The Last Knights of Cambria Book 1: Echoes of Gideon

Chapter 5: Redditors, WebMD, and rebellions oh my!

I fall asleep for several hours, and then I do my best to make it look like I've left. I check responses on my post, there's about four professors arguing, I suggest Harlech Castle as a defense point, and thank them. They're mostly off topic and I do enjoy all of it, but I need results. I am also eager to get back to Wales. After a night's sleep, yesterday feels like a pleasant dream and I can't believe it's real, even with the ring about my neck.
My phone does me no good so I put it in the drawer. Today, I dress in the simplest clothes I can find, dark pants and a long faded t-shirt, it's not period but it's closer than what I wore yesterday. And I put on my solid hiking boots, not caring if they'll fit into the time period, they're leather they shouldn't be noticed. I fold up the few papers I wanted to take with me, and I put back on the ring. It slides readily, cold as ever, onto my finger, and again my head is light and I feel the brief sensation of falling.
And then I'm back in my room in the tower. The sun is up outside the windows and I can smell the ocean. I grin. I really am back.
I put on my sword, Warbringer, and cloak and hurry down the stairs to the library.
"Oh good," Dancer says, with no enthusiasm what so ever, not even looking up from what he's copying, "It's awake."
"Morning Dancer, can you tell me, what is the king ill with?" I ask, as I go to the books. Googling 'lung ailments' was inconclusive. I probably can't bring modern medicine, but if it's really terrible allergies or bronchitis I'm happy to try to smuggle some antibiotics?
"The doctors say he has weak lungs. It's plagued him most of his life but gotten worse in the last several years. Our previous wizard did have some concoction she insisted he try and he did, and it did some good, but she refused to tell us what it was and of course left no recipe," Dancer says, "Now, if you're of a mind to do interviews go somewhere else. I have work to do."
I look at his papers and books on his desk, and try to recall what he did yesterday, "Reading all the books in the library in alphabetical order is work is it?"
"Are you looking to be evicted?"
"No, no, sorry," I say, selecting a History of Wales book that should do me some good, "I just want to help."
"As I said, she had some tonic he said helped a bit, the coughing as you saw, is the worst," Dancer says, a little kinder.
"Hm," likely NyQuil? Or something soothing for the throat if she had him drink it. Unless she did actually use magic, but I'm betting she just smuggled something from our world.
I settle down on the rug with the history book, and pretty soon a couple of happy hours pass. That and another few books occupy me and besides their illuminations, the contents proves fascinating.
It seems I was correct, Edward I did occupy Wales but only briefly and rebellions plus Edward II's general lack of interest in conquering places (I say that with a great deal of affection, it probably means he was a solid guy), Wales secured their independence and have been so for probably something like a hundred and fifty odd years, I'm not about to reveal myself by asking the actual date and I'm about ready to give up trying to figure out exact years and if ages match up or not, since everything in this reality is mostly the same just, a little bit to the left, once more with feeling, it's pointless to try to get it to match up exactly. And it doesn't really do me any good to know besides idle curiosity. King Elis either didn't exist in my time, or if he did he lived his life as a minor noble with zero records about health so that does nothing. I know all about our King Henry I'm going to, because my Shakespeare-immortalized-version may be close, but it's not gonna be exact because my version ought not be alive.
There's not a lot here on English kings, but I determine that the line of succession looks basically the same, Edward II, Edward III, there's note of Edward IV so my inner nerd wants to know if the Black Prince lived longer and took the throne, or if that is just notations used for him and he wasn't king. It was common at the time to call him Edward IV since he was theoretically going to be. I can't find proof and I choose not to dwell on it. Suffice that the Henries got the throne, starting with IV and now V still has it, hence my general concern about invasion. Now the realities are going to fragment even more as time goes on, it's a chain reaction, I'm shocked it's this close honestly.
That all just gives me more bearing so I don't have to ask obvious questions like last night. And so, without further ado, I get on to magic. There's several books on it. Dancer looks at me with disgust, and mutters something about us all being doomed, but I choose to ignore him. I have to start somewhere.
First thing I'm pleased to learn is there are two main sources of magic, or types rather. One, mages and sorcerers and witches and warlocks and similar notations, are all magic users who tap into earth magic, through spells, potions, and training. In the book's opinion anyone can tap into a bit of magic, but only those inclined can actually become proficient or rather dangerous.
The other type of wizards, rare beings regarded similarly to changelings, who come and go as  they please, are not to be trusted, and need no incantations or spells to carry out their magic.
