Chapter 12

ChapterTwelve

The weeks turned into months, and Alistair realized far too late that he marked the passage of time by when he got a letter from her. And that was silly, really. He had other things going on. He had his classes and the fae who had awakened at the Academy. They needed his help with all manner of things, so he was quite busy. So busy, in fact, that he staggered to his bed at night in complete exhaustion.

But every time there was a letter waiting for him and Atlas standing in the window, he felt all that exhaustion disappear. His raven knew, it seemed. Atlas always had a rather sad but also pleased expression on his face when Alistair staggered into his room to find a letter.

Sometimes they gave Atlas a break and used Browning, but most of the time, they tried to stick to the familiar who could fly. Poor Browning had lost weight, and that made Thea nervous. He couldn’t blame her for worrying about the little man. He might have as well if he’d been given a toad for a familiar.

All those busy weeks passed into the end of the semester, and then suddenly, he was home again. The summer came, and with it, the sensation of knowing that he had made it through the year. That summer was rather busy. His father wanted them to go on trips to visit the best and brightest in Wildecliff, likely seeking a job for Lysander now that he had graduated.

Near the end of the summer, though, he realized it was close to their birthday. Almost two years since they had met each other. Two years since they had first realized that they were two sides of the same coin who would stay in touch for a very long time, despite the physical distance between them.

And he did not know how to celebrate that with her. She deserved more than another letter and another present. He’d been showering her with gifts lately. But the summer had forced him out of the house with his family, and he hadn’t been able to send her as many letters. He feared she’d forget about him.

Wildecliff was known for its artisans and spellcasters. He’d found so many items and objects that reminded him of her. Flowers pressed into bookmarks. Pretty baubles for her hair. Little things, certainly, because he didn’t want his father to realize what he was doing.

But all of it made him think of her. And these days, he was always thinking of her.

Alistair popped his chin onto his clenched fist and stared out the window of his bedroom. He needed advice; he decided. He didn’t know enough about women to guess what she would want on this special day. If he wanted to do this right, and he did, then he would need to ask an expert.

Nora.

The maid might not want to tell him much about the world of romance, considering how awkward the conversation might get, but he hoped she would have some magic trick up her sleeve. Some gift or situation that would make Thea realize she wanted to keep him around.

Alistair spent many hours every night staring up at his ceiling, wondering if she was doing the same thing. Thinking about him. Hoping he was thinking about her.

“Ugh,” he grumbled, standing.

Atlas opened his wings wide and flapped them angrily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Alistair groped for something on his desk that would give him a reason to go down into the servant’s quarters.

If his father or brothers saw him wandering around, they’d have questions. And he didn’t want to answer any questions of theirs because he knew they would think that asking a servant for romantic advice was the most foolish thing they’d ever heard.

Then he remembered that he’d ripped a shirt outside the other day while chasing down a drunken clurichaun who had stolen more wine from his father. He’d caught the faerie and made sure that no one would notice the missing alcohol, but only after sacrificing one of his last remaining shirts without a rip or stain.

That would do. If anyone saw him going to the servant’s quarters, they would note the shirt in his hands and assume he needed it mended. While he did that work himself, no one would be the wiser.

He snatched the shirt off the bottom of his bed and raced out of his room.

At this time of day, Cassius and Lysander were bound to be in the library. He had to sneak past them, of course, to get to the other side of the house. But if he were quiet enough, then his brothers wouldn’t notice him.

He’d gotten better at sneaking the older he got.

As he passed the library, he paused at a strange word.

“Wedding?” Lysander hissed, then a bubble of laughter escaped from his mouth. “You?”

Alistair pressed his back against the wall beside the door, craning his neck to the side so he could hear better.

His eldest brother didn’t laugh in response to Lysander’s words. “Yes, wedding. You know father is ready to have a grandson, and she’s the best witch in Wildecliff. Her parents are ridiculously wealthy and she had good grades at the Academy. She’s a good match.”

“But have you met her?” Lysander asked. “She seems awfully young. Isn’t she only eighteen?”

