Chapter 11

Erin awoke with a start, blinking at the sudden light that filled the room. Standing beside the window, curtains in hand, was a girl around her age. Mousey brown hair, and a narrow face, she wore plain grey trousers and coat with expensive leather riding boots.

"You're awake."

"I am now." Erin rubbed at her eyes and yawned. Every part of her body ached from the shipwreck and the flight as she gripped tight to Bright's back. "What time is it?"

"Well past dawn."

Not entirely helpful, Erin thought. She threw off the blankets and swung her legs out over the side of the bed. Wearing only a borrowed night shirt, she could see every bruise and scratch on her limbs.

"I need to check on Bright."

"Josias will take care of him," the girl said, primly. "It is his job."

Mine too, she thought, and grimaced. The girl seemed put out with her and she had no idea why since she had only just met her.

"I'm Erin," she said, in the hopes of mending whatever fences had been broken.

"I know."

Rising from the bed, Erin looked around for her clothes, frowning. The room she'd slept in was small, and narrow. A space above the main house intended for a child. Though there were neither toys nor decorations she'd have expected, and the only furniture a narrow bed and a well-made wardrobe that someone had spent a great deal of time and care building.

But it was empty.

"Your clothes are drying downstairs," the girl said, turning towards the door. She lifted a hand and crooked a finger over her shoulder. "Come."

Erin pressed her lips together and tried to ignore that it had sounded very much like someone calling a dog after them. She was a stranger and a guest in the house, and while she might lack the manners of the highborn, her mother had raised her well enough.

She followed after the girl, head turning this way and that as she took in everything around her. The house was built of timber, the walls whitewashed but otherwise bare. The furniture she saw was well made, though most lacked the care and detail lavished on the wardrobe.

The kitchen was warm, the smell of woodsmoke and fresh baked bread lingering in the air. A large stone hearth dominated one wall, its iron grate supporting a blackened kettle, while a hooked arm, adjustable with a chain, held a bubbling pot of porridge over the embers. A brick oven sat beside it, still radiated the warmth of the morning's baking.

Hanging from the beams above were bundles of dried herbs-sage, thyme, rosemary-tied with twine, their scent mingling with that of the bread and smoke. A wooden table, well-worn and deeply scarred with knife marks, stood at the centre of the room, serving as both a workspace and a dining surface.

Against one wall, a wide wooden shelf held an array of clay and pewter plates, wooden bowls, and earthenware jugs. Beneath it, a long bench contained sacks of grain, wheels of hard cheese, and a small keg of salted pork.

A ginger haired cat sat before the hearth, washing herself, while a tall man with stubbled face bearing his long years beneath grey hairs, sat tamping tobacco into his pipe. He looked up when Erin came through the door, pale, watery eyes studying her.

His wife, a woman of middle-years, spooned porridge into a carved wooden bowl and set it on the table beside an open chair. She beamed as she placed thick slices of bread on a plate beside a nob of butter.

"Sit, dear," she said, her voice filled with warmth.

Erin did as instructed, staring around at the kitchen, lost in the familiar smells of her childhood. Three months on the ship, she had almost forgotten what it was like to sit with those she loved in a warm kitchen, to share a meal.

"There's no coffee, lass," the man said, his voice gruff but not unwelcoming. "Not till they unload the ship, anyways. Tea will have to do."

"That would be fine," Erin said, smiling her thanks.

"Mary?" He looked at the girl who lingered beside the door. "There's plenty if you're hungry."

"My thanks, Goodman Thomas, but I have eaten." She turned to the woman. "Though, I would be pleased to have share a cup of tea while I wait, Mistress Maud."

"Of course, of course." Mistress Maud bustled about the kitchen, lifting the kettle from the fire and pouring boiling water into a clay teapot.

The teapot was set in the centre of the table, and four porcelain teacups and saucers were placed ever so carefully beside it. Simpler clay cups hung from pegs on the wall, and Erin realised that the woman had brought out treasured items for her guest.

Silence settled around the table, broken only by the clatter of the cups against saucers as Mistress Maud filled them with a rich, brown, tea. Erin smiled, nervously, aware that all eyes were on her and she spooned porridge into her mouth, burning her tongue!

Thomas chuckled as she coughed, eyes watering as she swallowed the too hot porridge. Maud smiled as nervously as Erin had.

"Blow on it, dear. It's fresh from the pot."

"Thank you."

Mary simply smiled and sipped her tea.

Erin blew on the next spoonful of porridge before putting it into her mouth and managed not to burn herself again. Beside her, Thomas struck a match.

