Again shame flares: I’ve misjudged what the note contains and he knows I haven’t read it, that I can’t read it. When I hesitate he steps forward, his hand extended for the note, and I cringe into the wall. He pauses, holding his hands before him. Slowly, slowly he moves toward me and I stay frozen, holding my breath, unable to take my eyes from him. Then he’s a foot away, six inches, beside me, reaching past me for the letter and my heart stops. I feel it halt beneath my ribs. The moment stretches out and then it’s over. He takes an exaggerated step back and looks at me as he opens it up.
“To the Lady Twylla, I beg your forgiveness. My actions toward you last night were unkind, uncalled for, and undeserved. I know I have no right to question you, and I apologize wholeheartedly for the offense I caused. I know this alone will not atone for my actions, but allow it to be the first of many gestures that will show my loyalty to you. I am nothing but your humble servant, Lief.”
He folds the note and places it on the bureau before moving away. He watches me closely, and I have to turn my head to give myself time without his scrutiny, my pulse still thudding in my ears as I recover from his closeness. There was not so much to the letter after all.
“Why?” I ask eventually, conscious he is still watching me, waiting.
“Why what, my lady?”
“Why did it bother you so much, that I didn’t want my supper? You’re here as my guard, not my guardian. What is it to you if I don’t eat?”
Color rushes to his cheeks. “I …”
“Yes?”
“Forgive me again, my lady. It wasn’t about your appetite. It was the waste.”
That word again. I frown at him, and he continues.
“It made me angry, no—not angry, sad. Sad to see fine food destined for pigswill. I shouldn’t have behaved as I did; it was wrong, but my sister … We don’t have much at home. That’s why I’m here to work. So when you said …” He trails off, looking miserable, and I understand.
I once had a sister who didn’t have much at home, and though I know she eats well enough now, because of me, she still spends hours on end at feasts she can’t take part in. And yet I didn’t think of her at all as I sent the food away, safe in the knowledge there would always be more. I forgot that I don’t have to fear hunger anymore. I forgot her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, assuming my apology was for him. “No, no. Please. I am sorry. It’s not your fault. That’s why I needed to apologize, my lady.” He extends his arm. “Please, take the flowers.”
I hold my hands up to stop him. “You can put them on the bureau.”
“Won’t you take them from me, my lady?”
“Lief, you know I can’t—”
“I won’t let you touch me, my lady.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Hold out your hands and I’ll drop them in.”
I shake my head. “Please don’t do this, Lief. Please put them on the bureau.”
He looks so sad, so defeated, and I can’t bear it, I want to offer him something in return for his confession.
“I have a sister, too,” I blurt, and he pauses, looking at me. “Maryl. Her name is Maryl.”
“How old is she?” he asks after a moment.
“Eleven harvests now,” I say. “I haven’t seen her since she was seven. Not since I came here.”
“Not at all?”
“I can’t. It would anger the Gods,” I say. “To become Daunen Embodied I had to leave everything else behind.”
“But you miss her?” he asks softly, and I nod. “I’m sure she misses you, too.”
“If she remembers me.” I speak as quietly as he did. “Seven is very small. And I can’t imagine I’m spoken of much, back at my old home. I don’t think there would be much to remember.”
Lief’s eyes rake over me. “People don’t forget what it is to be loved,” he says finally. “No matter how young or old you are, or for how long you had it, you always remember what it is to feel loved. She’ll remember you.”
He bows, preparing to leave, and something surges in my chest.
“Wait.” I swallow the lump in my throat. I cup my hands beneath his, trying to hold them steady and disguise the trembling in them. He looks into my eyes as he drops the blooms into my hands, sprigs of hollyhocks and anemones and lavender raining gently down, until all he has left is a single lavender blossom on its woody stem. His green eyes flicker to it, then back to mine as he holds it out to me, pinching the very base of the stem in between his thumb and forefinger.
And I take it.
