‘Early enough.’ Elden slid the fried eggs onto the waiting plates. ‘Met my great-aunt. Some cousins, too.’ He smiled, sadness lingering around his eyes. ‘They were surprised to see me, and happy to hear Brigid was still alive and planning to visit soon. Offered us dinner tomorrow, should we like it. It was—’ he blew out a breath. ‘Nice. Good. Really good.’
Jude fought for an answering smile as he debated how to tell Elden about Ezra. Before he could, Elden was already speaking. ‘I know about him, that he died. Ezra. My… father.’
Maeve half-rose from her seat, stopped by a raise of Elden’s hand.
‘No, don’t worry. He hadn’t been a father in a long time. Maybe ever. Not when he took me from my mum, or when he realized I didn’t hold the magic he wanted me to and decided to turn to Jude in my place. Not when he decided I could be someone he could use.’ His throat bobbed, and Jude sensed there was alot he wasn’t saying. As badly as Ezra had treated him, Elden had suffered worse. ‘I don’t want any pity. Don’t need it, okay?’
He waited for Jude and Maeve’s nods before his expression softened. He pointed the frying pan towards Felix. ‘We both went into the village. Thought Felix ought to have a good look at Little Westworth.’
Felix kept his gaze on his mug as he turned it round and round by its handle.
Jude still wasn’t certain how to approach the other man, not with the weight of their childhood friendship lying heavy behind them, his involvement in Elden’s manipulation still bitter on his tongue. Years had passed since, years when Jude had falsely believed Felix to be his enemy. Now, they were little more than strangers.
He picked up his plate and moved to sit next to the former saint. Perhaps he could move a step in the right direction. ‘Why’s that?’ he asked.
Felix glanced at him once before turning back to his mug. Black tea swirled in the bottom, smelling of bergamot and bitter citrus. ‘I might stay here for a little while. Elden offered, and well…’ he hesitated, shifting in his seat. ‘I thought the quiet might do me some good. After, I’m going to see what’s become of the Goddenwood. Brigid said that’s where she was going, and I want to join her. See what happened to my mother. Maybe I can—’ his throat worked. ‘Maybe I can bury her.’
Elden sat down next to him, warmth in his eyes as he smiled at the other man. He reached out and patted Felix’s wrist, lingering for a long moment before retreating. Felix tracked the movement.
‘Aye,’ Elden said. ‘Told him he’s welcome ’long as he likes. And I’ll go with him to the Goddenwood whenever he’s ready. I want to spend more time with Brigid, too.’ His voice dropped. ‘With my mum.’
Maeve cleared her throat, clinking her fork on her plate as shecut into her egg. ‘We’ll head out tomorrow morning if that’s okay. My family lives only a few more hours’ walk north. It’s been a few years since I was last there, but I think I remember the way.’ She smiled at Elden. ‘Maybe you could lend me a map.’
Elden nodded. ‘Sure, I have one around here somewhere.’
Jude tucked into his breakfast. They’d discussed their plans earlier, deciding to take their time on the journey to Maeve’s family. Neither of them had much experience of the world outside the Abbey and Jude’s home, and they were eager to see more of it. After they spent time with her family, they’d head back to his home.Theirhome. Ánhaga.
As Elden began describing a farm they’d pass by that offered fresh-baked scones every morning, Jude studied Maeve. Though she smiled and offered quips when needed, her fingers tapped an anxious beat on the table next to her discarded mug. Her gaze kept flitting to Felix. He wondered if her thoughts were wandering to their earlier conversation about religion.
Finally, Maeve took a deep breath, flattening both hands on the table. ‘Felix.’
He looked up. ‘Yes?’
Under the table, Jude placed his hand on her thigh.
‘I was wondering,’ she began. ‘Do you still believe? In the saints.’ At his raised eyebrow, she hurried on. ‘Not in the way the Abbey does, but… well, in prayer, I guess. In someone listening when you ask for something.’
Elden stood and collected the dishes, leaving them to their conversation. Jude wished he’d stayed, thinking that maybe Elden could do with hashing out his relationship to the Abbey, too, but decided to keep quiet. He’d approach it in his own time.
‘Yes and no,’ Felix replied slowly, every word a product of careful deliberation.
Maeve leaned forward in her chair. ‘How do you mean?’
‘While I think the saints’ power, all of our power, that is—’ he gestured between the three of them ‘—is something very realand very potent, I don’t look at it like the Abbey had always taught us to believe.’
Jude found himself asking, ‘How do you look at it, then?’
‘Well, to fully answer your question, we’re best off examining how the Abbey dissects and uses the saints’ power and, thus, how they’ve taught acolytes to view it for generations,’ Felix replied in his smoke-stained voice. Jude’s mouth twitched at the familiarity in his professorial tone, remembering it from more than a few lectures growing up.
Felix held two fingers up. ‘Firstly, the Abbey views the saints’ ability to access and change memory as a commodity. An exchange. Prayer equals power. It was only ever a vessel. Something to pour into the icons and fuel them, which, in turn, bound the saints to the Abbey.’ He folded one finger down.
‘Secondly, their focus was never on making the acolytes feelheard. It was always about control. If you convince the people that for their prayers to be granted, they needed to give of themselves – their devotion and time and money – you have a method of control.’ He ticked down the second finger.
‘So praying was virtually meaningless in the grand scheme of things, outside of fuelling the magic in the icons?’ Maeve asked. Her face was very pale, and her eyes very dark. Jude pressed the side of his leg against hers.
Felix shrugged. ‘You can look at it that way.’
‘But you don’t?’
