by Jenna Glass
Tynthanal gave her a wry smile. “Surely you know Kailee well enough by now to realize she can escape her stepmother’s scrutiny when it suits her.” The smile faded. “We will find time to talk, and I will tell her. I cannot give her the marriage she deserves, but at least I can assure that there is no deception between us.”
Chanlix wasn’t certain, but she suspected the strange little pang she felt in her solar plexus might be just the faintest hint of jealousy.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Mairah closed her Mindseye as the novices’ instructor halted the day’s lesson for the midday meal. The young women of the class—the male novices, Mairah had learned, had a separate class with a male instructor, which was only logical thanks to the gendered nature of the elements—began gathering up their belongings and chattering to one another. Everyone all but ignored Mairah and Norah, leaving the room singly and in small groups. Norah took advantage of the room clearing out to move all the way to the opposite side to eat the cold lunch the innkeeper had provided, and Mairah was more than happy for the distance.
To Mairah’s surprise, however, Kailee did not file out with the other girls, instead keeping her seat across the table from Mairah and retrieving her own packaged lunch from a bag Mairah hadn’t even noticed she’d brought with her. Mairah watched as the girl removed an apple, a hunk of bread, and bite-sized cubes of cheese, laying each item out on a handkerchief on the table.
“You’re not joining the other girls for lunch?” Mairah asked in surprise, for Kailee had filed out with the rest the previous three days. Mairah and Norah had never been invited to join them—which was likely just as well given the mutual lack of trust and the formidable language barrier. Even being left alone in the room with their surly escorts, Mairah and Norah were not foolish enough to believe they were unobserved, but it was a refreshing break from the constant blatant vigilance.
Kailee shrugged lightly and popped a cube of cheese into her mouth before answering. “Three meals with the rest of the novices was quite enough for me,” she said. “They mean well—most of them anyway—but they don’t quite know what to do with me. And they don’t seem to understand that because I can see the aura of Rho around them, I can tell when they’re shifting uncomfortably and looking away.” She smiled, the expression surprisingly devoid of bitterness. “I suppose that while we’re all in here working, they can forget that I am blind, but out in the world…” She let her voice trail off.
Mairah felt a sudden and unexpected surge of kinship, reaching up to run her fingers over the pockmarks on her face. It hadn’t occurred to her until this very moment that part of Kailee’s appeal was that she was the only person Mairah had ever met who completely ignored Mairah’s disfigurement. And perhaps she was being naïve, but she believed Kailee was the sort who would have ignored it even if she could have seen it.
“I know all about the squirming and averted glances,” Mairah confided, wondering if Kailee knew about her face. Surely someone had mentioned it to her.
Kailee nodded. “So I’ve heard,” she said, then shrugged. “I must admit, I don’t truly understand what it means that the two of us ‘look’ different from everyone else, however. Everyone looks just about the same in Mindsight. So why do my eyes and your face make everyone so uncomfortable?”
She sounded genuinely mystified, and Mairah tried to imagine what it would feel like to have never experienced worldly vision. Mindsight was similar in a way, but it had so many fewer nuances. “Do you know anyone who has a really annoying voice that grates on your nerves every time he or she speaks?”
“Several,” Kailee replied, then crunched into her apple.
“Well, imagine how you feel about them, how much you want them to stop talking. That’s how people feel about my face and your eyes. It’s just easier for them to avoid seeing them than it is for you to avoid hearing a voice that bothers you. You would have to leave the room, and they have but to glance away.”
Kailee nodded thoughtfully as she chewed her apple. “I suppose,” she said, though she sounded unconvinced. “But I’m still capable of liking and talking to someone who has an annoying voice, and very few people seem capable of liking or talking to me.”
It was said without an ounce of self-pity—more curiosity and a deep desire to understand—and Mairah admired the girl’s calm acceptance of her situation. “Well, I like you,” she found herself saying, then blinked in surprise at the admission. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually liked someone. Even Jalzarnin, for whom she’d felt at least some small amount of affection, she could hardly say to have liked, for she’d been too cognizant of the scheming in his heart and of his ruthlessness.
