Page 150 of Between Despair and Hope

“I guess he barely talks at all anymore, but when he does he gets confused. He asks for me or Lucia, gets riled when his schedule changes. She said it’s at its worst when the sun goes down.”

“Did she say how long he might—”

“Weeks maybe? He’s incontinent, and it’s hard to get him to eat.”

“Gods, Em. That’s horrible.” I pulled her into my arms. Her voice hadn’t wavered, but I could feel the sorrow and regret through the bond.

“It’s fine. I mean, he was always going to die one day. I just wish I had more time with him now that…now that I can.”

“Did you not see him all those years?”

“Once a month for about five minutes. I think it hurt him to see me, and it only got worse after my mother died.”

She’d been truly alone. I could count on one hand how many people she had to talk to and even less she could trust. My heart ached for her.

“We’ll go first thing in the morning and spend as much time there as you want.”

She nodded against my chest. “I’m hungry,” she said as she pulled away from me. “I ought to have some potatoes in the root cellar. Maybe some green beans?”

“I’ll get them.”

A few minutes later, I came back into the house with what she’d wanted, dropping them off at the kitchen table. I heard a curse and found her soaking wet and struggling with the window in the study.

“What are you doing?”

“Being stupid.”

I laughed, reaching past her to pull the window down. “Is that so?”

“I tried your little water from the well trick,” she said, glowering up at me as water dripped from her brow and the tip of her nose. Whisking it away from her face, I conjured it into a ball, letting it hover over my outstretched palm.

“Try to separate it into droplets,” I instructed.

She screwed up her face, concentrating, before releasing a sharp breath. “Ever since the Cascade, your gifts have been harder to master.”

“One more time?”

“I have enough water for dinner.”

“You’re going to quit on me, Highclere?”

She set down the pot of water she’d managed to fill and rolled up her sleeves.

“You can’t call me that anymore,” she said as she crossed her arms and focused on the water hovering over my palm.

“Unless you can separate this water, I’ll call you—”

The water burst, spraying me in the face.

“You deserved that.”

“I suppose I did,” I laughed, bringing the pot she’d filled to the hearth.

Later, after all the potatoes had been peeled and tossed in the pot to boil with the green beans, she wiped her hands off on a rag and leaned against the table.

“What should I do with this place?” she asked.

“Whatever you want to do with it.”

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