A Turn of Light (57 page)

Having remembered that, Jenn went on glumly, “Though I doubt she can help.”

“They won’t be here till harvest anyway.” Pausing, Peggs brought a lock of hair near her lips, then brightened. “But there’s someone else in Marrowdell. Someone who knows about wishings and magic.”

“But Bannan won’t be here for days.” Realization dawned. “You mean Kydd.” Jenn pulled the quilt straight to hide her unease.

“Who else?” Her sister’s growing excitement didn’t help. “He had that book, didn’t he? He may have more. I’m certain he will. He’ll want to help, Dearest Heart.”

Books their father and Aunt Sybb hadn’t wanted in the village, if only in Wainn’s clever head, being worried about some “old trouble.” There were, Jenn thought distractedly, enough new ones.

Besides. Why would the village beekeeper, who painted for a hobby and wooed her sister with such awkward gentleness, own books of magic in the first place?

What had Kydd Uhthoff studied in Avyo?

Reading her face too well, Peggs sank down on the bed. “You don’t want me to tell him.”

“I’m not ready,” Jenn evaded. “I’m sure Kydd would want to help. Maybe he can. But please, Peggs, let’s not say anything, to anyone. Not yet.” She added in a lighter tone, “After all, a sister-by-marriage who craves rocks and dreams herself into the carrots? I wouldn’t blame Kydd for thinking less of me.”

“I would!” By the fire in her beautiful eyes, Peggs was prepared to confront dragons, let alone her betrothed. “You’re first in my heart, and always will be. I won’t marry anyone so shallow!”

Poor Kydd was awash in dire straits, quite undeservedly. “You don’t mean that, Peggs,” Jenn protested.

“I certainly do.”

What had Aunt Sybb said once? “‘The more you hold in your heart . . .’” Jenn quoted, and waited.

“‘. . . the more your heart can hold.’” As she’d hoped, the fire in her sister’s eyes subsided. Peggs pressed her hands to her heart. “You’re right. Ancestors Witness, Kydd would never think less of you, Dearest Heart. I should know that by now.” She almost smiled. “And it’s true, what Aunt Sybb told us. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but once Kydd and I—once we knew how we both felt, my love for you and Poppa and Aunt Sybb grew so much—I swear I could burst, right now.”

“Please don’t,” Jenn advised practically, though her own heart felt the same ache. Families looked after one another; she just wasn’t ready to test the mettle of Kydd Uhthoff as part of theirs. “If things get worse,” she temporized, “or if I need help, I’ll go to Kydd with you that very moment and tell him everything.”

Peggs looked relieved. “Promise?”

“Hearts of our Ancestors.” Jenn retrieved her pillow from the floor. “What say we get breakfast? I’m famished.”

The sisters placed their pillows on the bed at the same time.

Their eyes met.

“We’ll be—” Peggs started.

“—married soon,” Jenn finished.

Married, and no longer sharing this room, with its cozy window seat and memories. Most likely, Kydd would move in here, while she’d go to Wyll’s new house.

“Dearest Heart—”

Before Peggs could say another word and have them both in tears and not at breakfast, Jenn seized her pillow and grinned.

“Defend yourself!”

The two hurried downstairs, trying to stop giggling.

“Who won?” inquired their father, with a grin.

“I did—”

“Did not!”

Radd Nalynn chuckled. “I declare a draw, for breakfast’s sake. Go sit with your aunt. She’s—” His lower lip developed a suspicious tremor and he coughed to cover it. “Go on with you,” he ordered. “Wait. Take your porridge. I’m serving today.”

Jenn and Peggs kissed him on his fresh-scrubbed cheeks, then hurried into the parlor.

“Fair morning,” their aunt said in greeting.

Aunt Sybb looked more than rested. She looked radiant, with a rare color to her cheeks and lips. The sisters impulsively put down their bowls and hugged her, Jenn for her part trying not to sniffle. “What’s all this?” their aunt chided, but fondly. “Sit now, and let me have my tea.”

They sat, smiling at one another and their aunt. Aunt Sybb didn’t quite smile, but gave them a benevolent look over her cup. She’d chosen the cream shirtwaist today, with its minimal lace, and wore her no-nonsense dark blue skirt. “I trust you’re both ready for a busy day.”

The spoon Peggs was using to dollop honey into her porridge paused midair. “Kydd and I’d planned a picnic—” She closed her lips over what was, for her, tantamount to an outburst, and gave a dutiful nod.

“A good start makes the best finish,” Aunt Sybb announced primly, though her eyes twinkled. “You and your young men will have your whole lives together. Ancestors Blessed and Bountiful, we’ve much to prepare before that begins.”

“Yes, Aunt,” Jenn murmured with Peggs.

Their father arrived, his bowl of steaming porridge in one hand, a plate of slippery poached eggs in the other. He’d tucked a loaf under one arm and gripped a biscuit between his teeth. Jenn deftly rescued the eggs and Peggs the loaf as he sat, preventing catastrophe.

“Peckish, Brother?” Aunt Sybb inquired, her brow as high as Jenn had ever seen.

“Stocking up.” Radd chuckled and waved the biscuit. “Today’s the day, Sybbie.”

“We’re setting the stones?” Jenn sat up eagerly, then glanced at their aunt and sank back.

Peggs toyed with her spoon, head down.

“What’s the matter, Dear Hearts?” Their father looked to their aunt. “Sybbie?”

