Chapter 29
The night was dark and the camp was still and though he rested atop his thick, warm pallet of furs and rugs, sleep did not come easily to Edward. He could hear the sounds of crickets and frogs from the jungle, croaking and cheeping beneath the calm, cool stars, but as he stared at the rough upper canopy of his tent with eyes wide and troubled, he felt no hint of telltale tiredness to overtake the worry. His blade rested in its scabbard by his side. His injured arm throbbed and itched, smarting when the fresh dressing rubbed the stitches. Carlisle had changed it before bed— had insisted on it for fear of infection— and Edward had granted his uncle this small grace and had not complained. The wound had flared when he'd dragged a cloth of boiled water over it, washing away days worth of scabs, and it had felt newly wounded when he'd wrapped it again, tying the cloth a little tighter than before.
He'd been dispatched to bed like an errant child the very instant he'd shown any signs of tiredness. He had not had time to explain that he was not sleepy and his uncle had not listened to well-reasoned protests when Edward had tried to speak. He'd been met with obstinate, stubborn worry that Edward knew was as immovable as stone, and to appease the healer, he'd sequestered himself away in his tent.
He'd listened to the chatter long after he was supposed to be asleep, eavesdropping on Jasper's retelling of their discovery of the mysterious corpse in the jungle.
They'd found it at noontime, he'd said. They were looking for place to break for their midday meal. They were intending to search the treeline next, looking for any signs of disturbance or movement, and when one of the scouts went to check for aggressors, he'd sounded the alarm.
The body had been pulled free of the brambles and leaves where it had fallen and had been dragged out into the light. They had not needed to check if he was truly dead, for his face was blue and mottled and they'd stripped him of his tunic to inspect his wounds, which were grievous and raw.
No one knew him. No one could place his face, which was thin and pale, with a long, crooked nose and a smattering of greasy, light hair. His clothing was rough, patched together from bits of other ruined garments, and had been worn so long that its former colours had faded to a monochrome brown. The cloak that had fallen near him was finer, made of a thick, black wool, and there was a curious metal clasp at the neck that bore no mark of any blacksmith in Edward's bustling capital.
He was not a farmer, for there were no farms near enough to be his. He was not a herder, for he had no stick, dog, or sheep trailing after him. He was not a vagrant, for his sword was finely made, and he was no goldsman, for his clothes were far too shabby.
And the hair… Jasper had hidden the lock of hair from his men, who were already rife with rumours and speculations. He'd found it in the man's fist— his dead fist which had clenched so tightly around it that Jasper had been forced to pry it free. He worried about that hair, worried where it might have come from, and he'd saved it especially for Edward, letting him take it to inspect.
In the dark of his tent, which was no longer lit by the glow of a campfire, Edward wrapped that hair around his fingers. It was tangled worse than ever after his compulsive handling of it, but it was still soft beneath the pad his thumb, which he dragged down the curl until it made his thumb feel tingly.
The longer he waited, staring at the darkness above him, the more convinced he grew. This was Bella's hair, though he did not like to think it, and the violence by which it had been taken made his stomach clench with fear.
He'd promised her safety. He'd promised her comfort. He'd promised her happiness, and friendship, and family, and every single one of those promises had been broken, shattered like glass at their feet.
Where on earth could she be?
When dawn rose, pale and clear in the east, Edward woke with a start, ill-rested and stiff. He sat up with a grimace and winced when his arm pulled in protest, remaining still for only a moment to let it settle before he threw open the flap of his tent and stretched.
The camp was utterly silent. The fire that had burned out in the night was a pile of blackened ashes and coals, beside which rested a pile of roasting sticks and bones from the evening's last meal. Grey-green tents of strong, serviceable fabric had popped up hodge-podge in the field, in which rested two men apiece. Jasper and Carlisle were still ensconced in the Prince's tent, which was big enough for two, and when he turned to face the jungle Edward saw the fluttering white sheet that covered the dead man.
Beyond him, walking idly near the trees, were the nighttime guards, who spoke with bent heads and whispered words that went unheard by their King.
Edward rummaged for a moment in his pocket, bringing the lock of hair up to the light. It caught the first rays of sun in a glint of reddish brown and he sighed, hiding it in his fist before anyone else could see.
