When the tempest of shouting and embracing started to slacken, Stahlia realized they were no longer in the Church of the Waters.
Someone—had it been Marcot? it must have been Marcot—had ushered her family out of public scrutiny and into a nearby antechamber of the palace. Oil cloaks and umbrellas lined the wall; rows of boots sat in labeled cupboards. She found the vestibule’s order and privacy a comfort at a moment when her world had gone askew.
Stahlia pulled her wayward daughter back from the embrace to look at her again. Here she was, live as day, not a phantom or a dream. Yet so changed.
“Where have you been? How could you leave us?” Stahlia gave her a little shake.
Wren just mutely shook her head.
“Why didn’t you write to us? Don’t you know how much we fretted? Three years!” Stahlia demanded, shaking her again. “You like to broke our hearts! And the worry!”
Wren looked stricken, but resolute. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t write to you or have any contact with you.”
“Why? What possible reason could there be for being so heartless?”
“Mama! Mama, leave off! She’s here now,” said Percia, pulling her sister from her mother’s grasp, hugging her and rocking side to side almost in a dance step. “What a miracle! I always pictured you returning to us in Wyndton, and when we moved I left a message for you at the Wyndton Arms. But you’ve appeared out of smoke, here in Cascada, just in time for my wedding!”
“Are you really getting married tomorrow, Percie? Are you happy? Do you love him?” Wren asked, speaking into her tall sister’s neck.
“Oh, Wren, if you’d been home I would have had someone to talk to about how wonderful Marcot is.”
Tilim broke in, “She’s told us often enough. Do you mean you wanted to talk about him more? Percie’s been a lovesick cow.
“But Wren, he is a swell chap. I wouldn’t let Percie go to just anyone.”
Perhaps Wren caught something in Tilim’s inference that he would grant his sister permission to wed. She looked at them all with her forehead scrunched.
“But why is Duke Naven walking you down the church pathway? Where is Wilim?” she asked. She pulled back, stood still, and glanced around the room. She asked again, “Where is Wilim?”
“She doesn’t know,” Percia told her mother quietly.
Stahlia sighed, took Wren’s hands, and sat her down on a rough, low bench made for pulling on boots. “Birdie, Wilim is not with us here in Cascada. He joined the Waters shortly after you left us.”
“No! No, that can’t be true.” Shaking her head, she looked around at Tilim and Percia for confirmation. “What? Why?” She must have read the truth on Percia’s face. “How did he die? Did he sicken?”
“He killed himself,” Stahlia said, biting the words. “We don’t know why.”
Wren’s face began to crumple like a broadsheet being wadded up. She hid it in her hands.
“This happened—when?” she spoke into her fingers.
“About a moon after you disappeared,” Stahlia answered. Her voice hardened. “He couldn’t recover from your disappearance. Do you know anything about it? I need answers. I’ve gone nigh crazy not understanding how he could leave us.”
“But it’s not your fault, Birdie, of course it’s not your fault.” Percia jumped in to protect her sister from Stahlia’s probing. “You couldn’t know what he would do after you left.”
“All this time … while … I’ve been gone I’ve pictured him at Wyndton. I thought he was riding Syrup, keeping the duke’s peace, caring for the ward. You mean, all this time he was already gone?” She started rocking herself back and forth on the bench.
“Hush now, hush now,” said Percie, sitting next to her and patting her shoulder.
“You mean I’ll never get to thank him for … everything. I never dreamed—” Wren choked out.
Tilim broke in, his voice strained. “Stop crying! Everyone stop crying! I mean it. I can’t take any more tears! This is a happy day! I order you all to stop this crying this instant!”
Her son had inherited some of Wilim’s sense about people, and Stahlia knew he was right. The remnants of this family would shatter under the strains of joy, guilt, and recrimination. It was hard enough to be here in Cascada, hard enough to deal with these gentry and their strange customs, hard enough to think of Percie getting married and leaving them. And now to have Wren suddenly rejoin them and to dig up all the past heartache!
It’s up to me to pull us together. Wilim would want me to weave us back whole.
Stahlia found her linen kerchief tucked in her belt. She wiped her own tear tracks, then turned Percie’s face up to the light from a narrow transom and wiped hers.