So that's what I am. And other dimension jumping wizards.
Our magic is regarded as more powerful than native magic, but it's also rather different, like comparing water and fire. Wizard's magic is intrinsic, and often used involuntarily making the wizard dangerous (hence the knives thrown at my face). A sorcerer's magic requires spells incantations and the like, but it can be controlled and channeled to do a variety of things like create fire, smoke, and other 'horrifying' things.
Wizards are noted as having done all sorts of things, but there's no real reference or guide on how to do it. Levitations, stopping entire volleys of arrows, the like. Now, a Wizard could perform sorcery, but not visa verse. The main concern is the writer of one book thinks that wizards can turn invisible. I'm really excited. I want to do that. In fact I want to figure out how move things with my mind. I'm basically a Jedi; it's the coolest.
I start by focusing like I did yesterday, and as always blue light builds around my hands, it takes a little concentration but I manage to push a book very gently a couple of inches across the wood floor. I clap my hands, pleased with myself.
"If we need any ant colonies decimated you're our man," Dancer sneers.
"I've got to start somewhere. You're just a bully," I say, looking up at him, "I'm here trying my best, I could leave."
"And do what? Read books and hide like you've done all your life?" He asks.
"You don't know anything about me," I say, standing up, "And it's not my fault you're miserable."
"I don't need to, you've got it written on your face. Nobody's ever loved you, and because you're a boring, weak, pathetic excuse for a wizard nobody ever will," he says, advancing on me.
I don't actually think but his words sting me to the core. I reach out as though to push his shoulder or something masculine like I've seen in movies, but the light flows around my hand and into his chest, sending him flying halfway across the room and into a bookshelf.
I stagger backward from the effort, pain echoing through my arm and shoulders. I cry out as my muscles scream in protest the magic reverberating back through me as though to cost me for what I just did.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that," I hurry over to the boy who is crumpled in his own dark clothes, hair in his face, struggling painfully to stand on his crooked leg.
"I'm really, really sorry, I—," I break off as I realize the normally poker-faced boy is laughing.
"Gods you're a live wire, took you long enough," he laughs, accepting my arm of help.
"You—you were working me up?" I realize.
"You're welcome," he laughs,  trying to straighten his shirt, "Step two is learning how to control that and not throw your own back out."
"That's mean, you were making fun of me just to get a reaction? I don't want your help," I say, letting go as soon as I'm sure he's steady on his feet.
"You're getting it. You've got no idea what you're doing do you?" He asks.
I glare at him.
"You're lost, and you're not even smart enough to be scared. What, mother never loved you and daddy beat you because you like books more than sports?"
His words are again too close to home and I can't stop the hot anger from pouring out of my chest. I feel it coming this time and I knot my fists but the light pours through anyway. He flies across the room nearly into the window. And I fall backward with the force of it, pain shooting through my arms and now stomach.
"Stop it!" I say, forcing myself to limp over.
"No sense of self-preservation! God, you may be good for us yet Gideon even if you're bad for yourself," he giggles, pulling himself to his feet.
"Stop being mean to me what are you trying to prove?" I sob, tears in my eyes as my muscles scream in pain. Why do I hurt so much?
"How stupid you are, how many more times are we gonna have to do this before you break your own back?" He laughs.
"What?" I ask.
"It costs you, whatever you do. It costs you, the same amount of effort. If you can't stop a sword or hold back a cannon ball, you can't with magic. It'll physically tear you apart. You're in pain because your muscles couldn't handle throwing me across the room," he laughs, "Sadie figured this out in ten minutes. Little scrap started doing push ups."
"What—so I'll hurt myself if I do something beyond what I could physically do? What good is it then?" I ask.
"You can amplify it, and steal energy, with time, but at the moment you're gonna rely on you," he says.
"How much do you know?"
"What I just told you, Sadie didn't confide in me apparently I'm 'caustic'," Dancer giggles. "Come here, not a trick, I want to show you something."
"What?" I don't come.
"How to redistribute it, what it feels like, the old wizard made me do this with him said it was all I was good for, not a nice guy, come on," he says, beckoning me with a hand. I come and stand by him as he wraps an arm with mine, lacing our fingers together. His hands are cold, long boney fingers, and a scar across the palm. Like he cut himself. There's more cutting scars on his wrist, past a thick black mental bracelet no doubt he's using to cover it up. I pretend I didn't notice. They look like old scars now.
