59. Anger

I looked towards the pear orchard to see the four men watching intently, both of the farmers’ mouths open.

Cian held up a hand to me, a smile on his face.

Suddenly, Alric broke from the tree line and ran towards me.

I watched him pelt towards me, a frown on his face.

I was in shock at what had just happened and his dashing over to me only served to further confuse me.

He skidded to a halt when he reached me.

“Edith,”

he gasped, squatting next to me.

“You are bleeding!”

I looked up at him. “I am?”

He reached out a hand to cup my face.

“One of the rocks hit you.”

He pulled his hand away to show me the blood on it.

“I guess she wanted more from me.

My hand’s blood was not enough,”

I said, looking back down at the ground, patting it.

“Did you see that?”

I met his eyes again.

“I did, wife.”

He was staring at me, a crease between his brows.

I felt childlike and old at the same time.

I felt surprise and steadiness simultaneously.

I had claimed it.

I had demanded it and she had delivered.

I had magic.

“I have it,”

I whispered.

“It wasn’t a mistake of Cian’s.

I have her magic.”

My husband nodded.

“Yes, you do.

I am— I am proud of you.

Can you stand?”

I looked at him in confusion as he put his hands under my arms and lifted me to stand with him.

I swayed a little and he steadied me.

“You are dead on your feet,”

he grumbled.

“We are done here.”

He took my right hand in his right hand and put his left arm around my shoulders and began to walk me back to the tree line.

His head was angled towards me, watching me try to walk.

I leaned into him and said, “I never thought it would happen.”

“Well, it did and your face is bleeding as a result.”

“Are you angry, Alric?”

My words were genuinely inquisitive, but my tone was humorous.

Nothing could steal my joy.

“I am incensed,”

he responded.

“I could kill him.”

Not understanding his meaning, I let him lead me as I stared down at the dirt beneath our feet, my mind thinking over and over, thank you, thank you.

When we reached the pear orchard and the three men standing in it, Alric said to Cian, “You tricked her.”

Cian frowned.

“I hardly think this was a trick—”

Alric spoke over him.

“You suspected she had stone magic, you took her to a field full of rocks and let her pray over it.

Without so much as warning her.

She could have been hurt.

She is hurt.”

Cian shot Alric a look of irritation and said to me, “Are you alright, Edie?”

“Never better,”

I exuded.

“Did you see that?”

Before Cian could reply, my husband continued.

“You do not think this plan the least bit reckless? There is blood on her face.

There is a cut on her brow.”

“I know what I do, captain,”

Cian retorted.

“Her magic is weak and specific and it was hard to identify.”

He turned to me.

“I apologize.

It is not as strong as I would have hoped.

But earth magic is rare and this remains a cause for celebration.

Stone and rock and mineral will speak to you now.

You may even be able, after many winters of devotion, to manipulate them.”

I shook my head, eyes closed, relishing the feel of Alric’s arm around me, his rough right hand squeezing mine, loving the feel of the summer sun on my skin.

“I don’t care, Cian.

I have never had a deity respond to me.

Any penchant at all is a blessing.”

“Do you not rake your fields?”

Alric was now interrogating the two farmers.

Before they responded, Cian said, “I knew they had a field that needed overturning and raking.

Edie’s blood and prayer has yielded nothing with crops, herbs, livestock, no plant, no flower.

Stone magic was a last resort.”

“So you knew?”

Alric’s voice was a half shout.

I dared not look up at him or I worried my expression would betray my happiness at his protective indignation.

Truly drained, I brazenly put my cheek on his shoulder.

He drew me closer as he went on.

“You knew there was nothing but rocks, most of them loose, you knew they would respond to her and her blood and you let her—”

“Be careful to whom you speak!”

Cian’s voice was thunderous.

The fact that he was third in line to the throne went unsaid.

Alric fell silent.

But then he said, “I serve the goddess, not her conduit.

You put Edith in danger and I will not forgive it.

I am not disrespectful, priest.

I am forthright.”

