The same girl who knelt before the mare, inspecting a hoof. Lena wore a deep red cloak. The color of his city. Her hair had grown to her shoulders. She looked up at his approach and set the hoof down.
“Hello, Cas.”
“Lena.” Cas dismounted. He tried to think of something else to say that did not sound too foolish. “Is she hurt?”
“Some stones in her shoe. This last one is stubborn.”
“Let me see.” Cas ran a hand along the mare’s side. “Hello, girl.” She wore red ribbons in her mane. Dozens of them. He thought they might be silk.
Lena smiled at his sigh, shifting to give him room by the hoof. “She enjoys them. Don’t you, Clara?”
“Clara?” Cas knelt beside her. Their shoulders nearly touched.
“I told Clara she could name her. She named her Clara.”
Smiling, Cas inspected the horseshoe. The stone was lodged tight. “She’s better, then? The queen said she was, in her letters.”
Lena plucked several blades of grass before answering. “There are fewer nightmares, and she speaks more each day. Especially to Bittor. He’s become a favorite.” Cas snorted at that. “But she still hoards her food. The servants find it under the bed or in her slippers. They complain about the bugs.”
Cas tugged at the stone. It barely gave way. “That should stop too. In time.” He no longer felt the need to keep food in his chambers or saddlebag. Or to eat more than he needed, worried that the meals would end.
Lena said quietly, “I’m glad it stopped, for you.”
The mare’s breath was warm on their faces, pleasant against the coolness of spring.
Why had she come? “You’re a long way from home, Lena.”
A blade of grass was tied into a knot. She did not look at him. “The guild masters received your letter.”
Cas felt the heat spreading up his neck. He ducked his head, busying himself with the stone. “Oh yes?” he muttered.
“Yes. The one where you reminded them there has not been a historian in the mountains for many years now, and that one is sorely needed. That letter.”
Cas had written and rewritten that cursed letter more times than he cared to count, agonizing over every word. Master Jacomel had scolded him about the wasted parchment. Cas had been afraid she would not come. Or worse, that some ancient historian would show up in her place. He had not wanted that.
“You’re the one who said there are stories here you’ve never heard of and food you’ve never tasted. Every region needs its own history. That is what you said.” Cas worked the stone free and tossed it aside. He snuck a glance at her, confessing, “I had Master Jac sign it too, for more authenticity.”
Lena smiled. “I saw. The guild masters said no.”
“What? Then . . . how are you here?”
Lena rose, shaking bits of grass from her dress. “Guild master Hipolito said he remembered you, and he did not trust young, handsome men who made such requests. Those were his words. I had to offer a compromise.”
“What comp—?” Cas felt it then, beneath his boots. The thundering of hooves. He stood, dusting his hands on his trousers, and looked down the empty road in the direction from which he had just come. “Feels like a large party.”
“It is. They are the compromise. My family,” Lena explained with a rueful shrug. “And everyone else. Chaperones. I rode ahead because they were moving far too slowly.”
Cas started to smile. “How long can you stay?”
“Until the work is done,” she answered before speaking in a rush. “There’s Palmerin, of course, but I’d also like to visit the outlying villages and towns. See what I can gather from there. I want to see where your jumping beans grow. Palmerin can be my base. Jehan has promised to stay through the summer and as long as others take her place afterward . . .”
His smile grew. “You can stay awhile.”
“Yes. It was all decided rather suddenly. There was no time to send word to Master Jacomel. That poor, poor man.”
Master Jacomel was going to have an apoplexy. All the food to ready, the chambers to prepare. But if anyone could do it, it would be Palmerin’s master steward.
“Let’s go tell him. I just met your Lord Ferrer. We’ll have to find room for him, too.” Clara the mare had wandered off to greet Cas’ horse. “We should rest her foot.” Cas held out a hand to Lena. “Will you ride with me?”
Instead of taking his hand, Lena walked straight into him, burying her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, breathing in her hair. And that was how they stood, for a long time, until the thundering hoofbeats warned them they would not be alone for long.
“I should have written sooner,” Cas said. “I should have written to you directly.”
Lena shook her head, her nose still pressed against his heart. “You needed to be here on your own. That is what Rayan said. You needed time to get better. You look different, Cas. Happier.”
Cas pulled away slightly, looked down into her beautiful face that he had missed for five long months. He would not pretend he did not know what she spoke of. More than anyone, she had seen the darkness in him. “I still feel it sometimes,” he admitted. “Around the edges. It’s less each day.” Each week, each month. Better. A thought struck him. “You’ll write Palmerin’s history. What about your grandfather’s?”
Her eyes shadowed. “There won’t be one. The notes have been lost.”
“Lost how?” She had never been careless with her grandfather’s work.
“Burned. With Rayan as witness.”
Cas was quiet. “I’m sorry, Lena.”
One shoulder lifted. “My grandfather used to say that history is written by the historians, and we are all of us flawed. They’re my family, Cas.”
“You don’t have to tell me about family.” Cas whistled the horses over. Lena shared the palfrey with Cas, sitting in front of him. Clara would walk by their side.
Lena twisted around to smile up at him. “Do you remember the last time we were here?”
“I remember you stole my horse, and I saved your life anyway.”
“I remember I fell out of a tree, and you dropped me.”
Smiling, Cas kissed her. On a bright spring day, without a cloud on the horizon. “I like my memory better.”
She laughed. That was the sound Cas took with him as he led both horses onto the road, the ancient aqueduct to their left, his family’s legacy, guiding them home to Palmerin.