"Hang on tight," he says, then he withdraws a knife from his coat and casually goes to cut my throat.
Magic wells up in me again and forces his hands way, the light shining between my throat and his blade. This time, however, as I feel the echoes of the magic come, he presses against me, and the linger not me but flow through my body into his.
"You feel that?" He winces a little.
"Yeah, yeah," I say, shaking my head as I move away, "I don't want to do that to people."
"An army would rather help you catch a volley of arrows, than be hit by them," he says, "I've no idea how you'd do it without physical contact, in his old age the wizard would just take me with him, make me absorb it."
"That's awful," I say, vowing never to do that, even if I get to be old. I doubt if I shall. I remember the King's eyes last night, cool and resigned. And his voice so calm and melodic. I shall never be old. A right that is squandered when reached I think. I'd rather burn bright and burn out than live life and do absolutely nothing. I watched my mother work her way up the chain at work, long hours, missed birthday parties, to what? Drive a halfway decent car, still shack up with an idiot, and not notice when her son was missing for hours? No, I'll have no children, love no one, and never grow old. I've always wanted one great thing to happen to me, and now it has. And I'll enjoy it as it lasts but I can't imagine that will be long. It doesn't have to be. Sitting in counselor's office after doctor. One or both parents arguing about the fees for someone else to tell them something's wrong with me. And that I'll never hold a job. Or get married. "Unlikely," the doctors said, looking at me, "It's very good he speaks." That's the low bar I set as a person. People are just happy I can talk. So I've never been conditioned to want the things that come with growing old.
"Whatever, glad to be of service, King and country, and all that," Dancer winks at me, "Get proper good at it. I'll stop throwing knives at your face."
"Like, stop doing that? I'm not good at things," I say, trying to massage my sore fingers.
"Hungry now?" He asks.
"Yeah," I'm starving actually. I haven't even had breakfast.
"I know where the good scones are," he says, jerking his head, "Come on."
"You're not saying this so you can push me down the stairs?" I ask.
"No, of course not. I would never do that."
He pushes me down the stairs. I catch myself awkwardly with magic just before my head hits a stone, and I feel magic clouding under me, pulling me back up. It's actually kind of cool, but Dancer doesn't need that kind of reinforcement.
"I'm never going anywhere with you again," I mutter, but he does lead me to a spot out on the battlements where there are in fact good scones.
There's also our King and Queen, but that's inconsequential compared to scones.
"Your Majesties," I bother to bow.
"Gideon isn't it?" Queen Rhiannon asks, smiling a little at me, "Is Dancer being cruel?"
"Dancer is the nicest person Dancer has ever met. Dancer is celebrated," Dancer says.
"He pushed me down the stairs," I say.
The royals are eating a picnic of primarily scones set up on the edge of the rampart, overlooking the sea. The king is dressed like he's never seen colors before, in a purple and yellow flowy robe, mostly green pants, and hideously red scarves. Yes, multiple scarves. I don't know what's going on there, I'm not up on Middle Ages fashion, but I will lay money on the fact that he isn't either.
The queen, weird to call her that when she's probably my age, the Queen is in a pretty blue dress it's fine, but simple enough, and her hair is in a neat braid down her back.
"Dancer. Don't push people down stairs," Queen Rhiannon says.
"Getting on all right, Gideon?" The King coughs, wincing a little as he does. It's a bad cough, but why? Just lung cancer?
"Yes, my lord," I say very seriously despite coating a scone in an unhealthy amount of jam.
"Sadie thought that sort of thing was funny, he got himself knocked off the ramparts with her, don't antagonize this one Dancer, you got badly enough knocked around with the girl, imagine what he'll do," the King says.
"I shan't," Dancer says.
"He has been all morning," I say.
"Why do you imagine the girl would go gentler on him than a boy?" The Queen asks, grinning.
"I have two brothers who once closed me a wine barrel and you haven't done that to me ever, am I wrong?" The King asks, very innocently, while putting a scone in his mouth.
"Well, don't tempt me," she says, haughtily.
"You'd have gotten on with Sadie, you remind me of her really—the two of them never met," the King explains, mostly to me, "We were engaged probably when Sadie was with us, but you weren't at Harlech —were you—?"
"They're the same age, so no," Dancer says. Oh, so she is fourteen. Sadie disappeared when she was twelve, two years ago, so our Queen is only fourteen as well. Damn, that's well into ick territory. That said it's not totally unheard of in the era, and it's also not unheard of for a chaste relationship till one or both parties mature. She certainly seems fine.
