by Anna Steffl
“Sylvania?”
“By Sibelian’s generosity, I will have my own place. And...” Arvana twisted his ring off and held it to him. It was all over. “Forgive me for losing the necklace. Please keep this. I know it’s special to your family. We’ve been through much together. It’s my way of thanking you.” He kept his hands to his sides. Why must he make this more difficult than it was? She raised her gaze to his face to plead with him, but his eyes were hard.
“It isn’t your way of thanking me,” he said.
“I...you can’t understand...I can’t keep it. It would be cruel of you to insist.”
“No, I understand.” He reached out and took the ring.
Dear Maker, why did she want to cry? Everything between them was finally untangled, and she had freed herself of the one material thing that bound them together. But it wasn’t as the Solacians taught. Things didn’t bind her heart. Wiping her eyes, the blanket slipped from her shoulders and a cold draft wafted around her. She began to bend to retrieve the blanket, but her side stung and in her moment of hesitation, he was already retrieving it. He wrapped it around her. Taking the edges, she clutched them in her fists over her chest and then clenched her eyes shut to keep further tears in check, but a hot stream rolled down one side of her face. “I want to go upstairs, Captain Berlson.”
“I’ll take you upstairs. And if you truly want to go to Sylvania, I shall deliver you there myself. But, Ari...” At the sensation of his finger tracing the wet path along her cheek, she opened her eyes. “Forgive me if your pain gives me hope I don’t deserve. Your good heart loved me once and mine has always been yours. Yes, it’s true. Well, perhaps not always. The first time I saw you, I confess I noted that you were beautiful, but I put it out of mind and thought only of my sword. But the second time, in Lady Martise’s garden, you told me our professions weren’t so different, that I was good and the Maker had a special grace for me. You can’t know what those words have meant to me...coming from you. Every day since then, you have been in my thoughts, and so often, they have been a trial. I denied what I felt—at first with good reason. I had to respect who you were. The rest...you don’t know what a torment my behavior has been to me...and all to a woman whose greatest fault was thinking me good.”
“You lost your generalship. It was what you wanted.”
“It was what I thought I wanted. At Ferne Clyffe, I understood my error, but with going north...no man with a shred of honor could ask the woman he loves to undertake such a mission. And my courage has always been of a particular kind. I could always tell myself I had nothing to lose. It made me fearless. The night at the inn, after what you shared with me, I only let you in the coach by telling myself you must regret it, regret me. But the odd thing is, when we were in the Fortress garden, when I knew what the Gherians would do to you, I fought harder than I ever have. I wish I wouldn’t have had to learn the truth of my courage that way. I wish this could have all been different. Ari, look at me. Tell me you understand.”
Through the bleary film of tears, Arvana saw the tenderness in his eyes. They were the blue of the great, vast sky that lay in a warm embrace over the fields.
“Can you only imagine yourself as a general’s wife? I hoped you would prefer...I would prefer...”
From the open parlor door, Fassal’s dog loped toward them until his leash, at its length, jerked him to a standstill. Behind Fassal stood all the Gherian and Sarapostan dignitaries. “Caspar, not now.” Fassal, in the doorway, reeled back the dog. “Well brother, what is your fate? I pray you’ve saved me a week’s worth of pocket money.”
Degarius held the ring poised between two fingers. “Forgive me how I gave this to you the first time...though my sentiment was...”
Laughing and crying all at once, Arvana extended her hand. “Oh, Nan.” He slipped the ring on her finger and rising on her tiptoes, she kissed him freely, joyously. The blanket dropped from her shoulders again, but this time, Nan wrapped his arms around her, drew her to his heat, to the galloping of his heart, to the warm, comforting smell of his body. If her small human love could be so abundant, how much more was the Maker’s? “Dear Maker,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Nan said.
EPILOGUE
23rd of Summer, Year 740 of the Saviors
Dearest Jesquin,
I hope my letter finds you in tolerable spirits at the Citadel. I am much relieved to hear that our nephew has regained his sense after the brutal throw from his horse.
My talks at the Forbidden Fortress with Sibelian are finished. I’m sensible of the honor of my delegation being the first non-Gherians admitted and tentatively will call our meeting a success. We reached agreement on possession of nearly all of the disputed borderland territory. But I doubt how long Sibelian’s rule will stand. Alenius’s blood kin are drumming support from those who expected generous plots of Sarapostan land and from those who protest against the abolishment of the cabinet, Lily Girls, and making of eunuchs. What loathsome neighbors we shall have again if the alliance against him prevails.
Now, for happier news. I’m writing you from the sweet home of your tutor and shall stay another night before returning to Sarapost. Ferne Clyffe is a vast place and Caspar has enjoyed the run of it. The ingrate would probably not think of me once if I left him here.
I found your tutor exceedingly well settled and in glowing health. She seems born to be the lady of a country estate—not just by tending a kitchen garden and playing her instrument for the occasional guest but also by keeping the accounts for both a home and a vast landholding. She is with her second child and hopes to welcome it within the moon. The first child, a girl who shall be three this autumn, is the image of her mother. She is a shy thing, hiding behind her father until he pulled her around, sat his straw hat upon her head, and rode her on his knee until she laughed. I know you can never love him as I do, but even you would have smiled to see the severe captain neighing and thumping his heel. Perhaps it will make you a little easier of your tutor’s fate to know he gives her and their child the same unswerving devotion he gave Sarapost as a captain, however here to a happier end. But I shall say no more on this. I only thought you’d wish to know your tutor is well.
As to your last note, certainly a grand dance to mark the harvest is a fine idea. I leave the details in your capable hands.
Give your father my best wishes for his birthday,
Gregory
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
With her ever-patient family, the impatient Anna Steffl lives in Athens, Georgia, home of the New World gods of football and alternative music. She has held a string of wildly unrelated jobs, from frying chicken to one that required applying for a Department of Defense security clearance.
Find Anna at:
Website: www.annasteffl.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/annasteffl
Twitter: @AnnaKurtzSteffl
