Chapter 340: A Letter Written By Your Father

She drew a shuddering breath.

It rattled in her chest. She forced it down, and out, and in again. She felt the warm solid grip of his hand on her wrist, and the cold pressure of Kaelen’s hand on her knee, and slowly, slowly, the roaring in her ears began to fade.

"All right," she said. "All right."

"Good."

"I’m all right."

"I know you are."

"We have to go."

"We will."

"Now."

"In a moment." He did not let go of her. His eyes moved to Tavish. "Brother."

"Majesty."

"You have told us a great deal. I am grateful." His voice was perfectly calm. "I must ask what you want."

"Want?"

"You have risked your life. Men do not do that for nothing."

Tavish’s mouth trembled.

"I want out," he said.

"Of what?"

"All of it. The Order. The Lantern. Him." His voice cracked. "I want to go somewhere where nobody knows my name. I want to forget I ever heard that room." He swallowed. "And I want..."

He stopped.

He fumbled in the bundle clutched against his chest. His fingers were shaking so badly that it took him three tries to get it open. At last, with a muffled sound, he drew out something small and pale and flat, and held it out, across the water, in one trembling hand.

"I want her to have this."

Nobody moved.

"What is it?" said Morgana.

"A letter."

It was a folded sheet of paper. It was creased, and soft, and yellowed at the edges. As it rippled in his fingers she saw how it was folded. In thirds, and then in half, and the corner tucked neatly under, very precise and very careful, the way a man folds a thing he cannot bear to send.

Her breath stopped.

"Where did you get that?"

"From a desk." Tavish’s face was wet. "In the library. In a locked drawer. I broke it open." He swallowed. "It was written a long time ago. Eighteen years, I think. It’s addressed to a woman called Elara."

Elara.

Her mother’s name.

"There’s more than one," said Tavish. "A dozen. All the same. All written, and folded, and never sent." His voice cracked. "Master Kael wrote them. Every year, on the same night. He never posted a single one. But I think...." He drew a breath. "I think it’s the only honest thing in that whole white city."

"Kael," said Morgana.

She had not said the name aloud before.

It tasted strange on her tongue. Strange, and old, and a little bitter, like something that had been kept in a drawer too long.

"Is he her father?" said Kaelen quietly.

"Yes."

"Is he...a good man?"

"I don’t know." Tavish’s voice was very low. "I used to think so. I don’t know what he is now. I think he’s a man who loved something and then let it be used." He lifted the letter a little higher. "Take it. Please. I can’t carry it anymore."

Morgana looked at the pale folded square.

She did not want to touch it.

She wanted, very badly, to turn Shadowmere around, and ride back across the ford, and into the long gold afternoon, and never look at it again. She wanted to go on laughing, in a warm ruined tower, between two men who didn’t flinch. She wanted not to know.

She took it.

It was very light. It weighed almost nothing at all. It lay in her palm like a dried leaf, soft with age, and for a moment she could feel, quite distinctly, the faint tremble of a hand that had folded it.

"Thank you," she said.

"I’m sorry."

"I know."

"I’m so sorry."

"You’ve done enough." She closed her fingers over the paper, and tucked it, very carefully, into the inside of her coat, against her heart. "You should go."

"Where?"

"The palace." It was Draeven. "Ride east. There is a farm a mile from here. Tell them King Draeven sent you, and ask for a horse. Go to the palace, and go straight to my brother Thorne. Say that I sent you, and say that you came of your own will." His voice was steady. "Tell him everything you have told us."

"Thorne," said Tavish, faintly.

"He is the Shadow King. He is very good at hearing the truth." A faint, dry smile. "He will not be gentle. But he will be fair."

"And then?"

"And then you will be safe."

Tavish stared at him.

"Majesty," he said. "I’m a Valorhold mage."

"You are a frightened young man who rode three days to warn a stranger." Draeven’s eyes held his. "I have known many mages. Not many would have done that."

The young man’s face crumpled.

He bowed, deeply, shakily, almost to his knees. Then he turned, and ran. He plunged into the bracken, and the gold leaves closed behind him, and she heard the crashing of his flight grow fainter and fainter, until only the sound of the water remained.

Nobody spoke.

"Do you trust him?" said Kaelen.

"No," said Draeven.

"Do you believe him?"

"Yes."

"Both can be true?"

"They very often are." He gathered his reins. "Come. We have four hours of light."

***

They reached the ridge at dusk.

It came upon her all at once. One moment they were riding up through a long steep wood, the horses blowing, the trees dark and close on either side, and the next the trees fell away, and the world opened out in front of her, vast and gold and pink in the dying light.

She stopped.

She did not decide to. Shadowmere stopped under her, and stood, with his ears pricked and his nostrils flared. She heard Draeven rein in. She heard Kaelen draw a sharp breath. They said nothing. Neither of them said a word.

She was looking at home.

It lay in the fold of the valley below, small and still and perfect, like a toy village on a green cloth. There was the mill at the end of the lane, with its broken wheel. There was the crooked line of the lane itself, running down from the church.