Kalea waited a few agonizing seconds. “And then?”
“I had dreams.”
“You—you did?” Kalea’s core rattled, the jitters returning to her stomach.
A deep frown formed on his face, and he avoided her eyes. “They were so real. More real than this.” He wagged his finger from her to himself. “This is surreal, if you ask me. But the dreams…”
She attempted to finish for him. “Were…torturous?”
His eyes widened on her. “Yeah.” He stared like he used to, but more bewildered. “I felt I was crazy for a moment, experiencing these…dreams. Out of my mind and weak. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry I acted—”
“Shhh.” She put her hand on his shoulder and then reached for his hair. He closed his eyes as she slipped her fingers into his weather-bedraggled mahogany locks, the same texture she remembered from her too-real dreams. “Don’t be sorry anymore. I can’t blame you.”
He opened his eyes again. “And now you’re married to the Creator. How am I supposed to compete with your god?”
“I want you to take me away from the convent.”
He blinked. “What?”
Her hand slid to his shoulder, noting its firmness. “I’ve changed my mind. A horrible accident happened last night, and I can’t live there anymore. Also, Father Liam went to a parish in Sharr.”
She placed her hand over her mouth when her lip trembled. Taking a moment, she swallowed. “It’s not the same. Nothing is. I have to leave, and I need you to protect me out in the world.”
He clamped his mouth shut as if to stifle any counterarguments. She took his face between her hands. His eyes misted over. She put a soft kiss on his cheek, right beside his mouth, and ran her fingers through his hair.
“I never chose to be in there. I’m not supposed to be, and I know it now from deep within me. Will you take me away, Dorhen?”
He nodded a few times before opening his eyes. He swallowed, and when he opened them again, a tear fell out of each. She put her arms around his middle again and he hugged back this time, squeezing. He sniffled with his face buried in her hair.
It all came back to her. The dreams had become reality. None of this—his warmth, his breath steaming against her neck, his firm chest pressing against hers tighter by the moment as he squeezed, the spring water scent of his hair against her nose—none of it was new. She’d known these sensations several times in her dreams. She knew this person, had acquainted herself with him, had touched him, seen his body, seen him cry, and had already become dependent on his company for the sake of her own comfort.
His words came almost as a groan. “I’ll do anything you ask.”
Not to mention the vibration of his voice. Though he was young, an innocent and tender twenty-two, his voice hung deep in the air. It soothed her to the core. It made her want to forget about her insistent worries, her mental illness, and her loneliness. With his eagerness to please, he’d speak if she asked. And she would ask him. For the rest of her life. She’d continue teaching him to read, and then he’d read to her. Those moments couldn’t come soon enough.
Resting her face against his shoulder, her nose along his neck as the wind blew his hair over her face, she said, “Thank you.”
She crept her hand up his back, under the side of his tabard but over his undershirt, which clung to his damp body. Her fingers caressed the intricate sculpture of his muscles and shoulder blade—all familiar shapes. His heat remedied the chill in her hand.
“Dorhen,” she said. “I’m the one who is sorry.” It might be proper to look him in the eye for this statement, but she’d rather not lose the contact of his body. “I’m sorry.” He remained silent. “I can tell you my whole ridiculous story in as much time as you’d like to take, but I want you to know I’ll be easier from now on. I promise. And if you’d like to establish a…union with me, then you can also ask of me whatever you like. I’ll be helpful, patient, steady, whatever you need me to be.”
She took her hand out of his tabard and trailed her fingers along the side of his neck behind his hair. His heart hammered faster against her breast. He shuddered and took her hand out of his hair.
“You still don’t understand,” he said. She pulled away to look at his face. “It’s not about what I want.” He locked his eyes on hers in the gravest stare she’d seen yet. “I live to serve you. Will you let me?”
Now her heart was beating to match his heart’s speed. She couldn’t speak yet, trapped in the whirlpool of his greenish eyes.
