My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "I..." his eyes flailed wide at the concept. "I'm uncertain if..."

  "Don't worry, the girl has to do the twirling. All the boy needs to do is make sure to be in place when she comes back. Here," Myra betrayed her arms and moved back into position when she paused. Unknotting the leather tie in her hair, she began to quickly undo the braid. As it fell apart, her dark gold hair freed from its bonds slipped down to near her waist.

  With her eyes closed, she tried to comb her fingers through the top section, savoring the feel of a soft breeze darting against each hair. Myra could feel the boy staring at her in seeming confusion, and she burned even hotter. "It...the twirl is meant for loose hair. Looks better," she tried to stupidly explain, feeling more self conscious with every word. That was why she let it down, not because...because he used to like playing with it. There was a logic there.

  "It's..." his fingers darted through the air but didn't touch her, "wavy. I didn't know it could curl."

  "Oh?" Myra plucked up the ends which twisted together at the bottom, "Probably because I've had that in for a few days. It'll fall soon, once I brush or wash it. Is that...?" Maker's sake, why did she turn to jelly around him? "Do you think it's dumb?"

  "No, I," he snickered, his head tipping down, "the only hair I know is mine, or my parents. Curly no matter what, often worse in the rain. I didn't realize someone with straight hair could alter it so. Sorry," now he was smiling like the utter goofball she remembered, "I imagine I sound like a rube to you."

  "Nah, I mean, it's cute," Myra threw off before panic squeezed her guts, "That you didn't know. All those little things we think everyone does know about us, but they don't cause they live different lives. My mom calls it blinders." Oh blessed Andraste, what are you doing? "She says you have to take them off to do her job. To see people for what they are instead of what they project."

  You're talking about your mother and her boring ass work. He doesn't care. Stop it. Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth right now!

  "It's, that's all, the cuteness of...blinders like horses have and I was going to teach you to twirl," Myra slapped her hands together hoping that would finally stop the babble that spat out of her throat like a crossbow bolt. Wincing a bit, she lifted her arms and turned to face the garden.

  Either okay with her sudden explosion of uncomfortable verbal diarrhea or thinking it best to play along, Gavin resumed the position beside her. With her fingers tapping the rhythm in her head, Myra set out and he followed right beside. One, two, three...she counted her steps until coming to the twentieth. Barely turning on the ball of her feet, she raised their conjoined hands higher and spun in place. It was a simple revolution, but when she returned to marching her head felt lighter.

  "Was...was that it?" Gavin gasped.

  "That's level one of twirling. Most girls can only do that, or will do that. Every 20th step she stops and spins, her skirts flying in the breeze and long, flowing hair doing the same thing I guess." She squinted feeling like her arms grew heavier with uncomfortableness.

  Licking her tongue against her chapped lips, Myra glanced over quick and complimented him, "You did good, exactly what you need to do. Stand still, keep your fingers in place, and then get back to walking once it's over."

  "It seemed obvious," Gavin tipped his head, the boy already the master apparently. "I watched and matched you like in a fight."

  His cheeks were so thick from his heartfelt smile Myra wanted to take a bite. Lick them? Maker's sake, stop wanting to eat people. It's weird. The amber eyes which could burn with such anger were soft as honeysuckle. Trying to distract from the whole handsome package, Myra stared down at his lips, which only reminded her of how she'd kissed him before. She was the one to make the first move. Bold Myra, never did as she was told. It seemed easier then. See boy, have boy invite you to secret grotto to climb on a magic horse statue, find boy cute, kiss boy.

  Now it felt as if she had to turn a dozen different gears to unlock a puzzle, but each twist threw the entire landscape off. She'd be turning switches until she was blue in the face before understanding any of it. When did this all get so complicated?

  "What's a complicated twirl look like?" Gavin's voice punctured through her starry eyed drooling.

  "Wha?" Myra mumbled before shaking her head. Right, he wanted a real twirl like the professional ball goers would do. Grabbing up his hand, Myra slotted her fingers over his. Gavin stared at the handhold in mild confusion before she turned on her toes and whipped her feet at lightning speed out towards the edge of the garden path.

