Thank you for all the feedback! ::Tear tear:: I love you guys!

TrudiRose: ZOMG! Thank you. Your reviews were so helpful. (I didn't even notice the Derrik thing until you pointed it out.) Sometimes, I just reread my work to see if it makes sense, and my mind just goes over these little things without seeing that they're wrong, so thanks for keeping me honest!

Stubble96: More!

Fiery-star90: Thank you. I'm trying to keep her young, but still try and make it a little older fashioned. The 'Young Lark' comment was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek because he did just call her 'Old Mother.' And, by the later chapters, she's kind of getting used to the idea of being old, as she thinks she's going to be stuck like that anyways. But I'll keep your comments in mind.

Lollipop5: Of course she's nicer. She has an awful sibling too. (And I just realized that they were all blond. Whoops. Nothing against blondes! Honest! I was a blonde before dying my hair!) Ah well. Next chapter for you!

EreshkigalGirl: Thanks! I've been working out the details of this story in my head for sometime now, so its almost a relief to finally get it down on (word processor?) paper.

Black Sheep Alone: Yes. I was trying to decide whether to do longer chapters slower, or shorter chapters faster, but the way the chapters have been breaking up, it's definitely the latter.

My weekend's really really busy, so I might not update until later, maybe Wednesday next week. Sorry. We'll have to see what happens.

Meanwhile, enjoy the chapter!

-Lulai

Chapter Six: Fireside Discussions

Robbie huddled up uncomfortably by the fire. Every bone in his body ached. He had chopped logs for over four hours, and then stacked them beside the cottage in a neat pile. Lia had surprised him by rolling up her sleeves and helping him stack. She was a lot stronger than she looked.

After Lia pronounced the pile large enough, she had him follow behind her with a large burlap sack as she plucked weeds out of the garden. He listened as well as he could as Lia prattled on about so-and-so flower and this-and-that herb, but most of what she said went straight over his head.

After dinner of mutton stew, which was quite delicious, Robbie sighed resignedly as he viewed the dirty dishes. But, before he could even complain, Lia handed him a towel and started boiling the water to wash the dishes herself. Again, she talked while Robbie listened, until Lia finally ran out of things to say. So they did the dishes in a slightly uncomfortable silence after which Robbie hunkered down by the fire to soothe his aching muscles and Lia put the kettle on for tea. She sat in her rocker.

"Now look here," Lia finally exclaimed from her chair. "I talked to you yesterday, so I know you are not a deaf-mute. But I have been talking non-stop and you haven't said a single word. What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Robbie murmured, "I'm just a little sore."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lia cried, jumping up. "Although this witch act is just for show, I really am a healer." She took a small sprig of a bright red leaf and crushed it into the leftover tea. She handed the steaming mug to him.

"Thank you," said Robbie. He looked at her curiously. She really was trying hard to be friendly. He figured he might as well attempt to hold up his end of the conversation. "So you're not really a witch?"

Lia snorted, quite humorously. Robbie couldn't stop the smile that curved his lips.

"Ha," she said, settling down with her own cup of tea. "I haven't a lick of magic in me." For a moment a look crossed her face. Anger? Resentment? It was gone before Robbie could analyze it. "What about you?" she asked.

"Me?" Robbie said, surprised.

"Yes, you. You are quite well spoken for a farm hand. Your brother had the normal village slur, but you don't. Were you formally educated?"

"No," Robbie said, looking into his cup. "We hadn't the money for it. I just... read a lot."

"You can read?" Lia exclaimed. "Oh, how delightful! How many do you have?"

"Well, I brought a few of my own," Robbie said slowly, "but we couldn't afford a great selection." Wasn't she going to tell him that reading was a waste of time? Instead, she stood up and grabbed his hand.

"Close your eyes," she instructed as she pulled him towards the room that his brother had been locked in earlier that day. Robbie obeyed her and concentrated on not tripping over his own feet. Her hand felt nice, strong and slightly callused, but still feminine, despite her age.

She let go of his hand in what he assumed was the centre of the room.

"Okay," she said, "open your eyes."

Robbie did, and was met by the sight of four walls of solid books. He had never seen so many books in his life.

"I'm so glad I have someone to share this with," Lia said, running her fingers of the spines of some of the books. "Please, feel free to read any of these. I would love to be able to talk to you about a book we have shared."

Robbie felt such joy rise up in him, it felt as though it was going to burst out his eyeballs. "Thank you, very much," he said. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't help it. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"I suggest this one," Lia said, pulling out a book entitled Rise of the Golden Dawn. "I loved it."

Robbie took it and ran his fingers lovingly over the green cover. "Thank you," he said again.

Lia smiled and lead him back to the fire. "That's the only problem with that room," she said contentedly as she settled back into her rocker. "No fire to keep these bones of mine warm." Robbie sunk back onto the thick rug, the book in his hands.

They settled into another silence, but unlike before, this one was an easy quiet.

"Tell me about your family," Lia said softly after some time. "I've met your brother, but what about your parents?"

"Actually, you've only met one of my brothers," Robbie responded. "Derrik is the youngest. I also have two older brothers, Tobin and Quincy."

"Three brothers?" Lia asked. "How do your parents manage?"

"They don't." Robbie couldn't help the bitterness in his voice. "My mother died giving birth to Derrik, and my father is a so-called 'inventor' and is away more often than not. My brothers and I take care of ourselves."

"Why did Derrik call you what... Beau?" Lia asked curiously.

"Quincy came up with that nickname," Robbie said, his fingers tightening on the book. "I hate it. I'm not very good at anything, so apparently, all I was good at doing was looking pretty."

"What about you?" Robbie asked, wanting to change the subject. "Any children?"

"No." Now it was Lia's turn to be bitter. "No children, although I wanted some."

"Why not, if you don't mind me asking?" Robbie didn't mean to pry, but Lia's expression intrigued him.

"I don't know," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "It felt like one minute I was a young girl with my whole life ahead of me, and then I was an old woman."

"I'm sorry," Robbie said softly.

She smiled sadly. "It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault."

"You can always blame it on the Queen," Robbie said lightly.

"What?" Lia said, leaning forward in the chair.

"Oh, it's just something that they say in the village," Robbie explained. "Whenever something goes wrong, they say, 'Witch Queen's fault.'"

"But," Lia said with a confused look on her face, "I thought we had a king, not a queen."

Robbie looked at her strange. "Where have you been? For almost two years now, the people at the castle have been disappearing. First was the Princess Annalia, then others, until finally the King himself disappeared. Princess Clarissa declared herself ruler until her father was found. But of course, everyone thinks that she did away with her family, being a sorceress and all, so no one wants to get on her bad side. What's wrong, Lia?"

"Nothing, nothing." She laughed, but it sounded a little forced. "Just my old age catching up to me. Of course I know about the Witch Queen." She downed the rest of her tea in one gulp. "You should get some sleep," she said to Robbie, pointing to his cot. "We'll be up early tomorrow."

Nodding, Robbie climbed into his bed. The last thing he saw before falling asleep, was Lia staring into the fire, a deeply troubled look on her face.