“I’m hoping he’ll make it to winter,” Byron’s voice is tight as he speaks, and I swallow my own grief that begins to well in my throat, threatening to choke me. No matter what I think of his grandson, Tarus Coalbiter is a good man. One of the best there is.
His steady strength and quiet goodness have helped shape this village into the haven it became. I’m not so sure if the people of this town would have been so kind to a helpless stray like me if he hadn’t extended me kindness first.
He’s lived a hard life; his only child is a worthless drunk whose husband left her and he’s had to basically raise his grandson… who grew up to be Byron. And yet, he’s never allowed that to dim his positivity or cast a shadow on his goodness.
He’s truly a remarkable individual, and I can’t believe that he’s so ill. It’s true that he has been failing for some time as age does to all humans, but… why Tarus?
Why can death not distinguish between the sinner and the saint and take someone who more aptly deserves his fate?
“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry,” Marvin whispers, reaching out to rest a hand on Byron’s arm. Byron’s jaw works, but then he forces a smile although I can see the strain it causes.
I wonder why he is going to the academy this year if his grandfather’s health is so frail, on top of being a wonderful man, he is also the man who raised him. If I had a person who raised me, and they were sick, I would stay by their side until they were either better or no longer with me.
As if sensing my unspoken question, he hikes the bag up higher on his shoulder. “I’m going to become a knight early. Before he goes. I know that’s what he will want to see.”
I tilt my head, perhaps it comes from knowing Byron my whole life, or maybe it’s just because I don’t trust him but… there’s something he is keeping from us. I bite my tongue to keep from demanding that he tells us what it is. Marvin would just tell me that he’s in mourning and he is allowed his privacy.
“How did your mother handle the news?” Marvin asks after a moment. Maybe he had the right idea about making small talk, it seems to have distracted him from his physical strain. His face is starting to look a little less purple.
“Oh, she doesn’t know.” Byron shakes his head. “She never sobered up enough for me to tell her. Farmer Trebbleweed will be keeping an eye on them both for me while I’m gone.”
“Do you really think that you will gain your knighthood early?” I ask, finally speaking up. The Academy of the Gilded Knight houses prospective knights for a year, preparing them for a final tournament where they compete before the eyes of every fae looking for a prospective knight. They choose the knights they want and those that aren’t picked… well, hopefully they’ll have better luck in one of the other factions.
Sometimes though, if a knight shows especial promise a fae lord might swoop in and claim him or her before the tournament. If Byron intends to be a knight before his grandfather passes, then he will have to be one of those early picks. Winter is only a few months from now.
He shoots me a grin over his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I bristle at his words. Why wouldn’t he indeed? After all, he is handsome, charming, and well-loved. All excellent qualities for a knight. On top of that, he has a powerful magic and is connected to a high fae already. What if Menavillion claims Byron as his champion as soon as he learns that he is looking for a patron? I won’t even have a chance to try to prove myself before Menavillion has already taken a knight and left.
And I won’t settle for any lesser lord. Menavillion is the one who gave Byron his magic. If I want magic as powerful as his, then I will need to get mine from the same source.
“What’s that expression for, Lo?” Byron asks, his mouth twisting slightly. “You look like you swallowed a gnat.”
I clench my teeth at the nickname. I’ve managed to get most everyone in the village to give up on calling me that. I’m already an orphan with no familial connections to back me, I was born with low-magic, and I’m a fae who was raised by humans. I cannot take a cutesy nickname to top it all off. How will anyone take me seriously if everyone insists on calling meLo?
Dame Lo Brightbringer.
Oh, yes, it hasquitethe ring to it.
“Oh, Willow doesn’t like being called—” Marvin begins, but he is cut off by the highest pitched voice that has ever had the misfortune of assaulting my sensitive ears.
My face twists with disgust as I turn to take in the only person from our village who I might actually hate more than Byron.Gertrude Evertide.
We are a small village, but there are enough young ladies my age to form a posse, and Gertrude is their leader. I think every girl in town might just be in love with Byron, which would explain why we don’t actually get along, but Gertrude used her authority to put down the law.
Byron ishers. Any girl who says otherwise will quickly find frogs in her bed, worms in her water supply, and dead rats on her front step. Not that I actually care, let him have the little witch. They’re both so despicable that it is almost as if they were made for each other.
Her blue eyes are welled up with tears that she won’t actually let spill because they might make her cheeks look splotchy as she rushes down the road toward us. It’s a strange run, the upper half of her body pivots as she goes like she’s trying to make her hips sway suggestively while she runs. Not exactly the type of running that would save her life if she were to be chased by bearcat, but it is the type of running that gets Byron to stop and turn around.
His lips turn up in an amused smile as his eyes move up and down taking in her bouncing curls. “What’s the matter, Gerda?”
“Don’t you, ‘what’s the matter, Gerda,’me,” she squeals, closing the distance between us. She nearly bowls me over in her haste to reach Byron. I step back, closer to Marvin as I brush off my tunic, wrinkling my nose as she latches onto his arm like a strangling vine.
She blinks up at him, her lower lip protruding almost comically. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye to me?”
“I said goodbye last night,” Byron replies, baffled. “How many goodbyes do you need?”
“As many as it takes for you to say hello again.”