"It it's hers, it's a good sign."
Edward nearly leapt out of his skin. Wheeling around with his hand on the scabbard of his sword he faced his uncle with pale surprise, his heart hammering in his throat.
"Gods, you do know how to sneak," he said waspishly. "You walk like a cat."
Carlisle grinned unapologetically.
"I'd apologize for it, but it's a very useful skill," he replied. "A critical skill in a sickroom, I'd say. But I am sorry if I scared you."
Edward said nothing. Carlisle glanced down at the hair in his hand and sighed, his mirth dying like a fly in a fire.
"May I see it?" he asked gently. He held out his hand in askance. "I promise, I won't keep it."
Reluctant and pensive, Edward dropped the curl into his uncle's hand. Carlisle brought it to his face and turned it towards the light to get a good look, his eyes narrowing in on the bloody clump at the very end.
"It was pulled," he said lowly. "Quite hard…"
Edward glanced back at the dead man again. Carlisle did too, speculative and suspicious.
"I wonder if he did it," he said. "Where did Jasper find it again?"
"His hand," Edward replied. "In his fist."
"And he told no others?"
"No."
"Good man." Carlisle ran a finger down the curl. "It would only incite more gossip."
"Indeed…"
"It is the right colour," said Carlisle slowly, ignoring Edward's wince. "And the right length."
"I fear we're not wrong, Carlisle," said Edward tiredly. "I fear that Jasper was right…"
"But as I said…" He handed the hair back and Edward stuffed it into his pocket. "If it is hers, it is a good sign."
"It is a sign of injury," retorted Edward at once. "A sign of wrongdoing…"
"Aye, and a sign of life." Carlisle glanced back at the jungle. "If he did pull her hair out by the roots in some kind of struggle, it proves that she was alive, not long ago, and that she was strong enough to fight."
"But…"
"And we found him dead, not her." Carlisle grinned, uncharacteristically pleased by this thought. "And if it is hers, she's armed."
"We can't be sure…"
"I inspected the corpse thoroughly, Edward," said Carlisle. "He was felled by a knife, that much is certain. The cut on his ribs punctured a lung and tore the diaphragm. The one in his belly tore his bowels wide open. He died slowly, I'm sure, but from the blood at his lips, he must have choked on it."
"We don't know who he is…"
"He is none of ours," said Carlisle quickly. "No one we know, and no one with any business this side of the mountains."
Edward, frowning, glanced up at the tall, towering peaks. The summits were invisible here, close as they were to their roots, and disappeared into clouds of early morning mist about two thousand feet up the mountainside.
"But how was he felled?" Edward asked. "How could she have killed a man, Carlisle, and what does that mean for her?"
He stomach twisted again in nervous fear, and he looked away from the body with disgust.
"I have no idea," said Carlisle wonderingly. "None whatsoever. But it means nothing, if she was pursued."
His voice had gone sharp.
"You are the King," he continued. "Murder is a crime, and we know it well, but you are the King, and if you say it means nothing, then it means nothing."
Edward froze, frowning.
"This Island is under your control, and your control alone. You can forgive her this crime, if you think it right."
"She had no knife," said Edward uncertainly. "She had no weapons, and I doubt she'd know how to use one if she did… and that sword the man carried is no mean blade."
"No, it's not," said Carlisle. "It's not mean, especially not when…"
He trailed off, his lips pursed. He looked ashamed of himself, as if he'd said too much, and at once, Edward felt that telltale prickle of falsehood at the back of his neck.
"Tell it true, Carlisle," he said quietly. "Do not try and keep things from me."
His Uncle sighed.
"There is blood on his blade, too," he said finally. "Not much, it's true, but enough to leave a mark."
Edward's nerves flared again, and he heard his throbbing heart in his own ears. Carlisle saw his fear and sighed, shaking his head quickly.
"We will find her," he promised solemnly. "I, for one, will not stop scouring this island until I find some trace of her, even if it takes me ten years."
"She doesn't have ten years," said Edward. "Not if she's injured. Not if she's alone…"
A flapping tent at their backs silenced their chatter at once, and Edward turned to direct his men.
