Luminous

8 - The Meriton Mavis

Coris rose at daybreak to dress himself and his horse for the journey to Aynor. The rest of the Hilds, save for Marin who needed her rest, and Deke who'd watch over her, huddled against the morning chill to send him off.

"I don't think I can be back for the birth. Please tell Marin I sincerely apologize," he requested to her parents.

"We will, my lord," replied Alanna, adding with a mischievous smile and a tilt of her head. "Though I highly doubt she'd need it."

Coris returned her smile. He surveyed Maro and Morel, who nodded in support of their mother, then stopped at Mirram.

"Thank you for having me." He bowed, then straightened. "Of course, it need not be said, but—please take care of Meya."

His eyes settled at last on his lady. Meya stared pleadingly back at him, her hands twisting in her nightdress, shivering, yet not from the cold. The awkwardness from last night's row hung like a haze over her mind, but she couldn't settle the score with her parents and siblings here. Coris dropped the reins he'd bundled in one hand and took her hands with both of his.

"I'll be fine," he murmured. "It's only until Lornveld."

He caressed her hand with his thumb, a gesture of forgiveness. Yet, her heart lifted only a little. The road from Crosset to the next-door manor wasn't a hive for robbers, but she still couldn't help but worry. Coris would be alone, and though he carried his sword on his belt, Freda knows he wasn't Zier.

What bothered her just as much, however, was the realization that perhaps, for the first time since she'd met him, they would truly be a long time apart. And the last time she was faced with that daunting prospect, it happened. Of course, it was rubbish thinking, illogical, as Coris would decry, but as if the fretful heart ever listened to logic.

Meya freed her hands and wrapped his between hers instead, kneading warmth into his fingers like icicles.

"'Tis there anything I can do?" she croaked.

She expected him to be indignant, to scold her, but he merely stared at her in thought. He took a step closer, and cupped her cheeks in his palms, his gray eyes round and unblinking, as if to swallow her in their depths.

"While you're here, I want you to be Meya," he said, his voice quiet but firm. He shook his head. "Not Dragon Ambassador. Not Lady Hadrian—Meya. I want you to think only of yourself, of our babies, of your family. Leave all else to me. Look forward to Fools' Week, and I'll return before you even feel my absence. Can you promise me that?"

His voice softened as with his thumb he brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek, shining as red-gold as the dawn splitting the sky from the east. Meya pursed her lips against the cry building in her throat and twisted her lips into a smile.

"I promise."

The solemn line of Coris's mouth broke into his gentle smile, and he leaned in for a farewell kiss. The Hilds watched and waved as the lone rider straddled his mount and jostled the reins, galloping off into the thinning mist.

⏳

Once the last eddy of dust settled on Lord Hadrian's departure, life in Hild Cottage continued as usual. While Morel reheated the stew and baked new bread, Maro stuffed a sandwich of last night's bread down his pocket, then rushed off to join the rest of the farmers in the harvest.

Dad, on the other hand, could take his time. Friar Tumney had given him a post maintaining the church gardens, and had forced him to take a holiday from that to spend time with his visiting daughters.