Previously:
"But do I love him, Esme?" Bella asked the question with bewildered disbelief. "How will I know if I do?"
Esme simply smiled at her, her face awash with joy.
Chapter 35
In the centre of the Market Street, amid the bustling chaos of the afternoon, Bella watched the preparations for the King's New Year with rapt and avid attention.
Word had spread like wildfire. Councillors, eager with the news of the festival, had announced it to their districts with great haste and aplomb. Riders had been sent to the north and east with scrolls bearing the signet of the royal palace. Soldiers had returned to watchtowers, full to bursting with news and excitement. In the city, people had gathered in throngs around Lorenzo and Rohailo who stood atop crates, or barrels, or anything else they could get their hands on, to shout the news across the roads and alleys, into windows and doorways that remained open to the warm, balmy air. The palace was alight with the bustle of preparation. The rooms below floors, where the servants ate and worked, were a hive of activity. More than once Bella had come across Lessie, red-faced and frazzled, but completely delighting in her rule of the kitchen, which had begun to prepare dried meats and fruits well in advance of the celebration itself.
It took only a week for the first countrymen to arrive. Wealthy salesmen from the north and purveyors of fine wines from the east were among the very first, as they were rich enough to send trusted, steady servants to book their rooms in the inns scattered throughout the great capital city. Old and proud family standards were hung from windows and rooves on waving banners and painted boards. Flowerbeds, overgrown with weeds and detritus, were cleaned and swept within an inch of their lives. Before long there were no more lodgings to be let in the inns within the city limits, and private homes began to open guest rooms at exorbitant prices which, no matter how Edward tried to curb them, ran out of control. The rich paid readily—the fishery owners who'd come too late, or the honey hawkers who'd faced arduous and trudging journeys, were put up in kingly guest suites along the Western walls and some poorer families, having saved penny by penny for such an important day, were crammed onto pallets in spare rooms in the East. Strips of grass along the river through town were staked and claimed by men with tents, and more such shelters—some two hundred at least—had been erected outside of the Western Gate in the final week before the celebration.
Bella watched the changes with a contradiction of great, tingling curiosity and a queasy, dreadful nervousness that made her feel sick.
"It'll all be done quick," Alice would say. "You won't even have time to blink before it's over."
In the throne room she watched the vetting of the vendors. On her stool by the King's side atop the great stone dais she tasted fresh fruits and sampled dried, wild meats from returning jungle hunters. She smelled an array of floral incense until her eyes swam with tears—her body's protest to the overwhelming perfume that choked the whole room. Bakers brought them bread to taste—small nibbles only, but nibbles that added up to a meal and a half once the final cook had gone through. Bella relished it all, glutton though she may be, and gave an eager and honest opinion on the very best samples she'd been able to taste.
"What do you think, Bella?" Edward would whisper, his face bent low over hers as a fidgeting man stood wringing his hands before them. "Did you like it?"
More often than not she had liked the vendor's offering and she told Edward so, to his great and inexplicable delight. But for all her watching—for all her spying, and listening, and figuring—Bella was still not entirely sure that she knew exactly what the King's New Year was.
"It's a great party, Bella, that's what it is," said Rosalie staunchly, pressing her hot, black iron into the pleats of a freshly-laundered skirt. Bella was bent over the washtub with red cheeks, scrubbing against the board so hard that her hands were sore and pruned. Her hair, which had been smoothed and plaited, had escaped from its bindings and gone frizzy from the steam. Her own skirt had been clean just that morning but was now drenched through with warm, soapy water, and the grass had gone boggy and thick beneath her churning knees. Rosalie's belly, grown large and cumbersome, protruded onto the stone ironing tablet, next to which she'd started a roaring fire which only made the afternoon even hotter.
Laundry was a struggle for her now, given how big she had become, and Bella, good friend that she was, had quickly and naively offered to help her with some household chores. She did not regret that offer—not when she was clearly quite useful to Rosalie in her time of need—though she little could have imagined the struggle of laundering clothes without the aid of an electric machine.
Her arms ached with the strain.
"But what kind of party?" she puffed, tossing Finn's shirt, stained with mud, into the rinse basin after a long and ultimately vain attempt to whiten it. "It's an anniversary, Edward said…"
"Aye." Rose put the iron down and fanned her face with her hand, stepping away from the blistering heat of the coals. The iron hissed against the damp stone. "An anniversary of the crown… it's a celebration of the King."
"But why?"
"Why not?" chuckled Rose. "What else do we have to celebrate?"
Bella blinked at her, astonished.
"We've got name days," Rose continued, answering her own question. "Four times each year."
Bella had learned that birthdays, while popular in her own culture, were not so well-celebrated on the island. There were no real calendars in Marolando—only the detailed notations of the cycling weather—and so each birth was marked instead by the passing of seasons. Winter and summer babies were feasted on the solstices, and spring and autumn babies on the equinoxes.
