A Study in Drowning(96)

Grief entered Angharad’s voice again, like the sea flooding a tide pool.

“I’m so sorry,” Preston said again. “For that . . . and for everything you’ve endured.”

Angharad’s smile was sad and gentle. “I’m sorry, too. For what my son did, for what the Fairy King did, for what I couldn’t stop them from doing. He did fight, you know—Ianto. He could loosen the Fairy King’s bonds sometimes, long enough to leave the house, but eventually, always, the Fairy King would begin to take over again and Ianto would have to hurry back. To trap him here again, in my little web, in my orchard of mountain ash.”

Ianto had driven up the cliffs in such a vicious hurry, even as he had been losing the battle. She had seen the Fairy King in the car beside her. It had not been her imagination, a hallucination. The pink pills could not have stopped him—and neither, in the end, could Ianto.

“I could tell he was fighting it,” Effy said. “He wasn’t entirely a monster.”

Angharad lowered her gaze. “There were times, I confess, that I could have gotten my hands on a mirror. Yet I knew I could not bring myself to use it against my own son, even as I saw the Fairy King’s hold on him grow more complete with every passing day. I invited you here, Preston, in hopes that you might uncover the truth. But you . . .” She turned toward Effy, eyes dim. “The Fairy King wanted a bride, and I didn’t know how to keep you safe from him.”

“The guesthouse,” Effy realized, and it seemed almost a silly thing now, with the storm battering the walls and the embers burning with their waning light. “You did protect me. You ordered Ianto to have me stay here.”

Angharad appeared almost bashful. “I thought you might take it as an offense. I wasn’t sure it would be enough to keep you safe—but still, it was something.”

It had not been Myrddin protecting her as Effy had initially thought; he had not put the iron on the door. It had been Angharad this whole time—everything had been Angharad.

Effy felt tears prick at her eyes. Just as Angharad had said, she felt like some enormous weight had been lifted, and the lightness of her limbs was unfamiliar. Like the buoyancy of water. “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for.” Angharad turned to Effy now, green gaze meeting green gaze. “I had decades to learn.”

“It’s not just that,” Effy said. “You have no idea—I’ve read your book a hundred times, maybe more. It was a friend when I didn’t have any. It was the only thing that said I was sane when the whole world was telling me I was mad. It saved me in more ways than I can count. Because I knew no matter how afraid I felt, I wasn’t truly alone.”

Angharad’s eyes were shining now, too. “That’s all I wanted, you know,” she said. “When I was young—when I was your age. I wanted just one girl, only one, to read my book and feel that she was understood, and I would be understood in return. Writing that book was like shining a beacon from a lighthouse, I suppose. Are there any ships on the horizon? Will they signal back to me? I never got the chance to know. My husband’s name was all over it, and his was the only ship I could see.”

“I saw it,” Effy whispered. “I see it. And it saved me.”

“Well,” Angharad said, “you saved me, too. The Fairy King is gone. No matter what happens now, I’m free.”

Tears were falling down Effy’s cheeks, and even though she tried, she couldn’t stanch them. The warmth in her chest spread through her blood, all the way to her fingers and toes. Her missing ring finger didn’t ache anymore. That phantom, too, had been banished.

“I’m so sorry,” Preston said quietly, “but we couldn’t get it in time—Myrddin’s diary, the letters. The, uh, photographs.” His cheeks reddened. “The two of us know the truth, but the rest of it has been lost with the house.”

“You found Emrys’s diary?” Angharad’s voice tipped up in disbelief. “My son didn’t know that secret room was there. The Fairy King might have, but I put iron on the back of the wardrobe, so he couldn’t get at it even if he wanted to. How did you find it?”

Preston glanced over at Effy, with a look of great admiration and affection. “She’s very clever, this one. Effy.”

“Effy,” Angharad repeated. It was the first time she had spoken Effy’s name. “I cannot begin to explain how grateful I am for all that you’ve done for me. Both of you. It’s enough, I think, to be free from this house. And to have even two people who know the truth.”

But Effy just wiped her eyes, feeling wretched. Feeling angry. It was an uncommon feeling, unexpected. Her weightless limbs suddenly strengthened, as if filled with purpose.

It was not enough. Not enough to justify a life spent in obscurity and repression, a girl and then a woman and then a ghost, alone in that ruined house, tormented endlessly by the Fairy King. It wasn’t fair, and Effy could not bear it. She would shout the truth to the world, even if it was only her voice, and even if it turned her throat raw. She could not bear to be silent any longer.

And she would not return to Caer-Isel only to lower her gaze to the ground every time a classmate snickered at her, every time she saw Master Corbenic in the hall.

She would not go back to that green chair.

As Effy’s gaze traveled across the room, it landed on something she had forgotten about until now.