Kailee smiled brilliantly. “We have something in common, then. I like me, too!”
Mairah laughed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norah glower at her from across the room. The old bitch had already told her more than once to be wary of Kailee’s overtures—as if Mairah were not smart enough to figure out on her own that the girl had ulterior motives. She let the smile linger on her face just to get under Norah’s skin, although she was discomfited to realize that she was unsure if she could echo Kailee’s sentiment.
As much as she was coming to enjoy Kailee’s company, she had to admit the girl was something of an uncomfortable mirror to look into. She bore her situation with exceptional grace and good spirits, and Mairah could hardly say the same of herself.
Kailee put aside her apple, leaned forward on her elbows, and dropped her voice so that only Mairah could hear. “I’m sure you know that I’m keeping tabs on you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends just the same.”
Mairah shook her head at Kailee’s bald admission, but somehow it wasn’t surprising. The girl was more than capable of subterfuge, but unladylike bluntness was her most practiced weapon. One that Mairah decided she could wield, as well.
“Why would you want to be friends with me?” she asked. “I have it on good authority that I am a bitter, spiteful, self-pitying bitch.”
Kailee snorted. “If your ‘good authority’ is Sister Norah, I would argue you must consider the source. She fairly radiates bitterness and spite, and I don’t doubt a great deal of self-pity lies beneath it. I enjoy your company.”
Mairah—who had yet to take even a single bite of her lunch—squeezed her hands together under the table, nails digging into her palms as she fought for calm. How strange and unfamiliar it felt to be defended! Uncomfortable, even.
“That’s only because you don’t know my history,” she found herself saying, her face heating with embarrassment. She’d believed she’d stopped caring what others thought of her years ago, but meeting Kailee had shown her differently. So why was she trying to sabotage the girl’s good opinion now?
“You mean because I don’t know why you were sent to the Abbey?”
Mairah swallowed hard and nodded, hoping the gesture was visible in Mindsight. She’d survived telling Jalzarnin the details of her ordeal—though he’d obviously guessed more of them than she’d expected—but then he’d known the basic outline of her story before she began. Telling someone who knew nothing about it was very different.
Stop fooling yourself, her nasty inner voice hissed. She’s just pretending to like you for her own purposes.
“Women get sent to the Abbey for all kinds of reasons,” Kailee said. “In every situation, a man could do the exact same thing—be unchaste, be disobedient, be ugly, be blind, be an embarrassment to his family—and he would not be sent away to be hidden behind walls and disowned by society. I don’t need to know your history to know you did not deserve to be locked away.” There was a fierceness in her face now, a stiffness in her shoulders that spoke of outrage—and spoke of a woman who’d lived her whole life with the specter of the Abbey always looming over her.
“My case is not the usual,” Mairah said, then surprised herself by spilling
out the entire sordid story of her doomed friendship with Lady Linrai and her unwise dalliance with Lord Granlin. The words came in a frightening, almost uncontrollable rush, flowing far more freely than they had when she had confessed to Jalzarnin. Jalzarnin had admired her for what she’d done, and she’d been so struck by that admiration that she’d somehow missed the absence of true empathy. He had barely reacted to her anguish, and, of course, as a man, he could not comprehend the horror with which women regarded the Abbey.
Kailee understood all too well, and though she did not interrupt the flow of Mairah’s words, her empathy was impossible to miss. Her open, guileless face showed every one of her emotions—anger and outrage and sorrow and sympathy—and that just made it easier for Mairah to keep talking.
When she was done, Kailee rose from her bench and felt her way around the table. Reaching Mairah, she dropped down onto the bench beside her and pulled her into a crushing hug. It was the first truly kind touch Mairah had felt in years and, to her shame, she burst into tears. She hated that Norah and their escorts were witnessing this display, hated for them to see her weakness, but something in that frank, unselfconscious hug undid her.
