Hemmed in Silver

By Forthright

Fairies in the garden. Frost on the pumpkins. Farmhands at the dance.

Wyn Outler doesn't talk about where he came from (or how long ago). All part of the vows he took when he and his best friend turned their backs on the In-between. Decades later, when a letter arrives from an orphan boy who thinks he's found his

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twinkle Press
• Release date: Nov 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781631230738

Book preview

Hemmed in Silver

A picture containing logo, icon Description automatically generated

Songs of the Amaranthine, 5

Hemmed in Silver

Copyright © 2020 by FORTHRIGHT

ISBN: 978-1-63123-073-8

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or shared in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author. Which is a slightly more officious way of saying what I’ve always asked. Play fair. Be nice. But by all means, have fun! ::twinkle::

TWINKLE PRESS

FORTHWRITES.COM

because belonging is a kind of magic

Table of Contents

Plea

Risk

Change

Brave

Come

Room

Gruel

Hide

Milk

View

School

Quill

Dish

Child

Tray

Hire

Leaf

Waltz

Once

Sire

Sulk

Dress

Patch

Change

Stile

Song

Pact

Lit

Trap

Twice

Frost

Stay

Kin

Thrice

Plea

Is it important? inquired Thrussel.

Wyn left off his fifth reread to blandly reply, "Most letters hand-delivered by heralds are. How did this even find me?"

Discreet channels.

"Am I found, then?"

"No, Wyn. We songbirds have our own way of making sure letters reach their intended recipients. He touched Wyn’s arm. It was passed from dove to ptarmigan to warbler before arriving in our vicinity. Someone remembered Lord Alderney having a little place by the name, and I offered to see it delivered. None the wiser."

Surprising, really. Wyn grimaced at the envelope, which bore scant postage and several notes in different hands suggesting possible locales. Not much to go on.

Mister Godwyn Outler

Merritt House

"It is yours, though? You are the intended recipient?"

Dismal day. He sighed. We’ll convene in the kitchen. Stay for tea, Thrussel. There’ll have to be a reply.

Too kind, murmured the herald.

Raising his voice, Wyn called, Pennythwaite?

His oldest friend stepped into the room, one finger in the ledger book he’d likely been updating. With a faint frown, Pennythwaite nodded a greeting in Thrussel’s direction.

Is Sonnet here? asked Wyn.

Close enough to summon.

Wyn rumpled his hair distractedly May as well call Triggs and Beck, too. This affects all of us.

Lingering long enough to smooth Wyn’s unruly thatch, Pennythwaite acknowledged his request. The kitchen.

Wyn scanned the letter again. Sure, and it was trouble. He almost wished Thrussel had left it to gather dust in whatever bin they used to collect undeliverable letters. But the plea it contained brought back good memories of old vows. And a pact he couldn’t ignore.

By the time he followed the pokey back hall to the kitchen, they were all assembled.

Pennythwaite, who counted him as a nestmate, despite the trouble it might cause if anyone of consequence found out.

Sonnet, a third-generation dog who liked to think of himself as a lone wolf.

Triggs, one of Lord Alderney’s several sons, who was responsible for the dairy barn.

And Beck, the cheerful strutter in charge of their chicken coop and hatchery.

Wyn tossed the letter onto the table. A boy wrote to me, thinking I’m his uncle.

Are you? asked Sonnet, his tail already wagging.

Reaching for the missive, Pennythwaite murmured, "You do realize how long Wyn’s been here?"

Sonnet tapped a few fingers, then shrugged. You’re the mathy one.

Technically, the boy isn’t a blood relation, even though we share a name.

Alfred Outler. Pennythwaite looked up sharply. "And Hazel Outler."

They’re newly orphaned, and the lad’s desperate to find someone to take them in. If he can’t sort it soon, they’ll separate him from his sister.

Triggs folded his big hands together and quietly asked, Why do you consider their problems your own?

He mentions names. I don’t know his father, but I recognize his grandfather’s name. Alfred is Darren’s great-great-great-grandson. We vowed out together, swore a pact, and took the same surname. Spreading his hands wide, Wyn put it the only way he needed to. They’re what’s left of my clan. My kin.

"When you say children, are we talking bottles and nappies?" asked Beck.

Pennythwaite passed him the letter. Alfred is fourteen. His sister is four.

Sonnet crooned a sorrowful note. The softie.

We keep to ourselves, but there’s the rest of the cooperative to consider, said Triggs.

Wyn nodded. If we can come to terms, I’ll go to your father next. Or … I’ll have to leave. At least until they’ve grown enough to make their own way.

No, said Pennythwaite.

"This is your home," agreed Sonnet, looking anxiously from face to face.

Slowly, everyone in the room shifted into a cautiously receptive posture. Even Triggs, who usually wanted more time to consider before making big decisions.

A pact is a pact, said Beck, already smiling again. "Uncle Wyn."

Risk

From his hilltop home, Northrop Hall, Tristan Alderney managed a cluster of secluded farms in Yoxall. He was known throughout the area as a fair-minded and levelheaded man. His tenants called him lord, though he wasn’t a member of the peerage. Some out of respect. Some because they knew he owned the title as leader of his clan.

Lord Alderney listened to Wyn without comment, then held out his hand for the letter. You intend to adopt?

I thought we could just take them in? Wyn shrugged. Can’t we do it unofficially?

Abducting orphans? He shook his head. "I know a solicitor who can smooth the way, but there will be paperwork. Your existence will become documented."

Something Wyn preferred to avoid. Won’t that cause trouble for the cooperative?

After several moments, Lord Alderney said, I think not. We disguise our differences and mingle freely with humans in the area. Bringing in two more could be considered … community enrichment.

Wyn was still worried. There will be a paper trail connecting me to you. And I’m not supposed to have any contact with the Amaranthine.

You aren’t the only one bending rules. Our cooperative is unlisted and unaffiliated with the reaver community. Lord Alderney smiled tightly. Most of us have one reason or another for avoiding notice.

Pennythwaite weighed in. The risks are minimal. If the In-between was interested in you, Wyn, they wouldn’t have let you go.

Triggs asked, The children are unendowed?

Seems likely, said Wyn. They’re part of the general populace. Would there be anything left of Darren’s bloodline after four generations?

We’ll know once the dears are here, said Sonnet.

Beck chortled. Harboring another unregistered reaver? No complaints here. My flock dotes on Wyn.

Are you resolved? asked Lord Alderney. I’ll put through a call.

A pact is a pact. Turning to Thrussel, Wyn asked, Will you carry a message?

Gladly, pledged the herald. As many as you need.

Wyn kept it short. We are farmers living a quiet life. Nothing fancy, but there’s room. Once we sort the legal bits, bring your sister and make your home with us.

Change

Wyn had always considered his study a peaceful place. A

Reviews for Hemmed in Silver

[Fides Anna Mabanta · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Sweet and softly comforting, as always from the stories in the Amaranthine world.