Lucy had asked Saga to accompany her from the City of Light to the compound—the place where she and a number of other Oathtakers had kept Reigna and Eden safe for about two decades—hoping to draw on her expertise. The woman, an old friend of Leala and Fidel’s, was considered the preeminent expert on the oldest tomes in Oosa. With her assistance, Lucy had intended to go through all of the compound resources so as to separate the wheat from the chaff, since there simply wouldn’t be room to take everything along to the palace of the first family of the Select, located in Shimeron. That would be folly; it would only delay things. Now, with Saga’s untimely death, Lucy would have a great deal more work to complete before she’d be ready to leave.
She and Mara followed Dalton to the cabin where Saga had stayed. Once there, they examined her body. They found no signs of injury. Indeed, but for a bit of froth at her mouth, she appeared unchanged.
“She was pretty much a loner,” Lucy said as she wiped the foamy spittle away, “and to the best of my knowledge, she had no family.”
“So there’s no one we should notify?” Dalton asked.
“I suppose we could let someone at sanctuary in the City of Light know of her passing. She’d lived there for some time after all, so they might appreciate our informing them.” She paused. “Oh, goodness, but Leala and Fidel will be heartbroken,” she added in a whisper.
“What do you suppose happened to her? What are we to tell them?” he asked.
She glanced briefly Mara’s way. “I . . .” She paused, then said, “I don’t know. Just tell them we found her dead, and that’s all we know.”
His brow furrowed. “All right,” he agreed.
“Why don’t you get some help to get her body prepared for burial, Dalton?” Mara suggested. “We’ll hold a service for her this evening.”
“Certainly. I’ll take care of it.”
Lucy walked out and started down the pathway that led to Adele’s kitchens and just beyond, to her own cabin.
Mara rushed up from behind. “Lucy, what is it?”
“What?”
“Something’s troubling you.”
She stopped short, then wiped her curly locks away from her brow. “I just . . . Oh, it’s nothing, really.” She stepped out again, pulling her shawl more tightly closed. Then she made her way around a group of Oathtakers packing one of the wagons for their journey to Shimeron.
“Wait, Lucy.” Mara, still following, grabbed her arm, then hurried up to keep pace with her. “I can feel it. Something’s bothering you. I’d like to help.”
“There’s nothing to be done.”
Mara pulled her to a stop.
Pursing her lips, Lucy shook her head. “I just feel . . . responsible, is all.”
“There was no way you could have known that Reigna would do what she did. Even if what you say about her power is true, you’re not to blame.”
“No, I mean, I feel . . .” She sighed, deeply.
“What? You feel what?”
Lucy held her gaze. “I said I thought I saw someone I knew.” She glanced across the yard. “If I hadn’t been distracted, I’d never have had that accident. And if that hadn’t happened, then Reigna wouldn’t—”
“You know better,” Mara interrupted. “You didn’t intend any of this, and you could hardly have anticipated it.”
Again, Lucy wiped her hand across her brow. “Still, it was all so foolish of me.”
Grasping her arm again, Mara urged her on. “Let’s go to my place. I’ll get you some tea.”
“I’m fine. Really, I—”
“Come on,” she said, guiding her around a corner, “I brought a good peppermint and lemon balm mix back with me from the city. It’s a pleasant change from our usual fare around here. It’ll lift your spirits.”
A minute later, upon entering her cabin, Mara directed Lucy to a chair. Then she retrieved a pot of water kept hot over the hearth, and set it on the table. She filled two tea balls with herbal leaves, dropped one into each of two mugs, and then poured scalding water over them. Instantly, a fresh, sweet, citrusy smell rose up into the air.
“Here, drink this,” Mara said, placing a cup before her long-time friend.
She grabbed the chain of the infuser in her own, and pulled it up, then dropped it back down. After a quiet minute repeating the procedure, all the while watching Lucy closely, she removed the tea ball and set it on a saucer. Then she picked up her cup to drink and looked out, over its edge.
