My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  True bliss swaddled her body, the mountain water trying to freeze her skin, but she'd have happily hugged an ice sculpture to get out of this heat. Paddling in deeper and fully submerging, Myra's hands trailed along the bottom of the lake. Its sandy bottom dropped fast off a cliff a few feet out of the shore, but here she could easily stand if she wished. Beside her she felt a disturbance and turned to spy Cailan swimming past. As he crawled further out into the lake, he turned and stuck his tongue out at Myra.

  Laughing internally, Myra swam up to the surface and took in a breath. Sounds of laughter, jabbering, and splashes erupted around her as the rest of the camp all raced to do exactly what Myra did. The caravan, regardless of age or gender, all stood around the edge of the lake and were stripping off their clothing before diving in. Ripples erupted off the once still surface, each one lapping back to cause Myra's floating form to bob.

  "Hey," a voice called to her, and she turned to wave at Bryn who was more careful to take off her heavy dress and join in the fun. Soon the lake was full to bursting with people dashing in and out of the water. Myra and Bryn swam towards the far end, both of them struggling to balance on their toes and keep their heads above water. Bryn had to stand a lot closer to the edge, while ol' spidery Myra was practically in the middle of the lake.

  Sadly, after a time, the head of the servants waved all their people back. Work never stopped. Bryn nodded her goodbyes, while Myra promised she'd come up with some plan to get her out early. A half an hour wasn't enough time to splash around out here. By the void, Myra tipped back onto her stomach drifting into a float, she could spend an entire afternoon on the water.

  Her entire life was spent surrounded by people. Not like Rosie's where they were pushing and pulling to get her to fit into...actually, just like that. Expect Myra's pullers were her mother. And just her. Stand up straight, Myra. Okay, not that straight, you're scaring people. Listen. Learn to read the road. Watch people.

  Maker's breath, she had to lose a year of her life just watching people at her mother's command. When you can read them, then you can do what I do. Well, who said Myra wanted to do anything her mother did? It wasn't as if her mom could throw lightning at a perp. Or melt an entire frozen lake. Or heal...okay, Myra wasn't so good at healing. She wished she was, but there hadn't been a lot of time out at the abbey and her teach said they needed to focus on the important stuff. Not setting people on fire was the top, followed quickly by how to put out said fires.

  Somehow all of her magic stuff faded into the background once Myra returned home. She had her friends, her parents, her siblings -- as infuriating as the last two could get. She didn't want to leave all of that again. But...

  A grating laugh, like the most dickish hyena just shoved its brethren off a rock, echoed above the hushed voices. Myra pulled out of her retrospective float to spot that knight's butthole with one of the younger squires astride his shoulders. The woman was struggling to stay upright in the water, her face flushed with panic, while Cal kept braying like a donkey at her. No, that wasn't nice. Donkeys weren't so bad once you got to know them.

  Knowing where it all was going, Myra paddled to the shore. She kept herself submerged to avoid anyone staring at her. When she heard a huge splash her head turned as the girl wound up belly flopping. No doubt Cal let her fall, the various other squires around them laughing and chest thumping to show off their place in the hierarchy. With one hand trying to wring out her braid, Myra stood up out of the lake and stumbled towards the grassy parts where she left her clothes. She spotted Rosamund curled up in a chair, someone having placed a lovely sun hat on her head to protect her delicate skin from the rays. That was probably why Myra was coated in freckles and Rosie looked like fresh cream.

  "Hey!" that Cal's voice called above the others. Myra ignored it, bending down to grab up her real shirt. There had to be a towel around here somewhere... "Who let the itty bitty titty club in here?"

  She felt his eyes crawling up her back, and like a flock of brain dead pigeons, every one of the boys that cuddled up to Cal turned to stare too. A breath caught in her throat, Myra suddenly wanting to dig her way deep into the ground. Shame burned upon her exposed stomach, her hands trying to cover over the red blush as she whipped her head over and glared at Cal.

  Rather than sink down as if he suddenly realized who he tried to insult, he threw his head back and laughed. He did it on purpose, or didn't care. Good. "Huh," Myra snickered. She took the time to slick some of the water off of her braid before turning her full venomous glare upon him.

