Shadows & Secrets part 4
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D
Deryn sat beside Cáit as she shared her secret. He had expected something ordinary like being responsible for a broken heirloom, but as usual this female surprised him. He felt helpless as tears began streaming down her face, the grief of losing her mother brought back up with the secret. He stayed quiet as she pressed on, finishing before the sobs took over, then wrapped his arms around her.
He held her as sobs shook her again and again. He had no words of comfort to give her, no balm for her aching heart and it tore at him. He nuzzled her, letting his purr rumble through them both. Not a purr of pleasure like earlier, but one of comfort and healing, its pitch slightly different. He felt her sobs grow softer, her body calming with the thrum. She burrowed into his chest, her head tucked into his neck. He felt her body slowly sink into a steady rhythm, a final shaky sigh puffing against his skin. He continued to hold her close, purr thrumming between them like a third heartbeat.
He felt her body sag limply against his and smiled softly. His purr had lulled her to sleep and he was tempted to join her for another nap when a different rumble was heard. Scooping Cáit into his arms, he gently settled her on the bed. He shifted into his malk form and slipped out of the bedroom.
The kitchen, he discovered, was a cozy room with a giant brick oven that took up an entire wall. It was currently deserted and he shifted to better prepare some lunch. He was digging in the ice box when he felt a tug on his pants. He glanced down to find a small male looking up at him.
“Need help sir?” the boy asked him, “I’m not allowed to help make anything yet, but I’ve learned where things are kept.” Deryn smiled gently at the child.
“Cáit mentioned she wanted lunch and I offered to bring her some. I'm afraid I don’t know my way around a kitchen.” The boy nodded as if it were perfectly reasonable.
“She usually likes the smoked salmon things my mom makes,” he said, “I’ll go get her!” Before Deryn could argue the boy had scurried off. In seemingly no time at all he returned, a plump female entering the kitchen behind him. She gave him a more motherly appraisal than Maeve had and smiled.
“Glad to see yer feeling better,” she remarked, “Ye gave oor wee kitten quite the scare last night.” He hid his surprise and nodded.
“I apologize for the trouble, ma’am,” he said politely. The woman blushed and waved a hand as if to physically clear away the apology.
“No trouble, hun,” she assured him, “now me boy here says ye and the kitten are wanting some lunch?” He nodded and let the female sweep into the kitchen. He watched, fascinated, as she prepared a meal with such skill he would have believed it magic. There was indeed smoked salmon as well as shredded chicken and his mouth watered as the smell of cooking filled the small kitchen. A tray was prepared and two heaping plates of food were joined by a pitcher of golden liquid and two glasses. He thanked the female and took the tray. He walked the halls nervously, wary of another unforeseen encounter. He knew his father would have derided him as a failure for his abysmal stealth, but he found the interactions so far enjoyable if a bit nerve wracking in their unpredictability.
He made it back to Cáit’s room without incident and placed the tray on a table in front of a small sofa. He then went to check on Cáit in the bedroom. She was sitting up and turned to him as he opened the door.
“I have a tray of lunch if you’re hungry,” he told her. He certainly didn’t want to embarrass her by informing her that her stomach had growled louder than his purr.
“You can cook?” She asked, sounding surprised as she joined him. “Ah, you’ve met Biddy.” He sat beside her on the sofa and dug into the lunch.
C
Cáit woke once more in bed, though not under the covers this time. She looked around for Deryn, but he was not in the bedroom. Worry spiked as she heard the main door to her rooms open and close. The footsteps were barely audible though and she knew of only one person so skilled at stealth. She turned towards the bedroom door as it opened and was greeted by the male she was steadily growing fond of. More than fond if she were being honest with herself.
She had been initially surprised, thinking he had cooked them lunch, but when she spied the tray laden with her favorite smoked salmon toasts she knew he had gotten help. That Biddy had cooked instead of walloped him soundly with her spoon spoke well of him, the ample pile of chicken toasts beside her salmon ones a ringing endorsement from the cook. Cáit could easily admit he was gorgeous, not in the flawless beauty she expected of the Fae, but with a more tousled wildness that felt more real to her. She didn’t feel less beside him and he didn’t treat her as less either.