“So, who is it you think you saw?” she finally asked.
“I’m sure I was mistaken.”
“Who?”
Lucy ran her finger around the edge of her mug. “Ahhh . . . Well, I’m sure this will come as something of a surprise to you, but . . .” She removed her tea ball with a sigh, then took a teaspoon of sugar and added it to her drink. She stirred it in. “Sometimes I think everyone believes I’ve no heart.”
Raising her brow, Mara chuckled. “No, Lucy. We just think you keep it . . . well concealed.”
Glancing up, Lucy caught Mara’s eye, and grinned. Then her smile turned down. “You’re not the first to tell me that.”
“Oh?”
“Remember earlier, when I told you that other Oathtakers before you have loved and . . . lost?”
Mara set her drink down. “Yes. I take it that you are one of those ‘other Oathtakers?’”
Pursing her lips, Lucy sighed. “Yes, although I’m sure that’s difficult for you to believe.”
“No, it’s not.” Mara tapped on the table. “So, who did you love and lose?”
Lucy opened her mouth as though to speak, then closed it again, tightly.
“Does this have something to do with who you thought you saw earlier? Before your accident today?”
Lucy stood. “I should be going. Thank you for the tea, Mara.”
“Come on, now, sit down. Tell me.”
Pausing, Lucy wrung her hands, then sat again. “You and Dixon are sure to have a good laugh at my expense when you tell him all about this later . . .”
“That’s not true.”
“No, of course not. You’ve never been cruel. I’m sorry.”
“Who was it, Lucy?”
She sighed. Then, “His name was Petrus Feoras,” she said. “He . . . Well, I guess I . . . loved him.”
“How long ago was this?”
She stood, then paced. “Oh . . . a while back.”
Mara warmed her tea. “But you’ve been free from a life with a living charge for some time. You could have followed your heart. So . . . what happened?”
Approaching a nearby window, Lucy looked out. She seemed momentarily mesmerized by falling leaves dancing in the air in an array of gold and bronze.
“I said I loved him and . . . I did,” she said, looking back. “I suppose maybe I just didn’t love him . . . enough.”
“What does that mean?”
She cocked head. “I was on a mission. I refused to be turned from it. He . . . distracted me.”
“So you let him go?”
“I did. But you see, there was something even more important.”
“What was that?”
Lucy sat again. “Mara, do you remember the hearing you had with the Council after Lilith’s death, when the twins were just infants?” She waved her hand. “Oh, never mind, of course you do. Anyway, you’d made a decision . . . about Dixon.”
Mara bit her lip. “Yes.”
“Believing there was no way for the two of you to be together—to love one another and commit to one another—you decided that you would send Dixon away.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Lucy looked at her, searchingly. “Did you ever think it was because . . .” She pulled back, sat up straighter. “Oh, never mind.”
“What? Was I going to send him away because I didn’t ‘love him enough,’ as you say?”
“Well . . . yes.”
“No. The very thought left me cold. But—” Tears sprang to Mara’s eyes. “I couldn’t break my oath, Lucy. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing the girls. At the time, that idea was even worse to me than the idea of losing Dixon. They were so helpless. They depended on me.”
She looked out the window at her side. “I couldn’t break my vow, and Dixon would never have asked me to. It’s like I told Nina all those years ago: if I’d turned from my oath, Dixon would forever after have wondered when I’d turn from him.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“What does this have to do with Petrus?” She took her friend’s hand in her own.
Lucy closed her eyes, as though viewing her memories in her mind’s eye. “He had a charge of his own,” she finally said. “I told him that if he broke his vow, I’d not have him. He was . . . not pleased. He said he didn’t believe me—that he thought I was incapable of loving—or at least of showing it.” She straightened her shoulders. “Maybe he was right. I don’t know. In any case, I never saw him again after that. I went on my way to follow my first love—Ehyeh and the Select—and I suppose he did the same.”
“Is this who you thought you saw today?”