"Then there are the odd feast days," Rosalie continued, arching her spine. Her belly stuck out even further and Bella, mesmerized by the writhing baby within, saw a telltale protuberance of arm or foot at the root of her bump. "Mostly Royal things…"
"But what kinds of royal things?" Bella asked, dunking another shirt into the sudsy water. "You forget, Rose… I'm absolutely clueless."
And, she thought ruefully, if I'm to be the great yearly gift, I should at least know what is being celebrated.
"Oh… all sorts," said Rose, returning to her work. "Births, marriages, deaths…"
"Deaths?" Bella interrupted. "You celebrate death?"
"Not in the way you're thinking," she chuckled. "It's not so much a party then…"
"Then what?" Bella's hands, red and raw, ran once more over the washboard.
"Feasts," said Rosalie again. "At least in the West… it was feasts."
Bella remained silent.
"When someone dies, they are returned to the Earth," she said, speaking so casually that Bella might have thought that it was just any topic of conversation. "It is a great loss, of course, and is so recognized with the proper rituals…"
"I see…"
"Food," said Rose with a laugh. "That is what it all comes down to, Bella. Food."
"And so next week…"
"When the New Year comes, I expect there will be plenty."
"You expect?" Bella prodded.
"You forget yourself," said Rose with a nudge to Bella's arm, "that I'm as new to this as you."
Bella pondered that for a moment.
"Is there nothing said about it beyond the mountains?" she asked curiously. "Is there nothing said at all?"
"Only in whispers," said Rose and Bella, attuned to the shift in her voice, heard the sudden sobriety. "Only in very faint whispers."
"Why?"
"It is outlawed," said Rose simply. "We do not talk of the East under Western rule, and we certainly do not discuss the King."
"At all?"
"Not at all," confirmed Rosalie. "Not one word. Jamos would have an absolute fit if he heard anything of the sort."
"But then…"
Rose watched her with keen, sharp eyes.
"Then what?"
"Then… how did you know so much?" she asked. "When you fled, I mean. You knew exactly where to go, and what the King would say once you got here…"
"I knew nothing of the sort," laughed Rosalie. "I guessed, and of course I hoped, but I did not know."
Bella waited for further explanation.
"I was able to guess because I was privileged," said Rosalie. "My husband spoke many secrets in my hearing… I knew far more than the average wife, I'm sure of that."
Bella bit her lip.
"But we did not talk of festivals," she finished with a sigh. "I know only what I've heard from the neighbours… we've almost been outed, Finn and I, for our ignorance. Thank the gods that Emmett has filled me in."
"Has he?" Bella grumbled, scowling towards the door. Try though she might, she had not been able to pull much information from Emmett on their way over, as whenever she would ask, he would reply only with wit and winks.
"Ed wants it to be a surprise," he'd said. "A treat for the Lady…"
As if he could hear them discussing him Emmett peeked around the wall of the kitchen, winking at Bella before his eyes settled on Rosalie, who did not see him. He watched her then, only for a moment, but Bella saw such a curious and maddening tenderness in his otherwise hard and unflinching countenance that she narrowed her eyes at him, which only made him turn back towards the road with pink cheeks.
Bella felt a sudden burst of confidence.
"What do you think of Emmett, Rosalie?" she asked bravely, keeping her voice low enough to stop the man from hearing. "Do you think he's…"
Bella could not decide if her friend looked more horrified or shocked by the question which, now voiced, hung between them like the blade of a guillotine. Her hand froze on the iron, leaving the steaming, hot metal on the skirt until it smoked, and she blinked, stupefied, into Bella's wide, apprehensive eyes.
"What?" she asked finally, setting the iron back on its heel. "What do you mean, Bella?"
Bella felt distinctly hot around the collar and she hesitated, clearing her throat.
"What do you think of Emmett?" she asked again, her voice much more subdued. "I only ask because…"
"I know why you ask." Rosalie cut her off with a curt titter. "I know why everyone asks."
Bella's cheeks went red.
"I know what they say about me, especially in the village," she continued. She glanced around to the neighbour's yard, where there was nothing but overgrown beanstalks and sad, drooping banana leaves. "I know what they think."
"I don't," said Bella honestly, and she felt a queer twinge of sympathy deep in her belly. "I didn't know they said anything…"
"Of course they do," spat Rosalie without even a hint of humour. "Of course they talk. He's here often enough, isn't he?"
"Is he?" challenged Bella. "I don't know all of what he does, Rosalie, for all I see him in the castle."
Rosalie watched her with a blank, guarded expression. There was silence for a moment, without even a sound from the washtub full of soapy water, before Rosalie spoke again, her face turned away so that Bella could not read it.