"Poor girl, the two of you would have been friends then certainly," the King says, wiping his face with a hand as he breaths raggedly. "It's miserable if you've not got plenty of people about to chat with anytime you like about just anything. Who aren't spying or trying to get something out of you or just pretending, suppose that's the same as getting something. Anyway, I'm glad I've got my brothers, and permanently life-time requisitioned Dancer from people who didn't appreciate him. Rhiannon, we'll get you more friends about if you like."
"I think your brothers have throughly imprinted on me at this point," the queen says, smiling a little.
"Yes, Gareth's simply lovely everybody likes Gareth he's relaxing it's better than having a dog—wait did you say brothers? Plural? No, you can't be friends with Jac that's disgusting, Jac isn't even friends with Jac, we'll import more people," the King says, horrified.
"The Duke of Conwy and I emergency bonded at the wedding, over our shared dislike of stupid people," Rhiannon says, smiling, tugging a lock of red hair from her face.
"No, that's horrendous, we want you to be happy here, we'll think of somebody else, how did I get favorites? Hm, my brothers were built in, and I found Dancer reading in the library and he started sobbing; he thought he wasn't supposed to be there, and I was hiding from my tutors," the king says, pointing at Dancer.
"I mean, I wasn't supposed to be," Dancer shrugs.
"I said if he liked it he could stay, he was perhaps seven I was perhaps nine, as you see he's still here, it's worked out very well for me," The King says.
"That's a very specific way to meet friends," the queen says.
"I mean— but it worked though? Sad people reading books, tend to stay about if you supply them with books. You haven't even been home in ages, Dancer, you're not delaying holiday because you think I'd die while you're gone or something macabre? I'll lift the moratorium on anyone but you being melancholy if you're doing that," the king says, gesturing at him with a scone.
"No, my lord, I'm quite well. I've no interest in going home, they don't want me," Dancer says. I feel a bit bad. The words he used to bait me were true for him as well it seems.
"Well, then if you're lying it's your fault I've asked you and told you to go if you have better places to be. Anyway. We were getting my wife proper friends who aren't my brothers. Dancer, do you know any women, girls really, who would like to hang about having dull conversations on ramparts and not thinking anything in particular?" The King asks.
"Do I—honestly look like I've left the library in the past ten years, Majesty?" Dancer chokes, face going red. He was trying to eat, his mistake.
"He can't push me down the stairs I'll answer: no but I was giving you the benefit, Danny," The king laughs, stopping his wife and I from responding in the negative, that it does not look like he's left a library at all in the past ten years.
"That's a no. You know the exact sparkling people I do and now Gideon," Dancer says, waving at me, still trying not to choke.
"I don't need friends. I'm fine," the Queen says, "If you're worried about someone, think you've only introduced Gideon to Dancer, and your brothers, and two of those three people are laconic and deeply sarcastic and have been known to knock people into moats to find out if they can swim."
"Did they do that to you?" The king asks, worried, "Because  I know how I know they do that and it had better not be how you know they do that."
"No, of course not, they're still alive aren't they?" She asks, sweetly. I like her. Sort of girl who would join the chess league at school, have binders color coded, and go up and punch a bully in the face if he broke your model of a mummy for anatomy class.
Yes, this actually happened once. They should have said they wanted us to draw the major organs of the human body not regurgitate in front of a group of second graders how mummies were prepared complete with visual aids. I maintain, someone should have stopped me before my entire class started throwing up. I have been informed two people tried, but I was talking. They should have tried harder. I personally think we can all now look back on the incident and find it funny.
"Last I checked, they're alive. Don't go talking to Jac. I love him, but I also dearly love inflicting him on my enemies. Speaking of enemies has anyone seen Gareth lately?" He asks, looking over at us.
"What did we just establish about me and leaving the library?" Dancer asks, just before he loads his mouth with scone.
"No, your majesty, I've been with him all morning," I say.
"No wonder you look grim," the queen says.
"This is simply my face, your majesty, it doesn't get better," I say.
"Oh, you will fit in with this crowd," she says, glaring at Dancer a little, "Be nice to him. Seriously."
"Yes, your majesty," Dancer says.
"I don't think you've once called me that and meant it, it's fantastic you sound completely sarcastic when you say it," the King says, laughing.
"I don't know what you mean, your grace," Dancer says, innocently, putting an unhealthy amount of butter on a scone.
