by R. K. Hart
Lida stared at her coffee. ‘Mikal gave me valerian when I arrived at the Illarum. I dreamed the whole time.’
‘Your gift was awakening,’ Katrin said gently. ‘It often happens in that way: one instance of power, two, and then an onslaught until the body and mind adjusts. I believe your gift simply overpowered the herb. I think it would be different now.’ She took a sip of her tea and wrinkled her nose at the cup. ‘I will not tell you what to do, but I will give you some advice. Trust your instincts. If you feel uneasy, if you feel danger, do not second-guess. Leave. Until you have more control, work on your skills in safer dreams.’
‘I couldn’t leave her,’ Lida said, thinking of Alys. ‘Her face, Katrin. She was so scared. How could I leave her?’
‘I understand. But bear in mind that this for you,’ Katrin said, touching Lida’s forearm, her fingers feather-light, ‘is but a dream for Alys. Is what you gave worth the cost?’
Lida thought of Alys’ face as she sang her to sleep.
‘Do not be reckless,’ Katrin warned, as Lida’s jaw set. ‘Protect yourself first. Not one of us can help you there.’
***
In the end, Lida did fall asleep again, her head pillowed on her arms and her face turned towards the open window and the night sky. She woke to Maya moving quietly around the kitchen, her red hair bound back into a tight, neat plait. Someone had wrapped Lida in a blanket and moved her half-drunk coffee an arm’s length away. Lida watched through her lashes as Maya lit the oven and made herself a cup of mint-leaf tea.
‘I didn’t think you liked that stuff, May,’ Lida yawned, not bothering to lift her head.
Maya gestured with her chin towards the pot of coffee Katrin had made. ‘I could say the same. Do you want a fresh cup?’
‘Yes, please.’ Lida sat up and groaned, her hand flying her ribs.
Maya put her cup down to grab her sister’s wrist. ‘Lida, what happened?’
‘Nothing, May, it’s fine.’ Lida tried to wrest her arm back, but Maya’s grip was too strong.
‘What makes marks like this?’ Maya said, frowning as she gently traced one of the bruise lines on Lida’s forearm. ‘Lida, did someone do this to you?’
‘No, May, leave it be.’
‘Fine.’ Maya dropped her arm without warning. ‘I’ll find Cathan.’
‘No!’ Lida cried. ‘Don’t, May. Please.’
Maya sat next to her, glaring. ‘Then talk.’
Lida sighed, but told her what had happened. She tried to be swift and emotionless, but by the end, Maya was staring at her in horror.
‘I’m telling Cathan,’ she said, standing. ‘You can’t go back there, Lida. You can’t be put in danger like that. What was Katrin thinking?’
‘Maya, don’t, please, don’t tell Da,’ Lida begged. ‘It’s not Katrin’s fault. It’s no one’s fault. It’s just … there’s no one else. No one knew that this could happen. There are no other dreamers. I’m … I’m the only one. The last one.’
‘A mentor is supposed to keep you safe,’ Maya said flatly. ‘They teach you and protect you until you know enough to be responsible for your own safety. Not … whatever this is.’
‘They have kept me safe,’ Lida said, though she reflected that it was not strictly true. ‘But May, think for a moment. This happened here, not at the Illarum. It could happen anywhere. That’s why I should be there. Why I need to be there. Where else could I learn? Who else could teach me?’
Maya studied her for a long time, grinding her teeth all the while. ‘Fine,’ she snapped eventually. ‘But for gods’ sake, Lida, be more careful.’
Lida nodded, relieved and more than a little surprised at herself: she had meant everything she’d said. She did need to be there. She rubbed her bruised forearm lightly.
‘Put the bread in the oven,’ Maya ordered crossly, shooting Lida another glare before stomping out. Her steps echoed down the hall; she slammed the back door as she walked into the garden.
Lida did as she asked, taking the risen dough from the pitch-black cool room and putting it into the oven to cook. She found the butter and some plates and made a pot of tea, then wandered back to her room to get dressed.
Ella and Alys were awake, rolling up their sleeping bags. Alys tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear and smiled.