"I like him well enough," she said lowly. "I expect anyone would. He is helpful, and he is kind…"
"Yes…"
"But?" Rosalie turned her back now, under the guise of flattening a seam. "What of it?"
Bella bit her cheek.
"Rose?"
Rosalie said nothing.
"I don't mean to pry."
"No, I don't think you mean to."
Rosalie's emphasis made her opinion quite clear and Bella, feeling both proud and foolish, bit back the urge to snap back.
"And yet you are my friend," said Bella. "You are my only friend, Rose, and so I care. I don't mean to be nosy."
Rosalie, seeming to deflate, turned around with sad eyes.
"There's nothing for it, Bella," she said. Her eyes travelled over to the place where Emmett's face had poked around, and where they could now see the rear of him, leaning idly against the signpost in the yard. A neighbour—someone Bella did not recognize—walked down the lane and waved and Emmett stopped him, chatting jovially.
"What do you mean?" Bella asked and Rose, downcast and sullen, turned away at once. She returned to her ironing with unnecessary vim.
"I mean that there is nothing for it," she repeated. "It matters not what I think of him… the fact is, Bella, that there could not be any sensible or well-suited man who would look twice at me."
"Says who?" demanded Bella angrily. "Why do you say so?"
"Because it is true," said Rosalie with a sad finality that drove all of Bella's ire away at once. "Because it is the truth. I am not a widow, which would be acceptable in its own way, and I'll soon have not just one, but two children to feed. Though they come from parents both wedded and bedded, they are little more than bastards here, where there is no father to love them. It is a great burden for any man to even consider, much less take on."
"Burden?" Bella barked a laugh and Rosalie, eyes narrowed up, said nothing. "I don't see the burden in it…"
"No, I don't think you would," Rose grumbled. She tossed the pressed, slightly singed skirt into her wicker laundry basket without folding it. "No, you would see otherwise…"
"Rose…"
"Never mind, Bella." Rosalie pulled the basket to her hip with some difficulty. "Never mind what I think of Emmett. It doesn't signify, and it won't amount to anything."
"But…"
Rosalie, looking tired and drawn, turned without a word and escaped into the cool shade of her tidy kitchen and Bella, left brooding at the washtub, felt her own fears rising like serpents in the grass.
It was on her way back to the castle after a stunted and chilly farewell from Rosalie that Bella, deep in her own thoughts, was startled by a hand at her back.
"May I join you?"
She was jolted so badly that she yelped, her voice echoing down the lonesome, quiet street. It bounced down to the waterside, coursing through the low river valley, and more than one person—children in the shallows, women at the wash line, and men, leading livestock through the lanes—stopped to look. Emmett wheeled around at once, his hand on the hilt of his blade, but at almost the same time as Bella he stopped, his arm falling slack at his side.
He turned around again without a word, leaving Bella breathless in the sudden hush.
"I'm sorry," said Jasper contritely. He shuffled his feet in the dirt and looked, to Bella's quiet relief, torn between regret and amusement. Bella smiled to ease his discomfort and when he saw that she wasn't angry he grinned impishly at her, snatching up her hand to hook it around the bend of his elbow.
"I saw you down the lane," said Jasper. "Or at least… I thought it was you. What are you doing on this side of town?"
Bella laughed.
"I was with Rosalie," replied Bella. "To help."
"Help?"
"With the washing," she explained. "She's a little…"
Jasper chuckled.
"Round?" he supplied helpfully, making Emmett turn and frown at him. "A little… top-heavy?"
"Now, watch yourself," laughed Bella. "She might still hear you, and she's none too kind to those who insist on pointing it out."
Jasper laughed at her but Emmett, looking suddenly stormy, grumbled and walked on ahead.
"He doesn't like me much," Jasper told Bella in a whisper so loud that even Emmett, some ten paces ahead, scowled back at them. "Never has."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"Oh, it is," said Jasper and Bella, though she felt a pang of sympathy, was not quite sure what to make of his utter disregard for this fact. "He's always liked Ed best."
"The King," said Emmett without turning, "is a great companion. He is… proper."
"And I am wild," said Jasper without so much as a hint of contrition. "I know it well. But anyhow… I did not track you down to talk about him."
He jerked his chin irreverently at Emmett who, still turned away, did not see.
"So why did you track me down?" asked Bella. Together they wound slowly up the riverside pathway that would bring them back to the castle gates. "Why did you follow us?"
"Easy now!" Jasper looked affronted. "I did not follow you, Miss Bella. I merely saw you."
Bella bit her cheek to stop her grinning.
"It's true!" Jasper pulled her even closer and she did not resist him, falling somewhat behind when his long legs increased in pace. "I didn't follow…"
"So what were you doing, then?"
"Advertising." He rolled his eyes with a grimace. "On behalf of the King."
"Advertising for what?" queried astonished Bella. "What's he selling?"
