by S E Wendel
“Yes. Plank by plank if I have to.”
He met her gaze, unflinching. He didn’t know what Renata saw there, but something finally made her turn to the door.
“She’s taken her vows,” she said again, even as she slowly worked the key into the lock. “If you take her, the two of you will be damned in the Mother’s eyes. There’s no peace for blasphemes.”
“We’ll see.”
She snorted as the key struck home. The moment the door unlocked, Ennis wrenched it open, shoulders thrown back in indignation.
“Damn you,” was all she spared Renata, striding out the door to Manek and Lora. Her face was hard and unyielding, but the corner of her mouth twitched up when he caught her gaze. It was all he could do not to pull her close and clutch her to him, so great was his need to touch her.
“Ennis, wait!”
Her head snapped around to glare over her shoulder at her sister.
Irina stepped forward, wringing her hands. “Sister, you can’t marry him. All he’s done—”
Ennis’s mouth twisted, the air around them vibrating with her rage. “These are your sisters. Don’t you remember? You chose them over me.” But even though her voice was cold and unfeeling, a tear fell.
Ennis slipped her hand into Manek’s and he gave it a squeeze, hoping to convey in that small exertion of pressure that he would carry this for her if she wanted, anything to dry her tears.
Lora caught Ennis’s eye, and the two women exchanged small looks that must have been a whole language between them. Manek stood by as they silently spoke, longing for the day that he and Ennis could communicate so. One day.
Ennis sighed. He gave up her hand reluctantly when she turned around, sized up the Sisters, and closed the distance between her and Irina.
Manek was a little shocked when she threw her arms around her sister.
“I’m sorry, Irina. I’m sorry our paths must diverge.” She leaned back and wiped away Irina’s tears. “But this isn’t the life for me. Please try to understand that.”
Irina’s watery eyes sharpened, and she pulled herself up taller, a flash of indignation pursing her lips.
“Like you did mine?” she whispered.
Ennis’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out.
Irina shook her head. “Go.”
Ennis stood there another moment, staring at her sister, before turning away. She marched down the hallway, leaving Manek and Lora to share a look between them before following in her wake.
It wasn’t until they were outside again that Ennis finally stopped, raising her face to the sun. She stood still like that, a slight breeze tugging her hair, and Manek felt a new pain, not in his side but just to the left of the center of his chest. Gods, she was beautiful.
He fetched Oren, giving Ennis a moment, and then pulled a knife from his boot.
“Lora,” he said to get her attention.
She turned to him to look on in astonishment as he stepped to her and cut the ribbon from her neck.
Lora gaped at him, fingers tracing the base of her neck. “I’m—?”
He nodded. “It’s the least I can do.”
Ennis slipped an arm around his waist, and he turned to meet her. It was a small kiss, almost shy, but he took it gratefully. When she pulled back, her eyes had dried of tears and instead sparkled in the morning sun, making Manek breathe a little easier.
“Did you mean what you said?” she murmured against his mouth.
“Yes.” He searched her face before asking, “Will you?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Will I what?”
Lora made an exasperated sound.
“Will you marry me?”
She leaned back slightly and tapped her lower lip. He would’ve laughed if his insides weren’t twisted into knots.
“Yes,” she said. She would’ve said more, no doubt tease him again, but he covered her mouth with his. She staggered back a step and laughed, throwing her arms around his neck.
After he’d kissed her soundly, or at least soundly enough for the middle of the road, she drew back a breath.
“Manek, do you love me?”
“Of course, I do!”
“You don’t have to look so shocked,” she said with that infernal grin. “You’ve just never said.”
“I haven’t?”
“No.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “I love you, Ennis Courtnay. All that I am and will ever be is yours.”
She let out a shuddering breath, the color rising in her face. “There,” she said, “that wasn’t so hard.” Suddenly her eyes went wide. “But what about Rising? Will they want me?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said you’re well respected here. What you did with the wall…everyone I’ve talked to has sung your praises.”
Lora appeared from the other side of Oren. When she’d drifted away he couldn’t say, but his ears reddened to realize he’d forgotten about her.
“Perhaps it’d be best to stay with Highland tradition,” she said. “Ennis is well thought of, but there are some who’ll see it as a warprize trying to rise above her station. Hurrying through marriage vows will only make them talk.”
“And what’s Highland tradition?”
“A Highland marriage is the union of two houses. Therefore, betrothed aren’t to live together before marrying,” explained Lora. “Ennis staying out of the great house until you’re married would discourage some from thinking she just did it to be freed.”
“Mm,” Ennis hummed in agreement.
When she looked up at him expectantly, he begrudgingly nodded. “All right. But I won’t pretend that I like it.”
“That makes two of us,” she said.
“But where will we stay?” said Lora.
“Kenna and Taryn might be able to take us.”
“I’ve a better idea.”
Ennis and Lora peered at him.
“There’s a small house, not far from my parents’. It belonged to one of the midwives, but she died when the plague came.” At the mention of the plague, both women’s faces turned ashen, so he hastily continued. “She’d no family, and here, if the land has no family claimant, it goes to the chieftain. That’d be my father. You could have it.”
