26. One Million Ways

Chapter 26

One Million Ways

T hirty-seven. The number of barons arrested.

Three hundred sixty-eight. The properties confiscated from said barons.

One hundred ninety. The properties returned to their rightful owners.

Twenty-two. The days it took to oversee the successful transfers.

Ten. The years it had taken to prove Mariel’s life’s work had not been for nothing.

One million. The number of ways she had come to love her husband.

It hadn’t been as smooth as the facts and figures suggested. The barons wouldn’t give up their wealth and status without a fight, and there’d been a half dozen small uprisings from loyal serfs hoping to gain favor if their baron emerged the victor.

One skirmish ended with a guard killed. After the perpetrator was ceremoniously hanged in the Whitecliffe village square, the uprisings stopped.

Not every property had been neatly returned. Some were deemed appropriate forfeitures. For those currently imprisoned, they could plead their case once they paid their debt to the law. For those egregiously behind on taxes, they could reapply for their titles when they produced twenty-five percent of what was owed.

Rylahn had held the barons in the jail for two of the past four days, long enough to search their lands for Sessaly. But it was Remy and Alessia who’d found her eating breakfast with the wife of Baron Hundson, who was happy for the whole ordeal to be over—less so to discover she had sixty days to vacate her land.

Mariel sat across from her father-in-law in his office, in a seat typically occupied by men of importance. Erran was beside her but had nudged himself slightly to the side. His occasional smile showed his contentment in her taking lead on the ceremonious end of years of strife. She saw pride in his gaze, but it was she who was proud of him , for contriving a conduit to peace that avoided war. For convincing his father it was the best way forward.

“Everything we talked about is there.” Rylahn nodded at the long sheet of vellum she’d unrolled. He nudged the inkpot and quill her way. “Land has been returned to those eligible through a re-review of crimes and unpaid taxes. Those who were ineligible have a path for reclamation. Taxes have been lowered to a standard twenty-five percent but will scale for farms who reach specific profit levels, as defined here.” He leaned over his desk and tapped the page in the middle. “The third section details what we agreed to about the democratic elections for elected law officials. This should ensure repossessions are fair and in accordance to laws that are not unbalanced.”

Mariel could hardly read through her tears. All those years she’d turned their aggressors into one-dimensional monsters who would respond to nothing but threats. Rylahn had a long way to go to redeem the harm he had caused, but if she’d have known there was more to the man, they might have settled matters so much sooner.

“Will it not be legally dubious if a woman signs?” Mariel asked as she reached for the quill.

“Your brother, Baron Ashdown, will also sign. And right there, you see where Erran will sign, promising to uphold the fairness standards when he takes the mantle of stewardship as his own.” He returned to his seat. “ You’re signing, Mariel, as a symbol of your commitment to quietly put an end to your own activities. No one will ever know it was you who brought all this to a head, because that knowledge comes with the risk of your bigger secret being discovered. And it can never, for if the public finds out, your fate will be beyond my authority.”

Mariel dipped the quill in the pot but hesitated before leading it to the page. The past rushed forward to remind her to never trust anyone but herself. Anything that seemed too fortuitous was either a trap or a missed opportunity for one.

“What is it?” Erran whispered.

“Doesn’t seem real.” Ink dropped onto the table. “I keep thinking about the way Yesenia and her husband trapped his brother into signing something like this, but there was no true accord. It won’t be long before Aidan Quinlanden finds a way to undo all of it.”

“My father isn’t Aidan.” He gripped her knee. “He’s a fallible man who did a terrible thing and knows it. Whether you can forgive that is a matter I cannot advise you on. But if I didn’t believe his heart was true, Mariel, we wouldn’t be sitting here. We’d already be halfway to the Northerlands in search of a new life.”

“Is there a reason you’re whispering?” Rylahn asked.

Erran seemed ready to make something up, but she’d come to the table in good faith and expecting the same. “Steward, I want to believe you’re in full support of everything on this page.”

“You’d be a fool to.” Rylahn scoffed. “You didn’t come this far trusting anyone’s intentions.”

“Not an especially comforting response,” she replied.

“It’s not me you should trust. It’s him.” He nodded at his son. “I have, at best, a year or so left before retirement comes calling. My leg has reached the end of its travails, and I no longer have the belly for politics. The two of you will be leading this region soon. Managing the barons will become your burden. If the Guardian of the Unpromised Future is less capricious than they say, the son will do better than the father ever could.”

Nothing could undo death. Starvation. Grief and tears and injury and suffering. Not even the treaty collecting ink splatters beneath her quill. It was a thought that had kept her up many nights. The best she could ever accomplish as the Flame was trauma avoidance. Not even the Guardians could turn back time.