I get better food hanging out with Dancer than with Gareth, and I get pushed down the stairs more so I don't know if I can count it as a win but I think I want to. After our scone party Dancer leads me right to the kitchens where there's roast ham they're cutting up. We get given slices and told to leave then we retire to the library. I peruse the books for a couple more hours, this time finding a bit more information on wizards and magic in general. Nothing beyond what Dancer told me but it's nice to confirm it's true. I still don't know how to do it.
By then it's dinner, and Dancer leads us down to the kitchens again, this time to get the leavings of what the nobles and their guests are having. It's baked chickens, potatoes, and fresh vegetables from the gardens. I eat the chicken and the potatoes, I'm not a massive fan of vegetables, but they are probably very nice. The chicken is warm, gamier than I am used to, and so deliciously greasy.
My belly comfortably full, I make my excuses to Dancer who doesn't really care, and go back to my tower room. There, I take off the ring.
And I'm back in my bedroom at home, with my friend the internet. I log on for a couple of hours, to establish my presence by going to greet my mother when she gets home, and to check Reddit. I do these things at once.
"Did you have a nice day?" my mother asks.
"Yeah, I'm gonna go upstairs and read for a bit, love you," I hug her quickly.
"Stan and I are going out tonight."
"Cool."
"Did you eat?"
"Oh yes."
Reddit is having fun. The main concern is if I have long bows on my side, defenses from them, and if he's attacking by land or sea. I say sea since that was proposed. At least I'm getting some ideas. I just know how battles went, not how military strategy is supposed to work.
Then I retire to webMD to make myself an expert on lung ailments.  I quickly rule out pneumonia or bronchitis. They said it's been years, since he and Dancer were kids, so likely something like that would clear up. And his brothers are sporty, and healthy, odd he'd be that ill from an ailment he could or should shake.
Lung cancer, similarly, would have taken him by now, with no treatment.
The blood in his coughing could be coming from his throat irritated from too much coughing.
So my most likely suspects are, just asthma, and some sort of embolism caused by undiagnosed heart problems.
The problem with speculating on anyone, literally anyone's, ailments in the days before modern medicine, is, anything could be wrong. Basically anything. Low blood sugar causing mood swings or actual schizophrenia? Big difference, but based on sketchy records and zero medical testing? Who's to know? An inhaler could help or he's got heart disease.
Sadly, we're not going to know  the real answers with a lot of people. Did Julius Ceaser have epilepsy? Was Alexander the Great poisoned or did he get alcohol poisoning? Did Henry VI become comatose due to mental illness or some very physical illness? Things like low blood pressure, low blood sugar, or thyroid disease, very very common and treatable now, could look like a lot of other things to the naked eye, and in some rulers cases, might explain why they survived so long with an ailment, or recovered.
In my King Elis' case, I'm going with, unfortunately, actual embolisms, not asthma. His coughing isn't brought on by anything, and they'd have connected it to fires, seasons, or the like by now if it was something like that. And he's coughing, deep from the lungs. Sadly that speaks to something less curable? But it doesn't really fit he's coughing as well as short of breath. Sadly I am not a doctor nor am I going to become one. I did hope it was an easy fix though.
But it could literally be bad allergies. To that effect I'm bringing him Benadryl. I'm guessing Sadie did similar. Smuggling cough syrup from her parents cabinet. I realize it might not be sustainable but for even a night of relief? Poor man, he's not bad I don't think. His wife would not be as content if he were and his brothers wouldn't be loyal to him, much less Dancer. What, his parents were servants, he looked around the castle and the prince found him? Lonely thing, we're not that different.
I return to my room in the tower to sleep. I want to fall asleep listening to the ocean pounding the rocks outside, knowing that I'll be safe, here when I wake. So I slide the ring back on my finger and feel myself fall to my stiff bed. I smile and curl up in the growing dark, listening to the sound of the waves.
I wake in the middle of the night, my watch says past midnight. Perfect.
I have fencing lessons to take the Duke up on.
I get dressed quickly and hurry down to the main courtyard. It's pitch black out, and I was not prepared for the number of stars overhead. Of course, no light pollution. I smile upwards, I can see the milky way. Probably different stars than back in my world.  The universe inky black and peppered with a million glorious starts. I can barely pick out constellations.
I'm so busy staring up at sky I don't hear footsteps behind me till a hand closes on my shoulder. I jump before I recognize the owner, feeling magic well in my chest.
"Easy there," the Duke says. He's as haunting out here in the night as in the dungeon. His eyes are translucent and his skin even more pallid when bathed in starlight.
