Daughters Of The Storm by Kim Wilkins Page B

birth.
    â€˜Hello, Eni,’ she said, taking the twigs from him. ‘What a fine job you’ve done collecting these.’
    The boy frowned slightly. He was the image of Sabert, with his thick black hair and florid cheeks.
    â€˜It’s Bluebell.’
    â€˜Papa?’ Eni said, in a quavering voice. The birth had been hard on Eni, also. He had gone too long without breath and now he was blind and simple. Many men would have pressed a folded blanket across his face by now, but Sabert adored his boy and was infinitely gentle with him.
    â€˜Sabert is coming, Eni. He’ll make you some supper,’ Bluebell said. There was always a little guilt, but she knew Eni’s motherwould have thought this convenient relationship a great joke. Neither Bluebell nor Sabert had the stomach for love and promises. ‘Here, I have a present for you.’ She knelt in front of him and pulled out of her pocket a gold ring. Her father had given it to her in her youth: it was the dragon insignia of Ælmesse, curling around to grasp its own tail. She had found it last night, back in her old chamber, when she’d moved the dresser against the door in fear of imagined enemies. She placed it in Eni’s hand and his grubby little fingers ran over it carefully.
    â€˜It’s a dragon,’ she said.
    â€˜Dragon,’ he echoed, and she had no idea whether or not he knew what a dragon was or what they were said to look like. He tried to give the ring back, but she refused it.
    â€˜No, it’s for you,’ she said, sliding it onto the index finger of his left hand. She pushed it over his knuckle and it sat firmly enough that she was confident he wouldn’t lose it. ‘It’s too small for me now.’
    Sabert emerged from the bedroom and squatted by the hearthpit to stoke the fire, then stood to stroke the boy’s head.
    â€˜Dragon,’ Eni said, holding up his hand.
    Sabert considered the ring by the firelight. ‘Very nice.’
    â€˜How has he been?’ Bluebell asked.
    â€˜He was terribly sick this winter,’ Sabert replied, going to the corner to fetch a block of wrapped cheese and a half-loaf of bread. ‘Something got hold of his lungs. He coughed till he was blue. I feared he would die.’ He stopped, ran a hand over his beard. ‘I once thought it would be the best thing for both of us if he died. But when it nearly happened ...’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what will become of us. I hope I outlive him.’
    â€˜Your brother, Seaton, will take him.’
    â€˜Seaton barely speaks to me.’
    â€˜Take heart. Long life is in your family. Your Aunt Lily is eighty or ninety, isn’t she?’
    â€˜Aunt Lily died two months ago,’ he said.
    Bluebell winced. ‘Sorry.’
    â€˜I have used up my grief, Bluebell. Don’t feel sorry for me. She left me her farm.’
    â€˜The one up past Stonemantel?’
    â€˜Yes. Remember? We spent the summer up there, you, me and Edie.’
    â€˜Of course. When was that? Twelve years ago?’
    â€˜It must have been. Before you broke your nose.’
    â€˜Before you broke my nose,’ she said. ‘Will you move up there?’
    â€˜No. I’m busy enough with this farm. And she gave most of the land over to flowers in the end. She was mad for them.’
    â€˜It would be nice to take Eni up there. The farmhouse is so big. He might like the flowers. Spring is here.’
    Sabert fixed Bluebell in his gaze. ‘He can’t see them.’
    â€˜He can smell them.’
    â€˜It will mean nothing to him. It all means nothing to him. It’s not worth uprooting him. Upsetting him.’ He sat on the stool next to the hearth and cut some chunks of cheese with the knife on his belt. Misery lined his face.
    Bluebell considered him a while, then said, ‘The child is lucky to have you. Let me help. Come up to live in the town. I’ll find you a nice place,