“So what will you do with him?”
I shrug, inadvertently jostling my hand so that Maltariel’s neat strapping falls loose. She gives me a reproachful look and reaches for the ends of the cloth, her deft hands tying it up again with quick, sure movements. Although it is only bruised, my wrist is stiff and sore still when I come to lift a sword, and she has decreed that it must be strapped, for now, until it is recovered. While she reties the cloth, I look up across the river, enjoying the peace for a moment.
We are sat on the edge of the Meeting Spire, legs dangling, facing out towards the water and the House. Maltariel had decided that its height and tight space would make it a suitable place for practicing – but by the time I arrived she had already heard of last night’s show in the Hall of Fire, and Parnard’s behaviour. As I consider my response, the wind stirs the tree branches into clattering movement, shaking free a handful of flame-coloured leaves that are sent dancing across the paths and wet grass. Autumn has the valley truly in its grip – the wind is cold, and the open spaces unusually empty. Our kindred huddle by the fires in the Hall, thinking of the cold winter ahead, and enjoying warm drinks and good company.
Maltariel ties the last end neatly, and I retrieve my hand from her lap, pulling on thin black gloves for further protection. When I glance up, she is still looking at me, waiting patiently for my answer. I give a frustrated sigh and shake my head.
“I don’t know. He has begged not to leave…”
“I heard,” Maltariel interrupts me dryly, tucking her legs up under her to give an imitation of Parnard banging his head on the floor that has me hiding my face from her laughing gaze.
“But I cannot believe that this is right for him! I am not suited to such a task… even if it had not been this trouble, it would eventually have been another. Here in the valley… there is nothing I can teach him. Perhaps if we were travelling elsewhere, I could teach him other skills – how to pass without a trace, how to travel swiftly along the best routes, how to fight and when to run… but what use is that here? He has already learnt how to live here – he drinks and gossips better than many.”
I can hear the bitterness creeping into my tone, and I fall silent with an effort. Maltariel’s thoughtful blue eyes are fixed on my face. Almost as if testing me, she asks quietly,
“What does Galdorion think you should do?”
I shrug again, glancing away from her across the valley. Maltariel leans closer and jostles me gently with her shoulder, refusing to let me ignore the question. I wonder whether this too is something she’s heard from others – she seems to have settled into her new life here faster than anyone could have expected. The Order of the Fountain is newly reformed, but already they are strengthened by one another’s presence and friendship – and with such a community behind her, Maltariel seems to know everything that goes on.
The silence stretches on, Maltariel waiting patiently for me to fill it. The wind rustles through the trees once more, as if it too is waiting.
“I don’t know. He is busy on his art again… I do not see much of him. I take him food, sometimes… when he will open the door…” I trail off, wondering why this feels like a confession. Maltariel watches me silently but doesn’t speak. She knows that when Galdorion is occupied by his art, nothing can tear him away. I wonder if she knows how lonely this leaves me feeling – that every time someone asks me where he is, why he is not there, standing beside me, it is like a tiny prick of loss.
“Danel is going away… Lady Danel, that is.” In the face of Maltariel’s silent scrutiny I feel almost as though I am explaining myself. “She will go to Mirkwood, on a family errand. I do not think she should go alone.”
Maltariel is shaking her head at me, sweet expression turning reproachful once more. “Rainith, you are married now. You can’t just –”
“Why not? He ‘can just’ even when that means leaving me – Galdorion does what he wants, whatever he thinks best, even now we are married. He does not let that stop him now. Why should I be held here, waiting for him to come out of his workshop?”
Maltariel gives me a long, patient look. She and I both know that I do not really mean what I have said: I have forgiven Galdorion for the trouble he has caused – the decisions he made which have caused such pain. But now the autumn wind rises, and it as though it calls me away with it once more – to leave the valley, and the trouble and frustration that dogs our steps here, and simply travel for a while, in good company, to a simple goal.
“Will you tell him?” I drop my eyes unwillingly to my hands, tugging at the gloves I wear in discomfort. Maltariel waits a while longer, and then sighs sympathetically, murmuring, “Well… it is up to you what you say to your husband. But come. If you are going to leave us soon, we must make sure you are ready!”
She stands as gracefully as a cat, stretching out her arms for a moment before holding out a hand to pull me up, effortlessly as she does everything else. Before long, there is silence once more in the slowly darkening square, save for the clash of blades and the scuff of swift footsteps.
