Bard. She couldn’t think like that. She had more important worries than her pride.
“Are you going to tell him?” Alanna asked eventually.
“Yes. Of course.” She straightened her shoulders and tried to fill her voice with confidence she didn’t feel. “He needs to know. And… the, uh… the—”
She swallowed and tried again. “The baby must have the chance to know its da.” Bard. It was the first time she’d said the word out loud.
Baby.
It was strangely terrifying, as if she’d made it real by saying it. But, at the same time, she felt lighter. A massive weight had lifted, at least a little. She’d said the word she’d been avoiding as if it was a curse. She’d said it, and the world hadn’t ended. The fire still crackled in the hearth, her trunks were still packed, Alanna and Lucilla hadn’t run from the room. She could say it. Baby.
“I asked Tor to think about everything and come to see me before we leave. I’ll tell him about the baby then. And I’ll ask again if he would like to come with us.”
Alanna and Lucilla nodded slowly, but there was more she still had to say. One more thing to admit. “If he doesn’t want to—if Tor chooses to stay here—I’ve decided to go home.”
Alanna stilled while Lucilla frowned. “Home to Verturia?”
“Yes. I haven’t been back to the farm in years, but… it’s time. I want to see my mama, to walk along the walls at Duneidyn, and then… then I’ll go back to the farm where I grew up.”
Alanna watched her carefully. “And what will you do on the farm?”
“I don’t know. Oversee the crops. Raise some chickens, maybe.” She had a bit of money saved. She was going to do this, and she was going to be fine. They were both going to be fine.
Alanna snorted softly, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong with chickens?”
“You hate chickens.”
Keely shrugged. “That’s just because they’re bloody stupid.” There were other reasons. More complicated reasons, but she didn’t need to explain those. She gave Alanna an apologetic smile. “I need to make a home.”
“I guess I always thought you’d be coming back with us,” Alanna replied gently.
She wiped her eyes and tried to lighten her voice. “You’re busy with Val now, and I had been thinking of going back to visit anyway. I’d already been thinking that I really should start making a life for myself, not just follow you around.”
Alanna’s hand tightened on hers, squeezing her fingers. Keely half expected Alanna to argue, but all she did was hold her hand, silently giving her support. Bard. It was enough to start the tears again.
“You can make a home here,” Lucilla argued for both of them. “You already know that I’d love for you to join the council. You’re honest, intelligent, and thoughtful, you’re great at seeing the broader picture, and you have an excellent sense for when people are talking bullshit. I told you all of this when I invited you the first time.”
Keely shook her head. “I would have been honored to be on your council, Lucilla. But it’s too hard. I don’t want to spend every day here watching Tor while he pretends not to be watching me.”
Tor made her vulnerable. He made her imagine what it would be like to have things that he wasn’t ready to give her. And thathurt.No. He hadn’t asked for any of this, and she wasn’t going to manipulate or pressure him into it.
Lucilla snorted sadly. “I genuinely think he cares for you.”
Keely pulled her blanket up higher wrapping it over her shoulders. Caring for someone wasn’t enough. If there was anyone in the world who understood that, it was her. “So do I. But he has to figure out what he wants.”
She leaned over and picked up a sealed letter from her bedside table, spinning it over as she handed it to Lucilla so that they could all read Tor’s name clearly written in black ink across the front. “If anything goes wrong, if I don’t get to tell him, for whatever reason, will you give this to Tor for me, please? Maybe, just, give him a couple of days after we go to find his feet.”
Lucilla took the letter. “But you’ll be in Verturia—”
“If he wants to come and see us, he can. And if he’s too busy or he’d rather stay here, that’s his choice too.”
She would be away from him, away from the weakness she felt around him. Away from his deep voice telling her he missed her… but not enough. Away from the tiny, fragile hope that had begun to grow in her heart, and then been shattered.
Lucilla nodded slowly. “Of course. I’ll keep it safe and give it to Tor for you.”
“Thanks.” Keely let her shoulders slump, suddenly exhausted and desperate to slide down properly in her bed and sleep. Sleep and forget everything. Bard. She couldn’t remember ever being so tired before in her life.