"Oh, nothing," said Jasper. "Not selling. More like… performing."
"Performing?" Bella was struck by a sudden vision of costumes and makeup. "Performing for what?"
"The New Year." Jasper's eyes rolled again. "That blasted New Year."
"Do you not like it?" Bella asked. "I've not heard a single bad word about it."
"No, you wouldn't." said Jasper with a grumble. "Not here, anyhow. I expect very few people really dislike it."
"But you do?"
Jasper shrugged noncommittally.
"It's a lot of work for nothing," he said finally, after Bella remained silent and awkward for a long moment. "It's a whole lot of preparations and fuss for one day…"
"It is the people's chance to celebrate their King, young prince," Emmett cut in sharply and Jasper, going pink, snapped around to face him. "It is a chance to show their respect."
"Aye."
"You don't agree?" Emmett raised a stiff eyebrow and stopped, waiting for the pair of them to fall in line beside him before he continued. He eyed Jasper with particular interest. "You don't think they should pay their respects?"
"No… they should."
"Then what?" asked Emmett. "What's the matter with it?"
"I…" Jasper glanced sheepishly at Bella. "I just… don't like it."
"But why…?"
"I just don't, okay?" His voice, which had thus far been soft and kind, went hard in an instant. "It's a lot of fuss and a ton of bother, all so people can eat some food and spend some coin."
"It's important."
"I know." His face went sullen. "I know. Edward says so often enough."
"It boosts the economy," said Emmett, and Bella, squeezing Jasper's arm in consolation, watched as he tried to bite back his remarks. "It is good for the market."
"Aye, but…"
"And morale," Emmett continued without pausing. "Morale matters, Jasper."
"Morale," he grumbled. "What does morale have to do with anything?"
Emmett stopped and Jasper, startled by the suddenness of it, halted within inches of the man's back.
"Morale is everything, Jasper," he said in astonishment. "Surely you know that?"
"Don't see why." Jasper, pulling lightly on Bella's arm, tugged them free of Emmett's shadow. "I don't see why it matters so very much."
"If there is no morale, there is no hope," said Emmett and Bella felt the return of that queer, aching queasiness deep in the pit of her belly. "Hope keeps this island together, if nothing else. You should remember that, Jasper, if you want to be a leader."
Jasper eyed him curiously. Emmett, surveying the boy with a searching, critical eye, seemed to soften when he saw the genuine incomprehension on the child's face.
"Hope keeps spirits high," said Emmett finally, speaking slowly so as to make himself clear. "Hope is what drives the people to love instead of hatred."
"Love?"
"They love your brother, as they loved your father before him," said Emmett. "They love you too, though I'm sure you don't know it."
"I don't know it…"
"And it is precisely because of that love," continued Emmett, "that order is maintained."
"How can they love a man they hardly see?" groused Jasper, his face dark with suspicion. "How can they love someone they only know from a distance?"
Emmett eyed him, his face downcast. With a peculiar softness on his irritated face Bella saw how his gaze flickered back towards the pink cottage round the bend in the road, so far from them that it was no longer visible from their vantage point. His eyes lingered there on that invisible spot for only the briefest of moments but it was enough, to her dismay, to bring her a funny little ache that made her grimace, looking away.
Emmett caught the look she wore and she saw his face fall back into a mask of indifferent sobriety, his eyes turned steadfastly away from visions of the pink house. Bella kept her mouth shut.
"Love takes many forms, Jasper, as you'll learn for yourself in time," said Emmett, his voice tinged with sadness. "There are many kinds of love, and all of them are worthy."
Jasper grumbled, hitching his shoulder to his ear.
"Love," he repeated disdainfully. "What in the world does that even mean?"
When the evening's twilight had dimmed to inky indigo skies, Edward found Bella in the shadows of the yard, her back towards the light from the basement kitchen and her face turned down towards the ground. She stood motionless, with only the wind to rustle her skirts and her shawl, and Edward, torn between complete and irrevocable desire and his own red-faced shame, could only watch her from behind. Her body was as still as stone—she did not sigh, nor shake, nor shiver from the dark chill of the night, and she did not look back at him, no matter how badly he wished she might.
He did not have the courage to call out to her.
That morning, blissfully unaware of any predicament or trouble, Edward had risen in the way that had become his norm since his prior conversation with Bella in the yard—eager, vivacious, and full to bursting with a joyous, happy ache that made his heart throb and his stomach leap. He had awoken as a man renewed, a man so full of tender hopes and glorious excitement that it had taken him a full ten minutes in Esme's company to notice her sobriety, or the seriousness of the gaze with which she watched him.
"You must talk to her, Edward," Esme had said. "You must speak with her before it is too late."
Speak to her. That is what Esme had told him to do…
"I speak to her all the time, Auntie!" he'd replied, both bewildered and astonished. "Every day we talk, and laugh…"
"Aye, but you must speak again," she said. "You must speak again, Edward, and this time, you must really listen."