“Ancestors Patient and Put Upon.” Aunt Sybb waved her napkin at them, pretending to be exasperated. “Go. But you’ll be working late and by lamplight.”

This time, there was considerably more enthusiasm in the sisters’ “Yes, Aunt!”

“Fools,” Wyll replied, spearing a piece of ham. “He guards against fools.”

The dragon’s answers were slippery bits of truth. “Where’s the harm in fools?” Bannan asked easily.

Silver flickered deep in Wyll’s eyes. “Who would you fear coming to Marrowdell?”

“Ansnans.” The name erupted from his throat. Heart’s Blood, where had that rage come from? Discomfited, Bannan stood and retrieved the kettle. They were at peace. He was at peace.

And civilized. “Tea?”

Wyll’s smile was unpleasant. “So you have enemies.”

“I fought a war.” However undeclared and thankless. “It’s over. I’m a farmer now, not a soldier. Tea?”

“Who attacks dragons with a broom.”

“Old habits. Let me pour for you.” As he did, Bannan vowed, “I’ll be more polite to such visitors in future.”

“You’d be wiser to hide.” Wyll shifted uncomfortably, then stood with a frustrated snarl. “My thanks for breakfast. I’ve work to do.” He began to lurch away.

“Wait.”

Wyll paused, twisting his head to look around. A demonstration of strength, standing upright at that moment, wildly off balance and with only one trustworthy leg. Strength and determination beyond any man’s.

“Why should we fear fools?”

“Because what they would seek here,” the dragon answered, “must never be found.”

Once he was gone, Bannan discovered the sturdy squared logs of his house no longer seemed sturdy at all.

While Peggs heated water for dishes, Jenn nipped out to the privy. On her way back, she paused to check the garden. The holes and hoofprints had been filled, the carrots replanted in their row, more-or-less straight. A valiant effort, she assumed by the house toads, to hide the evidence. Alas, being carrots, they’d taken offense at being ousted from the soil and their tops had wilted. Rather than have Peggs notice and worry what might have happened, Jenn pulled the wilted ones out, leaving them to dry.

The pebbles were gone, she saw, and began to smile.

Her smile faded. In their place lay a rose, its stem neatly snapped. Dew sparkled like gems on the red velvet petals, and one leaf arched behind like a cradling hand.

Their mother’s rose. She couldn’t see the toads picking it. Had Wyll? Obscurely comforted, Jenn looked around, but saw no sign of him.

Well, she couldn’t leave the rose lying out here. She took it up with care and brought it inside. “Look.”

Peggs’ eyes widened in wonder. She quickly dried her hands, following Jenn and the rose into the parlor.

“Ancestors Blessed!” their aunt said fervently.

Jenn laid the rose on the table. Fragrance filled the room like the deep toll of a bell. “I’m sorry, Poppa. I think Wyll did it.”

He didn’t appear upset. In fact, he looked rather pleased. “Why don’t you take it to your mother?”

She swallowed, but nodded.

Back in the kitchen, the glorious rose in a most ordinary mug of water, Jenn whispered to Peggs, “Did you say anything to him—about my sharing with the Ancestors?”

“Not a word.” Her sister looked unusually serious. “But maybe this wasn’t Wyll. Maybe it’s some kind of sign. An offer of help.”

Jenn pushed her shoulder into Peggs’ and dried another dish. “The Ancestors don’t do that sort of thing.”

“It’s not as if we know,” the other retorted, passing her a dripping spoon. “Once I’m among the Blessed, I’ll want to help you.”

“Hush!” Jenn hurried to press her hands—plus cloth and wet spoon—to her heart. “Hearts of our Ancestors, we’d be Beholden if you’d ignore my sister.” With asperity, “You shouldn’t say such a thing.”

“Well, I would.”

“Would what?” Tir Half-face leaned in the kitchen door.

Even with his metal mask, she could tell. His eyes were bright and bold. “You slept!”

“That I did, Jenn Nalynn, like a babe. I’m here to thank your father and offer my help before I head to the farm.”

“Breakfast first,” Peggs informed him, and bustled about filling him a tray.

“I’m glad,” Jenn told Tir, and was. Both he and Aunt Sybb looked more themselves this morning, though admittedly their aunt, buoyed by the prospect of weddings, might not need sleep at all.

It was as lovely a morning as she could wish.

If she left out the slightly anxious part where she was now to head to the ossuary and confess to the Ancestors, best done before going to the mill, because their father would ask about the rose, without doubt.

And if she thought very positively, as Aunt Sybb would say, about having promised to stay in the village and leave Wyll alone while he settled, though she missed him and Night’s Edge more than she could say and she could only hope the toad had given him her message.

Though she wondered, with perfectly normal and natural curiosity, how Bannan was today, without Tir, and if he was content or lonely.

Most of all, if she ignored the small but growing and nasty feeling that she really mustn’t cross the river and take the road and be anywhere near the path that led . . .

“Kind of you to say.” Jenn blinked as the former border guard ducked his head in a self-conscious sort of bow, then held out a wrapped packet, his broad thumb trapping a coin against the darkened leather. “I’d like to send these letters. Your father said someone would be off to Endshere today. I can pay.”

Letters. Jenn perked up. She hadn’t thought of letters. She could write to Wyll and explain why she wasn’t there, because he’d worry and fuss; she just knew he would. And—

“Keep your coin,” her sister advised him. “We’ve an arrangement with the postmistress in Endshere. She’s fond of our honey.”