But Rylahn was linked to her twice over. He was both her father-in-law and Destin’s half brother. Erran was right; he wasn’t Aidan Quinlanden, who still stood by every terrible thing the Quinlandens had ever done. Rylahn was a man capable of change and evolution, and if she couldn’t accept that such change was possible, then there’d never been much point to her work anyway.

She drew a deep breath and traced her signature on the line, adding one last rogue inky dot at the end. She passed it to Erran, and he leaned in to do the same. “What happens now?”

Rylahn pulled the page to his side of the desk and signed. “Pamphlets will be made and distributed across the region. Elections won’t happen until springtide, but I’ve put a temporary stay on any seizures until they’ve taken place.”

“And Obsidian Sky?” Erran asked. “Will there not be discontent when you make no arrests?”

Rylahn had held true to his word on immunity. But putting their names on any document, even if the document assured their freedom, was not something they could take back. It would have exposed them forever. In the end, Remy and Augustine accepted the offer, but Alessia and Magnur chose to protect their anonymity.

“When the thieving stops, they’ll eventually be forgotten,” Rylahn said. “If not, there are plenty of men set to die for other crimes. Pick two, get them to sign a confession in exchange for a handsome sum to their families when they’re gone.”

Mariel leaped up. She suddenly needed air, to breathe in the brine of the sea and drink in the roar of the endless surf. What she would miss most about life as the Flame were the nights in the forest, sleeping under the stars. Sometimes she’d stay at Remy’s or the hovel Destin had won gambling, but she always returned to her bundle of tattered blankets, Augustine beside her, smiling. They’d never needed words, and anyway, neither were very skilled with them. The culmination of so many years and so many tragedies spoke for them, allowing brief pockets of joy that words would have sullied.

Erran watched her strange behavior but said nothing. He’d come to respect her long silences... her sudden remembrances. He’d held her through her nightmares, and rarely asked about them, but was a most attentive listener when she chose to share. He gave her space to be whatever she needed to be, but he left room for her to return, and she always did. She always would.

“Walk with me?” she asked him.

“Walk with me, ” he said, flicking a brief, conspiratorial glance at his father. “I have something to show you. Something I’ve been waiting...” He breathed out hard, laughing. “A long time to show you.”

Mariel narrowed her eyes, glancing back at Rylahn. “You know I don’t like surprises.”

Rylahn nodded at them both, giving the ink one final blow before rolling the vellum. “Be back before supper. It will be the last one before Sessaly is wed to the Law boy, and your mother will be cross if you miss it.”

Erran was prepared for Mariel’s suspicion, but he could take it. It was better than ruining the surprise.

Until a few days ago, he hadn’t even been sure there would be a surprise, with how last minute everything had come together. He had Hamish and Samuel to thank for making it happen so fast. His father to thank for the final touch.

“Erran, just tell me. You know how I feel about things like this,” Mariel pleaded as he led her down the hill toward the wharf.

“I’ve spent months on this, and I will get my reaction,” he teased, tugging on her hand. She groaned and stumbled after him.

“Maybe I’ll deny you it for your insolence.”

“Maybe you won’t be able to, for all your awe and wonder.”

“You overestimate yourself, princeling.”

“And you underestimate me, outlaw.”

Mariel creased a sulking grin he wanted to kiss right off her face, but if he didn’t make the big reveal soon, she’d lose her good humor. He’d taken her the long way to the wharf to keep her from seeing the gift before he was ready, but her restlessness was palpable through her playfulness.

They emerged at the base of a cliff, which concealed anything to the east of them. He tried not to chuckle at Mariel’s attempts to figure out what she was supposed to be so in awe of, pleased with the knowledge she would neither discover it nor guess it until he was ready.

He gently pulled her onto a long pier. The tide was high and water lapped the pilings and splashed up through the boards, soaking their boots.

“I just don’t—” She staggered to a stop with a gasp. Both hands flew to her mouth to trap a whimper. “ Erran .”

He’d been down to the pier early that morning to survey the final work, but now that she was with him, the real present was seeing the rebuilt Mistwitch , anchored and bobbing at sea, through her eyes.

Mariel’s hand stayed fixed to her mouth. Small sobs escaped through her fingers. Her head shook and shook, her eyes traveling back and forth between him and her rebuilt ship.

It had taken six trips to haul the wreckage from Feck-All Island to Port Worthing, where Samuel had overseen the work himself. They’d had to source some new wood and other parts, but Erran had been clear: it was not to be a replica, but the vessel herself. The same one Mariel had proudly earned besting men at their own games. As much as could be preserved, must be.