She wondered at that, especially with him dubbing his brother a snob about such things and hinting his father had similar views. She watched him eat the toasts, his face hiding none of the enjoyment he was having. She knew Biddy would stuff him to bursting if she saw his reaction to her cooking.
“Biddy has been our cook since my father took over the manor, over twenty years ago now. She came to the village one night heavily pregnant and barefoot, claiming her family kicked her out. My father immediately offered her a job in his kitchen and she’s been here ever since.
“The boy did not seem to be twenty or more,” he commented between bites. She blinked, going through the staff in her head.
“Little Tym,” she replied, “he was an orphan. Biddy takes them in sometimes to help her in the kitchen and run errands. They all call her mom. Her son works as a blacksmith and does most of the work there.” She saw him flinch and regretted mentioning it. She knew it was possible it wasn’t a trap he made that hurt Deryn as hunters only replaced traps that were broken or badly damaged, a bit of rust would not have mattered. Wishing to head to a more positive discussion, she asked, “You seem to really like her cooking, is it that different from what you’re used to?”
“Fae do not cook like humans do,” he explained, “we are mainly hunters so we can usually prepare meats and fish. We can gather berries and other fruits as well. Something like this is well beyond a Fae to create simply because we have no farms, no mills, and no livestock.” She remembered his preference for the sausage and apple and realized they had been the most familiar foods to him.
“You’re going to love the Autumn Festival then,” she remarked, smiling at the thought of him trying the numerous pies and ciders they would have. She watched his expression shift to a more somber one.
“If I can stay for it,” he said softly, “I’m… my father sent me down here for a reason, Cáit.” She tensed, suddenly worried she would be losing a friend. He seemed reluctant to continue and instead took her hands in his. She met his gaze as he turned his full attention to her. “There have been reports from lesser Fae that humans have created a weapon to hurt us. I was sent to investigate the claims.”
“I haven’t heard of any weapon,” she told him, “there've been numerous attacks on our northern farms lately, but father hasn’t mentioned anything more than increasing our patrols. Are we sure it’s actually a weapon? The way you reacted to the iron…”. She left the thought unfinished, but he nodded.
“That was my thought,” he agreed, “I had not encountered iron until that trap and it certainly caused enough harm that it could be seen as a weapon, especially by lesser Fae. Do you know if such traps are along your northern border?” She closed her eyes, thinking on the maps in her father’s study.
“There’s a large stretch of forest bordering the farms up north,” she replied, “I would imagine hunters use it much like the woods you were in.” She watched him contemplate the situation, his brows furrowed as he did.
D
He sat beside Cáit, her soft hands in his. He found talking to her about his mission surprisingly difficult, not because of secrecy, but because he worried she would stop wanting him, both as a friend and maybe more. He didn’t have friends like she had Maeve. He had his brother, but there were walls between them and it had gotten harder and harder to feel any real connection to him as the centuries went by.
The mission itself had gotten complicated too, he realized. His father expected a weapon, something easily targeted and destroyed, over and done with. What they seemed to have instead was something far more complex and he found coming up with a fair solution difficult. If he gave his father the information he had, he had no doubt this village would be razed to the ground, its innocent citizens slaughtered. If he instead approached Cáit’s father with the information it was possible it would become a weapon and the lesser Fae would be the ones slaughtered. Even if her father didn’t create a weapon, other humans would no doubt do so.
He shook his head, frustrated that there was no clear path forward. Cáit gave his hands a gentle squeeze and he looked up. He met her eyes, warmth and understanding in those gentle meadows.
“We will figure this out,” she assured him, “together.” Another squeeze and he found himself nodding, grateful for the support. “I should get to my afternoon lessons.” She stood and made to leave, “Master Ardal makes the most interesting history events exceedingly dull, but you are welcome to join me if you want.” He appreciated the offer, his curiosity piqued at what their version of history was.
“Which form would be best to meet with this Master Ardal?” He didn’t know if he was entirely comfortable walking around the village in either form, but he would trust her.
“He reports directly to father so I’d suggest your furry one,” she replied after a moment to consider, “you are a bit big compared to other cats, but Master Ardal spends all his time with his dusty books and scrolls so he’d likely not notice. It’ll also allow you to wander off if he bores you.” He nodded at her sound logic and shifted into his malk form.