“Yes.” She pulled her hand free and sighed. “But of course, it wasn’t possible. Still, for a moment, I . . .”
Once more, Mara tapped on the table. Then, “You know,” she said, “now that the twins have found their way, maybe you want to be free from all of this. You could still make a life for yourself, you know.”
Lucy shook her head.
“But suppose Petrus is free from his oath now. Perhaps his charge is deceased.”
Lucy held Mara’s gaze. “No.” She sighed. “I’ve had a lot of time to think this all through. Why would I do that? Allow someone into my life like that? A man I can’t even grow old with? No, Mara, I say I let him go, but I suppose in truth, there were more things than just my mission—and his charge—that kept us apart. You see, I knew that eventually, he would grow old and that, therefore, one day he would . . . die. This ‘gift’ we Oathtakers to seventh-born members of the Select enjoy is, in some respects, a curse. Sure, it seems a blessing never to physically age, never to grow old and weak, but . . .”
Looking down, Lucy wrung her hands once more. “Well, when it comes to dealing with others, it can prove difficult—especially for those like us.” She glanced back up. “It’s not like he’s the only one who ever showed an interest. I mean— Well, had I never had a charge who was a seventh, I too, would have aged after losing mine. Perhaps the idea of starting over then wouldn’t have seemed so . . . daunting, but . . .”
She leaned back. “Well, you know, you and Dixon are the only ones who could have found a happy ending together given that you’d both had a seventh-born of the Select for a charge. For me, the differences between Petrus and I seemed—no, they were—insurmountable. It was easier for me to call an end to it all back then, than it was for me to face the possibility that I might lose him later.”
“I see. So, you went your separate ways.”
“We did.” Lucy sipped at her tea. “I haven’t thought about him in . . . years. But today, when I thought I saw him, it so surprised me that I was careless.” She shook her head. “He didn’t appear to have aged all that much—if any . . . and his charge was quite young when we first met,” she muttered, looking off as though seeking answers in the air. “Assuming his charge lived a normal lifespan . . . Well,” she sighed, “I’m sure I was simply mistaken.”
She put her cup down. It clinked when it hit the saucer. “I don’t know why this is so hard for me to talk about—except, of course, that I fear people will find it all rather . . . amusing.”
Mara put her hand over Lucy’s. “There is nothing humorous about losing someone we love,” she said.
“No.” Lucy smiled for a brief second, then turned somber. “I suppose you’re right. But I do feel very foolish. And to think that because of it, Saga died. It’s just . . . shaken me, I guess.”
Mara squeezed her hand. “I understand. So, let’s just keep this between the two of us then, shall we?”
Holding her gaze, Lucy nodded.
Having recently learned of the existence and location of the compound, he’d arrived there just before its residents who’d gone to the City of Light for a time, returned. But for days now, it had bustled with activity.
Hidden behind a tree, the remaining fall foliage that surrounded him concealed his lean form.
He peeked out. His black eyes narrowed. Things had grown quiet.
That had been a close call earlier. He was sure he’d been seen—by none other than Lucy Haven. When all those people rushed into the building that he’d seen her enter earlier, he’d feared they’d come looking for him. But then, no one did.
So . . . perhaps he was mistaken.
He pulled up the hood of his woolen robe. He’d best return to the cave in which he’d been staying.
He made his way through the woods striving to avoid stepping on dry, fallen leaves that might tattle on his presence. Fortunately, they were mostly damp now from a recent rain.
When he arrived at his camp, he settled in, and then retrieved some dried food from his pack. He’d need to return home soon. He hadn’t expected to be away for so long. He’d just longed to see her again . . . It had been some time since she’d gone into hiding.
After several hours of sitting silently, the first of the moons rose, and with it, the cold descended. He was grateful he was alone. He enjoyed his own company far more than that of anyone else. It gave him time to think.
She’s as beautiful as ever.
He cringed at the thought.
Oh, how I love her.
And hate her.
She should pay. They all should pay. Who were they anyway, endeavoring to determine his future?
He’d best them all.