I tip all the other flowers into my left palm and grip them as though they’re a lifeline. It’s a stupid, dangerous thing to do, and my heart is fluttering in my chest like a bird trapped in a fist. But for all I know how wrong it is, it’s the right thing to do, I can feel that. He offered atonement for his sin of anger; my confession and taking the flowers from him is atonement for my arrogance and ingratitude. There has to be balance; each sin has to be atoned. Now we are equal.
When he finally lets go, leaving me holding it, I stare at the lavender sprig in wonder as he bows and makes ready to leave me to my breakfast.
“You won’t hurt me,” he says softly as he opens my door. “I know you won’t.”
As he closes the door, I think of Tyrek.
The first week of my confinement is tolerable; I’m well practiced in occupying myself, and between singing, drawing the outline for my screen, and praying, I fill my time well enough. As long as I keep my back to the window and my head down, concentrating as fiercely as I can on my tasks, I can pretend it’s fine.
But after that first week, boredom creeps into my quiet solar and tugs at my skirts, and I find it hard to settle my mind to anything other than what’s outside my tower. I miss strolling in the gardens. I miss walking the halls. I miss my temple, its peace and simplicity, and, more than anything, the way it felt separate from the castle. I asked them to bring the totem to me, and it’s now mounted on the wall opposite my bed. But the light in here doesn’t move across it in the same way, and the sun is always covering the moon now. I’d like to believe it was a sign, and a good one, but I know it’s a trick of the light. I can’t pray properly in here; I can’t concentrate and I’m scared that despite the queen’s words the Gods will be angry that I’m neglecting them.
Lief and I have come to some kind of truce, though truce isn’t the right word for it. There’s an unspoken something between us since I took the flower from his hand, not friendship exactly, more comradeship, how I imagine brothers–in–arms feel about their fellow soldiers. As if we both know we took a huge risk and survived it, and that brings us together.
Every day I ask him how Dorin is, and every day he tells me the same thing, that he is no better and no worse. The healer seems to think the sting knocked his humors completely out of balance. They’re saying that’s why he remains weak and frail, though the sting site itself is supposedly healing well. I want to go and see him, but obviously that’s impossible, so instead I tell Lief to send messages saying I’m praying for his swift recovery. And I do pray for his swift recovery, not least because his return marks the end of my captivity, but then I feel selfish and have to pray again for forgiveness.
* * *
I realized it first on the night he told me off for wasting food, but it’s now glaringly apparent that Lief never worked as a royal guard before and has no idea how he’s supposed to behave without Dorin here to set an example. He has no sense of protocol, half of the time he forgets to call me “my lady,” and he’s far too eager to talk to me in a way that Dorin never would, despite knowing me for four harvests.
“How do they make that color? It’s so rich.” He hovers in the doorway, pointing to the indigo silks I am unraveling one morning, having decided to abandon sketching a design and instead stitch freehand.
“I don’t know, I’ve never asked,” I say, with an edge to my voice, but he seems to miss it, shrugging,
watching me separate the strands. I ignore him, but knowing he’s watching makes me fumble the needle and tangle the silks, and it’s only when I tut loudly that he remembers himself and leaves me.
When he brings me supper later, he tells me, “It’s made from sea snails, my lady.”
“What?” I drop my spoon into my bowl of broth and he laughs.
“Your purple threads, my lady. The dye is made from the shells of sea snails.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“I asked.” He grins, bowing cockily before sauntering from the room.
And so it continues. The first week becomes the second, and he spends more and more time in my doorway, taking my questions about Dorin as his cue to ask his own about the flowers I’m sewing: which ones do I like best, have I seen all of them with my own eyes or only in pictures. He tells me how the dyes for my other silks were made, and ponders aloud what would happen if they became mixed somehow. He tells me about Tregellian flowers and plants in detail and I finally ask him if he’d trained as an herbalist, given his knowledge. But this silences him, a crease forming between his eyebrows, and he makes an excuse to leave the room. I don’t make the mistake of asking about his former life again, too unnerved by the ringing silence in my room after he’s left it.
