“Korvanus is old now,” Solena continued, “and everyone knows Leopold has more love for shipbuilding than teaching. With all the children in our city, and many more being born, perhaps old Korvanus is in need of help....”
Rundan glanced quickly at Solena’s face. It almost sounded like she wanted him to stay.
Or maybe his heart was hearing things.
“Old Korvanus, eh?” the prophet mused, pursing his lips. He faced Rundan squarely. “You have a talent for languages?”
Rundan straightened. “I’ve always been interested in words and the ancient texts. Such skills weren’t valued in Oden...well, unless one wished to be a spy. And I didn’t. I’ve always been more interested in knowledge and—and wisdom.”
“So you could learn our language?” Solena prompted.
More than once since he’d met Solena, Rundan had wished he knew her language. He wished he knew it now. He wished he knew her every thought.... To know what he needed to be to make her love him. All impossible of course. Solena was beyond his touch and she always would be.
And she was staring at him right then, waiting for his answer. But all she wanted to know was if he could learn their language, he told himself firmly, nothing more.
Rundan hesitated. At times, especially when Solena spoke very rapidly, it became difficult to distinguish individual words. Her words flowed like an unending musical stream. But he’d always been good with languages, and if he were trained as a child was, starting with small words....
“I think I could,” he said finally.
Solena slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. He wasn’t sure she was aware of what she’d just done, for her eyes remained trained on her grandfather’s face. Rundan resisted the urge to grasp her hand more tightly, afraid even the slightest motion would draw attention to her action and make her pull away.
“It’s a possibility then,” said the prophet. “You could one day become a teacher and, in this way, make repayment.”
“You have use for a teacher?” Rundan had never considered becoming a teacher. It had never been offered as a possibility for him, not once had anyone suggested it to him, which was unsurprising given his father’s high position in the army, but now that he’d latched onto the idea, Rundan longed for it with an intensity that shook him. Just the thought alone brought a measure of fulfillment he’d never experienced as a scout under his father’s command. If he became a teacher, maybe he’d be able to prove his worth to the great prophet of Torrani...Solena’s grandfather.
And to Solena.
Rundan’s eyes traced the familiar lines of her profile. He felt her slim hand still resting comfortably in his. He also felt a hitch in his chest and tried to squash the foolish stirrings of hope there. How could he have forgotten she’d already rejected him? He’d offered and she’d refused. She doesn’t want you.
“This work would suit you,” the prophet proclaimed, as if he’d known Rundan all his life. “Korvanus will teach you our language. You can join his classes and observe his work with the children.”
Rundan nodded.
“After a year’s service as a teacher in the school—” The prophet’s gaze fell on their clasped hands and he cleared his throat meaningfully.
With a sinking sensation, Rundan noticed how quickly Solena dropped his hand.
The prophet continued. “After a year of service as a teacher, according to our custom, a house would be made available to you. As long as you work diligently, you’d be a free man in my eyes. You could perhaps, eventually, take a wife and have a family. Would you like that?” the old man asked pointedly.
Rundan swallowed with great difficulty. “I’m sorry, but at this moment, I...I cannot imagine taking a wife.”
He heard Solena’s swiftly indrawn breath, but couldn’t bear to look at her face again, so close to his.
“Ah,” the prophet said. “You’ve left someone behind in Oden? A girl you love?”
“No,” Rundan said quickly, uncomfortably aware of Solena’s gaze on him. He still couldn’t look at her.
Would there be pity in her eyes? Or was she thinking of how awkward and embarrassing it had been to have a man she didn’t love propose to her?
“Why then?” the prophet asked.
“I don’t wish to speak of it.”
“Speak of what?” Solena grasped Rundan’s forearm and didn’t let go, making it impossible for him to ignore her any longer.
“Your refusal,” he said stiffly. The memory of her rejection burned as fresh as it had that day.
“But—but I couldn’t accept you as my servant. I still can’t.”
He looked at her quickly. “Your servant?”
She frowned as if she was looking again at the events in her mind. “You offered your votif to me....”
The prophet quickly covered a cough, mumbled something about more tea and, with an odd smile, gathered his robes and hurried out. Rundan barely noticed the old prophet’s absence. All his attention was centered on Solena. He couldn’t imagine her ever being deliberately cruel, but it seemed cruel of her to make him relive what had happened between them.
“I offered marriage and you refused,” Rundan reminded her.
“You offered marriage?”
“As is the custom, the exchanging of votifs.” And the kiss of acceptance afterward, the kiss they hadn’t shared.
Rundan frowned at a sudden thought: wasn’t that her custom as well? He searched his mind for what he knew of Torrani courtship, but found very little. Studying the customs of foreigners wasn’t encouraged in Oden, except for those pertaining to battle strategy, armor, or weaponry, of course.