“One doesn’t have to meet a wife to get married.” Cassius snorted, and then the chime of glass bumping against glass echoed. Were they drinking? This early? “A wife is only there for her duties, just as the husband is. I’ll find someone else to entertain me once she’s served her purpose.”

An icy shiver traveled down Alistair’s spine. He pitied the poor girl who would be traded off to his brother like cattle, but he also knew that most families in Wildecliff used each other like this. She was probably elated to be marrying into the Orbweaver family.

Like her family, they were also filthy rich, and most of them were very powerful. Disregarding Alistair, of course. But no one talked about Alistair.

He ducked into the shadows and crossed the hall to the servant’s wing. He couldn’t let that distract him from his purpose of leaving his room. If he could save the girl from his brother, he would have. But there was no proof that the young woman didn’t want to marry Cassius.

Perhaps the fae would look into that question for him, just to make sure.

The kitchens were bustling at this time of day. Preparations for dinner were already well underway, and the two chefs were bright red in the face as they hurried throughout the kitchen, barking orders wherever they went. The entirety of the butler’s staff were lined up for the house manager to survey their uniforms for serving. And, of course, the maids were behind. They scurried from room to room, shouting about their next plan of where to clean, what linens to prepare, and did the master want them to take care of the basement this year or would they put it off again?

He spotted Nora in the distance. She stood in front of a worn oak door, patting her hair underneath a horrible looking bonnet that didn’t suit her features at all.

“Nora!” he called out, waving his hand in the air with the shirt clutched in it.

The moment she caught his eye, she rolled her own. He could only imagine there was a small part of her that lumped him in with his brothers. Yet another self-righteous Orbweaver boy who thought his problems were more important than the rest of them.

But then, a bright smile beamed across her features and he knew that she hadn’t forgotten the young boy who had trailed her through the house. She hadn’t forgotten him, and that meant more than she could ever know. He wasn’t alone in this house, at least.

“Mister Alistair,” she said, approaching him while still fixing the cap on her head. “How do you like our new uniforms?”

“What was wrong with the last ones?”

“Your father thought this would seem more appropriate when visitors came to the house. Apparently, the last uniforms were too simple.” She shrugged. “We’re all trying to get used to them. Anyway, young man, what can I do for you?”

He liked to think that Nora wasn’t that much older than him, but Alistair always forgot that she had seemed to be the same age for years now. She’d been around when he was just a kid, after all.

Clearing his throat, he wrapped the tangled mess of the shirt around his hand. “Well, I... I...”

She noticed his shirt right away and then held out her hand for it. “How badly did you tear it this time? You don’t usually ask for me to fix things, but I can have it done for you before dinner if that’s what you require.”

“That’s not...” He cleared his throat. “That’s not why I’m here, actually.”

The silence rang between them louder than if he’d struck a gong in the middle of the kitchen. She lifted a brow, waiting for him to continue.

And he should. He needed to. This was the plan, after all. He would ask Nora what she thought he should do with this lovely young woman in his life so that he could convince her that he wasn’t a terrible person, that he was more than just someone she wrote to.

Alistair had nightmares every night that he received a letter from her, talking about a young man who had caught her eye. Or worse, that she wouldn’t tell him about the other option at all until it was far too late. Maybe she’d send him an invitation to the wedding.

No, they were far too young for that.

But then he remembered Lysander’s words.

“Isn’t she only eighteen?”

And they were almost eighteen. They shared the same birthday. They’d gotten their familiars at the same time, so was it all that unlikely that she would get married when there was already a woman her age marrying his brother?

He swallowed the anxiety and fear of the situation and met Nora’s curious gaze head-on. “There’s a young lady I’ve been writing to for almost a year now and I’d like to ask if you could help me plan something special for our birthday.” He caught himself, stuttered, then corrected, “Her birthday.”

Nora’s expression softened into something quiet and subtle. She looked at him with the eyes of a woman. A woman who appreciated him going out of his way for another, and perhaps even a little jealous that he would do so.

“You’ve met a girl?” she asked.

“A long time ago, actually.” He lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck, only to realize he had wadded up the shirt and now looked like he was dabbing sweat off his neck. “We received our familiars together almost a year ago now. We’ve been writing to each other ever since.”