"Thomas Cobham, don't you dare light that pipe in here." Maud fixed her husband with a stern look, and he grumbled, but shook the match until the flame went out, trailing acrid smelling smoke.

"My house too, woman. A man should be able to smoke in his own home."

"Aye, well, that man can smoke outside and save us all the foul odour."

Grumbling beneath his breath, Thomas pushed back his chair and stood. He tipped his head towards Erin, hand brushing his forelock, before he departed, heading out into the sunshine. Mistress Maud smiled, her hands turning the cup in her hand nervously.

"Sorry, dear."

"Not a worry," Erin said, smiling. "Reminds me of being at home with my ma and da."

"Your accent," Maud said, tilting her head. "Northern, I think."

Erin nodded. "Stagwood," she said. "A village on the edge of Moonhall."

"Ah." Maud smiled. "We came from Fallgrove, the idea of settling here was an adventure. A new land, fertile and ripe for a fresh start."

"Fresh start?"

"After our daughter…" Maud trailed off and turned her head, looking away for a moment to compose herself. She swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Anyway, we decided to come out for the adventure."

"More fool us," Mary whispered, but Maud heard and shushed her, shaking her head.

The talk turned to the ship and the crash as the two of them questioned Erin. It soon became clear that they were more interested in news from back home, and Erin spoke at length about it, and the looming threat of war that had everyone on edge.

It was a sour subject, and she bypassed the worst of the gloom, turning instead to the latest fashions in the city. Yorwich was a city full of life, and during the summer months, there were endless balls amongst the nobility, and the wealthy.

For the common folk, there were dances and festivals, music and theatre. Wizards created illusions in accompaniment to the stories told by bards, those folk who travelled between the islands spreading news and gathering tales.

She told of the birth of the queen's grandson, her first grandchild, to her eldest daughter Isabell, and how strange it would be to have a king, after three generations of queens. She spoke of the boat race along the River Aln, and the opening of a new hospital in the poorer quarters of the city where even the most destitute citizens could find aid.

It was a time of change, and wonder, with the artificers coming out with new ideas and contraptions almost weekly. The wizards creating endless wonder for their amusement, and to make life that little bit better for the people of Ratan.

By the time she was done, her tea was finished and the porridge a distant memory. Maud had listened, entranced, and even Mary had thawed her chill a little as she listened to the gossip from back home.

"Thank you, dear," Maud said, dusting her hands and rising to clear away the cups. "Now, be off and about your business. You have much to do, I'm sure. There will be dinner waiting when you return."

"Return?"

"You're staying here for a time," Mary said. "Until quarters can be arranged. Goodman Thomas, and Mistress Maud volunteered their spare room."

"We heard what you did," Maud said. "Fighting those beasts and saving, Lady Sarah's life. A bed to sleep in and a belly full of food is too little to repay your bravery, but it's what he have."

"Thank you." Erin didn't know what else to say.

"Come on," Mary said, rising. "Let's get your dressed."

Erin followed Mary into the washroom where her clothes were hung above a fireplace. There were still damp, but not so much so to bother her and she was eager to go and see Bright. She dressed quickly, aware of Mary watching her, eyes tracing the bruises and marks upon her body.

"He was mine," she said, shaking her head. "I should hate you for taking him."

"Huh?"

"The gryphon."

Erin's eyes widened. Of course, the gryphon had been meant for someone. She should have realised the young girl before her dressed in similar colours to Lady Sarah, would be a Rider too.

"I-I didn't… ah… It wasn't on purpose," she stammered. "Bonding with, Bright."

Mary simply nodded, folding her arms. "I watched you, you know?"

"You did?"

"Yes. I was hiding above the roost when the Shadowbeasts attacked. I saw you fly." Her voice took on a touch of wonder. "You were amazing. It was amazing."

It was, Erin thought. It really was.

"I should hate you," Mary repeated. "But I don't think I can."

Erin managed a smile. "I'm glad."

"We won't be friends though. I can't hate you, but I can't be your friend either."

Which saddened Erin, hurting her heart a little. She was shy, and quiet, taking a long time to get to know people well enough to be friends. As a result, she'd had few throughout her life, and for Mary to be deciding straight away that they could not be friends, when they had so much in common… it hurt her.

But she could understand it.

She'd flown.

And she'd taken that chance away from Mary. Her words hurt her, but she understood them, and she knew, somehow, that Mary didn't want an explanation or sympathy. She was hurt, and envious, and no doubt felt betrayed.

No words from Erin would change that.

Nor would knowing the guilt and contrition that Erin felt. She knew that in Mary's place, it would not help her. Little would. All she could do was understand and move on. There was no undoing it, regardless.

"Okay," she said, rising. "Show me where my gryphon is."