Puzzled by her interest, Rundan merely grunted and reluctantly handed over his scroll. As she read aloud, he froze. At first her words made no sense. She spoke with her softly rounded vowels, her voice as fluid as a song, with none of the crisp precision of his native Odenian. After a few moments, he began to grasp the rhythm of her speech.
He stared in amazement, unable to speak.
“You know the ancient tongue?” he finally asked, at first in his language, and then quickly translating the words into the ancient tongue.
“Yes,” she replied, her eyes alight with the same hope and eagerness he felt burning in his chest. “Though our teacher grows old,” she said, “he has a great passion for the ancient texts.”
The girl bent over the scroll again, as if as comforted by the words on the parchment as he’d been. The sight of her reading was unexpectedly appealing and made Rundan’s heart pound. He’d thought her pretty from the first time he’d seen her, but now she was more than that....
A rare flower.
Or something.
In the musical language of Torrani, there was probably a perfect word to describe her beauty, and he wished he knew what it was.
More importantly, she knew the ancient tongue and could understand him.
Suddenly there was too much to say. Rundan’s thoughts raced in circles, until he finally latched onto their greatest trouble.
“The master of the army”—Rundan knew no word for commander in the ancient tongue—“would have me turn you over to the king.”
The light in her eyes flickered out. “I know,” she said softly. After staring at him for several moments, she looked away and fumbled with her votif.
He didn’t think she intended to remind him that she’d saved his life, as if he’d ever need a reminder. He suspected her action was simply that of one deeply troubled.
She lifted her eyes to his. “I don’t want to die.”
“You won’t die.” Rundan balked at the thought. Seeing a question in her eyes, he added, “Because I can’t do what my father asks.”
“Your father?”
“The master of the army.”
Solena blinked in surprise. “That man was your father? But—but you’re nothing like him.”
Rundan winced. It was just a fleeting expression, but she caught it and looked away, realizing she’d poked into an unhealed wound.
“No. That’s true. I’m not like any of my people,” he said matter-of-factly. “None of my father’s soldiers would have been swayed by all you’ve done. They’d still deliver you to the palace.” He paused and looked at her with those thoughtful pale blue eyes of his. “But I cannot.”
Solena stared back, still trying to sort through his words. Surely she’d misunderstood him. But, no, she was very much alert and the young man sitting before her could speak the ancient tongue just as clearly as Grandpeer could. “So you’ll let me return to my people?” she asked.
“Yes. We will leave when I’m strong enough.”
We will leave.
His words brought a happy little swirl of pleasure, but Solena bit back her smile and ruthlessly squashed any desire to keep him with her longer. Though she’d love his company on the trek home, she couldn’t ask it of him.
“I can make the journey alone,” she insisted, not entirely sure this was true. “You must return to your father. He’ll worry.”
“He won’t worry.” Rundan’s mouth twisted into a sad half-smile that struck her like a blow to the chest. “And there’s no use arguing. I’m going with you.”
Solena brought the tips of her fingers to her mouth, a Torrani gesture of gratitude that she hoped he’d understand.
“My name is Rundan,” he told her quietly. It must have been a trick of the fire, but Solena could have sworn his face was suddenly flushed, as if he’d run a great distance.
She didn’t tell him she already knew his name, but simply nodded and repeated it for him. “And I am Solena.”
“Solena.” The way he said her name was a little odd, with none of the singsong music of her native Torrani. His words were more clipped, as if he had to carefully pronounce each syllable.
Solena tilted her head and smiled at him, trying to decide what it was about him that she found so appealing. He was still the same young soldier who’d captured her in the fruit grove, except his face was a little thinner now, from the weight he’d lost to fever. His hair was the same color of snow, only now she could see the shade was a bit warmer, more like the pale sands of Torrani’s shores. His eyes were as pale and blue as the other soldiers’ in camp had been, but in Rundan’s eyes she saw a thoughtful cast, as if he worried too much.