‘Good morning!’ she said brightly. ‘How did you sleep?’
Lida blinked. ‘All right,’ she said slowly. ‘And you?’
‘Very well.’ Alys sniffed the air. ‘Is something baking?’
‘Bread,’ Lida answered absently. She rubbed her forearm again. ‘I thought … I thought you had a bad dream last night.’
Alys looked at her curiously, then smiled. ‘Not that I remember.’
***
Maya came back inside once the bread was done, with Dylan and Lorcan in tow. Dylan ruffled Lida’s braid in greeting before throwing himself into a chair and stuffing toast into his mouth, but Lorcan looked pointedly at her arm, one eyebrow raised, his face cold, and Lida realised why Maya had gone outside: she had told. Lida ignored him, pulling her sleeve down as far as she could, glad she hadn’t mentioned the bruising on her ribs.
Maya took her place next to Lida, slamming her plate down loudly. Lida eyed her warily.
‘Da wants to see you when you’ve finished,’ she snapped.
‘You didn’t -’
‘No, I didn’t tell Cathan. I should have. If I hear that it’s happened again, I will.’
Lida sighed. There was no point arguing; Maya didn’t often sink into foul moods, but there was no talking her around when she did. Lida threw the rest of her toast onto her plate and went outside to find Cathan.
He was mucking out the stalls. He gave Lida a scratchy kiss on the forehead in greeting.
‘Maya said you wanted to see me?’
Cathan leaned against the stable wall. ‘Yes,’ he said, rubbing the back of his hand along his jaw. His face was very serious as he searched his pockets and pulled out a piece of folded parchment, yellowed with time.
‘I hope that you’ll forgive me, you and Maya, for not showing this to you sooner. They were the only words I had left of her. It was hard to let them go.’
Lida frowned, confused. ‘Of course, Da.’
He handed her the parchment. It was a letter; she sat down in the corner of the stable, surrounded by fresh hay and under the eye of her father, and she read.
Chapter Thirteen: Siva’s
The letter was written in a loose, flowing hand. It was not neat, but Lida thought it was lovely to read. There were inconsistent flourishes to the letters, so the words looked like tiny lines of flowers scrawled across the page.
Cathan, my love -
It is hard to find the words for this; I do not quite know what to say. I am sorry. I wish I could have stayed. I have had so much time, but what I shared with you was not enough. You have been the best part of my life, Cathan - that first time I saw you, I could barely breathe. My soul cried out to you, and it is the luckiest thing in the world that yours answered.
And Maya - please let her know how much I love her, my little merrow. Tell her every day. Take her swimming so that she might remember. She will be so beautiful - I can see it already - but do not let her marry early. Neither of our daughters is destined for a little life.
The baby in my belly is a girl. Her name is Alida. My grandmother used to sing me the names of her stars, and she called the brightest one in her sky by this name. Tell her, too, how much I love her - I have waited so long for her to come.
I know how hard it will be, Cathan. I have helped as much as I can, but it may be little comfort. If you or my daughters need anything - anything, Cathan, I know how stubborn you are - the Myrae will help. If you ever need a home, go to the Isle. One day we will meet again in another place; I do not know if you will still know me, but I will see you. I will find you. It is only our bodies that die; the stars will keep my soul for you.
I cannot see the way I could before;
the threads blind me. But when the black-haired southern Prince comes, you must tell him: Alida must go to the Kali. I have left something for her in Brinnica.
She is kicking. She will be with us soon. You must ask at the hospice for a nurse, Cathan - do not give my daughter goat’s milk. And you are not to take either of them on rounds with you. I mean it.
I can hear Maya singing. It is the song your grandmother sang to you - Maya does not know what the words mean, but she sings them anyway. How wonderful they are, these little moments, these memories, the makings of a dream. How beautiful, how fleeting, how precious.
I will watch for you -
Siva -
Lida held the letter out at arm’s length, her chest curiously numb. ‘You knew. I always thought I killed her, but she knew she was going to die. You knew. And you knew someone would come for me. Gods, Cathan, how could you?’ She fixed her eyes on her father. ‘How could you not tell me?’
