Chapter Thirty-Eight

Eliot walked away from the house, past the tower, glancing up as the cooing of the messenger birds drifted into the dusk. He wanted some time alone after his talk with Aridai.

Despite the chill in the air, which he’d not been expecting, he didn’t return to the house for his coat. Crossing his arms, he stood close to where the ground sloped away, down the mountainside, and stared into the distance.

The fading light gradually turned the sky a deeper pink with orange highlights, momentarily painting a flock of birds gliding through the low-lying clouds. He could make out the wide road snaking to Aiqos and couldn’t help but marvel at the distant sight of the city’s many towers. Flanked by mountains on one side and untouched greenery on the other, Aiqos gleamed like a pearl floating in an emerald sea.

A ribbon of sparkling silver caught his eye as the setting sun glinted off a distant river. He wondered if that was the Gallanan River, with its source in the Carleden Mountains to the north, the mountains over which the tall-folk had migrated over two hundred years ago.

The beauty laid out before him went a small way in easing his aching heart.

“Eliot?”

He remained still, not acknowledging Renard, silently wishing him to walk away.

“You’ve been stood out here a while.” When Eliot still didn’t reply, he continued. “I don’t want to intrude; I simply want to know if you’re alright.”

Eliot shrugged. “I just want some time alone.”

“As you wish.”

The sudden need to speak about his father to someone gripped Eliot. “Wait.”

Renard turned, facing him with raised brows.

Eliot let out a hard sigh. “Master, I mean, Uncle Aridai told me what happened to Father.”

Renard stared.

“He and Uncle Arodi were with him in his last moments. They’d been to a trade meeting in Salmarin. After they’d parted ways, Father and his people were attacked. By bandits.” He stopped talking, not knowing how to tell Renard about what Kashar had done.

“I can see why you want to be on your own,” said Renard, slowly nodding. He laid his hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my friend, that can’t have been easy to hear.”

“There’s, there’s more.” Eliot couldn’t meet Renard’s gaze.

“Eliot, you don’t have to tell me everything if you’re not ready to. And if you never want to speak of it, I won’t expect you to.”

“Thank you,” he said softly.

The shadows lengthened. They looked across to the house as the door opened. Vashti stepped out, glanced in their direction then proceeded to light the outdoor lamps.

“Master Aridai’s family, they certainly know how to make a person welcome,” said Renard, smiling.

His words reminded Eliot he’d not long discovered a whole other family, and that helped sooth his hurt. “If Uncle Aridai is agreeable to the idea, would you object to spending another day here?”

Renard fixed him with a deadpan stare. “What fool would object to another day of good company and delicious food?”

Managing a laugh, he said, “Come, let’s go in.”

As they stepped into the house, the sound of singing emanating from the direction of Aridai’s study, caused them to stumble to a stop. Breath-taking in its purity, it brought a lump to the throat, a tear to the eye.

Vashti, halfway up the stairs, her arms full of bedding, paused. “That is the harp.”

Male voices joined in, sending shivers down the spine.

She giggled at their mesmerised expressions. “My-our uncles and cousins are singing also.”

“The harp does sing,” said Eliot.

“I-I thought such magic only existed in stories,” said Renard.

“Where did the harp come from?” said Eliot.

“It has been in Uncle Aridai’s family for a long, long time, since before the war. It came from the land of our ancestors.”

“Does Uncle have other magical things?”

She shook her head. “But there are some in Aiqos. Before the war, we are told there were many, but there are only a few left now. Most are kept in the House of Exhibits; when you come to Aiqos, you will be able to see.”

“Why do you stand there?” Sela walked towards them from the kitchen.

“The harp,” said Vashti, chuckling, as she continued up the stairs.

“Come.” Sela beckoned them to follow as she led the way to Aridai’s study. “Come and listen.”

“I could listen to the harp every moment of every day.” Renard sat on the bed, the wonder of the singing harp still reflected on his face.

“I hope, one day, Mother and Lina have the chance to hear it,” said Eliot, pausing while unbuttoning his long waistcoat. “And my uncles and cousins have beautiful voices too. Unlike me,” he finished, scrunching up his face.

Renard grinned. “It’s strange hearing you say, uncles and cousins.”

“I feel strange saying it. Ah, Renard, ever since Mother told me I had cousins, I’ve wanted to meet them. I never dreamt it would be so soon.”

“I almost envy you, you know.” Renard proceeded to pull off his left boot, stopping to massage his knee. “Your newfound family are all warm-hearted folk.”

Nodding, Eliot lowered himself onto the other bed and looked around the room. “It was good of Magen and Mahol to give up their beds for us. I wonder how it must feel, returning to their childhood rooms as grown men.”

During the meal, Eliot had discovered that both his cousins were married, and that Mahol would be a father soon.

He also learned that he had more cousins; Arodi had two daughters and a son in Aiqos. While the youngest, a daughter, had yet to marry, the other two already had children.

“I wanted to ask Mistress Sherah about her husband,” said Eliot, “but didn’t get the chance.”

Renard’s forehead creased. “I asked Master Arodi while he was showing me the horses. Her husband died when Vashti was young.”

Eliot’s heart constricted, knowing that pain.

“She’s Mistress Sherah’s only child, Magen said she is like a sister to them.”

Eliot stared at the floor. Thinking of Vashti not having a father brought thoughts of his own father to the fore, intensifying his need to speak of Ruvane. “Renard. I-there’s something I want, I need to tell you. About my father.”

Having pulled off his other boot, Renard paused.

“But you must promise not to speak a word of it to anyone. Not even Uncle Bertran.”

Frowning, he looked away for long moments before fixing his gaze on Eliot. “I promise.”

Haltingly, Eliot recounted Ruvane’s fate, what Kashar had done to him.

Renard’s boot slipped from his grasp, thudded on the floor, and fell over. “The cat. Is your father?” His mouth went slack.

The skin bunched around Eliot’s eyes. “When Mother told me about Kashar, about his claim to change things, she called it wicked. I wondered if maybe the cat had been changed, and she didn’t want to hear it, said she couldn’t bear to think of something so awful.” Leaning forward, he rested his head in his hands.

“I don’t know what to say,” said Renard softly. “I am sorry, so very sorry.”

They sat in silence.

Renard was the first to speak. “He can’t be changed back?”

Eliot shook his head, still staring at the floor. “Uncle said he and Uncle Arodi have been searching for years but nothing. If only we knew where Kashar came from, maybe someone there. But then it’s been so long, Uncle said Father, the cat, Reuven is more cat-like now.”

“I don’t mean to add to your sorrow, but would it not be more cruel to try and change him back?”

Eliot raised his gaze, frowning.

“This doesn’t only involve you and your father. What about Aunt Marcelin? She married again believing your father to be dead. If, somehow, he can be changed back, what would that do to her? To him?”

Groaning, Eliot pushed himself off the bed and went to the window. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“Why would you? I know if it was me, my only thought would be to have my father back.”

Eliot’s gaze flicked over to Renard’s reflection in the window beside him.

“Did you tell Master Aridai of Tulash?” said Renard.

Eliot shook his head. “I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“As good a time as any. Let’s get some sleep, it’s been a long day.”