Read Online Ivy's Choice (The Fey Quartet Book 3) by Emily Larkin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emily Larkin
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apart. A scream tore from his mouth.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MIDMORNING, WHEN IVY was packing a basket of food for Larkspur, Hazel ducked her head in through the open door. “Mother’s here,” she said, before disappearing again.
Ivy limped hastily across the room. Yes, Maythorn was coming across the meadow, holding up her skirts, running, her hair as bright as gold in the sunlight. Behind her strolled her new husband, Ren Blacksmith, with his six-year-old son on his shoulders.
Ivy stood on the doorstep and watched Hazel run to meet their mother, watched them embrace. She heard Maythorn’s laughter, a joyous sound, and then Maythorn released Hazel and picked up her skirts and ran again. “Ivy, love!”
Ivy hobbled down from the doorstep to meet her. Maythorn hugged her fiercely, laughing and crying. Ivy hugged her back. Mother . But Maythorn didn’t feel like a mother, she felt like a sister, a beloved friend.
“I missed you, my Ivy. Very much.” Tears of joy were bright in Maythorn’s eyes. She shone with youth and health. No one, looking at her, would believe that last month she’d been the crippled, graying Widow Miller. Maythorn looked around. “Where’s Larkspur? Where are the dogs?”
Ivy met Hazel’s eyes briefly, then glanced at Ren and Gavain, approaching across the meadow. “Come inside,” she said to Maythorn. “There’s something I need to tell you. You and Ren both. Hazel, stay out here with Gavain. Play with him. He doesn’t need to hear this.”
----
IVY TOLD THE tale of Larkspur’s gift as succinctly as she could. The happiness drained from Maythorn’s face. The tears in her eyes were distress now, not joy.
“Tomorrow everything will be put right,” Ivy said. “I shall ask the Faerie to take Larkspur’s gift back. That will be my wish.”
Maythorn shook her head. Tears spilled from her eyes and tracked silently down her cheeks.
Ivy’s throat tightened. The one gift Mother wanted most was for me to walk again.
Ren gathered his wife in his arms and held her close. The expression on his face—tenderness, love, grief—made Ivy’s throat tighten further. She looked away, out the open door, to where Hazel and Gavain were playing hoodman blind in the meadow.
Ivy took a deep breath, and continued. “There’s more to tell you. Several days ago, we found a roebuck in the forest . . .”
The tale sounded fantastical, even to her ears, and yet Ren and Maythorn believed her; she saw it on their faces—their astonishment, their growing horror. “So, you see, Larkspur’s wish was a good thing. Without it, Hugh and Tam Dappleward would both soon be dead.”
Maythorn wiped her cheeks and inhaled a shaky breath. “I want to see Larkspur.”
“We promised her we wouldn’t bring you. I’m sorry.”
Maythorn’s brow creased in fresh distress. “Bu t— ”
“Your grief would be too much for her to bear.”
Ren hugged Maythorn close again and pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’ll see her tomorrow, dear heart. Once she’s restored to herself.”
Ivy met his eyes and gave a nod of thanks.
----
MAYTHORN WASHED AWAY her tears and put on a smile for Gavain’s sake, but grief shadowed her face and her eyes were dark with misery.
“Time to go, young scamp,” Ren said, swinging his son up onto his shoulders again. He looked at Ivy, at Hazel, his expression grave. “If you need anything—anything at all—we’re only five minutes away.”
“We know,” Ivy said. “Thank you, Ren.”
Ren nodded, and put an arm around Maythorn, gathering her close. “We’ll come tomorrow.”
Ivy watched them cross the meadow. Gavain, laughing and joyful, perched atop his father’s shoulders. Ren—tall, dependable, and kind. And Maythorn. Maythorn’s youthful grace was gone; she walked as if she were weighed down. She looks like Widow Miller again, burdened with sorrow .
“Thank the gods she has Ren to comfort her,” Hazel said quietly.
Ivy turned back to
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MIDMORNING, WHEN IVY was packing a basket of food for Larkspur, Hazel ducked her head in through the open door. “Mother’s here,” she said, before disappearing again.
Ivy limped hastily across the room. Yes, Maythorn was coming across the meadow, holding up her skirts, running, her hair as bright as gold in the sunlight. Behind her strolled her new husband, Ren Blacksmith, with his six-year-old son on his shoulders.
Ivy stood on the doorstep and watched Hazel run to meet their mother, watched them embrace. She heard Maythorn’s laughter, a joyous sound, and then Maythorn released Hazel and picked up her skirts and ran again. “Ivy, love!”
Ivy hobbled down from the doorstep to meet her. Maythorn hugged her fiercely, laughing and crying. Ivy hugged her back. Mother . But Maythorn didn’t feel like a mother, she felt like a sister, a beloved friend.
“I missed you, my Ivy. Very much.” Tears of joy were bright in Maythorn’s eyes. She shone with youth and health. No one, looking at her, would believe that last month she’d been the crippled, graying Widow Miller. Maythorn looked around. “Where’s Larkspur? Where are the dogs?”
Ivy met Hazel’s eyes briefly, then glanced at Ren and Gavain, approaching across the meadow. “Come inside,” she said to Maythorn. “There’s something I need to tell you. You and Ren both. Hazel, stay out here with Gavain. Play with him. He doesn’t need to hear this.”
----
IVY TOLD THE tale of Larkspur’s gift as succinctly as she could. The happiness drained from Maythorn’s face. The tears in her eyes were distress now, not joy.
“Tomorrow everything will be put right,” Ivy said. “I shall ask the Faerie to take Larkspur’s gift back. That will be my wish.”
Maythorn shook her head. Tears spilled from her eyes and tracked silently down her cheeks.
Ivy’s throat tightened. The one gift Mother wanted most was for me to walk again.
Ren gathered his wife in his arms and held her close. The expression on his face—tenderness, love, grief—made Ivy’s throat tighten further. She looked away, out the open door, to where Hazel and Gavain were playing hoodman blind in the meadow.
Ivy took a deep breath, and continued. “There’s more to tell you. Several days ago, we found a roebuck in the forest . . .”
The tale sounded fantastical, even to her ears, and yet Ren and Maythorn believed her; she saw it on their faces—their astonishment, their growing horror. “So, you see, Larkspur’s wish was a good thing. Without it, Hugh and Tam Dappleward would both soon be dead.”
Maythorn wiped her cheeks and inhaled a shaky breath. “I want to see Larkspur.”
“We promised her we wouldn’t bring you. I’m sorry.”
Maythorn’s brow creased in fresh distress. “Bu t— ”
“Your grief would be too much for her to bear.”
Ren hugged Maythorn close again and pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’ll see her tomorrow, dear heart. Once she’s restored to herself.”
Ivy met his eyes and gave a nod of thanks.
----
MAYTHORN WASHED AWAY her tears and put on a smile for Gavain’s sake, but grief shadowed her face and her eyes were dark with misery.
“Time to go, young scamp,” Ren said, swinging his son up onto his shoulders again. He looked at Ivy, at Hazel, his expression grave. “If you need anything—anything at all—we’re only five minutes away.”
“We know,” Ivy said. “Thank you, Ren.”
Ren nodded, and put an arm around Maythorn, gathering her close. “We’ll come tomorrow.”
Ivy watched them cross the meadow. Gavain, laughing and joyful, perched atop his father’s shoulders. Ren—tall, dependable, and kind. And Maythorn. Maythorn’s youthful grace was gone; she walked as if she were weighed down. She looks like Widow Miller again, burdened with sorrow .
“Thank the gods she has Ren to comfort her,” Hazel said quietly.
Ivy turned back to
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