“Dorin says I am to send the second swords to the blacksmith for sharpening, my lady,” he announces one morning, lingering as is his custom after he’s replaced my candle stubs with fresh pillars.
“Very well,” I say, my focus half on the gardens below me and half on his words.
“Not very well, my lady. The blacksmith is gone.”
That gets my full attention. “Gone?”
“Apparently the queen felt he shod her horse ill.”
I offer a silent prayer for the blacksmith.
“Does my talking bother you, my lady?” he asks from the doorway, where he’s now cleaning under his fingernails with a small dagger.
“No, not at all.”
“You must tell me if it does. I won’t be offended.”
“You don’t bother me, Lief.”
He smiles. “I’m glad. So where shall I send the second swords?”
My days fall into a pattern of breakfast, talking—or rather, mostly listening—to Lief, singing, luncheon, praying, supper, and working on my screen until it’s a reasonable hour to go to bed. But even having a routine of sorts is not enough. When I send Lief away in the afternoons so I can pray, I find it doesn’t fill me with the peace I normally feel. In the evenings I pick up the needle and put it down, glancing at him as he sits in the doorway, reading the same tatty book night after night. After two weeks of this I demand he read it to me and he does, reciting from what I now know is an outdated almanac, telling me weather forecasts from twenty harvests ago. The worst thing is it’s rapidly becoming my favorite part of the day, my needle dangling from my hand as he reads in his singsong voice.
I wonder if this is how it would have been if Tyrek had become my guard, and the thought burns. He reminds me of Tyrek—the way he forgets what I am, or doesn’t care. He’s as fearless as Tyrek was, and as rash, and I know I shouldn’t encourage this, shouldn’t have told him about Maryl, shouldn’t have taken the flowers from him. I don’t want to find myself with my hands on Lief’s neck because I have somehow said too much, especially to a Tregellian, whether he is loyal to his country or not.
* * *
I tell myself again and again that there can be no harm in what we’re doing. As long as we don’t discuss the realm or the castle, I can’t possibly betray the queen or the country, and that keeps him and me safe, but I’m still not at ease and I can’t put my finger on why. There’s an itching inside me, an irritant I long to scratch but cannot reach, and it amuses Lief, when he does return, to find me pacing.
“You’ll wear a hole in the floor, my lady.” He grins his wide-mouthed grin, pretending to examine the cold stone as I roll my eyes at him. He smiles so easily, as though his face was made to split in two and show all his teeth to the world.
* * *
When Lief enters my chambers with my breakfast three weeks after the queen’s decree, I am still not up, sitting against the pillows I have piled behind my back. I have been trying to read his note, but the only word I can make out is my own name. Slowly, I have searched through and found the letters from it in other words, but I don’t know what the letters around them are and it’s frustrating. When Lief knocks, I stuff the parchment back under my pillow.
“Is it breakfast in bed today, my lady?”
“I must have overslept,” I say. “If you’ll give me a moment, I will dress.”
“Forgive me, my lady, but you might have time to stay in bed and eat if you wanted to. You don’t have to be anywhere for a few days.”
“The Gods wouldn’t thank me for my idleness.”
“Even the Gods need to rest, every now and then.” He grins.
I realize to my surprise that I’m grinning back at him.
He pauses, tilting his head to the side. “You should smile more, my lady. It suits you.”
My stomach flip-flops inside me and I look away.
“Forgive me, that was forward. I’ll be silent now.” He places the tray in front of me, moving slowly, and I stay still as he balances it carefully atop my lap. He looks at me and I nod. I fill a white roll with soft cheese and then, as soon as he leaves, rummage under my pillows for the note, puzzling it through as I eat.