  Walking a step closer, Myra let her eyes drift up and down his body. "You would know about itty, bitty, teeny, weeny," she picked up her hand to show a minuscule space between thumb and forefinger, "things, now wouldn't you?"

  A flush rose upon Cal's cheeks, the pretty boy with a so-so family never having anyone walk right up and accuse him of having minute genitalia. Thanks for that one Lunet, her stand-in aunt a pro at knowing how to piss people off -- shithead boys in particular. He sputtered a moment, the rage stampeding out whatever higher functions he managed in his peabrain. Myra turned to leave when he called out, "As if you'd know. Ugh, a guy'd have to be desperate as hell to waste his time with you. You're like a stick with hair."

  "And you've stuck your little cocktail weenie into so many holes I bet it stinks of fetid cheese and turned putrid green." Myra didn't walk away. It would have probably been the smart thing to do but she was bad at smart. No, she waltzed clear through the pile of squires who grew deathly quiet to get right up into Cal's face. He was bouncing onto his toes, pissed that some stick of a girl dared to be taller than him.

  "Ha," he tried again, glancing around at his buddies who were starting to figure out that pissing off the King's daughter maybe wasn't so smart. "Right. Keep dreaming."

  "Of your pus filled, flat as a pancake, trouser noodle? I bet that thing's crammed with splinters because you'd shove it through knots in trees." Her mouth wouldn't stop even while her ego huddled in the corner, begging to walk away and lick its wounds. People said mean things to her all the time, often behind polite hands. While she wanted to cry about it all, she couldn't. Myra had to defend herself otherwise it'd never end. They'd grow bolder, do more, do worse. Best to pluck them off the tree now before the entire thing went bad.

  Cal's eyes narrowed, his throat bouncing with a growl. He folded his hands into fists, but wisely kept them at the sides. "You're one to talk. They say there ain't a dick in the entire alienage you haven't sucked." Myra didn't curse, didn't punch him. No, all she did was laugh. Her shoulders shook in the barely constrained giggles from the boy poking at straws. He'd probably call her fat next.

  Nostrils flaring, Cal turned to his other fellows and in a loud voice said, "Not a big surprise seeing as how her mother's a whore."

  Fire warped around Myra's hand, her eyes burning in rage as she moved to punch her flaming fist right through his fat mouth. "You son of a..." Before she could even get a swing on, a hand clamped onto her wrist and tugged back. "Let go of...!" Myra shouted, turning to find Rosie clinging hard to her.

  "Put it out," she hissed at Myra, who was beginning to wilt from the glower in her sister's eyes.

  Jabbing her chin at Cal, who was frozen but being careful, Myra sneered. He didn't seem certain if he should start celebrating his victory or not. But then Rosie gave her that look. Damn it! "Fine," Myra yanked back in the fade energy, the barest wisps of red sliding away from her fist. It was doubtful anyone even noticed. Rosie didn't release her tight hold, but began to tug Myra away from the pile of braindead fucksticks.

  They all looked stricken dead, as if they just watched themselves be murdered right before their very eyes. All except for Cal, he stuck a fist on his hip and let a soft laugh twist his shoulders. Screw him! Myra tried to shake off her sister, but Rosie clamped down harder.

  "Sweet Andraste," Myra hissed, "Let go. Your poky fingers are like fangs."

  Rosamund didn't do as she begged until they were bac
k near her sister's little royal suite by the lake. The other advisors who weren't into nature had been clustered near, but all sidled away when Rosie yanked her wayward sister closer. Opening her fingers, Rosie hissed, "What do you think you are doing?"

  "Calling an asshole a limp dick, braindead, knot fucker. You know, politics." She tried to smile through it as if it was all a joke, but Rosamund sneered.

  "Myra, you know you're not supposed to use magic in such matters."

  Her eyes rolled back and forth, exhausted with all these restrictions forced upon her. Don't use your magic in anger. It's only for self defense. We don't want people to know. It's not shameful, but act like it is. "Yes, oh dear perfect sister with hair of onyx. I shall refrain from throwing lightning at fools who fucking deserve it."

  Rosie drew her fingers back and forth over her forehead before tugging up her hair the same way father would when he was annoyed. It worked on him, for her it just fucked up her part. "Is it too much to ask you to behave like an adult?"