“Well, that’s rather sweet.” She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hip out to the side. “And how am I supposed to help you?”

“I want to do something special for her. Something that will make her see...” Damn it, how was he supposed to say this without sounding like an absolute idiot? “I like her very much, Miss Nora. We’ve been writing for… a while.”

“Yes, you said that.”

“And for most of that time, I’ve thought she was the funniest girl I’ve ever met, and that I admired the way she took care of her familiar who might not have been the easiest kind to get. She looks at life through happiness while I don’t do that, and I think every time I get a letter from her, I get to soak up a little of that happiness.” He looked back at Nora and met her gaze with more confidence than he felt. “She makes me happy, Miss Nora. I want to make her feel the same.”

The maid pressed a hand to her heart and sighed. “So that’s the way of it, then.”

He waited for her to say more, but she said nothing else. Nora kept looking at him with that strange expression on her face, like he’d brought her a kitten. Why was she looking at him like that?

“Stop that,” he muttered. “I don’t like it when you make that expression.”

“It’s just that you’re all grown up,” she replied. “And I suppose there was always a part of me that was afraid you’d end up like your father, or worse, those spoiled siblings of yours. Don’t tell anyone I said that. But you turned out to be a good man, Alistair Orbweaver. I’m quite proud of you.”

His cheeks burned with embarrassment while his chest swelled with pride. He’d never thought about it that way, but now that she said it, he was pleased he’d passed her inspection. “Thank you, Nora.”

Tears welled up in her eyes for a moment, but then she dashed them away with a quick nod. “I think the answer is rather simple, Alistair. You should tell her what you told me. But, I think the most important part of that will be that you stand in front of her to say it. Just like you’re doing right now.”

How? How could he do that? They lived on either side of the river, and it wasn’t as if he knew anyone with a boat. He couldn’t cross the river Danu without stowing away on some fisherman’s boat, and then his father would find out from someone who talked too much. And if that happened, then Alistair wouldn’t be let out of the house for weeks on end!

Unless...

He remembered she’d gotten over the river with her mother that night. The moon had lit their path, but he hadn’t thought for even a second about how it was possible for them to travel over the river.

She must have access to a boat. Thea’s mother must have something that Thea could use to come to him.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at Nora. “That’s a great idea! Nora, you’re a genius.”

She shrugged. “I know, and yet I’m still here.”

The elation built in his chest so great he could have kissed her. Instead, he rushed out of the kitchens with a plan rattling around in his head.

Alistair would write her a letter. He would use the best penmanship he had and her quill that would allow no mistakes. The words had to be perfect. Absolutely perfect. She needed to know that he had important things to say to her and that she had to be secretive. They’d meet at the same place where they first met—Ceridwen’s altar. No one would suspect a thing, and then they could finally see each other again. After all these years.

All those thoughts rushed through his mind so quickly that he didn’t notice his father standing in the hallway. Alistair crashed into Balthazar’s broad chest and bounced off it as though he were nothing more than a flea.

He hit the ground hard on his backside, wincing as a spike of pain traveled up his spine.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Balthazar snarled.

An icy chill always traveled with his father as though he were never very far from the grave. The white stripes at his temples had gotten a little wider in the past year or so, and his father’s face had become more gaunt. Whatever magic he practiced in his wing of the house was dangerous and slowly, eating the old man alive.

Swallowing hard, he tried not to stammer as he replied, “I—I—“

Helplessly, Alistair held up the shirt in his hand.

“Did you rip another?” his father said. “I will stop giving you clothing altogether, boy. Take better care of what I give you. And no running in the halls or I’ll tie you up in your room, so I don’t have to listen to that incessant noise.”

He had no doubt his father would do just that. Balthazar swept down the hallway toward his private wing, and Alistair noticed his father was limping.

Why? He couldn’t guess.

Seeing the old man was a stark reminder that he needed to be more careful. Balthazar didn’t need any excuse to ruin this plan of his, and Alistair couldn’t let anyone in the household know what was happening.

No one but Nora, of course. He trusted she’d never give up his secret.

Alistair hauled himself off the floor and limped back to his own room. His back ached from hitting the hard floor, but he ignored it.

After all, he had a letter to write.