“Yes, Dorhen,” she finally said, her voice coming out strong. “I’ll let you serve me.”
His serious eyes blinked, and another set of tears ran down his cheeks. It was an odd request of his, but so important that he’d weep at her agreement?
Dorhen’s tears were contagious. She covered her mouth as if a sob would emerge, but she smiled as her tears ran. “Is that good enough for you? I said yes!”
A smile broke through on his weepy face, and he scooped her again into a hard embrace, as if to tell the world he’d not let anyone in to harm her. Inside was their own private space.
She giggled as more tears ran out and soaked into his clothes. He planted his mouth atop her head, breathing with heavy jubilation and coiling his long arms around her as far as they’d go. His rib cage trembled against her as he both laughed and cried, his tears soaking into her hair. She trembled hysterically as she laughed and laughed until she had to pat his arm for release. She needed air.
His face glowed red and wet by the time she pulled away. Hers must look the same. His smile spread wide, as if he’d lost the ability to close his lips. That long tooth of his showed on the side. The contact wasn’t lost; he retained her hand, wiping his face on his other sleeve. She did the same with her linen habit sleeve.
She reached out and took his other hand, hardly satisfied with holding one at a time. “All right now, let’s talk. Where are we going first?”
He dipped his head to wipe his eyes on his shoulder one more time. “Wherever you want. Do you want to see the ocean?”
A new smile quirked on her lips. “Yes. I’ve always wanted to see it. I want to see everything with you.” She laughed. “The ocean. That reminds me. Was this your doing?” She showed her wrist, still wearing the shell bracelet she’d found in her laundry basket.
He nodded, this time displaying a warm, calm, and genuine smile. “I couldn’t resist any opportunity to give you a gift.”
“I noticed.” She lowered her chin. “And I never got to thank you for it.”
She placed her hands on his chest and pressed a warm kiss to his lips, reliving the same soft texture she’d known in her dreams. After it ended, he reached for her hands and she pulled away coyly, though she wanted nothing more than to grace him with kisses and praises. She ached to let go of all the restraint she’d practiced in the convent, but if she didn’t practice a little of it now, they wouldn’t get very far. The longing look in his eyes and parted lips in the brief instant she denied him her hands confirmed that there was indeed a dance to this interaction. But she didn’t know the steps. Vivene’s love manual must’ve been written about it. Too bad it was too late to learn anything from that book.
Leaving him in that longing state amidst the cold, pine-scented wind, she turned and walked in a circle, partially to let him look at her from other angles. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a laywoman. I never dreamed I would ever leave the convent.”
“You’re making the right choice,” he said.
She took his hand again, this time more casually. “Lead the way.”
“Hold on.”
“What?”
Though it should take a while for his—and her—momentary pleasure to wear off, his expression shifted into something more sober. “Let’s go back to the convent.”
“Are you serious?”
“We’ll need rations.”
Her smile wore off. “I thought you said you could thrive in the forest?”
“I
can, but you did meet me after I stole some food. It’s wise to have rations with us. We’re lucky we’re setting out in spring, but it’ll get hard later.”
“You’re right, I’m sure.” She put her hands up in surrender. “There’s the famine. The farmers will be producing less. The towns could become chaotic.”
“True. We’re going to find some place where we can better eke out a living. We might even find our way to the Darklands. Wherever living happens to be easy.”
“But the convent doesn’t have much food in store.”
“Find what you can. Anything will help. Also, you’ll want to put on more sensible clothing. Bring a blanket. Bring anything useful.”
She shrugged. “I can do that. But don’t you have a blanket?”
“I have a bedroll,” he said, and raised an eyebrow. “Should we share it instead?”
Kalea burst out laughing. “Not so fast. I’m sure I can find a spare blanket to bring with me. It could take some time to gather these things. We’ll need a rendezvous plan. I’ll take the rest of the day to pack my things and smuggle away some supplies. Then I’ll slip out at night while everyone sleeps.”