Ennis smiled. “That would do nicely!”
“Lora,” he said, “you asked me once if we had a physician here in Rising.”
“Yes.”
“If you’re still willing, I’d like you to take the house as payment for your continued care of my family and any of those who come to you. Many people go to the Haven, but I know some preferred old Selric, when he was alive, and I understand women tend to ask for the midwives. I’ll introduce you to them.”
Lora’s face brightened with a smile and happy tears. She took one of his hands in hers and squeezed. “I will. Thank you!”
“Should I show it to you?”
She nodded eagerly, and so Manek took Oren’s reins in one hand and Ennis’s hand in the other and led them back towards the great house. Rather than walking up the path to his own front door, though, they caught another that veered around the base of the hill, finally curving along and widening into a narrow lane in front of some of the nicest homes in Rising. These were the few daub and wattle houses in town, all their doors painted some shade of green. He brought them to the first house in the row, with a sea-green door.
Lora opened the door, revealing a cavernous front room. A cold hearth sat on the north wall, the mantle above it blanketed in dust. The floorboards creaked underfoot as Lora stepped further into the house, Manek and Ennis following behind. A large table took up much of the space, six mismatched chairs surrounding it. The room was musty and a little spicy from the moldering herbs the old midwife had hung to dry from the rafters.
Lora made a sound of delight, running her hands over an old rocking chair placed before the hearth. She made two laps around the room before delving deeper into the house. There were two more rooms and a storeroom in the back.
En
nis leaned into him and whispered, “Thank you.”
He drew his wife-to-be nearer. “How long are you going to make me wait?’”
She considered while he touched the dimple her smirk made in her cheek.
“Well?”
“No more than three sennights.”
He groaned, which only made her grin. She leaned up to whisper that houses weren’t joined until the wedding in the Highlands, but the tradition didn’t necessarily apply to bodies.
He groaned again, but before he could hustle her back out the door and up the hill to the great house and his room, she laughed and reminded him, “You’ll need to announce the marriage.”
“I can ride through the streets right now and call it out.”
“They’ll think you’re drunk.”
“And?”
She swatted him. “It won’t help any.”
“Fine,” he sighed, making sure he looked just as put upon as he felt. “But I insist you both come back with me to the great house for a meal. You must eat and this house’s larders haven’t seen food since summer. And we’ll need to tell my parents.”
If she felt any trepidation about telling Kasia their news, she didn’t show it. Instead, she smiled and said, “I’m ready.”
“Good.” And he drew her to him again and kissed her, barely hearing the sounds of Lora gleefully exploring her new house.
Fifty
Ean searched far and wide for a way to break his curse. Rarely did he heed summons from the Heavenly Host, instead wandering an unforgiving land of sand and rock that matched his arid soul. He disappeared for a hundred years until, finally, the Heavenly Mother rode the clouds down to his desert. She looked far and wide until, one day, she found the Deceiver in the bottom of a great red canyon. “Why are you here?” he asked the Mother. “I do not like to see you suffer, my son.” He laughed at that. “Then break my curse.” “I cannot. Only you can.” “How?” She put a serene hand on his shoulder, no matter how his skin burned to the touch. “You know the answer to that.” Ean’s mouth twisted with rage, and he fled Ceralia, disappearing for another hundred years. For Ean did not know the answer and feared he never would.
—from Sufferings of the Lost Son
The night, just like every night since Waurin’s return, was a quiet one. The somnolent fire crackled lazily in the hearth, wrapping the hall in warm amber shadows. Elodie had long since gone to sleep, content at least that she’d filled everyone’s bellies.
It seemed that, the more distant Waurin became, the more Elodie tried to feed him. Perhaps she needed to fill him with something if it couldn’t be comfort or love.
Essa sat across the table from Waurin, a half-finished game of Kingsman’s Bluff spread between them. She pretended to consider her next move when really she considered Waurin. He and his chair sat perpendicular to the table and Essa, his gaze on the fire except for the brief moments he spent making his moves. They were careless, and Essa could’ve won three turns ago.
She hadn’t. She was determined to make this last.
Why, she couldn’t quite say. It was the same every night, Waurin gazing despondently into the fire, refusing most of the companionship Elodie and Essa offered. He wanted to be near them, yes, wanted to listen to them talk and work and share meals with them, but his brooding, hovering presence dampened their spirits, and she knew Waurin felt their unease, knew it made him tense and sadder, and so the cycle continued. Essa was getting sick of it.
She couldn’t say that aloud, oh no. Couldn’t point out the obvious fact that Waurin was hurting inside, festering, but he would let no one near enough to lance and bandage him up. So Essa had given herself the task of doing what she could, of distracting him, drawing him out of himself; even just getting him to talk was a minor victory.
Essa finally found a way to give him an opening that wasn’t too obvious and moved her piece.
“Your turn,” she said.
He didn’t even grunt in acknowledgement.
