She’s silent.
‘And I think that you found that as intoxicating as I had. Your experience of the prince of Lodellan, a suitor with no care for your desires or liberty, nor your voice. Yet here was a creature that thought only of you, protected you and pleased you – and did not have a voice with which to gainsay you. How wonderful, all those things together.’
‘I loved Arlo,’ she says plaintively.
‘I know. And he loved you – but they are such short-lived things. They’re not meant to live as men – it’s a tiny breath of a moment that they are pulled from their intended cycle. It’s as I told you, he began to slow, for his feet to put down roots, for his mouth to stiffen, the words to be less articulated and identifiable. But I couldn’t bring myself to… do what needed to be done. Not to him. He’d filled a void and it felt like I’d be killing the last part of me that could feel.’
‘Did you name him?’
I nod, but don’t tell her what I called him and she doesn’t ask.
‘So you took him back to the forest…’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you made others.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you didn’t want me to make the same mistake.’
‘No.’ I hold my breath for a moment. ‘What I do, Rhea, with the summer husbands? It’s for a purpose. It maintains my life out here. It’s a season. They are tools. When their time is finished, they become firewood – they become something they’d likely have become anyway. The season is sweet. I make no excuses. I do what I do in order to have this life. And thistime, if you’d not been here, if I’d not been distracted, then matters would have proceeded as normal.’ I raise a hand. ‘It’s not your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It was simply luck, ill or unfortunate or otherwise.’
‘Mehrab—’
‘I’m glad you had him. I’m glad you had joy and knew something better than you had. I’m grateful for my life and that you chose to save it. But now, Rhea, you must prepare yourself for what comes next, it will not be easy.’
Her eyes widen. ‘What do you mean, Mehrab?’
‘You’ve been feeling sick in the mornings, haven’t you, even before what happened in the woods, even before you stopped eating?’
She nods slowly.
‘I’m sorry to say the child will not live but at least you don’t have to wait nine months for it to come to term. These are strange children, born of wood and flesh, blood and sap, and they simply do not take a first breath – too eldritch this mix of mortal and plant. They’re not meant to last any more than their fathers are. When you’re up to it, choose a resting place. The rose garden is good because it’s easy to visit them. That’s why I chose it…’ I know I sound cold, untouched. I sound monstrous. Iammonstrous. ‘But at least you won’t be alone during labour, Rhea, I’ll see you through it. When all is done, you may leave, if you wish, you may not be able to bear the sight of me or this place. You’re free to go then but remain here where you are safe while you wait. I’ll not let you go and bleed to death in the woods.’
She stares at me for a very long time. ‘I can’t believe you’re so kind and so monstrous.’
‘One can be both. I am monstrous. Or I’m simply practical because I know that life is what happens when you’re dreaming of another existence. You’re free to hate me, and free to leave, but only when I know you’ve been safely delivered of this child.’
22
Conversation between Rhea and I remains scarce but at least it’s not the pressurised, compacted abyss after Arlo’s burning. We move about the cottage companionably enough, and there’s sufficient space that we don’t need to be near each other if what’s unspoken becomes oppressive. We’re both careful, I think, to keep a safe buffer. And I think we both know I could have said, ‘Now, Rhea, are you listening? He was always going to die. Maybe not so painfully, but that’s the result of not doing what you’re told.’ But I didn’t saythat.
She’s already moving more slowly, her belly grown larger and larger, but I think there’s still a while yet, just a little. Rhea often rests her hands on her stomach, arching back as she helps around the house, although there’s fortunately little to do on the holding now, nothing I cannot manage alone. The apple trees will need pruning soon to see them through winter, she can help with that. If this baby was human? I’d have her doing useful busywork, cutting swaddling cloth, stitching small clothes by the fire, knitting booties and jumpers andtiny caps, all the items a winter-tide child might require. But there’s no need for anything more than a shroud.
I’m mostly mended despite the extra bruising. When I’m good and ready, when I’m strong enough, then I must go deep into the forest again. Back to the grove to do what should have been done a long while ago, with hemlock and hatchet and fire. I’ll pay my debt to that first summer husband and perhaps somewhere a notation will be made in some grand ledger so that my good deeds might begin to outweigh my ill. And I vow, no matter my loneliness, no matter my losses, I’ll never make another summer husband again.
***
Outside, early morning, I’m taking a few minutes on the bench by the rose garden, surveying the uneven earth, all those vague little mounds the grass rolls across. It’s very quiet and cool, and I adjust my scarf, wonder if my coat is thick enough. Yes, I decide, the ride will warm me up. Rosie’s saddled by the barn, reins looped over a fencepost. I’d have started out later, especially with autumn-gloom upon us – but it’s lifted. I’ll not go out in the darkness until I know what’s afoot, what’s taking the children, and I’ll be certain to return home well before dusk. As long as the cottage wards hold, as long as we’re inside by nightfall, we’re safe. I am, however, very aware that I seem to be the one and only adult who’s felt followed. Rhea has never seen anything nor sensed herself stalked; no one in Berhta’s Forge has mentioned it either.
I should find it – Iwillfind it, but I need to knowmore.
I cannot forget the image of the huntsman that night, spectral and malign, the most likely suspect.
Butwhatis it?
Where does it rest?
