Sisters Three (Completed)

32. Brenna (2/2)

"Morna, can I come sit with you?" Brenna asked, packing away her embroidery for the day and setting the box on the side table.

Morna nodded absently and Brenna dragged a chair to her side. Sitting down, she looked down on the front drive, seeing nothing that could captured Morna's attention so thoroughly.

"Have you read any of those books I sent to your rooms last week?" Brenna asked. Morna didn't answer.

Brenna shifted uncomfortably and fidgeted with her hands in her lap. Talking to Morna felt like trying to drag a heavy trunk up a hill. It should be done by much easier methods and it was backbreaking work. Often Brenna just talked to herself, as if Morna were a mirror that could somehow sift out the extraneous threads and reflect back the true state of Brenna's mind.

"Sometimes I'm afraid Robbin won't come home," Brenna whispered, staring at her fingertips. She knew Morna probably didn't hear her, and that even if she could Brenna shouldn't be talking about dying husbands around her. But once she'd opened the door to her fears, they all came tumbling out.

"What happens if he's killed? We fight to see who will be the next leader? Revours takes over and we become some prize to a larger country? Either way, I return to nothing and my dreams end."

Brenna bit her lip, the unspoken last bit of her confession sticking in her chest even though she wanted it out. It burned like sticky tar in the pit of her stomach all the time, and she hoped that somehow voicing it might dull the ache—if she could only manage to get the words past her clenched teeth.

"I think I might miss him should he not come back. What if I-" She stopped and shook her head. She couldn't manage to bring it to the surface after all. "What am I doing? I shouldn't be saying these things around you."

"It's fine," Morna said, her voice husky. "I like it when you talk to me."

Brenna smiled weakly. "Well, I like it when you talk back, all right?"

Morna reached for Brenna's hand, pressing it gently.

Not a second later a blast of trumpet fanfare from outside made both of them jerk in their seats. Brenna jumped to her feet to look down at the courtyard where a mass of men and horses milled about with chaotic energy. For a moment she thought perhaps Revours had sent a group to try and capture the house while Robbin was away, but then she saw the familiar faces of General Rydon and Cooke, and the standard of the Grellan mercenaries.

"They're back," she breathed, her eyes frantically trying to pick out Robbin from the crowd. He wasn't seated up high on a horse like the generals, and it was impossible to distinguish individual faces in the sea of men. In frustration, she pushed away from the window and raced for the door.

"Stay here, Morna," she shouted before dashing down the hall and stairs, and spilling out the front door into the gravel path.

Heart pounding, she pushed her way through the battle-weary men. All of them were covered in mud and sweat, their armor still on and smeared with dried blood. They leaned against each other in exhaustion, watching with bleary eyes as Brenna shoved through their ranks.

"Where's Robbin?" she asked, but no one answered her. They were too busy trying to find someone in charge, and no one had enough strength to help a woman in a fine dress who carelessly bumped them as she blasted by.

There were two reason for the army to return home. They were victorious, or they were finished. Without Robbin there, she couldn't tell which it was. Did Revours have his head impaled on a spike, in which case they should be bracing for the inevitable invasion? Or was her husband hidden somewhere in the crowd and she only had to find him in order to see he was safe?