She glanced up at his silent visage, so different from how she remembered him. Smile lines no longer bracketed his mouth; instead, heavy lines of worry and pain ran like canyons across his cheeks and forehead, making him seem much older than he was. Perhaps the worst of it was that his cheeriness had left him, snuffed out like a candle.
Essa was determined to be the flint that reignited his flame, even in some small way, but she was beginning to despair herself. It had been sennights since he returned yet she’d seen little improvement.
But she had no other choice. She had to help him how she could, for if she didn’t, what then? Would he waste away to nothingness, just waiting for the next battle? Essa didn’t know if Waurin would survive another campaign, didn’t know if he even wanted to, and she saw that same fear lurking in Elodie’s eyes.
“Waurin,” she called softly.
He finally stirred in his chair, looking over at her with bleary eyes, as if he’d just awoken. He blinked at her before making a humming sound in his throat and glancing at the gameboard.
Essa held her breath when she saw him frown, his eyes lingering on the pieces far longer than he had before.
Waurin let his head fall against the chair back with a soft thump after moving a piece in the one way that made it almost impossible for him not to lose in the next turn.
“You’re letting me win,” he grumbled.
Essa snorted. “Hardly. I’m letting you stay in the game is all.”
“Who said I wanted to stay in the game?”
“You didn’t say you didn’t want to play.”
“Didn’t say I wanted to, either.”
“So you’d rather just stare into the fire all night? What’s so interesting about it?”
Waurin scowled at her, something she’d never seen him do before. She wasn’t scared of him, but the unfamiliar expression, so foreign on his face, made her uneasy.
“You don’t…” He grunted and turned away.
“I don’t what? Understand?” She stood, her chair scraping against the flagstones. She worried for a moment it might wake Elodie, but Essa was too angry to care much. Instead, she marched around the table so that she was directly in front of Waurin, hands on her hips.
There had been a time, what seemed like so long ago, when she would never have been angry with him, only sweet. She’d gone to such pains to hide her feelings, her hurts, that sometimes she’d fooled even herself into thinking she hadn’t any. It had been a good plan and served her well, but the Waurin that had come back didn’t want her sweetness and smiles. They’d only earned her his apathy.
She’d been soft with him before, but now perhaps she needed to be hard.
“What don’t I understand? The horror of sacking a city? Of watching homes go up in flames? Of life as I know it ending?”
Waurin continued to scowl but said nothing.
Essa grabbed the chair beside him, turned it about, and plopped into it, facing the hearth.
They sat like that in silence for a long while, the tension crackling along with the fire, until Waurin finally sighed and said, “What are you doing?”
“Glaring into the fire. I thought that was obvious. Since you seem to think it’s so grand, I’ll let it solve my problems, too.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
She shot him a pointed look from the corner of her eye.
Waurin grumbled again, turning away from both her and the fire to instead regard the gameboard. It was the most attention he’d given it in sennights.
“I’m allowed time to grieve, Essa,” he finally sighed.
“Of course you are,” Essa agreed, somewhat startled by his words and hushed tone.
“The fire’s soothing, I suppose.”
She peered at it before agreeing again. Essa turned in her chair and curled her legs under her, trying to get comfortable, trying to show that she was ready for whatever he had to say. She’d sat like this with her sisters many times, discussing all manner of things as the harbor below slo
wly darkened, sometimes reflecting the night sky and making their city seem infinite, drifting amongst the stars.
“I can see that,” she said about the fire, “but you’re wrong that I don’t understand. I do.”
Waurin grimaced. “I wish you didn’t.”
“It’s far past the time for wishing. But thank you. I think one day I’ll see Highcrest again.” She gave him a sad smile when his eyes cut to hers. “Now, will you tell me about your troubles? I’d like to think we’re still friends.”
Waurin swallowed hard, not looking at her. “I think I’ve burdened you enough, Essa,” he said, levelling her with a look that told her in no uncertain terms what he really meant.
Perhaps that was true. For all that Essa had grown tired of her games and lies, she still bore anger deep in the heart of her. Sometimes she feared it was what drove her, what warmed her from the inside out, and without it, she would simply cease to be. Perhaps the feelings had been deadened by seasons of work and loneliness, but they were there nonetheless.
Still, “It’s good to speak of your feelings, to let the truths out,” she said. For as much as she didn’t like Carmetheon or fish or the sea, she couldn’t blame Waurin for her fate, at least not anymore. He was a game piece to be dragged around the board by Larn, like so many were now, and she didn’t want to see him suffer more.
Waurin looked at her with incredulity, and Essa didn’t like it one bit.
“And what of your truths, Essa?” he asked softly. “If I asked, would you actually tell me now?”
It was Essa’s turn to swallow hard, and she said, too late, that, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you think I don’t see?” He turned to her then, eyes roaming her face, but Essa didn’t know what he searched for or if he’d find it. He leaned towards her and Essa held her breath. “I’m not blind, Essa. I know how much you hate it here, hate the life and everything else that’s been forced on you. I know you know of the pain I feel. The difference is, I don’t hide it behind smiles.”
She didn’t like this, not at all.
“No, you just sit here and brood,” she snapped.
“Perhaps that’s what I need to do.”