“We call this our malk form,” he explained as they readied to leave. She led him out of her rooms and down the hall. He squinted at the brightness as they left the manor, his eyes adjusting a bit slower than usual. He padded along beside Cáit, surprised people didn’t bat an eye at the fact an enormous cat with a bandaged leg was walking beside her. In fact, a group of young children paused their game and asked if they could pet him. She caught his subtle nod and warned them to be gentle and not overwhelm him. Little hands were soon everywhere, stroking his head and back. One girl even gave his chin a gentle scratch and his purr came rumbling out, earning a delighted squeal from her. He found the attention absolutely wonderful and happily nuzzled the children, his whiskers tickling grinning faces, and peals of laughter ensued.
Cáit reminded the children she had a lesson to get to and the hands receded to sounds of disappointment. He continued along beside Cáit, a chorus of ‘bye kitty’ in their wake. She soon stopped at a building that looked much like the ones they had passed by, its only defining feature an intricate quill pen etched into the front door. A knock brought a male that looked more skeleton than man and he wondered at the age of such a human. The wizened male gave him an appraising glance, white eyebrow raised in question and blue eyes narrowed.
“Meow,” he replied, doing his best to sound like a regular cat. He could tell Cáit was struggling not to laugh beside him, but his performance seemed to appease Master Ardal. He hopped up onto the window sill while Cáit sat at the desk beside it. The sun streaming in the window felt good and he decided he could always nap if the lesson truly was dull.
By the time the lesson finished his jaw hurt. It had been a challenge not to voice the dozens of questions he had as Master Ardal had droned on about various events he had no idea about. Cáit had indeed looked ready to doze off anytime he glanced at her. He had batted her gently a few times earning a chuckle from her teacher. Before he jumped down the male had given him a light scratch between his ears.
“It was nice having a more attentive student,” he said with a chuckle. Deryn wasn’t sure if the male realized just how attentive, but he played the role of normal cat anyway. He followed Cáit back out into the sunshine, the sun far closer to the horizon than he expected. A blur of red and brown pulled him from his thoughts as it dove for Cáit. Maeve was a whirlwind, peppering her friend with questions, and he noticed he was the subject of every single one of them. Cáit looked at him, her eyes apologetic.
“Meow!” He demanded as if indignant at being ignored. He didn’t know if Maeve would make the connection between the male she’d seen earlier and the cat she saw now, but he felt he had to do something. His meow had the desired effect, pulling Maeve’s attention away from an overwhelmed Cáit.
“Oh my goodness!” Maeve squealed, delight lighting her face up. She bent down, easily scooping him up into her arms. “Such a big fluffy kitty. What have you been feeding it?” He went limp as she draped him over her shoulder and stroked him softly.
“He’s a hunter,” he heard Cáit say, “found the poor thing in one of the traps in the woods. Nasty rusted trap too.” He tried not to wince at how pathetic it made him sound.
“Aww,” Maeve cooed, lavishing strokes and ear scratches that soothed his pride. “Such a skilled and mighty hunter too to be so large.” His purr rumbled out in answer and she cuddled him close, obviously delighted by the sound.
“I will need to change his bandage before dinner,” he dimly heard Cáit say to her friend. All this attention was making it hard to focus, his eyes drooping drowsily, but soon he felt Maeve hand him over to Cáit. Farewells were exchanged and he felt Cáit resume her trek home. He knew he should jump down and walk like before, but Cáit seemed content to carry him, her hand combing through his fur pleasantly. His purr rolled on and on and he wondered if it could get stuck. He usually didn’t purr, but since accepting this mission it felt almost constant.
C
Cáit made her way to the dining hall alone after depositing a very limp and content Deryn onto her bed. She had changed the bandage like she told Maeve she would and was pleased to see the wounds were finally healing well. She smiled, remembering how delighted he had seemed with the children fawning over him and then Maeve’s cuddles. She wondered at that, how different from the stories of cruel, child stealers and malicious tricksters he was.
Her thoughts turned to when Tym had joined them and sombered. He had been much the same way with touch. Starved for affection, deprived of positive physical contact, Biddy had told her. Cáit’s heart ached at the thought that Deryn had been similarly mistreated, especially when she had a feeling it wasn’t for a couple decades, but likely centuries.
She arrived at the dining hall, her father already seated and waiting. He looked haggard, the stress of the attacks likely to blame. She knew she should share what she had learned, but she worried what some would do with the knowledge.