A tear rolled down his cheek and disappeared into his beard, and it almost jolted Lida from her numb shock. She had never seen Cathan cry.
‘I didn’t know how to tell you, Lida,’ he whispered. ‘What could I have possibly said? And I didn’t always know. She hid this in a pocket of one of her dresses, and I didn’t find it until you were ten.’
‘Ten,’ Lida repeated. She thought for a moment. ‘I was ten when you sent us to stay with Marnie.’ She brought a hand to her chest. ‘You found this, and you sent us away? For months?’
‘I had to. I went to the Isle of the Gods.’
Lida blinked rapidly in surprise. ‘You found it? You found the Isle? You saw the Myrae?’
Cathan dragged his shirtsleeve across his cheek. ‘Yes and no. I went to Little Buck Port and demanded that the first Myrae sailor I found take me to her captain. I thought she was going to put her knife in my eye, so I told her that my wife had been Myrae and my daughters were, too, and when I told her Siva’s name she all but dragged me on board her ship. They kept me in the guest cabin the entire trip. I couldn’t see the sea, or the sky, or the direction we were travelling. When we got there, they took me before their Assembly. I told them what I wanted. I wanted to know about my wife, so my daughters would know their mother. They gave me her money. They gave me shelter and clothing and food and let me wander around their white city. But they would not tell me a thing about Siva. I argued, I yelled, I cajoled - I begged, Lida, on my knees with tears on my cheeks, and they would not tell me.’
‘Then don’t you see?’ Lida near-shouted, her numbness breaking like a wave before her fury. ‘Don’t you see how I feel? An entire lifetime of guilt, Cathan, which you might have lifted from me with one truth. Why do you think I try to forget my birthday every year? Don’t you think I know what you see when you look at me?’ She stopped abruptly, trying to catch her breath, so angry she wanted to scream.
‘I have never blamed you, Lida. Never.’
‘But I blamed myself!’ Lida dropped the letter on the straw. ‘If I had known this, it might have changed everything.’
‘Exactly,’ Cathan said quietly. ‘If I showed you the letter, you would have gone north at once, in any way you could. I couldn’t bear to lose her and you.’
‘That’s not an excuse, Cathan!’ she snapped, even as she digested what he meant. She knew herself well enough to know that he was right; she would have gone north, as soon as she could. In a way, he would have sent her there anyway.
‘That’s why you wanted me to apprentice in Brinnica,’ she said slowly.
He nodded. ‘When I got back from the Isle, I wrote to Hagar and asked if she would train you. I always planned that you would go, Lida. I would have taken you myself. I always wanted you to find what Siva left for you. And I never meant for you to feel the way that you did.’
Lida tried to think about what it must have been like for him, to lose the love the letter showed, and to be left with two daughters to raise alone. Her heart broke for him, but she couldn’t quite forgive what he had held back.
She fled the stables, leaving Cathan and her mother’s letter behind. Alys called out to her when she ran into the house, but there was only one person she wanted.
Maya was in her bedroom, pulling a brush through her shining hair. Lida stopped behind her, wavering between anger and tears. Maya watched her in the dresser mirror, her face impassive.
‘Spit it out, Lida.’
‘Have you read Siva’s letter?’
‘Ah.’ Maya put her brush down carefully, then turned around to study her sister with narrowed eyes. Lida shifted uncomfortably; she had almost forgotten how unnerving it was to have Maya’s full attention.
‘I’m not ill, Maya, stop trying to physic me,’ she snapped. ‘When did you read it?’
‘It’s called diagnosing, Alida, and yesterday, a few hours before you arrived.’
Lida started to pace around Maya’s bed. ‘All my life I thought I killed her,’ she said flatly. ‘But she knew she was going to die. Da knew. And he never told me.’
Maya sighed. ‘And what difference would it have made, exactly? Think it through. Yes, Mama knew she was going to die. The birth was still the cause. Knowing would not have lessened your guilt, Lida, but you would have tried to run away to Brinnica, which would have been dangerous - would you have tried to ride there by yourself? Would you have found a way to Little Buck Port and sailed? Walked? If Da had tried to stop you, you would have resented him - hated him, even. You know how unforgiving you can be, little owl. Cathan faced an impossible choice. He picked the path that kept you safe, and loving him a little longer.’
