“How did you know he was bothering me?”
I take a deep, steadying breath. So much for my reputation for even temperament. Still angry, I remind myself it is over. He won’t bother her again.
“I saw you as soon as I came in.”
I don’t tell her that it was as if I felt her presence. Nonsense, of course, but I was not surprised to see her here.
“Your expression.”
Aedre says nothing but pulls her ale closer.
“What did he say to you?”
I drink, waiting for her answer. It takes a moment for her to speak.
“‘I’ve visited your grandmother,’” she finally says, her voice cracking. “‘The great Lady Edrys did not appear very well. Such a shame. So few Garra remain. I shouldn’t be surprised if there’s one less one day soon.’”
I almost regret making her repeat it.
“Aedre . . .”
Wanting to comfort her, knowing I cannot, I choose instead to explain my own exchange with Father Beald. I glance around before speaking, but no one is paying us any mind. Our table is at a distance from the others, as intimate a setting as possible in the midst of a small hall.
“King Galfrid has little patience for Father Silvester.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Their relationship has been strained for years, and it will only worsen if the church attempts to interfere in the naming of a successor.”
“Their recommendation of Lord Hinton, you mean.”
“Aye. But even so, Silvester needs the king’s support, and for the time being that king is still Galfrid. He’s threatened to take away Avalon before. Nearly did so last winter. I simply reminded Beald of my position at court and of Galfrid and Silvester’s tenuous relationship.”
Her eyes widen.
“The king would excommunicate the Prima from Meria?”
I pause, looking at her stew. After a long day of training, more and more locals challenging me in wake of my defeat of Agnar, the smell prompts me to ask for a bowl as well as a serving maid walks by.
“Eat,” I say when she pauses.
Aedre picks up the pewter spoon, and I try not to watch her lips too closely as they open. Imagine, to be jealous of a beef stew. Shifting in my seat, I force my eyes upward.
Since she sees me clearly, I don’t hide the direction of my thoughts.
“What were we discussing?” I say.
Amused, she takes another bite of stew.
“Ah, yes.” I lower my voice, even though we sit at a distance from any others. The shutters are closed, but the sound of heavy rain still penetrates. A low murmur of conversation and the fire in the hearth make this particular inn, and this moment, more peaceful a setting than I’d imagined I would find in Murwood End.
As a boy, this place seemed ominous, almost scary to me. Now, it holds a tantalizing feeling of possibility. The people here are notoriously fierce, independent, and wary of strangers, this particular woman more so than most. I’d expected to be here for a very short time, wishing every moment to leave.
Now, I’d prefer to be here than any other place on the Isle.
“We were discussing nothing more than the excommunication of the Prima from Meria,” I continue, shaking myself from my thoughts.
“Just so.”
My own stew arrives, and I thank the serving girl for it.
“To answer your question, aye, he would. I simply reminded Beald of the situation, hinted that he would learn of further discord in coming days, and asked if he really wished to contribute to faltering relations.”
Finally, she pushes her bowl away. “You threatened him.”
“Aye.”
“Because of me.”
I finish chewing. A fine stew, though different than what I’m accustomed to.
“Aye, because of you. Because I dislike the man. And because Galfrid would be as intolerant of him as I am.”
She seems surprised to hear it. Aedre thinks little of the king, a fact which I hope to alter.
“You believe so?”
“I know it. You accused me of antiquated notions, and perhaps the role of women here is different than in the south. But neither Galfrid nor I tolerate injustice. He is an honorable man, Aedre. Why do you think so little of him?”
I eat, content to listen to her explanation.
“He allowed his wife to cast out his son to the farthest reaches of the kingdom. A father who abandons his child can have no redemption in my eyes.”
Reminded of her close friendship to Aldwine, I choose my words carefully.
“For his own protection. The queen is not known for her tolerance. And Aldwine’s mother chose to flee to Murwood End. The king did not require it.”
My men come inside, soaking wet. Seeing us, they speak among themselves and disappear up the stairs, presumably to their rooms. I do not need to guess what they think of my friendship, as it were, with Aedre.
They’ve not ceased their jests about the matter since we arrived.
“The king married her, did he not?” she says loftily.
“The marriage was arranged.”
“He made the choice.”
“Nay, he had none. Choice is a privilege, Aedre, reserved for some.” She clearly disagrees with me. “There is another side to him as well. A generous one. He brought me up in Castle d’Almerita after both of my parents died.”
I told her not for sympathy but to prove my point, and yet Aedre’s eyes fill with tears. “How did they die?”
“The sleeping illness. My father served the king.”
I can see she understands why I’ll not be swayed by her words against him. Like any man, Galfrid has made mistakes. But he is a good man, one who cares deeply for others, much like Aedre.
She would not risk herself to practice as a Garra otherwise.
“My mother died in childbirth.”
I stop eating, but Aedre forges ahead.
“My father is overprotective because of it. But I’m grateful for his love. And for my grandmother.”
Not knowing what to say, I finish the stew in silence. Not an awkward silence, but a companionable one, shared by two