Cian crossed his arms, looking away from Alric and tried to make eye contact with me.

“Edie, please do not hold this against me.

I thought it best that you prayed without knowing about the rocks.

I only meant to—”

I waved him away.

“I am happy to know that I am her child, Cian.”

“How bad is your cut?”

he asked, stepping closer to me.

Alric drew me even closer to him.

“You can have my wife back tomorrow, Cian.

We leave for the keep now.

Also, you will grant her the ninth day of next week to be free.

She will have two full days of rest.

She has been overworked in this quest of yours.”

Before Cian or the farmers could say another word, he led me back down the path to the road where Maggie and Cian’s horse were tied to a fence.

“I am sorry,”

I said, still leaning into him, feeling light on my feet as well as exhausted, like I had inhaled an entire pipe of lightleaf.

“I know you are devout and now you are at odds with your archpriest.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,”

he said.

“I cannot believe he did that.”

When we reached the mare, I asked, “May I ride behind?”

I placed a steadying hand on Maggie’s neck.

“I may fall asleep and it will be easier to sleep against your back.”

He put his arms around my waist and at first I was unsure what he did, but he undid my belt and sagaris, strapping them to the back of her saddle.

He mounted her and then reached down for me to step up behind him.

He tapped his heels and we were back out on the road.

I drew him close to me, my hands linked around his waist, my cheek on his shoulder, breathing in his clean scent.

He used a plain soap with little fragrance.

I thought it was the most intoxicating smell.

“I am sorry I was short with you.

In bed,” I said.

“You are nearly never short with me,”

he replied.

“In truth, you are almost always perfectly mannered.

It is only fair you are entitled to moments of imperfection.”

I smiled into his back, my mouth against his tunic.

I was drunk on magic, satisfaction, exhaustion and the least bit of lust.

I was bold today.

“Are you angry with me for spending my coin on the lavender oil?”

“No, Edith.

I am angry with you for not asking me for help.

I am angry at myself for not— I am angry at myself for not conveying to you that you could ask.”

I wanted to open my mouth and lick him through the cloth.

I wanted to bite the sunned skin on the back of his neck.

“You have already spent so much on us,”

I murmured, purposely turning my mouth away from his skin, my face turned towards the fields that passed us.

I did not trust my treasonous lips not to start kissing his spine.

“That is my duty.

We are married.

Did your first husband not take care of you?”

“This is a beautiful day.

Don’t ruin it with talk of Thrush.”

“Was that his name?”

“His last name.

I will not speak his first ever again.”

There was a lull in our speaking, the birdsong at a fever pitch, pretty but plaintive.

Alric finally spoke.

“I ask you again, was he cruel to you?”

“Yes,”

I said reluctantly.

“And do not be angry at yourself.

You have shown me twice the care in a few moons than he did in nine winters.

In some ways, you were more caring even as a captor.”

I could tell Alric was biding his words, but he said, “What did he do to you?”

I closed my eyes.

“He stopped loving me because I could not give him a child.

He punished me for it.

That is all I will say.”

“Then he did not deserve you.

I am glad you left.”

Inhaling the smell of him and the rich earthiness of the fields, I smiled.

“I am too.

And thank you again for the Tallowgill and my lavender.

I will not stop thanking you for your kindnesses and I do not want you to stop me.

We have done well, you and I.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and I.

We live together well for two people who did not choose each other.”

He gave an exhale through his nose.

I wondered if that was his way of laughing.

That ride back to the keep was the happiest I had felt since our abduction from Eccleston.

I was happy even though I desired a man who likely did not desire me as much in return.

I had spent so much of my life, the first twenty-eight winters of it, on my knees, in prayer to a thankless, cold saint.

I had never had this experience of human tenacity being divinely rewarded.

I was full of love for her.

I was in a state of vindicated bliss.

It mattered not if I had coin.

It mattered not if a man wanted me.

It mattered not if I was near forty.

It mattered not if I was a triviality of war.

It mattered not even if it was a paltry amount, the crux of it was, I had magic.

Her magic.