  The boy froze, uncertain what to make of the woman having pulled off three rotations before she came to the end of the tether. Lifting his hands high, Myra raised her leg parallel to the ground. She used his grip like a spindle, twirling one last time with her leg fully extended like a plank. It was much slower than the others, giving her time to catch sight of the boy's lips popped open.

  Once the last spin was done, she dropped her leg and rolled back towards him. Myra misjudged her amount of twirl and she curled up into Gavin's arms, her shoulder nudging against his chest. Trying to hide how self conscious she felt, she laughed and then promptly darted back like a skittish deer.

  "That's a complicated twirl, that can also take out a few people who are dancing near you, so use with caution."

  "I...I've never seen anything like that," he gasped as if she'd done something impressive. There were plenty of girls and women that could do the same, probably a few inside right now. But he was looking at her as if she moved a mountain.

  With her cheeks fully cherry red and her stomach in flames, Myra turned to stare ahead and began to march him back into the steps. How many stupid dances had she done over the years? Her Dad had her attending them since she was able to walk. A lot of that was so he could use the excuse of 'the baby's acting up, I have to go.' When she stopped being a baby, and he'd just leave when he wished, Myra began to stick around. There were a lot of boys at first that wanted to dance, then were forced to, then really sweaty palm wanted to. Now it felt like she was back to the forced to part. Be nice to the bastard, she's important to the King. Maybe we can use her as leverage.

  But this... She was waltzing around like a peacock in an orlesian flower bed without any music, clinging to a boy who'd never managed a step in his life and it was the realest the dancing ever felt. Magic. That was it. It reminded her of the first time she managed to cast a fireball on purpose, her stomach all twisted up in concentration, but elation when it caught and a bit of fear of what came next.

  Oh shit. What comes next?

  "Myra?" Gavin murmured, his always low voice practically rumbling in the air like thunder.

  "Uh huh?" was all she could manage. The boy paused in his dancing and she matched. Turning towards him, she found he was framed by starlight, the brightest of them bursting behind his head. His amber eyes darted to the ground, Gavin knotting his fingers up in pure nervousness. What was he concerned about? Was he going to...? Her heart leapt into her throat as she stared dead center at his lips that were pursed with a barely concealed thought. Myra reached over to wrap her hands over his to try and smooth down the nerves.

  "I've been thinking, wondering. Perhaps it's not my place to ask you, or question it. These things are..." Maker's breath, either spit it out or kiss me! Gavin's striking eyes raised and he stared dead set into hers, "Why did you stop writing to me?"

  A punch to the gut winded Myra and she literally teetered back on her toes, partially to get a breath and also to keep from doing anything stupid. He didn't care about...that stuff with her. He only wanted to know about, of course, the friendship bits. Wincing, she dropped his hands and drew her palms over her forehead. Some of it was to yank back the stray hairs that crept closer, but a lot was to buy her more time.

  "I should not have pried," Gavin raced to fill in. "It is your prerogative and..." he winced as if an arrow struck him to the heart. "I only feared that I did something or said something to, to offend you."

&nbs
p; "No," she shouted so loudly it startled a few birds that'd been trying to sleep. "No, believe me if I'm offended I tell someone. Mom says I can't stop speaking my mind. It's..." You really walked into this one. What? You thought you could pull the vanishing act and then, boom, he'd forget? "I did it because I'm a very bad person."

  "That's not true," Gavin insisted despite all evidence to the contrary.

  "I'm always forgetting to answer letters. Shit, I wrote up most of the ones to my mom before we left so she couldn't yell at me or drag me home on a technicality. It's like 'Hey Myra, remember all that mail stuffed in your desk? Cause if you don't deal with it, the entire thing will collapse.'"

  He didn't seem to buy it, his head listing to the side. "That makes sense," Gavin answered because there was nothing else to say. Calling her on her bullshit wasn't really his style. "I," he winced again, "I thought perhaps I was rather boring. It wasn't as if I had much to talk about."