Scouring and searching, hunting and calling, Edward and his men had thrown themselves body and soul into the search for the missing Lady. They had broken their fast in silent contemplation, Edward, Carlisle, and Jasper formulating plans for a search.
Soldiers, in groups of two, completed a meticulous and thorough sweep of the treeline and fields. The day was hot and was made even more intolerable by the blazing sun overhead, which beat down on them like the core of a great, rippling oven. Edward's arm did not like the work— it throbbed with each step of his horse and made Carlisle grimace in displeasure, which slowed down their work indefinitely when he was forced to pause and have it examined, looking for any signs of infection or sickness. Jasper travelled with them, impatient with his brother's constant stops, but he said nothing as they moved, frisking through the trees and directing the returning men, who had no news to report and no evidence to submit.
They searched the jungle, as far and deep as they dared go in the twisting, winding darkness beyond. They searched the fields, rifling through long grass and weeds and dragging long sticks and branches through puddles and creeks. Three men abreast walked the length of a stream, pushing through thickets of tall and spindly reeds, ducking their heads beneath the water in murky spots to look for any signs of struggle or movement. They looked for footprints, though this hope was made small by the constant rains over the last week, and for objects, which might tell of her journey from the trees.
They looked for laces or shoes, as the suede ties on her wooden soles would not have lasted long in the wild. They looked for a hair tie— that long, black ribbon which had bound her plait— or the thin wire pins that had held her hair in place. They looked for scraps of fabric, black bits of mourning dress or white bits of slip, and even for remnants of fire or food, which she may have managed to catch, had she been lucky and quick.
"This is how it's been for a week," said Jasper glumly, pulling up behind Carlisle who was scanning the field to their left. "No signs of anything except that body and its prize."
"We are growing closer by the minute," said Carlisle gently. "We've not found much, but what you did find is a great clue."
Jasper shifted a bit, uncertain.
"It won't help though," he mumbled. Edward considered him sympathetically. "It won't get us any nearer."
"Perhaps not," agreed their Uncle, "but it has put us on the right trail."
"Leah's found nothing," said Jasper at once. "If we were on any trail at all, she'd let us know. She just sniffs and sniffs and stops for food. She's found nothing."
"A dog's nose is only good so long as the scent remains," said Carlisle sagely. "She cannot help us if the scent was washed away in the rain."
"She hunts after rainfall all the time," said Jasper crossly. "What's different now?"
"A lady's scent is not so pungent as a boar's, I should think." Carlisle stifled a grin. "Boars are notorious animals. They leave traces everywhere."
"But…"
"The Lady," continued Carlisle, "is perhaps more subtle. And if we are right in thinking she's been pursued…"
Jasper hung his head and Edward spoke up.
"You've done very well to find what you have," he said honestly. "Very well, Jasper…"
"But what if she's not found?" he asked. "I thought…"
"I know what you thought," said Edward gently. "You believed what we've all hoped is true. And I hope that you believe it still, for we must have at least one leader who truly believes that our quest will end in joy instead of tragedy."
Jasper's head snapped up at once.
"You believe it will end that way?" he asked, his eyes suddenly soft and damp. "You think she's…"
Edward grimaced.
"I do not think it," he spoke delicately, "but I do fear it."
"She's stronger than you think," said Jasper at once. "She survived on the beach, and she was grievously injured then."
Edward simply nodded.
"She's not one to be trifled with," he said. "She's smart, Ed. She has to be."
"I know…"
"She won't be dead," he snapped, and Edward sensed a hint of the old anger rising in him again. Defusing it at once Edward held up his hand for peace, and Jasper fell suspiciously silent, eying him with annoyance.
"I do not wish to quarrel," said Edward. "I don't want to fight with you… not when you've been doing so well."
"It's not all for nothing," he said hotly, the anger not quite depleted. "You speak as if it's futile."
"Not at all." Carlisle wheeled his horse around, looking soberly at the Prince. "Not at all, Jasper. Your brother is the King…"
"I know that…"
"...and as King," Carlisle cut in with infinite patience, "it is his duty to try and see all ends."
Jasper grimaced, but said nothing.
