‘Not exactly. Even though the saints never heard prayers, I still view their devotion,allof our devotion, as something to be honoured. It’s a beautiful thing, to release the deepest contents of your heart into the universe in the hopes that someone might be listening.’ He smiled at Maeve. ‘I still pray, you know.’
She blinked. ‘You do?’
‘Yes. All the time.’ Felix laid his hands flat on the table, studying the gaps between his fingers. ‘Belief and institution are not married. They can exist separately from each other. I can stillpray, maybe not to the saints, but to anyone who might be listening, call it the universe or energy or whatever you’d like, and keep that belief separate from the Abbey.’
She nodded slowly. The stiff angle of her spine relaxed alongside the haunted look she’d worn for most of their conversation. Jude saw the refuge offered by Felix’s encouragement in her face. It unknotted one of the ropes around his chest, seeing her reform part of her identity.
‘Thank you,’ Maeve murmured. ‘Even at the Abbey… the letter. Your warning. I can see now that you were looking out for me.’
Felix shook his head. ‘It wasn’t enough. Not even to distract Ezra. I didn’t protect you from exile.’ His eyes caught Jude’s. ‘Nor you.’
Something vital lurched inside Jude at his words. ‘No,’ he insisted. ‘You can’t put that weight on yourself, Felix. You were barely an adult when I was exiled. And we can only guess the kind of life you were forced to live at the Abbey as a saint. You did everything you could.’
Felix shot him a look, half pleading and half guilty. ‘The house… Ánhaga. I was the one who decided that’s where you should be sent.’
Jude stilled. His belly performed an odd, swooping dip. ‘What?’
‘It was my father’s house. He was an elder. I was born there.’
Jude paused, trying to meld together the home he’d slowly begun to claim as his own to what Felix was telling him. And – he felt dizzy at the thought – thelibrary. He rubbed a hand over his scalp, collecting his thoughts. It made sense. He’d always wondered if someone from the Abbey owned the house. He remembered the strange feeling he sometimes got in the library, like there was someone else with him, their memories imprinted onto the walls.
‘The books,’ Jude all but whispered. ‘You knew about the library.’
‘I did,’ Felix confirmed. ‘Though I hadn’t been back to Ánhagasince I was a boy, I remembered my father’s collection, both the Abbey books and the sketchbooks. I thought there might be something in there you’d find useful.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘… Was there? Anything useful?’
Jude smiled. ‘You could say that. My magic, it…’ he hesitated, wondering how much to say. ‘It found its outlet in books. In the… sketchbooks, I suppose. The blank pages.’
Felix smiled. ‘So, you have your books, Maeve’s magic loves her paintings, and I have the birds.’
‘Birds?’ Jude echoed, voice slightly faint.
He nodded. ‘It’s different to how both of your magic manifests. It’s less of an outlet and more of a reminder. I can work memories into the sight of a bird. It’s… complicated. Hard to describe and even harder to demonstrate. Like how a certain smell will remind you of an event, in a way.’ Suddenly, his eyes flashed to Jude’s. ‘Are you okay? You look pale.’
Jude pictured one, two, three birds on the horizon. His heart gave a tremulous lurch.
‘Fine,’ he murmured.
Felix met his gaze. A familiar current passed between them, harkening back to boyhood antics and secrets shared between friends. ‘You can tell me some other time,’ he said. A rare, shy smile pulled at his lips.
‘Do you want it back?’ Maeve asked. Her cheeks were faintly pink. ‘The house.’
Felix raised a brow. ‘Ánhaga? Absolutely not.’
Maeve laughed. ‘Not a fan of crumbling old houses, I take it?’
He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Nor the ghost of my father.’
‘Understandable,’ Jude said. ‘Nevertheless… thank you. Both for sending me there and for letting us stay. I know it’s been a long time, Felix, but ah—’ he cleared his throat, feeling somewhat awkward. Felix had gone back to studying the grain of the table. ‘It’s good to have those memories back. Maybe we can return to them someday.’
Felix looked up. Smiled. ‘I’d like that.’
Maeve reached across the table to squeeze Felix’s hand. A wash of resolve passed over the three of them. They’d been wounded, but they were healing. Life stretched out in a clean sweep of possibility, in a way it never had before. The Abbey would fade away, its advocates slinking back to nurse their wounds and look for ways to knit back together what they’d lost, but ultimately, they didn’t hold a candle to what burned brightly inside them.
Hope.
EPILOGUE
Jude