  "Nonsense, you were always going on about these wild things you read about and..." She kept every one of his letters, often reading them a few times. They were prolific in that winter between Myra's training sessions, coming once a week. But when she got the news she was staying at home, it...it didn't seem worth it. He lived on the other side of the country, she was never going back. He would never come to Denerim.

  And you feared the day you'd have to read the letter where he talked about this beautiful girl he met in the market. How you'd have nothing to respond with beyond talking about Bryn. Rather than tell him, you stopped answering period.

  "I'm sorry," Myra sputtered out. "I didn't meant to make you feel bad, though I can get why it would now. It just seemed like..."

  "A lot of trouble, I understand," that armor was back. She'd seen it around others, Gavin often retreating inside of himself when he was being wary, but never around her.

  Fumbling over, she gripped onto his hand and shrugged, "Like I'd get in a lot of trouble if I ever tried to hitch cross country." His eyebrows met in confusion and Myra struggled to explain her joke, "Because I'd want to see you again, because your letters were so... Never mind."

  He smiled softly at her fumble and glanced down at their conjoined hands, "Are we friends?"

  Myra threw on a smile of her own while she felt her insides melting. Friends. Yeah. Buddies. Comrades. People who were shoulders to cry on and nothing else. Just an old chum you'd chew the fat with and then head home with someone else. Why were you thinking there'd be anything more? Because he's nice to you? Because he sometimes smiles? Blighted look at him!

  "Yeah," Myra nodded her head vigorously, "we're friends."

  "Good," the stupid boy seemed grateful for her agreeing.

  "Now," she tried to shake off the pain lodging in her throat, "let's give it one more go around the garden, then I think you'll be ready to try it for real on the dance floor."

  Her partner smiled wider, his body locking back into formation. "Yes, ma'am." All those girls he'd snubbed would be bowled over by the few dance moves he could manage now. Pretty things that'd coo the right words at him. Smart women who wouldn't ignore his letters because their young hearts were stupid as a nug. "Right," Myra smiled, "from the top."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Shot to the Heart

  "And this is the training grounds."

  Rosie wanted to roll her eyes, gesture to the lines of targets archers were trying to pick off, and sigh 'You do not say.' But that would be impolite. Instead, she forced on a tight smile and nodded as if it was the most fascinating bit of trivia in her life. Her jaw was beginning to ache from all the smiling.

  Their time with the Teyrn was proving not as useful as she'd like, but she was graining some ground. Though, she wondered how much of that was courtesy of a raven from her father directed to Cousland's eyes only. Rosamund didn't have a chance to read or inquire about it, she had her own short two or three sentences from the King to peruse but the Teryn's eyes practically popped out of their sockets. Whatever they were trading about, the man had to suddenly excuse himself, leaving Rosamund on a tour with random cleric number three.

  Her own advisors began the tour hustling around her, but as it continued onward they began to drop like flies. How did any of them manage a lick of this with her father? Perhaps they never tried, preferring to leave their King to his own devices. What would she have to do to receive such disrespect?

  Running a hand back through her hair, she snagged upon the false braid the handmaidens insisted upon for the day. Properly dressed to take on the rigors of courtly machinations instead of huffing up the road, Rosie felt more indignant. The corset was knotted loosely enough it was easy for her to breathe, but how it swooped under her chest made her feel as if she was in proper armor. Raised sleeves upon the shoulders of her dress were her pauldrons. All she needed was a sheet of chain mail to slip overtop her dress and she'd be fully battle ready. Too bad that wasn't in fashion, while runching along the hips was. It managed to emphasize her already wider bottom, making the woman fear her figure bore the resemblance to one of those carved wooden dolls that couldn't tip over.

  There were far more people out on the range than the first time Rosamund found it. Some were clearly the Teyrn's men, dressed in the Cousland livery while they aimed up a shot towards the targets. Mixed in were hers, most stripped to the waist in deference to the heat. At least the female squires kept a smaller undershirt in place. She didn't need to hear how horrified her mother would be at such display of bare breastedness.

  Two of the squires were squaring off in the ring, one tall and blonder than her father, the other a dwarf. Probably their only dwarf come to think of it. The male Knight sent to watch over them kept shouting out orders, all aimed at the human squire. No one seemed to be on the dwarf's side. The human squire's arm was waning, his shield tipping down to the ground while the dwarf held his ground.