"We must prepare ourselves for any outcome," continued Carlisle, soft and gentle. "Even if we do not like it. The Lady might be found, untouched and unharmed, somewhere in the fields. She may be found up a tree communing with monkeys. She may walk right into our camp while we're all asleep and we'll find her there in the morning, with smiles and stories to shock us all."
Jasper grinned at this, as if the fantasy amused him.
"But we may also find injury," said Carlisle. "We may find death, even. Bella is a gentle woman who has been very gently raised. She is not a woodsman or a hunter. She does not know the jungles like we do."
"She's smart," said Jasper again. "She's capable, Uncle…"
"Aye, I think you're right," said Carlisle quickly. "Nevertheless, even the best of us…"
"She is not dead!" he snapped hotly. He wheeled his horse around and stiffened, sitting still in his saddle. "She is not dead. That hair is hers, I'm sure of it. And if she had the hair torn right off of her head, not even two days ago, then…"
Carlisle and Edward said nothing.
"Then…" He struggled for words. "Then she is alive! She fought him! She probably killed him!"
"Jasper…"
The boy wheeled around with eyes full of fire and glared hotly at his brother, though Edward did not quail.
"You are wrong." He spat the words with venom. "You're wrong, Edward, and before this search is done, I will prove it to you."
"Your hope is as great as my own." Edward spoke lowly and it made Jasper scowl. "Your hope is as true as mine, though you may not see it."
"You think she's…!"
"Aye, I think she's hurt!" Edward shouted and Jasper started, surprised. "I think she's injured, and frightened, and hungry, and sore…"
The boy flinched.
"And I hope we find her well." His throat was tight and the space between his eyes began to smart. "I want nothing more than to find her and bring her home…"
The child alighted with a mad, mercurial delight.
"Home," he agreed, nodding solemnly in agreement. "We'll bring her home, Ed, and then you can make her all the promises in the world."
Edward bit his tongue and turned away.
"Just remember, Jasper…" Carlisle rode up next to him, patting him roughly on the shoulder. "Just remember that you're not the only one who loves her. We all care for her and we all want her safe, and we're all working towards the same goal. Your brother included."
Edward, flushed red with sudden embarrassment, said nothing at all when Jasper turned his speculative, deciphering gaze on him.
Their break came in the dead of night, well after the last of the evening's sunlight disappeared beyond the mountain peaks, turning the inky blue sky to a murky cloud of indigo. The night was black, with only a hint of speckled stars, and the moon was invisible, having dipped beyond some distant horizon. They had eaten a meagre meal of roasted rabbit and hard biscuits, washing it all down with water from a nearby stream, and the fire had reduced to embers, the soldiers asleep in their tents, when the commotion broke out.
"Leah, no!"
Jasper stood at the edge of the camp, where he was coaxing Leah to take some leftover meat from his dinner, before she'd stood with perked ears and bolted, barking madly, into the great, dark jungle. Edward watched with concern, his eyes trained on the white, streaking bolt, and he moved towards the trees when the dog disappeared, barking madly.
"Leah!" Jasper ran to the treeline, stopping short when he hit the great, looming shadow. "Leah, come!"
"She's half wild, that creature," said a soldier, glancing concernedly into the trees beside his King and his Prince. "She's been on edge all day."
"She's trained not to run," said Edward crossly. "She's trained to sit, and wait for commands…"
A howl, low and strident, tore through the trees. The sound made Edward shiver— it sounded as harsh and menacing as a wild, wanton wolf— and he half-wondered if he ought to go in after her and bring her safely back to camp.
"Shall I…" The soldier eyed the trees warily, as if he hesitated to move, and waited for command. "I could…"
"It's dark," said Edward at once, though Jasper watched him with astonished concern. "There's no sense losing a man, too. Leah is strong. She'll be alright…"
A volley of barks, sharp and angry, made Edward bristle.
"She'll get hurt, Ed," whispered Jasper urgently. "She's not trained for the wild…"
"She's fierce, and a hunter," said Edward reasonably. "Perhaps our rabbit did not suit her…"
The pile of small, clean bones next to the dog's nest of grass and leaves told plainly that the rabbit had suited, and Jasper said as much to Edward, who sighed, tired.
"She'll come back," said Edward again. "She's run off before…"
"In the grounds!" hissed Jasper anxiously. "Not in the jungle!"