“So, when you held out your votif,” she asked, “you were offering—”
“Everything I had.” But if he’d stopped to think, he would have realized how very little he had to give.
Solena couldn’t speak. Her heart was too full. Though she tried to contain the hope that blossomed within her, it was impossible to stop it.
If Rundan had offered marriage, then she’d made an awful mistake. Looking back on the days of their journey, she remembered how he’d avoided touching her, how he’d hidden behind that expressionless mask of his, shutting her out. He’d worn his armor like a wall between them and always kept a careful distance from her. All those things had hurt so much. At the time, it had seemed like all the evidence she needed that he had no deeper feelings for her, but now...was it possible he not only had feelings for her, but wanted to share his life with her forever? And she’d rejected his offer, like it was no better than a platter of charred torpista.
As if she didn’t love him or want him.
As if she hadn’t ached, knowing they’d have to part soon.
As if she hadn’t wanted him to touch her. Or kiss her.
She couldn’t ask Rundan to repeat his request. He’d already offered her everything he had—those were the exact words he’d used—and he clearly thought he’d offered too little. All because she knew about as much about Oden as she could write across one palm. So, there was really only one thing left to do.
Solena fumbled with the ties of her votif.
“What are you doing?” Rundan asked warily. He stood before her, the cords of his throat muscles silently working.
She didn’t answer. She finished working the knot, which had never felt so tight. Cupping the votif in her hands, just as he’d done, she dropped to one knee. She held out her offering and bowed her head.
Her heart raced so hard and fast, she feared it might give out and stop altogether. Trying desperately to calm both her mind and body, she glanced up at Rundan’s face and admitted softly, “I don’t remember the words.”
He stared at her fixedly, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
As she continued to hold out her votif, she grew horribly aware of her outstretched hands, and the way her fingers trembled slightly.
He hadn’t moved. He couldn’t forgive her, perhaps.
It was too late.
&nb
sp; The weight of Solena’s votif in her hands may as well have been a boulder. Or a mountain. She swallowed. She drew on her strength, what there was left, and prepared to stand. Though her heart was breaking, she’d have to smile weakly at him and make some excuse.
Before she could move, whatever unseen cords binding Rundan snapped and he dropped to his knees before her. All in the same motion, he cast off the heavy chest armor he wore over his tunic, as if he suddenly found it too confining. It hit the far wall with a dull thud and slid to the floor. He wrapped his hands around hers and brought them to his chest. Without a word, he kissed her softly, with all the reverence of a prayer.
At the touch of his lips, a little thrill shot through Solena. Her anxiety ebbed away, melting like a candle left too long in the Torrani sun. The votif almost slipped from her grasp, but Rundan’s fingers tightened around it. Without breaking contact, he drew the votif from her fingers and set it gently on the floor beside them. He cupped her face in his hands and brushed his lips across her forehead, her eyelids and cheeks, and, offering her an elated half-grin, he even kissed the tip of her nose. A trace of pure male satisfaction lit his eyes and a hint of mischief too, a new side of her so-very-serious soldier.
Solena didn’t even have a chance to let out the little glad laugh that rose up her throat, for he was kissing her again, crushing her close and deepening the kiss until she grew breathless. She threaded her fingers into his hair and held on tight, wanting the moment to go on forever. And, after a few more moments with his arms locked around her, she forgot all about breathing.
Rundan rested his forehead against hers. “You, you are like none other,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “To do this....” He gathered her hands in his. “To make this offering like this and...and everything. Sharing your embers, saving my life, risking such a dangerous journey...all of it.”
Solena’s eyes burned with unshed tears. She smiled at him all the same, or gave her best, rather tremulous effort. She swallowed the desire to start sobbing uncontrollably, succeeding in that one thing at least.
“I love you,” she said in Torrani, a language suited to poetry, laughter, and impossibly long prayers. And, of course, love.
After she quickly translated, Rundan helped her to her feet and fastened his arms securely around her.
“I love you,” he repeated, in a fine first attempt at her native language. Though his eyes clearly expressed what was in his heart, it gave her heart a little squeeze to hear him say the words aloud. Deciding such a thing demanded a reward, Solena tightened her arms around him and let him know, without saying anything at all, that she never wanted to let him go.
THE END
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Also by Lena Goldfinch
New Release!
SONGSTONE
July 2013
Kita can meld song into stone. In a world with no written word, storytelling—the ability to meld (or magically impress) song into stone—is greatly honored. The village honors her master as their medicine man, but Kita knows he's secretly a sorcerer who practices black magic using drops of her blood. She fears he’ll use her beautiful gift for a killing spell, so she conceals it from him. Each day, his magic tightens around her neck like a rope. His spells blind the villagers, so they can’t see him for what he really is.