She paused for a moment to wonder if her eyes revealed her own worries....
The thought brought a sharp reminder of her purpose and she whispered a silent plea for Grandpeer’s life before asking, “I need wild tymia. Can you help me find it?”
Rundan hesitated. “I know a place. We could go, but we’d need to keep well away from my father’s camp....”
“And?”
“And there may still be soldiers about.”
From the hint of wariness in his face, she knew he was thinking of one soldier in particular. The soldier who’d attacked her hadn't come back to exact his revenge, but then perhaps he hadn’t been able to find their cave. They’d be more vulnerable traveling about in the open.
“My grandfather is dying...and he’s all I have.” Her throat closed up and she lifted one shoulder in mute appeal.
Rundan stared back at her for what seemed like an eternity before he answered. “I’ll take you,” he said, “as soon as I can, but we’ll have to go at night.”
This time she couldn’t stop a quick smile of relief from spreading across her face. Now if only she could make it home in time. If it wasn’t already too late. She prayed it wasn’t.
Over the next few days, Rundan regained his strength quickly. Though he knew he didn’t have the stamina yet to cross the punishing route they’d have to take back to Torrani, he could lead Solena to a place where tymia grew wild, the only thing she’d asked of him. He’d seen the worry growing in her eyes, making a fine line appear between her brows when she thought he wasn’t looking.
Rundan woke her at night, when he knew most of his father’s army would be asleep. He’d avoid the scouting grounds, which he knew all too well from his many shifts as an army scout.
“Come,” he said, shaking her shoulder.
She groaned and opened her eyes partway, squinting at him with a slight measure of hostility that made him smile. The girl certainly liked her sleep.
“If we go now, I can take you to your tymia.”
The sleep instantly fled from her eyes. Without a word, she rose in one fluid motion and bent to slip on her boots. He stared as she tied the laces, admiring the gentle curves of her body in the firelight in a way that would have made him flush to do by day. Her tunic slipped off her shoulder, and before she hitched it up, he found himself wanting to touch her there, to discover how soft her skin was. It looked as smooth as a flower petal. When she straightened and caught him watching her, he held her gaze.
Rundan’s heart began to thud unevenly in his chest and he had the most intense desire to take her hands and pull her close, to kiss her. She stood as if frozen, her only movement the gentle rise and fall of her chest. And the sweep of her eyelashes as she looked down and away, as if she was the one caught staring and not him.
He cleared his throat in embarrassment. His mother had taught him not to look at the girls of Oden the way he’d just looked at Solena. His grandmother, when she was alive, would have rapped a stick across his knuckles and made him kneel an hour in prayer. His father would have simply smirked and told him the girl was from Torrani, that she didn’t deserve the same respect.
Rundan’s hands tightened into fists at the thought.
That’s not the way he saw her, not like the soldiers in camp who’d played for her so crudely and measured the hil
ts of their blades to see who would win her. They’d planned to use her for their pleasure, and maybe worse. All they’d felt for her was lust.
What Rundan felt for her was...
It was...
Well, what he felt was real, but it definitely wasn’t like that.
Every day he’d spent in her company, Rundan had felt a growing sense of rightness. Like he finally had something in his life that was good.
Realizing Solena was waiting for him, he cleared his throat again. “It’s not far from here,” he told her quickly, then he ducked his head to avoid hitting it on the low cave ceiling as he led the way out. They hiked down to the river, to a narrow place strewn with large boulders. He gripped her elbow as they crossed over, just to make sure she didn’t fall, he told himself, and not because he wanted to touch her.
Long after they’d crossed to the other side, Solena glanced up at him with a question in her eyes. Realizing he was still holding her elbow, Rundan slowly dropped his hand to his side.
“This way,” he whispered and slipped into the surrounding forest, where the trees grew thick and there was no path.
“I thought you said it wasn’t far?” she whispered.