"You run in the jungle all the time," said Edward dryly, "and you've never been eaten by beasts." Jasper scowled at him, his face mottled and red.
"We could get a torch…"
"No." Edward shook his head at the soldier. "If she hasn't returned by tomorrow we'll look for her. Chances are she'll return in the night with her hunting prize and we'll all be jealous of her feast come morning.
Jasper stared disconsolately into the trees, whistling softly when the howls went quiet, and heard nothing at all from the echoing trees.
"We'll go in the morning," soothed Edward softly. "It'll do us no good to chase her now. We can't afford to lose our men, as we'll be on the hunt again tomorrow…"
This seemed to snap the boy back to sense. He shook his head as if to clear it and ran his hands heavily over his eyes, swallowing back the yawn that bubbled up in his throat.
"You should get to sleep," said Edward softly. "Try to get some rest before morning."
Jasper rose without a word.
"I'll wake you at once if we have any news," said Edward to his retreating back. "I'm sure she'll return by sunrise."
Jasper was just reaching to grab the flap of his tent, which had been hastily tied, when they heard the barks.
Three sharp sounds, each bouncing harshly off of the trees and leaves.
Three barks… from any other animal this might have been inconsequential. From any other beast but Leah, who had been trained to respond thusly when she reached the end of her hunting trail, when her prize was in hand, waiting for the kill…
"Leah!" Edward rose with a sudden furor, rushing forwards towards the trees. "Leah, come!"
Three barks.
The soldiers rose in a flurry. Shouts of "Leah!" and "Come!" rang through the clearing like a tinkling fairy echo, making birds flutter into the sky. Armour clanged, swords shifted, and Edward, giddy with sudden terror, leapt forward.
"Torch!" he bellowed, and the men scrambled to obey. "Bring me a torch at once!"
Three barks.
A torch was lit from the embers of the cookfire. It flared brilliantly, sending jetties of orange light into the blackness between the trees, and Edward peered through anxiously, his heart in his throat. The noise was clamorous now and Edward held up an impatient hand for silence, which came with great difficulty as the men fought down excited exclamations and concerned whispers. When there was nothing but the noise of crickets and frogs, Edward drew in a breath, shouting the command as deeply and loudly as he could
"Leah, seek!"
An echoing howl, strident and long, answered from the jungle and Edward grinned, thrusting the torch into the blackness.
"What did she find?" Jasper was at his elbow, his face aglow with light. He wore a peculiar expression somewhere between terror and glee, and Edward suspected that for the first time in a long while, their feelings were one and the same.
Carlisle stood behind him like a ghost, his face unreadable.
"I don't know." They heard another howl, closer this time. "But whatever it is, she's bringing it back."
They heard the gentle rustling of sprinting paws as they listened to the night. Edward waved the torch, whistling gently to guide the dog back to camp, and when she tumbled free of the weeds and bracken some five minutes later, Edward snatched the scrap of fabric in her mouth with trembling, shaken fingers.
Black, thick, and woolen… as familiar to him as the shirt on his back.
His breath left him in an instant and he fell still, his face as pale as milk. Jasper, beyond patience, snatched it from him angrily, peering down at it with curious, confused eyes.
He took the torch, too, and brought the strip close.
It was a piece of the skirt, of that long, black, heavy dress that he'd ordered from his mother's stores to clothe Bella on the day of the ceremony at Terosankta.
"What does it mean?" demanded Jasper at once. He rounded on his brother, who said nothing, and then Carlisle, who blew out a sigh. "What does it mean, Edward?"
Edward took it back, stuffing it into his pocket.
"It means she was there," he said gruffly. "It means we're not wrong."
The boy froze, blinking.
"It means that she was here."
The men began to murmur, excitement bubbling like wine in their bellies. The chatter rose among them, growing noisy and loud, but before Edward could turn to silence them, the chatter turned to fear. Men shouted, confused and wary, and as if they were attached to strings like marionettes, their heads rose in one, swift movement. A shout rang out again and an arrow was nocked, pointing inexplicably at the sky, where Edward squinted into the dark.
"What is it?" he demanded at once. The archer's keen eyes followed something he could not see. "What is it?"