  "For the Maker's sake, Cal. Prove your mettle and finish this!" the Knight shouted. It would probably prove to be a fascinating fight, but Rosie's eye was drawn by another squire and the woman he couldn't leave alone.

  Anjali was back in her black leathers, her crimson dagger hilts visible from over her shoulders. That was what Squire Gavin kept staring at, almost as if in disbelief she had them. She'd been waving around a practice wooden sword, not doing anything more than getting a feel for it. But even that proved too much for the boy left at her heel.

  "Really?" she turned to him, waving the wooden stick faster, "You can't even trust me with this?"

  "I wouldn't trust you with a feather," Gavin stuck his chin out. He was yet sporting a hint of the bruise Anjali decorated his cheek with, the skin turning a green-yellow before it'd fully fade.

  The assassin stopped waving her sword around and smiled, "You'd be terrified of what I can do with a feather, baby Knight."

  Gavin bristled at such a name, not surprising. He seemed a proud sort who expected honor if he treated others with such. They'd no doubt shake that from him eventually, assuming he didn't walk away from the knights upon growing tired of it.

  "Come on, baby Knight, I have to do something," Anjali clasped her hands and was begging Gavin.

  "Tell us how to stop your fellow assassin," he sneered, unmoved by her plight.

  She expected Anjali to shrug and fade back to silence, but the woman reached over to grab onto the hilt of Gavin's blade. He reacted quickly, his fingers wrapping tight over hers, but not quick enough to stop her from drawing it free. Between the two locked in a deadly stare, the sword vibrated as both struggled to take command.

  Rosie shifted, prepared to call for aid should something terrible happen, but Anjali didn't attack. With her free hand she drew her fingers up the sharp edge. "See this bit, it goes into the bad guy. Then they don't get up." She released her hold, the sword and Gavin both staggering away. Anjali wiped her hands down her stomach and snickered, "That's how you do it. Which you might want to figure out fast before you graduate to full time knighthood."

  A low growl re
verberated up Gavin's throat, his eyes clearly wishing to rend the assassin to pieces. With slow, exaggerated movements, he sheathed the sword back upon his hip and then kept a tight hold lest she try to disarm him again. Their assassin found it funny, snickering as she turned away from her guard. In doing so, her sparkling eyes landed right upon Rosie who'd been staring far too closely at the pair.

  The woman smiled wider, her bright teeth glinting in the afternoon sun while Rosie felt herself begin to burn from it. Waving a hand against her face, she turned to find her tour guide. No doubt there were more parts of the palace she simply had to see, but the man was in conference with a younger girl who appeared out of nowhere.

  Was this about whatever missive her father sent? What was in that blasted thing? She narrowed her eyes, wishing she was capable of reading lips. Realizing he was being watched, the tour guide whipped his head up and began to apologize. "So sorry, your Highness, but I need to attend to an unexpected matter."

  "Oh dear," she raised her fingers to her lips in a gasp, "I pray it's nothing serious."

  "No, no...a small matter of..."

  "Perhaps I should assist. Or one of my own," Rosie began to turn her head towards the piles of her training guards, and the man blanched harder.

  "Please!" he all but shouted, "I wouldn't want you to waste your time with such a minor issue. I will be but a moment and then we can view the Teyrn's private wine cellar."

  "Wonderful," Rosie said, her voice full of sincerity while internally she was sneering. They were trying to pull the wool over her eyes yet again and for what purpose? She was going to figure this out even if it cost her.

  Dipping his head further in apology, the man scuttled off dragging the messenger with. She could order one of her own to follow, perhaps try to be sneaky about discovering what secrets the Teyrn was keeping. But who could she send? The advisors would flat out refuse her, even if they might agree with her dad. The knights were not known for their stealth. Myra would flat out laugh at her and Cailan... No, Cailan was a bad choice all around. Assuming he'd even make it near wherever they were meeting, he'd probably get distracted by a lovely ankle and fully abandon his plan.