Rundan thought he heard a twig snap uphill from them. He halted and held one warning finger to his lips. She nodded. They waited in silence. The air grew still and solid around them, quiet in a way only the forest can be at night, with just the sounds of small animals rustling about. When Rundan was sure no one was tracking them, he gestured to Solena.
They walked along in silence for an hour or more, just in case a soldier had strayed from the usual routes. Solena followed closely and Rundan could hear each time she took a breath and released it. He reached back, extending his hand to lead her over a bunch of gnarled roots. He felt his mouth go dry as her slim fingers twined with his. As if they’d been fashioned to do just that.
Rundan heard her gasp as they entered the small open glade. Pale streams of moonlight shone through gaps in the leaves above, casting a light just bright enough to see a hand in front of your face. There were no distinct colors, only the purpled shades of midnight. Grass grew thick and dense in the clearing, covering the ground beneath his boots in a hushed, spongy softness. And all around them was wild tymia, filling the air with its crisp fragrance. Each leafy stalk was crowned with only a single small flower, but together they formed clusters of tiny purple bells. Just the thought of bells reminded Rundan, rather uncomfortably, of the bells of Oden’s palace.... He could hear almost those jarring, discordant tones in the distance, ringing as they always did just before an execution. It was only his imagination, of course—nothing more than a trick of the mind in the dark—but the image left him faintly unsettled.
Solena halted abruptly beside him and her eyes grew wide, like a child discovering a den of timber fox’s kits for the first time. Her hand slipped from his, leaving it all too empty and suddenly cold. He heard her pack fall to the ground with a soft thud, as she walked into the glade with outstretched arms.
“Rundan,” she whispered, and he liked the way his name sounded coming from her lips. “You found them.” She pressed her fingertips to her mouth and held them there. Then she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the darkened sky above.
Sensing she was in prayer, Rundan dropped to one knee and closed his eyes as well. As he tipped his head back, the lightest mist, a midnight dew, fell against his eyelids and cooled his face. Solena’s soft voice tickled at his ears. She was whispering in her native Torrani, her words rising like a song he’d once known but could no longer understand. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
When she finished, she began to pluck the stalks one by one, leaving three for every two she took, as if she too knew the custom of his people, leaving enough for future growth. Rundan rose to his feet and began to gather with her, bundling stalks under his arm as he went.
“I can’t believe there are so many.” She smiled at him, relief and joy lighting her face, as she cradled her bundle close to her chest.
“I’m glad. Will this be enough?” he asked, showing her the stalks he’d gathered as well, feeling stupidly like he was offering her flowers to display in some great hall where a wedding feast was being laid.
“Enough for Grandpeer’s life and many others—if I return in time.” Her smile wavered. In the muted light, her eyes shone a little too brightly, as if she were holding back tears.
“We’ll leave soon.” Rundan heard the words of his promise and wished he could take her home to Torrani right then. That he could make everything right for her. Always.
It was a dangerous thing to wish, he told himself as he turned away.
When the morning of their journey dawned, Rundan found his thoughts consumed with the day he’d eventually return Solena home.
Solena.
He’d loved her name from the moment he first heard it, that day they’d bent over his parchment together. He loved the soft sound of her breathing as she slept curled up next to him. With every hour that passed in her company, he’d come to love everything about her. He loved her shy smile of greeting in the morning. Now that they shared the ancient language, he’d learned of her dreams of being a healer, saw how anxious she was to serve her people well. He knew about her great concern for her grandfather, who was very sick. And, of course, he knew of her bravery in crossing the cliffs. She was so giving too, and had such an amazing, generous heart, unmatched in spirit by anyone he’d ever known.
He loved it all.
He loved her.
The thought of leaving her in Torrani filled him with a persistent ache of emptiness.
Rundan watched her as she finished braiding her long, shining dark hair in preparation for the journey. Swallowing his nervousness, he faced her. With hands that seemed to have lost connection with the rest of his body, he removed his votif and held it up in his cupped palms.
