Free Ivy's Choice (The Fey Quartet Book 3) by Emily Larkin

the cottage with a sigh. “Let’s visit Larkspur. The basket’s ready.”
     
----
     
    IVY STRUGGLED WITH her crutch today. It seemed to catch every tree root, every fallen branch. Three times, she tripped and nearly fell. Her shattered kneecap began to ache fiercely. Frustration built in her. Frustration, and something close to anger.
    “I’m sorry,” she said at last, halting in a tiny glade dappled with sunshine. “I’m not calm enough to visit Larkspur. I need to rest for a few minutes.”
    Hazel turned to look at her, her gaze searching. “Is it Maythorn?”
    Ivy nodded, even though that was only partly the truth. “You go ahead. I’ll follow shortly.”
    Hazel hesitated.
    “Go. I just need to sit for a moment, clear my head.” Ivy began to lower herself to the soft, sunlit grass.
    “Here, let me help.” Hazel put down the basket and slid an arm around Ivy’s waist, taking most of her weight, settling her gently on the grass.
    I hate being so helpless . For a moment Ivy almost wept with rage and self-pity.
    Hazel’s brow furrowed with concern. “You don’t look at all like yourself. I’ll stay with yo u— ”
    “No.” The word came out sharply. Too sharply. Ivy took a deep breath and forced herself to speak calmly. “I’m fine. I just need a few minutes alone. Please, Hazel.”
    Hazel gave her a long, frowning look, and then a dubious nod. She picked up the basket again and stepped towards the trees, looking back over her shoulder.
    Ivy made herself smile. “Go.”
    Hazel did, still frowning.
    When she could no longer hear Hazel’s footsteps, Ivy lay back on the grass. It was Maythorn’s grief, yes, but it was far more than that. It was her lameness, the crutch, Hugh Dappleward, Larkspur, everything. Emotions stewed in her breast: frustration, bitterness, regret. I want it all. I want Larkspur back. I want Hugh Dappleward as my husband. I want not to be lame .
    But she couldn’t have all of those things. It wasn’t possible.
    Ivy took a deep breath, and released it. Calm. Calm . She stared up at the sky—blue sky with a wisp of white cloud trailing across it—and listened to the beating of her heart and concentrated on her breathing—slow inhalation, slow exhalation—and waited for her agitation to fade and calmness to take its place.
    In winter, when her knee ached almost too much to bear, she did this—brought her awareness back to breath and heartbeat—until the pain became manageable. And sometimes in spring she did it, too, when the flowers blossomed and she wanted to run through the meadow with her arms outstretched, and frustration at her lameness built inside her until she felt she would burst from it.
    It usually helped, usually brought calmness.
    Inhalation. Exhalation. The slow thump of her heart.
    Gradually, the bitterness unraveled into nothing. The frustration dissipated like the wisp of cloud was doing above her, fading until it vanished entirely. The regret took longer to deal with. A stubborn knot of it remained, like a clenched fist beneath her breastbone. Regret that she’d never walk freely. Regret that Maythorn grieved. Regret that she’d allowed herself to fall in love with Hugh Dappleward.
    But at least Hugh lived. He and Tam both.
    Tomorrow is my birthday. Tomorrow we get Larkspur back. That is the most important thing in all this: Larkspur.
    At last, the knot loosened and the regret was gone, too. Only calmness remained. Ivy sat up, and reached for her crutch, and levered herself to her feet.
     
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
    HUGH DRIFTED BACK to consciousness. For a long time, he was too weary to open his eyes. Why am I so tired? Memory escaped him; he knew he was exhausted, but not why.
    Finally, he mustered the energy to lift his eyelids.
    He was in his own bed, in his own room. His father sat on a stool alongside the bed, his face weary and unshaven. Sunlight streamed through the open window. The shadows it cast told Hugh that it was late afternoon.
    Memory