“How?” she squeaked.

“I’ll walk you through every detail later,” he said with promise. He pulled her against him and planted a kiss atop her head. “Shall we?”

Mariel eyed the rowboat tethered to a pylon. “Now?”

Erran turned toward the mainland. “Or we could go back...”

“Nay, nay,” she said quickly. A delightful smile split her reddened cheeks. “I want to see her.”

He helped her in and rowed her to the ship. When she tried to reach the ladder, he offered her a remembrance of the last time they’d boarded the ship and pinned her to his side instead, then took them both up.

“I have a confession to make,” she said. “Sometimes I think about you carting me up this ladder, and it’s all I can do to breathe.”

“Oh, aye? How about that day? Were you struggling to breathe in my presence then?” He hoisted her over the side and onto her feet.

“I was struggling not to kick you back into the sea.”

“How shortsighted would that have been for your fantasies?” He joined her on the deck, straightening his vest.

“There were no fantasies until later, I assure you.” Mariel tilted her head, looking up and around. Her smile grew with her slow inspection. “She looks the same but somehow different.”

“About two-thirds of her parts are original.” Erran guided her down the steps of the sterncastle and onto the main deck. “The sails were only torn. Augustine stitched those, with some direction from a shipwright. The rigging had to be completely replaced, and there were two massive holes in the hull. The wood must have been lost at sea, along with the rear mast, which I had rebuilt. Samuel oversaw most of the work, so it’s him you’ll want to dress down if anything is?—”

Mariel silenced him with a bawling kiss as she jumped into his arms. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She purred against his ear. “ Thank you. ”

“Aye, it was nothing, Mar,” he said, but there were tears in his eyes too. Every tear he had ever shed, for better or ill, had been for her.

“You must have started this right after I was imprisoned.” Her legs slid down his sides until she was standing again. She wiped her eyes and glanced around with another wondrous sweep.

“Not long after.”

“How did you keep this from your father?”

“Samuel had the work completed in Port Worthing.”

“But Rylahn clearly knows now .”

“Aye, and while he’s still not sold on a woman skipper, he agreed to give the Mistwitch a permanent spot at port.” Erran nodded at the rigging. “Shall we take her out? The skies are calm. Sea is fair.”

Mariel’s grin brightened her entire face. “Will you show me how you...” She gesticulated her arms like she was playing a harp.

“Trim the sails?” He pulled a grin to the side of his mouth.

She nodded eagerly. “Aye. That.”

Erran laughed. “I’ll teach you anything you want to learn. She’s your ship. I’m just here for the ride.”

Mariel leaned against him. His arm circled her.

“Mariel, before we go...” Erran looked down at her. “We’ve rarely spoken about the child coming.”

“Oh. We haven’t, have we?”

“Are you happy about it?”

Mariel’s forehead scrunched. She aimed toward the sea. “Are you asking because you’re not?”

“Nay.” He reached for her face and took it into his palm. “I’ve always wanted a family. But I don’t know what your wants are.”

“I always wanted one too. I just didn’t ken one would ever be mine to have.” Her smile was at first sad but then, gradually, brightened her eyes as well. “I am happy. Or I will be, once she’s here, and I can stop worrying every little thing I do is hurting her.”

“It’s not. Mother would tell you, believe me.” Erran fused his brows. “She?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Mariel shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that, Errandil. It’s just a feeling. I’ve no magic in me. My mother had some. They say it sometimes runs in families, but neither I nor Destin inherited any.”

“If our children ever do manifest magic,” Erran said solemnly, thinking of his own gift of intuition, “we’ll send them to the Sepulchre for proper training. The king is coming down hard on families who try to hide their magic.”

“I haven’t even met our child, and it breaks my heart to think of sending them away for so long.”

“Then don’t think of it until we must.” Erran wound his arms around her back and swept a kiss from her forehead down to her mouth. “I’m ready to instruct.”

Mariel backed away, affecting a sloppy salute. “I’m ready to learn.” An impertinent grin spread across her face. “But, ah, I ken we should stay in calm waters this time?”

“You certain? I know of this island...”

Mariel scowled. “Maybe we should leave the danger and excitement for others, now that we’re starting a family.”

“Danger, yes.” Erran snapped her close. “Excitement, never.”

“If you’re trying to seduce me, all you have to do is, ah... trim those sails.”

“Is that all, lass?” Erran traced his hands up and down her back. “Trim your sails?”

“Are we speaking of the same thing?” Mariel cooed, swaying in his embrace.

Erran grinned. “Let’s find out.”