His question was answered when a great, emerald bird, with a beak as orange as the torch, came tumbling from the sky, landing with a squawk and a shiver at his feet.
Edward rode like the wind.
Dust flying beneath Magnus' hooves and sweat sliding down his flanks, Edward pushed his horse ever on, feeling the wind sharp and damp on his face and neck. The night sprawled out before him like an endless brocade peppered with stars and clouds, winking from the veil of the sky. The city was dark. High in the valley Edward could see over the walls and he stared down at it eagerly, where the glows of hearthfires and cooking stoves had been extinguished, their owners asleep in the quiet of early morning. The sun was far off— it would be an hour before it rose, and another hour after until the world was bright— but Edward's tiredness did not faze him.
Emmett's letter ran a loop in his brain.
My King,
His horse leapt over a farmer's fence.
The Lady has returned.
He swerved to avoid a field of wheat, which rose before him like a golden sea.
She is safe, and is tended by Marta.
Magnus whinnied— a savage, joyous sound.
Your aunt has left to find you but she does not know this news, as she woke from her slumber and was distressed to find her husband and King gone.
He'd ridden right by her, bewildered and shocked though she'd been, without stopping for so much as a how do you do. He'd seen Carlisle stop for her, back when he'd been able to keep up, but Jasper had not been so courteous, and so had remained hot on Edward's tail until his horse had faltered, and he'd been forced to stop.
Magnus showed no such weakness and sprinted on.
The Lady arrived at the Western Gates at midnight, with a woman and child in tow.
Leah, swift and eager, outstripped Magnus by a hair.
She is being cared for and put to bed, well-fed and clean.
He ran.
There are two men on guard at the door.
He laughed.
She has been put in your bed.
He flew down the last hill to the city gates, where two large torches lit the night. Those who had not made it to the gates before sunset were camped comfortably beside the fires and food Edward had commissioned for them, and they woke with a start when their King began to shout.
"Open the gates!" Magnus reared. "Open the gates at once!"
Two heads peered through the window of the watchtower and Edward flung back his helmet, revealing his face. The younger man began to scramble before he disappeared down the stairs.
"Open the gates!"
The portcullis began to rise.
"My King!" The soldier, a young boy called Ruben, bowed at once. "My King, your Lady…"
Edward paused very briefly and eyed the boy with interest
"She is found," said Edward at once, unable to help his grin. "She is found, and is at the castle…"
"Yes, sir! Yes! We let her through…"
"Good man, Ruben!" Edward spurred his horse on again. "Very good man!"
The boy beamed as Edward rode off, clattering through the cobbled city streets with haste.
He bolted into the grounds. He ran like a shot through the castle doors. His feet banged noisily on the stone, echoing high in the rafters above him, but he did not care, pausing only once he reached the Western wing, where two guards stood sentry. One, startled, bowed at once when he saw him and the other, more recognizable to Edward than his own face, stepped forward with surprise.
"Edward," said Emmett. "You're here…"
"Is she…"
"She is well," said Emmett at once, amused and concerned all at once. "She sleeps restfully. There is a maid in your receiving room, listening for any signs of distress…"
Edward made to move forward, but Emmett blocked his way.
"You're waxen," he said at once, concern rising like a bolt. "You're white as a sheet…"
"Let me through," said Edward sharply. "I will see her for myself."
"Don't wake her, brother." Emmett spoke with careful warning. "She is in no shape to be disturbed."
Edward paused, his hand on the latch.
"What do you mean?"
Emmett sighed.
"She is not… entirely well," he hedged gently. "And there is a story to tell…"
"Stories can wait," said Edward shortly. "Tell me what's befallen her."
"She is wounded," said Emmett seriously. "Not gravely, but wounded nonetheless. She arrived at the gates without a warning. Carlisle will want to look at her, though Marta had Boro tend her in the interim."
"Who found her?"
"The guards at the gate," said Emmett. "She knew nothing of the curfew and wanted into the city. The young lad, Ruben, was the one who recognized her."
Edward nodded, filing this away for later.
"I was called and came at once. I brought her inside— and her companions— and we set her up here. Your room was aired and ready for occupants, unlike the blue rooms, and we figured you'd want her near."