All at once, as if a plug had been pulled from his feet, his eager, blind joy had seeped away like water from a tub. He'd felt it leaving—felt that cold, hollow emptiness it left behind—and he frowned unhappily at his aunt, who looked for all the world as if she had shouldered the weight of creation. Her face, so kindly and gentle, was twisted into a mask of worried disappointment and her eyes, staring so sternly at his, held none of their usual laughter or mirth.
"What is it, Auntie?" he'd asked, much more gently than before. "What's the trouble? Is all well?"
"All is well for me, and I daresay it will be for you, too, if you find the courage to make it so."
"Courage?" he asked with astonishment. "Courage for what?"
"You told me of your hopes," said Esme, "and you told me of your plans…"
The deliciousness of those plans—those delicate and lovely dreams that had sent him soaring to new heights—seemed suddenly daunting.
"I did," he agreed at once. "I did tell you… are you not pleased?"
At once, her seriousness shifted to tenderness and he saw, for only a moment, that same, soft Esme he'd known and loved since he was a very small child.
"Oh, my boy, how could I not be happy?" She clasped his hands between hers and he was astonished at the strength of her grip. "Of course I'm happy… for both of you. Do you know how long I've waited for this day?"
"You?" he laughed teasingly. "You've waited long?"
"Only since the moment your mother told me she was with child," she chuckled back. "It is the dream of any parent to see their children settled and happy, and your mother and I have both wanted that for you since the moment you came to be. You're more than old enough to find a partner, Edward, and I couldn't be happier that you've found one in her."
Some of the warmth that had left him returned at these words, kindling gently in the recesses of his heart.
"It is not dissatisfaction that draws me to you now," she continued. "It's not to express any… reservations."
"Then why have you come, so sombre and sad?" He felt like a little boy again at Mother's knee for a scolding. Esme watched him for a long moment, her face unreadable and dark, before she sighed and sagged, squeezing both his hands in hers.
"Do you love that girl, Edward?" she'd asked without preamble. "Do you care for her enough to call it love?"
It didn't take him more than two seconds to give his honest answer.
"Then hear me now," said Esme softly. "Hear me, and heed me, for there is much to be said and even more to be done before the pieces of this puzzle you've created can fall into place."
"A puzzle, Auntie?" Edward had asked in astonishment. "What puzzle?"
"Sit down, Edward, and let us talk," said Esme. Without waiting for an invitation she perched herself atop his sofa, sitting so close to the hearth that it bathed her in a halo of light. "Sit next to me, just here, and I will tell you everything."
And so she had.
He'd listened without speaking as Esme began her tale. He heard how she'd left him that fateful night, all happiness and glee, and how she'd gone to Bella to give her blessings and joy. She'd thought to find her resting, perhaps already abed, but on such a momentous occasion as this, there was nothing else for it. She had to see Bella, and she had to see her just then, while the news was still fresh.
But, when Esme had gone to the Queen's Tower, she had not found a giddy, joyful bride-to-be. She had not found a woman delighted, or even a woman in love as Edward would have hoped, but instead a figure of brave and tragic gloom, seated alone before a fire with a frowning face of stone.
"She is grieving still, Edward, and she needs to know you care," Esme had said. "She needs to know that by accepting you and all that you offer that she is not going to lose what she once had."
"What she once had?" Edward had repeated those words with a fearful strike of jealousy that astonished even himself. "She's said nothing of… another."
"Not another partner, Edward… she would have told me plainly of a thing like that. But you must recollect where she's come from… She lost her whole family, my dear, and even more than that when we consider her home and her comfort. She no longer pines for it as she once did, that's true enough, but…"
Esme had not needed to finish her sentence because Edward knew. If anyone had a chance of understanding what it was she felt, he knew it would be himself. Bella had not chosen her fate any more than he had his—she had not asked for this island, and she had not asked for his company, and he, despite it all, had not asked for his castle, or his title, or his throne. He had not asked to be a leader, had not ever wanted to be a leader, and yet here they both were, in places that neither one of them had chosen, trying to make the very best of the hands they'd been dealt.
He knew the pain of loss and he knew the ache of grief. He knew the fear of change—that blistering, scalding, paralyzing terror that rose up like a snake when the future was uncertain. He knew it despite his happiness—beyond the wine tastings, the kitchen preparations, and the market planning for the New Year festival there was a constant sense of loss, as if it were not he who should be celebrated, but another King already dead and buried.
He knew what it was to feel out of place, like an imposter in his own home, and as he thought of Bella he wondered how he ever could have missed it.
That poor creature had lived two lives—one in that mystery world that both frightened and intrigued him, and the other right here beside him, in a world that frightened and intrigued her. Of course she would have doubts, no matter how much she seemed to care for him and his own. Of course she would have fears.