  "Me...? You, did you hear what he said?"

  "Yes, and I shall discuss the matter with his knight. Who will dole out a proper punishment. Better than anything you could conjure up, I'm certain."

  They treated Myra's magic like a parlor trick. Oh, you can start the fireplace without flint, how lovely. But the Hero of Ferelden said she was strong, powerful. Capable of things that...that even Myra couldn't imagine. She bunched up both her fists wanting to draw forth a huge fire to blanket the rotten shoreline, but she tamped it down. There was no point in arguing with Rosie, she was future queen, she got final say in everything. She was perfect and pretty; Myra was a walking stick with hair.

  Spinning on her toes, Myra began to stomp away, needing to get far from her sister. But over her shoulder she spat, "Would you have stopped me if he'd called your mother a whore?"

  Rosamund sighed, already beginning the excuses Myra knew by heart, but she walked away from them all. No Myra, I wouldn't because I have control. It's better to think universally instead of laterally. He wouldn't have anyway, because my parents are married.

  Fuck. Fuckity fuck fucking fuck!

  Away from the piles of people back to happily frolicking without pause in the lake, Myra leaped up and down through a field trying to squash everything in her path. She didn't even know how she wound up out here, her vision a red blur as she kicked and thrashed her way out. They were probably all laughing at her.

  You know those half-bloods, so violent and ill tempered. Oh, I hear she was raised near the alienage too, poor dear. It's a wonder she can count to ten.

  Everyone hated her because of shit she couldn't control and it was blighted exhausting! All she wanted was... To not have to think about anything anymore. Where was Bryn? She'd know how to help distract Myra. They could use their pickpocketing skills to lift a bottle off of the stuffy advisors, maybe throw the empty one at Cal's head when she was drunk enough to dare try. That was a good plan.

  Glancing up, Myra caught puffs of smoke in the distance across the field. Probably the other half of the caravan, the ones ordered to get supper ready for about to be famished swimmers. Bryn had to be there.

  With her eyes on the prize, Myra waded into the waist high grass. It was strangely golden for being summer, like there were tips of wheat knocking against her bare stomach. The knotted ends slightly tickled as they danced against her skin. Maker, she should have grabbed her clothes. She was going to get eaten alive by bugs. But back there was Rosie and her judgy shoes. No, better to keep going forward. Bug bites don't itch when you're drunk.

  A solitary tree grew up out of the grasslands. Partially curious, and partially drawn by the break up in landscape, Myra pivoted her head towards it. A sheen of brown sat below, stretched haphazardly against the trunk. Her brain first thought oh it's a forgotten sack, when the haze of heat lifted to draw forth the fact that the brown bore muscles, and was moving, and had a book in its hands. Sacks weren't known to be readers.

  Gavin, fully unaware of his audience, turned the page of whatever book he must have been carrying in his pack since Denerim. He seemed completely at peace, his naked back tipped against the tree trunk while the sun glistened upon skin, so much skin. It was a lot of skin, more than she ever remembered spotting all those years ago, and in shapes that did weird things to her brain. She wanted to dance back and forth on her legs as if that might shake away the stupid feelings turning her spine to stone instead of staring dumbstruck at the boy. And, of course, he just kept on reading.

  One hand cupped along his jaw, strong knuckles bent into the cheek while his tongue danced over his lip. She couldn't tell if it was to wet them or because he was so drawn into the story. Myra was too far away to see if his eyes were lit up the way they always had been before while enthralled. Shit, the first time she ever saw him, he was so enraptured in a book he walked smack into a beam. For wanting to be a braindead squire, he seemed to adore the written word.

  Which was a far better thing to think upon than the way his stomach muscles fluttered out from his lean. Myra wanted to run her fingers up and down each hill. No, her tongue.

  Her tongue? Why her tongue? That's just...is that weird? Seemed weird to want to lick people like a dog.

  Oh sweet Maker. He shifted up, needing to reposition, which stuck out his chest. Over the soft tan of his skin rested a small nest of black chest hair. It wasn't much but it sat like a pile of fluff right in the middle, calling for fingers to stroke it. That was normal, right? To touch a guy's...various bits that were in existence.

