Say something to him, you coward,I chide myself.Anything is better than this conversational void you have fallen into.
“I have something for you,” he rumbles softly, before I’ve quite mustered my courage.
“Oh?” My hand shakes as I set my goblet back down. “What is it?”
He reaches into the pocket of his luxe maroon doublet and extracts an envelope closed with light green wax. My heart leaps into my throat when I recognize the insignia pressed into the seal.
“Carys?” I ask, voice thick.
Penn nods as he slides the letter across the table to me. “She wanted me to pass it along to you.”
I stare at the letter, suddenly afraid to touch it. Months of wishing for Carys to speak to me and, now that she has, I’m paralyzed by what she’ll say. What if she asks me to leave her the hell alone, once and for all? Or, gods, what if something terrible has happened since I left? To her, to the baby…
I assume Lestyn would’ve told me any major news, but worries flood me anyway. My eyes are still locked on the envelope when I choke out, “What—What is it?”
“No idea. I haven’t read it.” Recognizing the panic on my face, he quickly adds, “It’s nothing bad. When she gave it to me,she was in better spirits than I’ve seen her since—Well, you know.”
I do.
Forcing my gaze up to his, I take pains to clear my voice. “How is she?”
His eyes soften around the edges, solemn with thought. “She’s getting by. Taking it day by day. She misses him.” Gravel creeps into his throat. “We all miss him.”
Uther.
Pain lances through me. My words drop to a whisper. “I wish more than anything that I could go back to that last moment with him. Tell him—”
“Don’t. Don’t punish yourself for what happened that day, Rhya. It was not your fault.” His stare grows intent. He leans slightly forward in his seat, as though determined to make me hear his next words. “Nothing about Fyremas was your fault. If I failed to make that clear…If I somehow made you believe otherwise, that day at Blister Bight…” His jaw tightens, locking in the rest of his words.
He’s sorry.
I’m glad to know it, even if he cannot admit it plainly. My bottom lip quivers as I reach out and take the letter. My fingertip traces over the inky loops of my name in a familiar feminine hand. The paper is thick and slightly textured. Carys makes it herself, presses flower petals into the pulp before it dries. I’ve watched her do it more than once. Even helped occasionally. Before I can stop myself, I’m lifting it to my nose and breathing deep.
Lilacs and honeysuckle.
The same sweet, springy scent that infuses her dress shop.
The lip wobble increases until I sink my teeth down to stop it. My fingers tighten on the parchment as I lower the letter to mylap. I want nothing more than to rip it open and devour the contents, but I have a feeling whatever is inside will require privacy. I cannot fall apart at a wedding feast with scores of strangers around to see my blubbering.
“Thank you for bringing this to me, Penn. I never thought she’d write me back.” I inhale with deliberate slowness, sinuses tingling with unshed tears. “I didn’t dare to hope she’d…”
“Rhya. She loves you. Just as—” He pauses again, this time for so long I have no choice but to meet his gaze. The instant I do, his throat bobs roughly. Swallowing down words he is not ready, or not willing, to say. “She wants you back in Caeldera. Back where you belong.” Another heady pause. “We all want that.”
Ignoring the way my stomach pitches, I steer the conversation forward. “And the baby? How is he?”
“Growing stronger by the day. He’s got his father’s fortitude. And his mother’s lungs.” For the first time since he arrived in this city, all the tension bleeds out of Penn’s shoulders. He relaxes back in his seat, voice turning singularly gentle. “I’ve been spending some time with him, now that he’s a bit more alert. I think…”
I wait when he trails off, not interrupting. Hardly even breathing. I know Pendefyre well enough to realize that even a slight interjection at this juncture will snatch away whatever he is about to confess.
“I think Uther would want that,” he continues finally, fingers flexing on his water goblet. “He was my cousin, as you know. My blood. My kin. So, while Nevin is not mine, and while I could never seek to overtake Uther’s role in his life…I feel a certain responsibility to look out for him.”
My heart convulses wildly at the vision of Penn raising Uther’s son. His strong arms guiding a child’s first steps…Hisprotective instincts put to good use…His dim life of repression lit up by a baby’s bubbling laughter…
I press my eyes closed, as if to imprint the images there forever.
“I just hope I am up to the task,” he confesses quietly, snapping me back to the present. “I always thought, if I ever became a father, it would be…”
It damn near kills me to bite back a prompting question. But I am terrified to break the spell of his words, now that he is finally offering them so freely.