For if Edward gained a wife, as he sincerely hoped he would, it would be sure to feel like a sting to her despite its joys and promises. She was a flower uprooted—pulled from the very soil in which she had sprouted—and it was never an easy thing to be replanted elsewhere.
"I will talk with her, Auntie," Edward had vowed, feeling foolish and rash. "I will talk with her, I promise you."
Esme had smiled at him from ear to ear, her eyes brimming with a delighted happiness that drove out all the lingering coldness in the pit of his heart and stomach.
"Tell her what you've told me," she'd said. "Tell her all of what you've said to me."
"I will."
"And for pity's sake, Edward…" His head had snapped up in quiet apprehension. "Put that poor girl out of her misery. You are entirely too modest for your own good, and if you don't ask her properly I'm almost certain that she'll never realize what you mean!"
Edward had only blushed, bowing quickly to her when she'd left him alone in his bedchamber.
And so he had waited. More unsolicited vendors, come to offer him wares and treats for the festival, waited in vain for him to appear in the throne room. Servants coming to clean rooms and tend fires were astonished to find their master perched atop sofas and chairs in his private rooms so late in the day. The footmen scampered like frightened pups when they saw him lurking in places he ought not to have been. The maids blushed and ducked away. The butler, coming to see what the trouble was for himself, had been summarily dismissed and the servants reprieved from their daily cleaning of his bedchamber, leaving the king alone to ponder his own folly and think over how he should make it right.
When he watched her leave in the late hours of the morning, slipping unseen through the portcullis gate with Emmett at her side, he knew at once where she must be headed. Though he had duties of his own to attend to, Emmett was quite eager to shirk any of them if it meant a lawful, chaperoned visit to his lady in the east.
And now here she was again, returned safe as he knew she would be, her face downcast and her body cold and shivering as the wind picked up. Steeling himself for the impending confrontation he reached out to her, his fingers brushing lightly over the cold, pebbled flesh of her bare arm. She started when she felt it, her pretty face turning in alarm to see who he was, and when her gaze landed on his face she stilled, eyes wide and surprised.
"You scared me," she said with a shaky laugh. "I didn't hear you coming."
Edward's heart hammered wildly in his chest but he said nothing. Her expression did not change the longer she watched him—she was as steadfastly calm, as brightly attentive, and as gently and curiously questioning until he found the strength to speak.
"I have been a fool," he said softly, and her face fell into a frown. "An absolutely dreadful fool. Will you walk with me, Bella, so we can talk together? Just you and I?"
At once her face went blank and Edward knew, without quite knowing how he did, that she understood at once what he wanted to say. He watched a flash of worry cross her face in an instant—watched how it brightened her eyes and made her gaze shift away from him, her fingers squeezing reflexively as she clasped them together to stop them trembling. Though it was dark, he saw how her cheeks went pink and she turned away from him only slightly, wrapping her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.
He felt her tension as if it were her own—as if he, too, felt the weight of worlds and as if he, like her, were trying to hold it in.
"Come," he urged, hooking his arm through the tense bend at her elbow. She relaxed into him with a sigh. "Walk with me, Bella. I promise we won't be long outside."
And so she followed, as quiet as the grave for a long and tense spell, until finally, unable to bear it any longer, Edward broke the silence with a question.
"Are you terribly disappointed in me, Bella?" he sighed, feeling wretched and cold. "Are you terribly sorry you ever took up with me?"
Startled, she wheeled around at once.
"Disappointed?" she asked in amazement and to his relief, he saw the edges of her lips twitch into a poorly-concealed smile. "What ever have you done that could make me disappointed?"
He laughed, though it felt strained and wrong.
"I've been a fool," he repeated, "and my folly has been made plain. I'm sorry, sweetheart, for not seeing it sooner."
"Seeing what?" she asked, frowning. "What have you done?"
He stopped their walk and sighed, bringing her around to face him. Although he had not intended it he did not complain when she leaned in closer, wrapping her thin arms around his middle and leaning her cheek sweetly against his shoulder.
He relished the feel of her—the weight of her—so solid and certain in his arms.
"I've been negligent," he said finally, after a long, tender pause. "I've been… inconsiderate."
"You're the opposite of inconsiderate," she bit back with a laugh, pulling away to look him full in the face. Her own was filled with a tender curiosity and bright, agitated confusion that made her forehead pucker, and he smoothed it gently with the pad of his finger.
"Don't look so, because it's true," he went on. "I've been… too hasty, I think."
She bit her lip.
"I spoke with my aunt, Bella." Her face fell at once and her cheeks, already pink, went scarlet in the gloom. "I spoke with Esme."
She groaned and turned away.
"I never should have…"
"You absolutely should have," he admonished, squashing that thought before it had a chance to root. "You absolutely should have, Bella, and I should have realized that you would."
