“Verden ap Hollis.” He left off the third name he was entitled to use as part of the King’s council. Out here that wouldn’t win him any favors.
The man’s gaze skimmed over his clothing. “Bit far from Court aren’t you?”
Verden considered for a moment before answering. He was so used to revealing as little as possible that even answering straightforward questions was hard—except when he was around Taryn. If he turned around now and fled back to the castle, he’d always wonder. He didn’t want that. He needed to know. “My parents used to run this farm, I came to see how they fare. Perhaps I’m too late.”
The thought weighed heavy. He should have come home sooner, but somehow he’d become caught up in the games and had lost track of time. If Taryn had never arrived, he may never have realized how hollow his life had become.
“Ap Hollis you say? Guess that makes us brothers.”
Verden was so well trained at keeping his thoughts private that he was sure no flickers of shock crossed his face, but he felt it like a sword to the gut. Sharp and painful, and possibly fatal. He had a brother. No one had sent word.
“Brothers?”
“Aye, Beynon ap Fira.” He gave a half bow. “Did you get yourself kicked out and come back?”
Is that what everyone thought would happen? Were they waiting for him to come home with his tail between his legs like a bad puppy? Verden smiled, his teeth showing. “You’re speaking to the Lord of the Hunt.”
His brother blanched. “I meant no offense, Lord.” He bowed again, this time slowly and deliberately showing full respect.
“None taken. This time.” While this man was family, he didn’t know him and he couldn’t let it be said that he relaxed amongst the commoners. He had status to maintain. Always maintain. Always fighting to hold on and prove he was still at the top. He knew Gwyn wouldn’t cast him down so close to the end, but then it would start again with Felan. He wanted off the never-ending path that led nowhere yet promised to take you everywhere.
Beynon looked at him again; this time there was more than casual interest in his gaze. “I grew up hearing how you’d left for Court. Ma and Da never imagined you’d get that far. Lord of the Hunt. Big jump from herding cows.”
“It took time, luck, and a gamble that I was lucky paid off.”
“That’s what Court’s about isn’t it? Just a gamble based on lies.”
What could he tell his brother that would emphasize Court’s importance, yet diminish its attraction? He didn’t want his parents to lose another son to the giddy lure.
“It’s beautiful and everything you imagine. Like dancing on the blade of a sword and wondering if you’re next step will be your last, and yet you can’t stop, because if you stand still it’s certain failure.”
“Is that why you came back? We’ve seen the frost on the ground in the mornings and the choppy river that swells every day. We aren’t stupid. Winter is coming isn’t it?”
“Let’s have this conversation inside.”
After a moment, Beynon nodded. “Remember how to herd cows?”
“Yes.” He longed for the simplicity he knew he’d never find at Court. No wonder Gwyn was tired and wasn’t going to resist when Felan took over. It wasn’t just about what was best for Annwyn; it was also what was best for him. Maybe Verden needed to do the same, walk away and not look back. However, he’d been at Court for most of his life and the idea of turning his back and losing everything he’d spend so long working for rankled. That was the trap. Once in, if you threw down your hand, you lost everything. Few who came to Court left willingly.
He nudged the horse forward. In silence, the brothers herded the cows into their pen for the night. He left the horse untied, knowing that he could always call it back if it wandered and no one here would even try to touch the King’s horses.
The house was much as he remembered, stone with a thatched roof. His parents were well-off by farming standards, but he could see why the Court looked down their noses and called them peasants. There was a coarseness to the work, a rough edge that had taken many mortal years for Verden to smooth off once he’d arrived at Court. Before they got close, a man came out of the house. At first glance, he looked no older than Verden or Beynon, but his eyes gave away his age—pale with a brittle look. While his flesh hadn’t aged, his spirit had. Like all old fairies, he had taken on a look as if he only had one foot in Annwyn and the other had already crossed over. Translucence wasn’t quite the right word, as his father looked solid—and yet there seemed to be less of him.
“Well, look who’s come back before the snow arrives.” Hollis crossed his arms.
“Da, this is the Hunter.”
“I changed his swaddling long before he swapped common sense for courtly lies. Now he’s come home just before the season changes.”
Verden winced. Time hadn’t eased his father’s opinion of Court. “I’m not home to stay. I came to see how you fared.”
His father snorted. “After all this time? Why now? What trouble are you in?”
All kinds of trouble, but there was no point in giving his father flashy lies and courtly half-truths. It wasn’t what he’d come here for. “I’ve fallen in love and sometime soon I’m going to have to make a decision that will affect the rest of my life. When the King is dethroned, I will lose my place.”
For all of Felan’s assurances that he wouldn’t end up exiled or banished, he wasn’t sure he could stand being at Court, listening to the others whisper about his loss of status, a loss he could never regain. No matter what he did, Felan would never make him Hunter or even part of the Council.
“That close, eh?” Hollis looked at him. Despite his age he was still sharp.
Verden just nodded.
“Best you come in and have some of our wine and bread if you haven’t grown too fancy to eat with what’s left of your family.”
Verden’s heart stopped for a moment. “What’s left? Where’s Ma?”
Hollis put his hand on Verden’s shoulder. “She’d been wasting for a few years. One morning she didn’t wake up.”
“You should have sent word.”
“Would you have come?”
“Yes. Of course I would.” He would’ve, wouldn’t he? Dropped everything to see his mother one last time? What kind of person had he become when he couldn’t even be sure of that?
Hollis shook his head. “I didn’t want to force you home and I didn’t want your homecoming to be tinged by death.”
Yet it was. But not his mother’s. His father was wasting. Old fairies withered as if not even the power of Annwyn was enough. Did Beynon even realize?
The inside of the house was much the same as Verden remembered, cozy in a way his chambers at Court could never be. Again he felt the ring of hollowness in his bones, only this time it was louder. The time he spent in the mortal world with Taryn was precious because it was real and untarnished. That was why he felt alive in her arms. Why had he ever suggested breaking up with her? She should be with him now. Except she couldn’t be; no doubt she’d be playing cards with the King. His stomach rolled as if full of whiskey again.
Do not think about it.
Just wait.
There wasn’t long to wait; then they could be together openly.
Beynon poured wine into carved wooden goblets. Verden knew those goblets. He’d made them for his parents. Now they were smooth and stained with use, warm to touch, unlike the pretty, delicate glass he’d become accustomed to.
His father sliced bread and fresh soft cheese along with dried fruit, and they sat down to eat at the same table he’d grown up sitting at. He looked at his brother; the blond hair belonged to his mother. Beynon carried his mother’s bloodline, as was often the case in Annwyn—one child for the father, and one for the mother. Is that what he’d do?