“Good evening, father,” she greeted, “You seem tired tonight, have there been more attacks?” This would be tricky, she knew, since she usually did not ask about them, but she would do her best. She watched her father nod.
“A handful of them torched the Murray’s farm last night. I’ve sent supplies and men to help rebuild.”
“There must be a reason for it,” Cáit said cautiously, “did we start doing something that could have offended them?” She studied her father while the first course came out, his brows furrowing. He had always treated her questions with respect no matter how foolish and tonight was no different.
“We’ve hunted those woods for generations now,” he told her, “our farmlands have been there even longer.” She nodded though she had already known.
“Are we using different equipment? Perhaps a new design of trap or material they may feel is disrespectful to the woods? I read a tale about a dryad disliking a certain type of wood being used by humans, perhaps we have done something similar?” She had read the tale awhile ago and thought it outlandish, but it was a handy example now.
“I believe the hunters have been using more metal traps recently,” he admitted, “better to catch some of the larger game supposedly.” She hid her wince, but knew she had her opening.
“Metal like that isn’t found in nature,” she mused, “I think they find our use of it, in what they may see as their woods, as an abomination.” She took care with her wording, leaning into the general view that Fae were narcissistic and easily insulted creatures.
“The hunters will not stop using a tool that works,” he warned, “but I will have them stop using them beyond the river that cuts through there. Perhaps pulling back some will cease these attacks.”
“It can’t hurt to try,” she agreed. The rest of dinner’s conversation was more lighthearted until dessert was served.
“I got word from Master Ardal that you brought a curious companion to your lesson today.” She froze, suddenly nervous about what her teacher had said. “He left a few books that he thought would be of interest. I had them brought to your room.” She struggled to hide her surprise, wondering what books her teacher had brought.
“Thank you, father,” she said, “I’m sure they will be enlightening.” She finished her meal and bid her father good night. Her steps were a touch hurried once she left the dining hall and soon she entered her rooms.
Upon entering, she spied Deryn in her armchair, a book open in his lap. A tray sat beside him, though the plate was empty now. He glanced up at her and smiled.
“There was a new stack of books on your chair,” he explained cheerfully, “they were very helpful in answering the questions I had during your lesson today.” She blinked, surprised she hadn’t even realized he had questions about it.
“Father said Master Ardal brought them,” she told him, “I think… I think he knows you’re not a regular cat.” Deryn nodded, his expression thoughtful.
“He did seem to hint at that at the end of your lesson,” he admitted, “what did he tell your father?”
“Master Ardal seems to have only said a ‘curious companion’,” she replied, “Considering the books, I doubt Master Ardal would say they were for a cat and given the attacks I doubt Fae was mentioned either.” She inclined her head towards the tray, “Looks like you managed to find some dinner too, oh mighty hunter.” She was rewarded with a light blush and chuckle at her playful ribbing.
“Biddy came in while you were away,” he explained, “I hid under the bed again while she spoke to the empty room. ‘Was expectin’ three in da hall t’night. Just gonna leave this ‘ere fer any hungry lads that may be aboot.’ I don’t think she’s fooled any more than Master Ardal.” Cáit was impressed by how accurate his impression of Biddy was as he recounted her visit, though her worry at what Biddy might tell her father dampened her humor.
“There was another attack last night,” she told him, “I talked some to my father about it. I didn’t mention the iron, but he will tell our hunters to pull back the traps so that none are north of the river that cuts through the woods bordering our farms.”
“How did you get him to do that without mentioning the iron?” She felt a smile tug at her lips at his curious expression, his head tilt displaying his feline tendencies.
“By taking advantage of all the tales insisting Fae are easily insulted by the oddest things,” she admitted, “Since the traps are fairly new it’s definitely what has the Fae upset, especially considering your mission to find a ‘weapon’ and how the iron made you so sick.”
“I should head to those woods and talk to the Fae there,” he decided, “inform them that it’s not a weapon and that the river will act as a boundary.” She watched his brows furrow, “I’d rather not risk another run in with such traps. Could you act as a guide?” She considered for a moment then shook her head. She only knew to stick to the dirt trail in the woods by the wall, the northern woods were too wild for such a clear trail.
“I’m no hunter,” she said, “but Maeve’s brother is.”
Continue Reading: Part 5
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