you could have seen yourself when you arrived. You looked like a corpse. Your hair, the bruises. You look like you haven’t eaten a decent meal since you left. How long have you been living like that? Who was taking care of you?”
“I was.”
“No, Errin. You weren’t.” Her voice is gentle but firm, and again she reminds me of Silas, of the pity in his eyes when he first saw the hut. “I’m not stupid; I know you’re keeping things from me. How did you earn the money to rent a cottage? What did you eat? What did you live on?”
“I—” I look at her, helpless.
“I can’t make you tell me. But I wish you’d written to me – to any of us,” she says, shaking her head. “You should have been here. We’re your people. We would have cared for you.”
Her words spark a memory that makes me ache. When Master Pendie came to offer his condolences, I didn’t open the door, didn’t want to tell him I was leaving. Mama was upstairs in her room, Lief was off making some inventory of the farm. I stood behind black drapes and watched through a chink as he knocked at the door, then knocked again. Finally, with a sad glance, he left a basket on the doorstep and went away, his footsteps dragging as though he were tied to the farmhouse with invisible ropes and each step threatened to pull him back to it. When I opened the basket I found vials of potions, for grief and sadness and sleep. And a cake. A lopsided, ugly cake, burned on the bottom and raw inside.
He’d made us a cake. It was awful but I ate every bite. We left the following day for Almwyk and I never thanked him for it.
“I was ashamed,” I say finally, quietly, speaking to the rapidly cooling bath water. “I still am.”
“Why? You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”
I snort. “The debts. Having to sell everything. Having to leave.”
“It wasn’t your fault. What can I do to convince you?”
“Wasn’t it? If I’d put the tools away Papa might not have fallen on them. Which means he’d still be here, and so would Lief, and Mama. Instead Lief and Papa are dead and Mama is locked away in some Gods-forsaken place in Tressalyn, and she—”
Lirys leans forward and flicks water into my face, surprising me into looking up. “Enough,” she says in a voice coated in steel. “You’re not responsible for your father’s death. And you’re not responsible for what Lief did, or what happened to him. You know what he was like – Gods know I loved him like my own brother, but he was reckless. You couldn’t have stopped him, no one could. And you’re certainly not responsible for your mother. None of this is your fault. Stop punishing yourself.”
“Lirys,” I say.
“Errin,” she says back at me in the same pleading tone. “You need to eat. And sleep. I’ve left one of my nightgowns on my bed. If you can bear to wear a dress now.” She smiles.
“I can’t. I have to go. I have to find someone. If I can find her, she’s the key to getting Mama back.”
“And I’m sure you’ll find her. But, in the meantime, stay here, rest. We’ll talk to Mama and Papa in the morning and decide what to do. It might take a little while, but I know everyone will want to help.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have a little while. I have to get her back as soon as I can. You can’t help with this.”
I wish I could explain about the beast, and why time is short.
Lirys, trusting, unquestioning Lirys, sighs. “Well, you still can’t leave until the morning. The gates are locked, all of them. And manned. Like it or not, your quest will have to wait. So you may as well get dressed and eat something.” She ushers me out of the bath and into a thick robe before herding me up the stairs and into her small, clean room. “I’ll bring some supper up to you,” she says, closing the door and leaving me alone.
I shed the robe and pull the linen gown over my head, sighing at the feel of such soft, clean material next to my soft, clean skin. I sit on the bed, trying to calculate where Silas might be right now. If he’s still on foot, he’ll be a good thirty miles away, even if he walked through