Faryl,” Wyl said quietly into the darkness, surprising himself by giving the truth…and by finally acknowledging it to himself.
Chapter 7
The days at Rttylworth had passed slowly, following their own particular rhythm as the men of Shar kept to their routine of worship and work. For some of them their duties were in the library, poring over texts and carefully scribing passages; others spent hours in the beautiful studio where they patiently copied some of the ancient illuminations. Many toiled in the vegetable gardens or orchards, tending to the flocks of sheep and goats that kept them fed. Others looked after the few cows that sustained the gentle community with their fresh milk for drinking and that also produced the butter, rich cream, and famed cheese of the region.
Rittylworth Bruise won its name for the dark wax that the monastery’s cheesemakers dipped their proud product into for maturing and preserving. The shiny, violet rounds of hard cheese were stored in a special pantry beneath the chapel, but even this great room was not as deep into the ground as the secret grotto, which few outside of the monastic order knew about.
It was Ylena’s favorite place of all. Jakub, all too aware of this visitor’s grief, had suggested within the first day of meeting that she make it her own for a while. As much as she enjoyed her bedroom, with its view over the orchards, it was to the grotto that she escaped for her solitude and there, within the fizzing waters of the warm spring, she had begun her gradual healing.
In the beginning it was all physical recovery for Ylena, while the delicious monotony of daily life around the monastery was a great nourishment to her mental strength. It had not been easy and many times the grief threatened to carry her away with it, but on those occasions Ylena would remind herself of her surname and dig deeper toward the strength she knew she possessed. She could think of Alyd and his execution now without being overwhelmed by tears, and her shock at losing all of those she loved had dulled to bitter acceptance. It had left her numb, but she was learning how to put that aside too.
Wyl had once quietly spoken of how he had taught himself to deal with the death of their mother and more lately their father. She used that teaching now and had taken all of those painful emotions of hers inward, burying them in a safe, dark place where they could no longer disable her. It was Celimus, of course, who had contrived all of this death and suffering and on whose hateful name she should build her own hate.
The real catalyst that prompted her determination to be fully in charge of herself again was learning that Romen had not taken Alyd’s remains away with him. At first she had been filled with wrath and it was that anger that had, in truth, brought her back to full sensibility. Jakub had counseled that Romen no doubt had good reasons for his decision and had asked that Alyd’s head be preserved as proof of the abomination at Stoneheart. This had placated Ylena, who accepted that whatever those reasons were, Romen had her interests at heart.
Since that discovery, she had allowed the days to blend until her body and mind healed. One of her great friends through this process was Pil, who, Shar bless him, seemed just a little in love with her. He took his role as her caretaker very earnestly and she had to keep reminding him that she was not an invalid and preferred to do things for herself He would smile shyly and apologize but then go right back to fussing around her. In truth, he was a very big reason for her recovery. His almost childlike desire to make her smile and see her well again was infectious.
Pil was one of a big family who hailed from the northwest. His father was a fisherman, as were his brothers, while his sisters and mother prepared and sold the catch. Everyone in their village was involved in the sea and its bounty, but Pil was the only member of his family who felt no
Chapter 7
The days at Rttylworth had passed slowly, following their own particular rhythm as the men of Shar kept to their routine of worship and work. For some of them their duties were in the library, poring over texts and carefully scribing passages; others spent hours in the beautiful studio where they patiently copied some of the ancient illuminations. Many toiled in the vegetable gardens or orchards, tending to the flocks of sheep and goats that kept them fed. Others looked after the few cows that sustained the gentle community with their fresh milk for drinking and that also produced the butter, rich cream, and famed cheese of the region.
Rittylworth Bruise won its name for the dark wax that the monastery’s cheesemakers dipped their proud product into for maturing and preserving. The shiny, violet rounds of hard cheese were stored in a special pantry beneath the chapel, but even this great room was not as deep into the ground as the secret grotto, which few outside of the monastic order knew about.
It was Ylena’s favorite place of all. Jakub, all too aware of this visitor’s grief, had suggested within the first day of meeting that she make it her own for a while. As much as she enjoyed her bedroom, with its view over the orchards, it was to the grotto that she escaped for her solitude and there, within the fizzing waters of the warm spring, she had begun her gradual healing.
In the beginning it was all physical recovery for Ylena, while the delicious monotony of daily life around the monastery was a great nourishment to her mental strength. It had not been easy and many times the grief threatened to carry her away with it, but on those occasions Ylena would remind herself of her surname and dig deeper toward the strength she knew she possessed. She could think of Alyd and his execution now without being overwhelmed by tears, and her shock at losing all of those she loved had dulled to bitter acceptance. It had left her numb, but she was learning how to put that aside too.
Wyl had once quietly spoken of how he had taught himself to deal with the death of their mother and more lately their father. She used that teaching now and had taken all of those painful emotions of hers inward, burying them in a safe, dark place where they could no longer disable her. It was Celimus, of course, who had contrived all of this death and suffering and on whose hateful name she should build her own hate.
The real catalyst that prompted her determination to be fully in charge of herself again was learning that Romen had not taken Alyd’s remains away with him. At first she had been filled with wrath and it was that anger that had, in truth, brought her back to full sensibility. Jakub had counseled that Romen no doubt had good reasons for his decision and had asked that Alyd’s head be preserved as proof of the abomination at Stoneheart. This had placated Ylena, who accepted that whatever those reasons were, Romen had her interests at heart.
Since that discovery, she had allowed the days to blend until her body and mind healed. One of her great friends through this process was Pil, who, Shar bless him, seemed just a little in love with her. He took his role as her caretaker very earnestly and she had to keep reminding him that she was not an invalid and preferred to do things for herself He would smile shyly and apologize but then go right back to fussing around her. In truth, he was a very big reason for her recovery. His almost childlike desire to make her smile and see her well again was infectious.
Pil was one of a big family who hailed from the northwest. His father was a fisherman, as were his brothers, while his sisters and mother prepared and sold the catch. Everyone in their village was involved in the sea and its bounty, but Pil was the only member of his family who felt no
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