Skies, with starlight in her hair, and she wore her raiment of snow like the regalia of a queen.
It was around this time that Margot stood alone in her cottage of a home, staring sadly at the things that had used to occupy all of her energy and time. She could no longer gather the herbs or flowers of her trades, for they responded oddly to her presence. They grew, or sometimes they withered. They greeted her with such childlike delight that she could not bring herself to pick so much as a single flourishing leaf. What, then, was she to do? Her old life had quietly folded itself up and gone away, and she had no notion what next to do.
It was in such a state that Florian found her. He knocked cheerily upon her door, and upon her answering it he gave her a smile, and one of his particularly florid bows.
And now his smile really was the sun, thought Margot in bemusement.
‘You look bored,’ he said.
‘I am not bored,’ replied Margot indignantly. ‘I am only confused.’
Florian nodded thoughtfully, and she could see that he understood all that she had not said. ‘Want to go paint the sky?’ he said then, and offered her his arm.
‘Paint the—! What, will not Walkelin mind?’
‘Perhaps he might,’ agreed Florian, and his eyes twinkled.
Margot smiled back. ‘Why not, indeed?’ said the Autumn, and accepted the proffered arm.
‘Allow me, ma’am,’ said the Summer, and led her away.
***
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed Gloaming!
If you like my strange tales of enchantment and you’d like more, join my news circle at http://www.charlotteenglish.com/newsletter. You’ll be the first to know when the next one comes out, and you’ll get some free reads right away.
Also by Charlotte E. English:
The Wonder Tales:
Faerie Fruit
Gloaming
Tales of Aylfenhame (Romantic historical fantasy)
Miss Landon and Aubranael
Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman
Bessie Bell and the Goblin King
Mr. Drake and My Lady Silver
Gloaming Page 19