  Myra tried to stagger up on her toes, feeling far too brash at the moment and figuring she was in for a pound why not go for it. Damn. He was wearing pants. Of course he's wearing pants. He's sitting in the middle of a field. Normal people wear pants so they don't get butt worm. That's probably a thing. Butt worm.

  And now you're thinking about his butt. Did he have a butt to speak of when they were younger? She didn't remember caring. He was cute, in that giggly bonk his head on things kind of way. Now it was all different. Myra hated different. Hated that changing parts of all of this puberty mess. Boys were easy for her for a long time. She knew how to read them, to predict what dumb thing they were about to say. Usually it involved trying to sneak a toad into or out of someone's pocket.

  But then her brain started tripping her up. There's that boy with the dumb face that...suddenly has this jaw. Where did he go and get a jaw from? Who likes jaws? Why is that a thing? It kept happening over and over. Traits that she'd only recognize out of habit suddenly drew her intense concentration and rumination. Sometimes Bryn would offer up her own thoughts on the subject, but more often Myra tended to keep it all in house. She didn't like some of the stupid thoughts her body would have about boys, especially ones she knew were assholes.

  Why couldn't Gavin have stayed all meek, and mild, and adorable? That one she could handle, could certainly talk to. This one it was like half the time she was fine, he was cute and she might blush on occasion but nothing out of the ordinary. Then others she'd glance down to see his wrists all square-like, or forearms flexed with muscle bits. Perfectly average thing for forearms to do, something she'd never even noticed before, but her brain would hop off a cliff and her tongue would bury itself in the back of her throat.

  Maybe it'd be easier if he wore a bag on his head. Because that'd be a conversation you want to have, Myra. Hi, so, funny story but you intimidate the hell out of me. Please put this on and then I can talk to you. Maker, she was going to be alone her entire life.

  "Hey Myra!" a voice shouted through the field. Instinctively, Myra dropped to her ass, her body vanishing into the tall grass. Damn it, Bryn! Her friend was wafting through the weeds, trying to find her. The voice must have carried over to Gavin as he turned away from his book and was peering around.

  "Pst," Myra tried to whisper shout, "Bryn, get over here. And by the void, go low!"

  Bryn chuckled, but obeyed, crouching down and scuttling through the grass to find Myra
ass down upon the field. "What in the Maker's name are you doing?" she asked, "I spotted you and thought we could..."

  Dropping a hand over her friend's chattering mouth, Myra jabbed a finger towards the boy that returned to his reading. Below her palm she felt Bryn break into a big grin. "So that's it," she shifted closer, her hands peeling apart the grass to try and get an unobstructed view of him. "Damn. Have I damned enough yet? I think I should damn it a few more times."

  "Just don't do it loudly," Myra pivoted back and forth on her legs wishing she could both run and melt into the ground.

  Bryn rolled her eyes. "What's it matter? Oh, or are we hoping he'll...?"

  "He'll what?"

  "Ya know," Bryn tipped her head back and forth, "drop trou."

  "Maker's sake," Myra whacked Bryn in the arm, causing her friend to tip over with soft laughter. "No I am not! That's..."

  "Uh huh, your cheeks are cherry red," Bryn chuckled, back to peering with hungry eyes at Gavin.

  "Because of you talking about...bits, and bobbles, and argh!"

  "What do you think he's got?" Bryn mused to herself. At Myra's confused look, she added, "The bits and bobbles, or the argh?"

  "I hate you," Myra fake slapped against her shoulder, repeatedly knocking into it to try and make no point, "hate hate hate!"

  "You're the only one to even get close with him," Bryn mused as if a few innocent kisses would have led to that. She tapped a finger to her chin and sighed, "So far, anyway."

  At that Myra locked up, her head pivoting fast to her friend, "What do you mean, so far?"

  "Come on. Squire, looks like that, son of a famous general. Got that whole stoic thing down pat. The skirts are going to eat him alive once we get to Highever."

  Right. All those high born ladies that'd be flocking around the caravan. They loved when the royal one traveled through town, if not to land a fancy husband, to at least get a good roll in. The Bann's estates were little more than his family and a few servants, who were all a bit older. Highever was a great tract of land, there'd be pretty girls all over the place. The kind of girls who knew how to talk to boys that they couldn't stop staring at.