"I would… I do," he amended quickly. "But you said 'companions'..."
"The woman and child," said Emmett. "There is a story there, sure enough, but all is well…"
Edward, wanting dearly to ask more, refrained, pushing the door to his chamber open with care. The room was awash with gentle light from the hearth, before which sat a very young maid, her eyes fixed on some distant part of the rug that Edward could not see. She scrambled up when she saw him, stumbling over herself to curtsey and Edward released her at once, gesturing for her to sit
She said nothing and did not rest, shuffling her slippered feet on the carpet.
"How fares my Lady?" he queried softly. "Is she well?"
"She sleeps," chirped the girl. "She's not been disturbed."
"Has she woken?"
"No."
"Has she cried out?"
The child shook her head. "I check on her every hour or so, and she sleeps quite soundly."
"What time did she arrive?"
"Just about an hour after midnight?" The child's nose wrinkled as she thought. "I'm not sure, Your Grace. It could have been later…"
"No matter." Edward glanced eagerly towards the bedroom door, which was closed and silent. "Are you…"
"Here until daylight," said the girl at once. "Another will replace me then. Marta has ordered us here until the Lady Esme returns, and even then perhaps we will be called."
"You may go now, child," said Edward gently. "Get some sleep before daybreak is upon you. I will look after the Lady until my Aunt arrives."
The child blinked at him, surprised.
"I…"
"Yes?"
The girl faltered.
"Marta…"
"Marta will not be cross, I promise you that," he said kindly. "If you're questioned, you tell her that the King himself dismissed you from your post."
She bobbed a short curtsey.
"Off with you, now…" He trailed off, unsure what to call her.
"Imi, sir." The girl perked up at once. "Imi. I tend the fires in the morning, and change the sheets."
"Imi." Edward nodded graciously to her, embarrassed that he did not know her name. The hiring of maids was the Queen's responsibility, and he'd been so bogged down by his own Kingly duties that his household had been left entirely to Marta, who had been his mother's own choice servant.
"Thank you, Your Grace." She bobbed another curtsey. "And goodnight."
"Goodnight, child." The girl backed away. "Sleep well."
She closed the door behind her and Edward, bristling with anticipation, pulled the latch of his own bedroom door and swung it in, stepping into the darkness with quiet, gentle feet.
The room was dark. The shades on his windows, left open by his own preference, had been drawn, casting out the moon and stars. The lamp on his bedside was dark, snuffed by Marta's kindly hands some hours prior, and the candles in the sconces were hard and waxen. The fire that burned behind the grate was low and simmering, sending only a slight flickering glow in the space just beside it, and none of that light reached the bed where he stared, fixated, on the small, still disturbance beneath the blankets and the sheets.
Her face was to him, white and still with sleep. Her long plait of hair that tumbled over her shoulder was smooth and neat, falling to her chest which rose and fell with gentle, soft breaths. Her arms were bare beneath the white nightdress, standing out in stark relief against his dark bedding and when he drew nearer he saw bruises there— dark, handprints stamped in ink, marring the pale smoothness of her skin. Her lips were parted and he saw them cracked and dry, and the side of her face that rested on the pillow was swollen with bruises, the worst of which ran up towards her eye.
Hot and terrible fury rose in his chest at once. He felt his teeth set, crushing and strong, before he forced himself to relax, breathing in deep to dispel the rage. It would do her no good… the damage was done and the injuries made, and no amount of anger or rage on his part would change that now.
His fingers, roaming and curious, took the edge of the blanket and tugged it down. Her fingernails were ragged, torn and bloodied by her journeys, and her hands had gone rough, calloused and bruised. He did not linger at her waist or her legs— it was not seemly for him look so intimately on her when she was not able to protest— but he could not help but take her foot in his hand, which was bandaged thickly from ankle to toe. He could see the edges of her toes, where raw, seeping blisters lay, and he felt a pang of pity that struck him hard, morphing into guilt when he slipped it back beneath the covers and let her shimmy herself into a comfortable spot.
When she'd finished moving, he saw the bandage at her neck. Gauze, white and soft, was wound about her throat, through which had seeped a pinkish red ooze from the skin beneath. He paused at once, his heart hammering with fear, and before he could stop himself, he brought his fingers up to touch it.