Not that anyone would want to help her. She was found in the forest as a baby and would have died if a village girl hadn't brought her home. But the villagers saw Kita's unusual coloring and decided she belonged to the mysterious tribe who lives in the forests of the volcano, a people feared for their mystical powers. So they fear her too. Now seventeen, she can barely admit her deepest longing: to know who she really is and where she belongs.
Then Pono, a young journeyman, arrives from the other side of the island. He's come to fulfill a pact between their villages: to escort a storyteller back to his village—a storyteller who'll be chosen at the great assembly. Finally, in Pono, Kita sees her one slim chance at freedom and she'll risk her life to take it.
A dark, twisty tale of sorcery, tummy-tingling romance, and adventure, inspired by the folklore of New Zealand's Māori people.
Coming soon!
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Aire
Now Available!
“Danger, magic, romance, and royal intrigue, AIRE is a must read!”
—NYT Bestselling Author JESSICA ANDERSEN
“Looking for something fresh and new to read? Try Lena Goldfinch’s AIRE”
—Serena Chase, USA Today, Happily Ever After
A tale of Legends reborn, of royal intrigue, and an unforgettable, heart-melting romance that will sweep you away.
Annalisia is a seer, a princess with a courageous spirit—and a soft spot for Legends.
Jovanni is a Legend, a commoner with no patience for pampered royals.
Principessa Annalisia is stunned and conscience-stricken when an unknown enemy mistakenly abducts her maidservant. Determined to find the girl, Annalisia disguises herself as plain Anna and slips away from the palace. She tracks down Jovanni, her maidservant’s daring older brother, they soon begin to search together. As they uncover clues, Anna also discovers a kindred spirit in Jovanni. But would he be so free with her if he knew who she really was? Doubtful. Even so, she reveals her secret gift of visions to him, and in so doing disobeys the orders of her beloved grandmother, the queen.
With Jovanni, Anna can almost imagine she’s like any other seventeen-year-old girl, free to pursue the longings of her heart. When she learns that he also has a secret—he’s a sentinel, an ancient shapeshifter who can take the form of a falcon—it seems as if they were destined to be together, as in the legends of il Sentiro. Though Anna is tempted to wish otherwise, she can’t forget that she’s a princess and it’s her duty to marry another. Meanwhile, their hunt leads Anna ever closer to danger, for she herself is being hunted.
A princess and a commoner.
They never should have fallen in love...but they did.
Aire is a lush, romantic fantasy, inspired by ancient Italy and Turkey.
YOUNG ADULT FANTASY ROMANCE (full-length novel)
ISBN-10: 148270403X
ISBN-13: 978-1482704037
Available in ebook format (View it on your Kindle).
About the Author
Lena Goldfinch lives in a scenic small town in Massachusetts with her husband, two kids, and a very spoiled Black Lab. She’s been a past finalist in several national writing contests, including the RWA Golden Heart and ACFW Genesis contests, and has been published in short fiction. In her not-so-murky past, she’s worked as a software engineer and a web designer, and now loves writing fiction. A member of RWA and SCBWI, she’s also a blog admin for The Enchanted Inkpot, a community of writers and readers of middle grade and young adult fantasy.
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Acknowledgements
To my mom, Elizabeth Goldfinch, for promoting my lifelong love of reading. To my father, Albert Goldfinch, Sr., for instilling the values of hard work and being a good student. I’m still striving to be better, Mom and Dad! To my sister, Nancy, and my brother, Al, for sharing in my life. Thanks to all of you for your encouragement. I love you very much!
To Thyra Root for your excellent editing skills. To Jennifer Cervantes and Erin Cashman for your reviews of this work and for so many encouraging words. To Lisa Amowitz for your patient mentoring in graphic design. (Thank you, Sensei Lisa!)
> To Jessica Andersen and Marley Gibson for years of encouragement and support. To Nina Borromeo for your support, encouraging words, and promotional skills. To the writing organizations that sustain me in so many ways emotionally and professionally: the New England Chapters of RWA and SCBWI, the gang from the Whispering Pines Writer’s Retreat, and the Enchanted Inkpot blog.
To the girls of Farewell Farm, Nashoba Valley Tech, Wakefield High School, and Littleton Library for your cover votes.
To my beta readers, Becca Hoff and Amy Troutt, for your valuable feedback on the first edition. And to Allison and Rebekah for your most helpful (and sometimes humorous!) input on the second edition.
To my friends who have encouraged me in my writing, especially KimAnn Thomas, Jen Radl, Linda Sproul, Kathy Monsen, Jen Kett, Anne Riemer, and Kim Hoff.
To my kids, Eliza and Evan, for your patience with my writing habit, for all your encouragement, and your help with all the details that keep us moving forward in life: from loading the dishwasher, to putting away the dishes, and most especially for all your words of encouragement. Much love!
And last, but far from least, to my husband, Paul. You have always been there for me, supporting my dreams and seemingly endless efforts, and I will never forget it. I love you!
The Language of Souls Page 8