Lida cracked her knuckles. ‘You think it was my fault, too,’ she whispered.
‘Stop that, sit down, and don’t be so ridiculous,’ Maya snapped.
Lida sat.
Maya whirled around to face her. ‘Of course it wasn’t your fault! You were a newborn baby! You’ve read the letter. Mama knew what was going to happen, and she went ahead with it anyway. Do you remember what I told you the night Jakob Merchant came? About my arm, and Mama healing it? Don’t you think a healer that gifted could have done something? There’s no despair in that letter, is there? No fear, no resentment. She was almost embracing it. Don’t you think there’s something wonderful about that? Being at peace with your death? Choosing it?’
Lida raked her hands through her hair, upsetting Alys’ careful braid. ‘Are you saying Mama wanted to die?’
Maya shrugged. ‘How could I possibly know? But she certainly thought that she would, and so she wrote that letter to give Cathan some closure. I know there are some conditions that make childbirth dangerous, even fatal - some of them could have been caused by my birth. Perhaps Mama knew that she had one. Perhaps she just suspected. It really doesn’t matter; she was resigned to it either way. She wanted more time with Cathan, yes, but she was happy with the life that she’d led. Are you really going to wallow in guilt? Are you really going to punish your father for an impossible choice? Or are you going to celebrate how much your mother loved you?’
Lida stared at her for a moment, then began to cry with huge, wrenching sobs that wracked her chest and burned her eyes. Maya reached forward and held her, stroking her back.
Eventually, she pulled away and wiped Lida’s face with the sleeve of her dress. ‘I know you won’t forgive him any time soon, not properly, at least,’ she said, ‘but could you say that you have? He’ll lose both of us within a few days, and I can’t bear to think of him alone and hating himself for hurting you.’
‘Lose both of us?’ Lida sniffed. ‘What do you mean?’
Maya smiled. ‘You read the letter,’ she said. ‘You’re going north, to see the Kali, and to find what Siva left for you.’ She paused. ‘So I’m going south. If Cathan did it, I can, too. I’m going to find the Myrae.’
***
When Lida was finally done crying - Maya had sensibly left her alone to finish - her face was a red, blotchy mess, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. A baint-fae again, she thought glumly,
poking at her cheeks, watching in the mirror. She sighed and went to her own bedroom to pack her things, aware that Katrin had wished to leave with the dawn, and it was some hours later.
After some wavering, she took Maya’s advice and went to find their father. He was repairing part of the sand yard fence and was covered in sweat. He didn’t look up.
‘I didn’t think you’d find me before you left,’ he said gruffly.
‘I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I’d understand if you did,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, little one.’
‘No. You were right. I would have tried to go to Brinnica. I wouldn’t have understood.’
He straightened; it wasn’t quite forgiveness, but Cathan knew it was as much as his daughter could give.
‘I have something for you.’ He held out a tiny box, wrapped in Siva’s letter.
It was a ring box, and inside was a slender band of white gold, set with a large, pear-shaped emerald. Lida touched it with the tip of a finger.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘It was Siva’s,’ Cathan said. ‘It belonged to her mother.’
Lida snapped the box closed and thrust it back at him. ‘I can’t take this, Da!’
He gently pushed it back. ‘I’ve spoken to Maya. We both want you to have it.’
She opened the box again, and tentatively took out the ring. It fit snugly on the pointer finger of her right hand.
‘Perfect,’ her father said, clearing his throat.
Lida held the letter out to him. ‘I’m not taking this. It’s yours. The words are just for you.’
Cathan took the folded parchment back and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
Lida and the northerners left not long after. It wasn't the farewell that she’d imagined: Cathan was withdrawn and quiet, Maya nervous and flighty. Lida rode Sacred through the gate, drained and exhausted, Siva’s ring glittering on her good hand, the other arm tight in its sling. She stared at the emerald, tears tracking down her cheeks again. She pushed forward to lead; Katrin let her pass without comment.