It was warm, wet with blood, and he fumbled for the knot at once, carefully unravelling the thick, soft cotton. She stirred but little as he worked, mumbling incoherently under her breath when he peeled the last layer away, and he had to squint to see the wound, shadowed as it was by darkness and gloom.
He lit the lamp with a stick from the fire, letting it flare to life before he brought it to her face, which flickered oddly beneath the light.
The wound was raw, its edges rough and torn from a blade that had dug deeply into her soft, warm flesh. His fingers flinched away, afraid to do her some further injury, and he cursed that hurt, his mind flickering back to that bloody blade they'd found with the dead man. Had he done this to her— held that long knife to his Lady's throat, pressing the very life out of her with malice? Had he put these bruises on her— the handprints on her arms and the fingers about her neck? Had he been the one to chase her, frightened and unarmed, to the very gates of his own city, where she'd been found, at last, and brought to safety?
The basket by his bed— the one Carlisle had left for his own wound— was just an arm's length away. He glanced away from her for a moment, rifling through to find what he needed, and brought up a pot of yellow wound salve and a length of narrow cotton, thicker than the one Boro had used to bind her earlier in the night.
Bella did not shift as Edward worked. She must be exhausted, he thought, to lay so still, especially when her wounds were new and sharp. He'd never been cut on his throat, much to his own relief, and so could not know how much it really stung, but when his fingers tickled gently over the thin, torn skin, she only slept, her breath touching his hand with each slow exhale.
He bound it gently, with a knot like Boro's tied beneath her ear. The sullied bandage went to the fire and made the coals hiss and seethe in the grate as she settled back against his pillow, her face smooth of any grief or fear.
The first rays of daylight, peeking in through the southern window, touched them, and Edward snuffed the lamp at last. He leaned forward on his chair, his face grey with exhaustion, and watched her, his hand placed just so, so that he might feel the air as she breathed.
She was safe, at last, he thought. Safe, and clean, and fed, and warm…
As if she heard this thought out loud, Bella turned herself gently towards him. Edward kept still, his head rested on his hands, level with the pillow, and when she settled again, she was not two inches from his own face. He watched her, overwhelmed with relief and joy at her homecoming, and though he did not cry, he felt the prickle behind his eyes that warned him he might. He was tired— so deliciously, blessedly tired— and though he longed to close his eyes and sleep, there was nothing in the world that would take his hand from her breath, or his eyes from her face.
It had been too long since he'd seen it, and it gave him such a deep and resonant thrill that he could not look away.
She was home, he thought. His brother was right. The Lady was home, and safe, and warm…
In his bed, nonetheless. In the King's own bed, sleeping like a babe…
The thought made him blush and he knew it was not entirely proper, but he could not help but think that she looked right there, as if she belonged. He wondered suddenly, with mingled curiosity and reproval, what it would be like if he were in the bed with her, her warmth and her smell wrapped around him like a quilt…
He shook the thought away at once.
She was safe, his conscience reminded him, and that was all that mattered. No matter which bed she was in, she was safe, and he could ask for nothing more than that when she was so utterly spent and exhausted from her rough and tiresome journey.
The story would come later. When she was well and ready to speak Edward would listen, and he would know all about her suffering and how she had come to be here, so unexpected and miraculous, over a week after she'd disappeared from the face of the Earth.
But until then, she was safe.
His energy waned then, as if the very notion had flipped a switch somewhere deep inside. He felt weary to the very marrow of his bones and as he sat watching her in the rising light of day, his limbs began to tremble as if they might come apart at the slightest breeze. He felt fragile, as if he were made of thin, spun glass, and the strain of keeping himself upright felt as if he might crumble to dust right then and there, to blow on the wind beyond the walls to the wilds of the jungle from which Bella had escaped. He rested his head on the bed, his hair brushing her soft, supple arm, and tiredness rushed at him like a ram, hitting him full in the chest with the force of a hurricane.
Sleep came easily to him that morning and he drifted with a heart of molten gold, thinking just how very beautiful his Lady was, and how glad he felt to see her safe.
A/N: REUNION! (also, we broke 700 reviews last chapter! Thanks so much!)