As he approached Solena, he saw her eyes widen, causing him to falter a step. After firming his jaw in renewed determination, he extended his hands, presenting the votif he’d worn all his life. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “If you would have me,” he said respectfully and waited, his heart beating very fast.
In all his imaginings of offering marriage to a girl, he’d never anticipated this choking anxiety, how incredibly heavy his arms would feel as he knelt there, offering his votif, his life. Never had he felt so exposed. There should be more words, he sensed, but none came to his lips. He could only hope she saw his love for her in his actions.
He wanted to be with her every day. He wanted to wake up with her, spend the day with her, and fall asleep holding her close.
When she didn’t immediately reach out to take the votif from him, Rundan looked up, feeling the muscles between his shoulder blades tightening into a knot.
“I can’t,” she whispered. She pressed a hand over her mouth.
Rundan squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at the sudden, sharp pain. You should have known better, he told himself. He should have known she didn’t care about him in the same way he cared for her. Even though he’d caught her sometimes, following him with her eyes. Even though she smiled as if she meant it.
After all she’d done for him, all she’d given, she didn’t love him.
Rundan’s fingers clenched around the votif he’d offered. Of course she didn’t. He lowered his votif. She was a healer, and as a healer would have done the same for anyone. He was stupid not to have realized. He’d allowed his feelings to color his vision, but it all made sense now.
It made sense, like so many hard lessons in life, so why did it still hurt so much?
“I just can’t,” she repeated and fumbled awkwardly with her hands, as if he’d embarrassed her so much she didn’t know what else to do with them. “But I’m honored.”
She didn’t want him. Was there someone else, he wondered, a young man from Torrani who’d already shared her kiss? His gut curled with sick jealousy at the thought. The scrolls spoke of jealous
y, how it would eat away at your soul. He’d read that often enough in his years of study, but now he believed it in an entirely new and personal way. But he had no claim on Solena’s affection. They’d shared no words of commitment, so he had no right at all to feel jealous. He tried desperately to shrink the unwelcome feeling to the size of a seed and bury it so far down in his soul that it could never grow into anything.
“I thought—” Rundan halted. It didn’t matter what he thought, did it? To speak of his feelings for her now would simply make the moment even more uncomfortable, for both of them, so he gave her a curt nod, tied his votif to his belt with fingers that felt like wooden nubs. He turned away. As he slung his chest armor on, he again became the falcon. Among a camp of soldiers bearing boars, bears, and wolves on their crests, he’d been an outcast even in his choice of design. But how apt that choice was now, for he’d be flying free soon, free and alone. He slipped a familiar mask over his face, one he’d become accustomed to wearing in his father’s army camp. As he continued to pack, his fingers still numb—numb and mindless, like everything seemed in that moment—he pretended not to notice that Solena was still hovering close and glancing at him often.
For many days, they trekked through the mountains. Rundan stuck to the less traveled routes, avoiding his father’s army. He led the way for Solena and she seemed as unwilling as he to break the silence simmering between them.
The fault was his. What he’d asked of her lay festering between them.
He still caught himself staring at her over their campfires each night. When she was lying next to him under the nyka hide, trying not to freeze in the night, he often imagined things were different and she’d accepted his offer. As sleep approached to draw him under its spell, it was too hard to fight off such impossible thoughts. It was too easy to enjoy the feel of her warm, soft body brushing against his.
Rundan tried to harden his heart, but it still hurt to think of leaving her in Torrani. Instead, he turned his mind to all the ways he might be able to earn a fare on a Torrani merchant ship. The days he’d live alone in some strange land stretched before him like desert sands. With such cheerless thoughts for company, Rundan hiked the long way around the mountain range, using a route known only to his people. By going that way, they avoided the sheer drop of the cliffs, which would have been impossible for his horse to travel. At the river, they recovered Solena’s small boat under the waterfall and, with the mountain horse swimming behind them, they paddled closer and closer to Torrani.
The Language of Souls Page 6
