Read Online Hazel's Promise (The Fey Quartet Book 2) by Emily Larkin - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Larkin
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because foolish tears were choking her throat. Hazel blinked fiercely, and sniffed, and swallowed.
“Come here,” Tam said, and when she did, he put his arms around her, hugging her close.
Hazel sniffed again, and wiped her eyes on his blanket. Tam No-Name. Tam Peddler. Tam Goodkiss. Wistan Dappleward. “Do people call you Tam?” she asked, once she was certain she had control of her voice. “Or did you make it up?”
“My family calls me Tam. And my oldest friends.”
“Why?”
“Hugh couldn’t say Wistan, when I was born. Tam was the closest he could get.”
Hazel snuggled closer to him. His blanket was threadbare beneath her cheek, and beneath that, his chest was warm and solid. “Why are you walking?” she asked. “Why are your clothes little better than rags? Did someone rob you?”
“No. I sold my horse and sword and most of my clothes.”
“I thought you might be Tam Swineherd,” she whispered teasingly.
Tam chuckled. “Swineherds are very respectable people, I’ll have you know.”
“I know. I didn’t mind if you were one.”
The full import of Tam’s heritage burst on her. He was Dappleward’s son. His father was the Lord Warder, the most powerful man in all Dapple Vale. The man who’d sworn her to secrecy about her Faerie wish.
She couldn’t tell Tam her secret, but Dappleward could.
I won’t have to lie to Tam . Tears of relief pricked Hazel’s eyelids.
“I bought a gift for my father,” Tam said. “It cost more money than I had, but with the horse thrown in, and my sword and best clothes . . . I could just afford it.”
Hazel rubbed her eyes. “What gift?”
“Let me show you.” Tam released her and climbed to his feet. He rummaged in his packsaddle and pulled out a large, cloth-wrapped object, and then hesitated and put it down and reached for something else instead: a piece of folded parchment. “Actually . . . um, first I should probably tell you . . . my father wrote me a letter. He sent one of the Ironfists to York with it. It was waiting for me when I got there.” He glanced at her diffidently. “I know about your mother and the Faerie wishes.”
Hazel blinked in astonishment. Tam already knew?
Tam didn’t say anything more. He stood, holding the letter in both hands, watching her.
Did he think she might be angry?
Hazel released her breath. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad.”
“You are?”
She nodded firmly. “ Very glad. It means I don’t have to hide my gift from you any longer.”
Tam’s eyebrows rose. “Your gift? You mean . . . you wished for more than just finding Drewet?”
“I can find anything,” Hazel said. “Any person, any object.”
Tam’s eyebrows climbed higher.
“I was only going to wish to find Drewet,” Hazel admitted. “And then I got to thinking. You remember that little boy who went missing from Dapple Orchard last year? The one who almost died before they found him? I thought that if I chose to know where anyone was, I could find people like him. So I decided that’s what I was going to wish for—to be able to find people—and then the day before my birthday I lost my thimble, and I spent half the morning looking for it, and it was in my basket—and I’d already looked there twice —so I decided to ask to be able to find any thing as well as anyone.”
Tam looked bemused. “A useful gift.”
“And a gift I can hide. Your father said it was important to keep it secret.”
“Very important. If folk start trying to win Faerie wishes for themselves . . .” Tam grimaced. “That’s how people die.”
“I know,” Hazel said soberly. “Your father told us the story of the stonemason’s wish.”
“Good.” Tam crouched and tucked the letter into his packsaddle. He picked up the cloth-wrapped bundle, came back to the fire, and sat beside her, so close their shoulders touched.
Hazel looked at him. Tam Dappleward, wearing nothing more than a ragged blanket. Her heart clenched in her
“Come here,” Tam said, and when she did, he put his arms around her, hugging her close.
Hazel sniffed again, and wiped her eyes on his blanket. Tam No-Name. Tam Peddler. Tam Goodkiss. Wistan Dappleward. “Do people call you Tam?” she asked, once she was certain she had control of her voice. “Or did you make it up?”
“My family calls me Tam. And my oldest friends.”
“Why?”
“Hugh couldn’t say Wistan, when I was born. Tam was the closest he could get.”
Hazel snuggled closer to him. His blanket was threadbare beneath her cheek, and beneath that, his chest was warm and solid. “Why are you walking?” she asked. “Why are your clothes little better than rags? Did someone rob you?”
“No. I sold my horse and sword and most of my clothes.”
“I thought you might be Tam Swineherd,” she whispered teasingly.
Tam chuckled. “Swineherds are very respectable people, I’ll have you know.”
“I know. I didn’t mind if you were one.”
The full import of Tam’s heritage burst on her. He was Dappleward’s son. His father was the Lord Warder, the most powerful man in all Dapple Vale. The man who’d sworn her to secrecy about her Faerie wish.
She couldn’t tell Tam her secret, but Dappleward could.
I won’t have to lie to Tam . Tears of relief pricked Hazel’s eyelids.
“I bought a gift for my father,” Tam said. “It cost more money than I had, but with the horse thrown in, and my sword and best clothes . . . I could just afford it.”
Hazel rubbed her eyes. “What gift?”
“Let me show you.” Tam released her and climbed to his feet. He rummaged in his packsaddle and pulled out a large, cloth-wrapped object, and then hesitated and put it down and reached for something else instead: a piece of folded parchment. “Actually . . . um, first I should probably tell you . . . my father wrote me a letter. He sent one of the Ironfists to York with it. It was waiting for me when I got there.” He glanced at her diffidently. “I know about your mother and the Faerie wishes.”
Hazel blinked in astonishment. Tam already knew?
Tam didn’t say anything more. He stood, holding the letter in both hands, watching her.
Did he think she might be angry?
Hazel released her breath. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad.”
“You are?”
She nodded firmly. “ Very glad. It means I don’t have to hide my gift from you any longer.”
Tam’s eyebrows rose. “Your gift? You mean . . . you wished for more than just finding Drewet?”
“I can find anything,” Hazel said. “Any person, any object.”
Tam’s eyebrows climbed higher.
“I was only going to wish to find Drewet,” Hazel admitted. “And then I got to thinking. You remember that little boy who went missing from Dapple Orchard last year? The one who almost died before they found him? I thought that if I chose to know where anyone was, I could find people like him. So I decided that’s what I was going to wish for—to be able to find people—and then the day before my birthday I lost my thimble, and I spent half the morning looking for it, and it was in my basket—and I’d already looked there twice —so I decided to ask to be able to find any thing as well as anyone.”
Tam looked bemused. “A useful gift.”
“And a gift I can hide. Your father said it was important to keep it secret.”
“Very important. If folk start trying to win Faerie wishes for themselves . . .” Tam grimaced. “That’s how people die.”
“I know,” Hazel said soberly. “Your father told us the story of the stonemason’s wish.”
“Good.” Tam crouched and tucked the letter into his packsaddle. He picked up the cloth-wrapped bundle, came back to the fire, and sat beside her, so close their shoulders touched.
Hazel looked at him. Tam Dappleward, wearing nothing more than a ragged blanket. Her heart clenched in her
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