"I'm fine," she said at once. "I'm absolutely fine. A moment of weakness, that's all…"
"Had that one moment of weakness not come through, you would have been subject, perhaps, to a lifetime of sorrow," he said. "I do wish I would have seen it sooner. I wish I would have known."
She turned away from him with an impatient titter and he saw, to his terrible dismay, how her hand came up to brush the wetness from her cheeks.
"I'm sorry she troubled you," said Bella. "I didn't think…"
"She was right to," said Edward. Bella began to walk and he followed after her, his heart pounding. "She had every right to tell me…"
"Did she?" Bella wheeled on him with furious irritation. "Did she have a right to tell my private business? And to you, of all people, who must think me daft?"
Edward bit his tongue.
"She cares," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "She cares about you, Bella, and she cares about me. She cares about us."
She turned away again, folding her arms around her middle.
"And she cares that we're happy. I thought we were…"
"I am happy," she said in a small, plaintive voice that had lost all of its fledgling temper. "I should be happy…"
And yet, though he wished it were not so, he could not mistake that note of worry, the sound of her small and vulnerable fear that made the very sinew on his bones feel cold.
"And yet you are not," he finished gently. "No matter what you should be, you are not."
She stared at him in surprise when he spoke those words to her, and for the first time since their meeting so long ago in the Queen's chambers, when Bella could barely speak one comprehensible word to him, he saw a glimmer of her truest self which had, thus far, remained hidden behind a mask of pretty smiles. She watched him staunchly, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, and as he saw the pieces of her hard façade begin to crumble and fall he felt an overwhelming urge to reach her—to take that sorrow, and that fear, and that lingering pain away and make it his own so that she would no longer be burdened by it. He wanted to share it with her, to take the bad and give her all the good in the world, but he knew when he reached out to take her shaking, trembling little form to his heart that it would be an absolute impossibility.
"If I could take it from you, I would," he said to her, letting her cry a storm of tears into the collar of his shirt. "If I could make it go away—make this sadness that you suffer disappear—I would do it in an instant. I wish you would not be afraid…"
Her arms tightened reflexively and Edward, though he felt a twinge of conscience at the impropriety of it, returned her embrace in kind.
"I'm not afraid," she choked through her hiccups. "I'm not scared."
"No?"
"I am sad," she continued. "I am sick at heart, for all I should be glad."
His breath caught in his throat.
"Do you want…"
She glanced up at him quickly, her brow furrowed with anticipation.
"Do you want to… go?" he asked gently, though the very thought of it broke his soul in two. "Do you want to… leave?"
He heard her choke on a laugh, though there was no humour left in it.
"Leave?" she asked. "Go? Where would I go, if I left here?"
He had no answer to give.
"Where else is there? Besides here?"
"I don't know, Bella, but…"
"I can't go, don't you see?" Her face fell again and another tear dropped to his neck. "I can't leave, no matter how much I wish I might."
"I'd never keep you," he said at once. "I'd never… force you, Bella."
"No, I daresay you wouldn't," she replied and she ran her arm over her eyes with furious speed. "No, I didn't think you'd keep me."
"You're not a bird," he continued. "You can't be caged. I had hoped…"
He trailed off into silence, Bella still clutched tightly in his arms, and when she pulled back slightly to survey him, he did not meet her eyes.
"You had hoped what?" she asked, and for the first time since they'd set out together he caught a hint of genuine softness in her voice. "What had you hoped for, Edward?"
She watched him soberly with a face as serious as stone, but her eyes held a world of contradictions that made him pause. Delight and sorrow, confidence and shame, bright, anticipatory eagerness and dark, brooding reluctance…
"I had hoped to make you mine," he said, so low that she almost couldn't hear. "I had hoped to give you myself."
She blinked at him, not astonished as Esme might have predicted, but rather tender, and altogether calm.
"A fine gift, I'm sure," she teased with a quick and winning smile. "A fine present for anyone…"
"Only if it is welcome," said Edward again and this time, her smile did not fade. That sadness was still there—it was etched on her face as if carved there by a stoneworker—but the longer he looked, the more he thought it might have lifted some, as if the lines had been smoothed by the lull of his words.
She watched him without answer for a long and arduous moment, her face unreadable. His stomach writhed with anxious worries as he waited, watching her lip disappear between her teeth and her eyes flicker down to contemplate his collar.
"I must be free, Edward," she said finally, and the pronouncement surprised him. "I must learn to be free."
"You are free," he said at once, his confusion leaking through. "You've always been free, and so long as I am breathing, you always will be."
"Not always," she replied. "I haven't always known how…"
"Known how?"
"Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you." She spoke with deliberate care, as if she struggled to render the translation so that he could understand. The phrase made him pause. "I've said those words to you before."
"You have."