The door opens again—Lief come to collect the tray—and I hide the note away, folding my arms across my chest.
But the face that peers around the curtains of the bed is not Lief’s, it’s the prince’s.
Instantly, I lurch out of the bed to bow, upending the tray, and, to compound it all, I get tangled in the covers and land face-first on the floor.
Prince Merek stands before me, a smile playing at his lips before he bites them to stop it from spreading.
“Twylla,” he says, nodding to me, serious again. “Should I call your guard?”
“No,” I say hurriedly, pulling my cloak around my shoulders and standing before him. “Your Highness, forgive me. I was unprepared.” My cheeks burn with shame.
The prince looks me up and down, his eyes shining in amusement. “No need to bow quite so low to me, you know. A nod of the head will do. Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, Your Highness,” I say firmly, even as my face betrays me. Did he make a jest? “I’m well.”
He turns away as his lips contort. “I came to view the progress of your screen. My mother said you had plans to design one. How goes it?”
I wrap the cloak around me tightly, wishing my hair were not falling loose down my back, wishing I had risen, wishing I had not fallen on my face. He peers at the scant embroidery on the screen before looking back at me, an eyebrow raised.
“I’ve not had time to work on it of late, Your Highness,” I offer.
His lips twitch again, another hinted smirk. “I see. That is a shame. You’ve had no use for my drawings, then?”
“I have. Of course I have, thank you.” I hesitate before crossing to the bureau and collecting the folder of his drawings. When I hold them out to him, he frowns.
“They were meant for you, Twylla. As a gift.”
For a second time my skin crimsons and I duck away, wishing my body would control itself. “You are too kind, Your Highness.”
“Dine with me later,” he says suddenly, speaking so quickly I’m not sure if I heard him correctly.
“Your Highness?”
“Tonight. Take your supper with me, or rather, I will come and take my supper with you. I know my mother has commanded you stay in here until you have your full guard again.”
My jaw gapes, making me look more of a fool than I have already shown myself to be. I fumble for the words to thank him and accept but can’t find them. Instead my heart beats too fast and makes my toes and earlobes throb in time with it.
�
�I’ll return at eventide, then,” he says, as though I had responded. When he nods and takes a step away I automatically bow, thankful for the chance to again hide my confused face. At the door he turns back to me, mischief in his eyes.
“There is no need to dress for dinner, should you not wish to,” he says, turning away, but not before I see the edge of his mouth curl upwards.
I stare at the door, my jaw slack. Within seconds Lief has entered, a small frown puckering his forehead. He takes one look at me before turning back toward the door.
“Is everything well, my lady?”
“Fine. It’s fine.”
“You look a little …” he trails off, waving his hands.
“I didn’t expect him.”
“I’m sure he noticed that.” He nods at my dishevelment.
“Lief!” I protest, before I realize that he is the second man to see me in a state of undress that morning. “Turn around! No, leave. If you would send for the maids, I need hot water. Lots of it. And can you find out where my red dress is, the heavy brocade one? And my silver combs; they were sent for polishing.”
“Are we going somewhere?” Lief asks.
I shake my head. “No, I am dining with the prince tonight. Here.”
“You’re to be married, Dorin said.”
“That’s right.”
“Does he dine here often, then, my lady?”
“No,” I say slowly. He knew I’d been confined here, and it took him the best part of a moon to decide to approach me. Why come now?
Lief looks at me oddly, his expression asking the same question. “The prince is busy,” I say. Though I’ve no idea whether that’s true or why I’m defending him.
Lief continues to stare at me, his lips pursed, before he nods toward the food-covered bed. “Can I bring you something else? If you didn’t like it, you could have said so. You didn’t need to throw it around.” He smiles at his joke.
I roll my eyes. “I was surprised by the prince,” I say. “But no, thank you, I managed some bread and cheese before he came. You can take the tray and ask the maids to come and change my linens while I bathe.”
The Sin Eater's Daughter Page 7