His expression lost the rest of its delirious warmth and took on a businesslike mien. “I’ll be waiting for you outside the convent walls.”
“I’m so excited, I’m shaking!”
He smiled and extended his hand. Picking up her discarded headpiece articles, she took his hand, and together they walked back to the convent.
Sliding her palm slowly across Dorhen’s in her reluctance to let it go, she finally broke the contact as they stood on the protruding river stones. On the other bank, she collected the laundry she’d abandoned earlier and hurried back to the convent. Since she had never gotten to wash it, she hid the load in a corner of the courtyard behind a stack of firewood. She dumped the bloody rags and kept the basket to use for her travels.
Before heading up to her new cell in the east building, she hurried into the west building to the room where Joy lay in repose. They’d decorated the room in Kalea’s absence with vines of ivy draped along the bier, and Joy wore a wreath of snowdrops on her head, gathered from the garden they kept in the convent. Many candles lit the room—the whole thing bore a similar appearance to Kalea’s contemplation ritual from yesterday. Although in this case, the heat from the candles mingling with the fragrant crocuses arranged all around the body helped to mask the rising smell of death.
“Hi, Joy,” Kalea whispered as the attending vestal left the room, leaving her alone with her best friend. Kalea dropped the basket and sat on the chair beside the bier. “You look beautiful. The Creator should be pleased.”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice to the level of a hum. “I have more to say than goodbye. I have to tell you a secret.” She couldn’t contain her smile. “I’m leaving. I decided not to be a vestal. I’m in love with the elf, and I’m leaving with him. I’m honestly happy. I needed to tell someone. I love you, Joy. Be happy in your new life too.” She leaned over and kissed Joy’s forehead.
After murmuring a traditional prayer for the dead, she left and ventured across the courtyard into the east building where the vestals lived, and where her new cell had been arranged for her. The doors were painted blue in this building. It was even quieter than the west building strove to be, even as vestals scurried about and gathered in little prayer nooks built into the corners.
“Oh, Father,” she said with a pout, standing in the first private space she’d ever owned, either at the convent or at home. He’d given her a room with a stained glass window, a little one composed of simple shapes to make the Creator’s flower pattern within a U-shaped frame, but a magnificent sight in her opinion. A large wooden bookshelf, like Sister Scupley’s, took up one whole wall. He’d left five books behind on it; she would’ve spent her lifetime filling in the rest of the shelves. There was also a writing desk and a standard bed with ropes tied across the frame. The straw mattress waited on the floor, folded over, with a fresh set of sheets and a quilt folded on top.
Among the books, one with a golden arrow on the spine had been placed. “Father, what have you done now?” She opened it to the middle where a picture showed Lehomis hiding from a group of angry bandits. This was the one she’d grown up with, the first installment. “I don’t believe it.”
She placed the book at the bottom of her basket, rolled the quilt tightly, and squeezed it into the remaining space. Any food she could find, she could tuck snugly into the quilt’s center. She placed the mattress across the bed ropes to sleep on for tonight. She would sleep under the sheets and leave the quilt in the basket.
Back downstairs in the central hall lying between the two buildings, she raided the pantry and cellar. She found some salted fish and a wedge of cheese to smuggle away. She also managed to find her blue kirtle in the laundry room, waiting to be washed and donated to the poor later. Tonight, she’d dress in it before starting her new life with Dorhen.
At bedtime, she couldn’t bring herself to sleep in the empty, unfamiliar cell. Over the years, it would’ve been filled with books, her prayers and contemplation, and perhaps a potted plant. In this hour of complex emotions, such as Joy’s loss and her own new beginning, how could she ever fall asleep alone? Surveying the empty cell, she shook her head. She left her packed basket behind and went back to sleep in the novice dorm for one more night.