"And they're true," she said again. "I know that they're right."
Edward was not sure what to say, and so he said the only thing that came to mind.
"Can you be happy here, Bella?" he asked. "Can you be happy here, by my side and in my heart?"
Her breath caught and she blinked up at him with a wry, knowing smile.
"I can try," she said softly. "I can try Edward. I can try…"
"That is all I ask," he answered and at once he felt his own anxiety melting like snow atop a mountain peak. When he saw her shoulders sag, her body losing its stiffness in his arms, he felt those fears flow away like a river, coursing down from his head to his toes to water the grass at their feet. Her lingering tears slowed before they stopped altogether, and he saw a curious, silent courage well up in her before she leaned away again, looking him straight in the face.
"Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you," she repeated. "This is what has been done to me, Edward. Getting on that plane happened, that storm happened, falling from the sky, landing on the beach, and being a part of your world here, on the island, are all what's happened to me."
He said nothing through this speech, but listened carefully to her words.
"Whether it's right or wrong," she continued, "whether it's good or bad, it's what's happened. I can't go back to what I left behind, no matter how hard I wish or pray. I won't see my family again," her voice broke, but she did not cry, "and I will not see my home. But that doesn't mean…"
He smoothed her cheek and she looked close to crying again but she mastered herself, collecting her frayed and ragged thoughts to continue on.
"I am sad," she went on. "I am grieving, as Esme says. I expect there will always be some grief, and some sadness, for what kind of person would I be if I did not feel for the family who loved me?"
Edward did not need to answer, for he knew that she was right.
"But that does not mean," she said, taking a long, deep breath, "that I can't enjoy the life I have now."
"Bella…"
"Esme caught me in a moment of weakness," she said again. "No, don't argue. It was weakness. I felt it again just this afternoon, but it did not fell me then. I can't promise you that there won't be another time when it does…"
"I'd never ask it," he said at once. "I'd never ask you to hide your feelings."
"I never could," she answered back. "I was always terrible at it… my mother could read me like an open book."
The expression, while strange, was not lost on him and he grinned, shaking his head.
"I find you inordinately difficult to read," he countered. "I spend half my days trying to discern whether or not you're cross with me."
"I've never been cross with you," she said at once. "Not even at the first."
"Not even when I asked about the dead?" he queried, and he saw her scowl and blush. "Not even then?"
"No, not even then," she said. "I was frightened, but not angry."
"I'm glad to hear it…"
"But I think," she went on, "that I will be happy. I've made up my mind to try, which I think is worth something…"
"It is worth more than you know," said Edward kindly, and he saw another ghostly smile cross her lips. "It means more to me than you know…"
She watched him with a subdued calm that made his stomach jump with nerves.
"And so Esme has pointed out," he continued, "that I may have given a mixed impression last we spoke on this topic."
She broke into wild giggles that echoed off the stone walls. He knew then that she had understood him, whether she'd made that clear to Esme or not, but he continued on nonetheless as if he didn't.
"May I have your permission to clarify?" he asked, and she nodded once. The sky overhead was dark now—so black that her white, soft face seemed to glow silver in the moonlight—and he felt a throb of love so deep and true that it took his breath away like a drink of rich and heady wine. That one small sip gave him the courage to say what came next, and he said it as well as he could.
"I love you, Bella," he said softly, and he delighted in her blush. "I love you as I've never loved another, and I want you to know it plainly."
"I…"
"I love you," he said again, "and I want to marry you."
She shut her mouth with a snap.
"And so I ask you now…" He stepped away from her, bringing her hands with him when he would not let them go, to see those dark and honest eyes. "I ask you now… will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? Will you stand by my side until our strength and power fade, and be a queen among queens to serve my people?"
She began to cry again, but this time there was no sadness in it. Edward heard a breathy laugh before she spoke, and though her hands still trembled from cold and nerves, they did not stop her from answering.
"Yes," she said at once and he felt as light as air at the sound. "Yes, Edward. Yes."
And in the darkness of the yard, with naught but the stars overhead, Edward saw the bright, silver tail of a shooting star streaming its way across the heavens.
A/N: Thanks for your patience. This one was a doozy. We were supposed to make it to the festival, but it looks like that'll wait for next time. I hope this new proposal helps clear things up and I hope it satisfies all you romantic readers (even just a little).
Also, another tip: if you want to get ahold of me with a question that you want answered, the fastest and easiest way is on my Twitter page (link in bio, or my handle is Moonchild_707). I don't always see private messages on this site the way I should (sometimes I get emails, sometimes I don't... it varies) but I'll almost always see a PM on Twitter. That's also the best place for updates (chapter ETAs, writing updates, etc.), so if you're interested, go and check it out!
As always, let me know what you think! I love hearing from each and every one of you. We're currently at 936 reviews... I wonder when we'll crack 1000?