"You said to come find you, and you'd show me how to fight, I brought you something," I say, tugging papers from my pocket. Painstakingly copied plans for his torture machine.  I sketched it onto white copy paper, then crumpled it up to make it look more like parchment. It's not perfect, but it's as good as I could get it. I hold it out tentatively.
"Jac has a friend? This is unprecedented? Possibly we are in the end times?" Gareth wanders out of the shadows.
"Thank you," the duke says, examining it, "Where did you get these?"
"Magic," I smile.
"I come out here to practice, it's always good to get used to fighting at night. You might as well do the same," the Duke grunts.
"And I'm the only person who will agree to duel him at midnight, with no alcohol involved," Gareth says, following us. To be clear, he does not seem fully sober.
"The King asked after you," I say.
"He doesn't trust me to be out," Gareth says, dismissively.
"Here, give him your sword if you're going to narrate things," The duke says. He draws his own, he of course is left handed. Gareth is right like I am, but I suspect the bastard sword he hands me is meant for both or either hands.
"Bit more up, there," he adjusts my grip on the soft leather hilt, "Perfect, firm but not so firm you can't move, don't be afraid of dropping it now."
He coaches me through a few steps and then practice swing, before clashing swords with me. Despite his gruff exterior, the Duke makes for a competent if sardonic teacher. In reality I get us off topic the most, asking questions about the swords and history of the weapon, how much damage each blow would inflict. He's happy to indulge and answers more than sufficiently, Gareth is the one keeping us on track with the lesson and eventually he takes over to let me practice a smaller, right handed opponent.
We spar until the early hours of the morning, and Gareth calls it quits, telling us both to get some sleep. The Duke says he'll be in the courtyard most any night, and I eagerly agree to meet him. I need all the work I can get. I can work on magic on my own, in fact I'll have to. Dancer is negative help, since all he wants to do is antagonize, and I don't want anyone else to know how bad I am at it.
My books do yield a bit more information. Dancer was, unfortunately, correct. Sorcerers do use wizard, ahem, parts, to supplement their spells. The hearts of wizards, as well as our blood, can create powerful potions.
But anyway, all the names of magic users are used loosely, but they aren't interchangeable. So. Without further ado.
The different names for magic users go as follows:
Wizard: like me, inherent magic, can levitate and move things and use others energy to create attacks, invisibility and disincorporation are known powers but everything else is fuzzy, may dabble in necromancy
Witch: nature magic, primarily potions and spells
Mage: similar to witch but with implies incantations thrown in the mix, usually magical items
Sorcerer: essentially a mage who has leveled up a few dozen times, adept in most nature magic, can tap into underworld magic, curses, spells, could best an inexperienced wizard though in theory a wizard out powers them
I'm not necessarily betting on that. I'm guessing King Henry has at least Courtenay as a sorcerer, if not more, and I'm well aware I'm no match for a forty something year old man who's been doing this all his life.
So time to get practicing.
I practice in my room, or out in the wards if no one is really there. I don't want anyone knowing how bad I am at this. After a couple of hours I can make rocks move and skitter with little effort, or sweep my cloak around myself, or raise my sword off the ground. I try to stick to working on doing things that I could do with my hands, so as to get good at it and not wear myself out.
The 'real' world is much less relaxing. I'm supposed to have visitation with my father this weekend, but naturally I'm loath to do it. I'm generally loath to do it but now I genuinely have much better plans. My mother makes me go as a rule, but she need not know I haven't gone. She thinks it's good for me. Thinks it'll fix whatever's in me that's not really broken. I don't know why. I also don't know why she'd leave him then find someone who'd treat her the same. But I pretend to know nothing about love, if that's what love is.
"Hey, um, I'm pretty busy do you mind if we skip this weekend?" I call my father. I'm lying in my room, staring a map of Wales.
"You can text these things—? Yeah, whatever, your mom not care you're decaying your room?"
"Nope," I say, face stinging.
"Fine," he hangs up.
Yes. The entire weekend free to be at Harlech, no one looking for me.
Mariah already agreed to cover for me. Thing of beauty.
I pack up a couple of changes of clothes, remember I can't take them, and just make my way back to Harlech.
Between midnight sword flighting lessons with the Duke, and research and magic practice, my days are delightfully full. I barely have time to hunt down Dancer to make him show me where the good food is. I'm perfectly happy, and dare I say it I'm getting good at this?