They hadn’t removed her bedding yet, thankfully. A few of her belongings remained, like the washing bat she’d forgotten to take outside two days ago. Her little chest of drawers still stored some of her handkerchiefs and her pocket-sized prayer book.
“Kalea?” Vivene said when she sat on her old bedroll. “What are you doing here?”
“I…” She averted her eyes. “It’s lonely in my new cell. I miss Joy. I can’t sleep alone right now.”
Vivene laughed, but also dabbed her eyes on her own handkerchief. “You’re such a soft-hearted ninny.”
“Thanks, so are you.” Kalea rose and hugged her.
“I never got to say congratulations. Congratulations.”
Kalea smiled as a blush warmed up her cheeks. “Thanks, Viv.”
She undressed to her new chemise and lay down on her old bed, curling up her knees. She pulled the old blanket over her shoulder. One by one, the girls blew their candles out, filling the dark air with a familiar smoky scent.
Her heart danced as her brain skipped from thought to thought. What was she doing? Existing in a surreal space between two lives, that’s what. The vestal and the laywoman. Not only a laywoman—she was about to become an outcast woman who’d chosen to make a life with an elf. They wouldn’t be able to settle anywhere, either in Norr or Sharr. They might have to keep Dorhen’s perpetual routine of traveling around the continent. Perhaps they’d use the routine to eat well year-round. For each season, they might stop in a region which flourished in that particular season. She couldn’t walk forever, though. Eventually, she’d get old…
Get old. Something she’d never thought of, concerning Dorhen. She’d be old in a few decades, but he wouldn’t. Elves were said to live up to four hundred years. What would he think of her when her hair turned white and wrinkles appeared after a mere forty? Would he still love her?
No, stop it, Kalea! She’d talked herself out of too many good thoughts already. Worry about it later.
Excitement as well as nervousness wracked her body. She would never be able to sleep, even if she wanted to. Around midnight she would creep out of this room, get her packed things from her cell, and slip outside to meet Dorhen.
Some time passed, and gentle breathing and snores started here and there. Soon. She turned over, and there must’ve been some pollen in her nose from the viewing room because she let out a loud sneeze. “Hac-choo!”
Click.
Burying her nose in her sleeve, she paused to listen. What was that sound? Some feet shuffled in the hall behind the door. She raised her head and listened some more. Nothing.
/> Squinting her eyes in the darkness, she lay back down. More snores and soft murmuring joined the orchestra of sleeping girls. This was how she was accustomed to sleeping: in a noisy room. As she closed her eyes, the soothing noises made her drowsy at last.
A hum ran through the floorboards, snapping her out of her sleepy daze. When she opened her eyes, a flash of light bombarded them unprepared. She gasped and shielded her face. The other girls awoke and reacted similarly.
The light settled into a sliver hovering in the air before expanding into a U-shaped hole. Firelight bloomed on the other side of the hole, and then men with torches ran through and jumped onto this side—the novices’ room.
The humming hole gaped at the far side of the chamber from where Kalea’s bed belonged. She froze and gawked.
One of the men tripped over a girl on the floor and cursed. Another man pulled her up roughly by her arm. More men poured out of the hole, and each pounced on the first girl in his path. Screaming filled the dorm to its arching rafters. Girls jumped from their beds and scrambled around, causing the men to chase them. Male voices yelled and cursed and growled.
“Come here, bitch!” One grabbed Vivene’s hair and yanked her backward.
Kalea jumped up and grabbed her washing bat, the best weapon available in here.
The men kept coming. Around twenty of them entered before the portal finally closed. When it did, two men wearing red cloaks and jeweled red gloves commenced a string of strange words. They drew symbols in the air with their gloved hands. Each held a long, golden rod and tapped the ends on the floor throughout the chant.
Kalea stayed against the shadowy back wall as long as she could before one man spotted her. She hit his head with the bat. He yelled and grabbed at it, but she spun away and rebounded for another hit. Then another.
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