Kneeling by the bench, she said, “There now, Wren. I’m sorry. Get aholt of yourself. I know you feel the pain now, but this happened long ago. Wilim has been safe in the embrace of the Eternal Waters for years now. We four are here. Tilim’s right. Let’s be thankful for being reunited at last.”
Wren took a few ragged breaths.
“Come on, Birdie. Wipe your eyes and blow your nose,” said Stahlia. “I know this came as a shock. We’re all having a few shocks today.” She let out her breath in a noise that became a ragged laugh. “We’ll hang on tight to one another and see each other through.”
“Good girl,” said Tilim, encouraging, patting Wren’s knee. “You don’t want Percie to look a mess when all these strange people are staring at her and judging her, do you?”
Gradually, Wren’s distress quieted enough for conversation to resume.
Deliberately changing the subject, Stahlia said, “Tell us. What about your babe? What about your sailor?”
“There was no babe. There was no sailor.”
“I knew it!” cried Percia. “But then why did you leave us?”
Wren shook herself and stood up, twisting her hands together.
“I’m sorry. You must know that I didn’t leave you out of choice, and I’ve thought of you every day, regretting the pain I caused you. But the night I left I learned I was in danger, danger that might spread to you.” She held up her hands. “I can’t tell you anything now; I will tell you everything as soon as I am able.”
“What? Why the delay?” Stahlia asked. “You owe us—”
Tilim interrupted her harsh tone. “Because Percia will be safely married off, and Marcot’s father won’t call off the wedding because of our feckless sister!”
Wren managed to half smile at him. “Something along those lines. I know it’s unfair. I know I owe you all an explanation. But I can’t give it now.” She stood even straighter now. “And I ask—this is serious now, Tilim—that you not talk about how closemouthed I have to be. I ask that you just tell everyone that I am your foster sister who lived with you in Wyndton and recently took a sea voyage to settle some personal affairs. By the Grace of the Waters, I managed to arrive in Cascada for the wedding.” Her expression was steady and searching. “Can you do that? Will you promise to do that?”
Percia spoke up. “You are very mysterious, Birdie, but I’m so happy to have you back, you could ask for Nargis Ice and I’d climb up the Fountain to give it to you.”
Stahlia gazed at Wren, so familiar and yet so changed, with narrowed eyes. “You’ll tell me everything after the wedding?” she probed. “You’ll hold nothing back? You won’t disappear? Your word on the Waters?”
Wren held out both hands to Stahlia and looked her straight in the eyes. “I vow, Teta.”
A soft knock on the outside door interrupted their treasured retreat.
Stahlia swiftly glanced around to ensure that all of her charges had arranged their faces for public scrutiny. “Enter,” she called out.
Brother Whitsury opened the door with an apologetic expression. “I am so sorry to intrude, madam. But the chamberlain worries about our keeping to the day’s schedule.…”
Lordling Marcot joined Brother Whitsury in the open doorway. “The day’s schedule be hanged! We’ll change the damn schedule if need be. Mistress, take all the time your family needs. Is there anything I can get you—do you need anything?”
“No,” said Stahlia firmly. “We are recovered now. It was quite a shock to have my other daughter appear like—like an apparition in the church. A wonderful shock … Thank you for granting us these precious moments to catch up. We are sorry to have kept everybody waiting. We are ready now to return to the rehearsal.”
“But, Teta, I’m not fit for grand company,” Wren said, with a significant glance at her own clothing. She looked very rustic indeed, and she had ink splashed down her trouser leg. “Might I, perhaps, be excused to join you later…?”
“Chamberlain Vilkit would be pleased to see to your guest’s comfort,” said the lordling. “Percia, would you be so kind as to introduce me to the apparition?”
Although her face was still blotchy, Percia glowed. “This is the best marriage gift ever! Lordling Marcot, may I present my sister, Wren of Wyndton. Wren, this is my betrothed, Lordling Marcot.”
Marcot made a formal bow to Stahlia’s second daughter.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” said her future son-in-marriage. “Percia has often spoken of you. I am so happy that you are able to join us for this occasion. The Waters have blessed us with their favor.”
Wren curtsied in return, with downcast eyes. “You are too kind, milord.”
Now that’s the quiet, humble Wren I know, Stahlia thought. But can this modesty be put on and off, like one of these oil cloaks hanging here?