The storm passed eventually, and Mairah pulled away, fumbling for a handkerchief to dash away the worst of the tears.
“If the story itself didn’t turn you off,” she croaked, “then surely that outburst did the trick.”
Kailee smiled gently. “Seems like you needed a good cry.”
Mairah hiccuped and wiped at her eyes again. “It would have been more satisfying without an audience.” She had her back to the escorts, but she could only imagine the scorn on their faces, for it was a rare man who faced a woman’s tears with anything like good grace. And though she refused to look up, she could feel Norah’s contempt scorching her from across the room.
Kailee looked stricken. “I’m so sorry! I should not have pushed you like that.” Her shoulders hunched.
Mairah reproved herself for the complaint. She hadn’t intended to make Kailee feel guilty. It was a churlish response to the girl’s kindness, and she hated that she’d been so careless with her new friend’s feelings. Mairah patted Kailee’s hand. “Don’t be silly. You didn’t force me to burst out crying. Or to tell you my whole sad story, either.” She took a shuddering breath, fighting to restore calm. “But you see now why Norah hates me so much and why our escorts look at me with such loathing. I’m afraid I’m rather infamous in Khalpar.”
Kailee made a sour face that looked out of place with her usually cheerful demeanor. “As far as I’m concerned, the punishment—for Granlin and Linrai, at least—fit the crime. What a despicable pair!”
That, Mairah could not argue. Even so, Kailee’s acceptance seemed…hard to comprehend. “How can someone as naturally kind as you are not scorn me for what I did?”
The sour look was replaced with the more familiar impish smile. “Perhaps I’m not quite as kind as you think me. I’ve never been wronged as gravely as you were, but I assure you, I have become an expert at avenging myself for smaller hurts. You have no idea how clumsy a blind girl can be. Why, I have ‘bumped’ into people so hard they’ve fallen! Only because I couldn’t see them, of course. And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fumbled when attempting to hand someone a glass of wine. I come close to their hands, but I’m just a little bit off.” Her voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. “Once, when a gentleman put his hand somewhere that marked him not a gentleman at all, it was hot tea that I dropped. In a very…inconvenient location.”
Mairah burst out laughing. Now that Kailee had said it, she could imagine just how innocent those small acts of vengeance would have seemed.
“We are more alike than you think,” Kailee concluded. And Mairah had to concede that at least in some ways, she was likely right.
* * *
—
Although Ellin knew she was being mildly petty, she asked her secretary not to show Zarsha into her office until fifteen minutes after his scheduled appointment. She tried to busy herself with paperwork while she waited, but her powers of concentration were nearly nonexistent, and all she managed to do was rearrange the stacks on her desk.
She had resisted Zarsha’s every attempt to speak with her at social functions, and when he’d protested, she’d snapped at him to make an appointment. She hadn’t thought he’d actually do it, but then he was nothing if not persistent.
And in truth, she did need to speak with him, even if she’d prefer not to. He was supposedly here in Rhozinolm as a “special envoy” from Nandel, and he had always been far more forthcoming and responsive than the official ambassador, who made no attempt to conceal his unwillingness to treat a woman as an equal, much less as a superior. Whether she married Zarsha or not, she still had an obligation to secure Rhozinolm’s trade agreements with Nandel. Those agreements had already officially expired, but Nandel had granted a six-month extension as a “courtesy” to Rhozinolm’s “new young queen.”
Ellin took a deep breath and searched for calm when her secretary finally opened the door and allowed Zarsha to enter. She intended to keep her attention on the papers for just long enough to make Zarsha uncomfortable before acknowledging him, but it turned out her will was not that strong.
It was rare to see Zarsha without a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, but when he rose from his bow, there was no hint of either. He kept his gaze lowered as he approached her desk, and his voice was uncharacteristically soft when he greeted her.
“Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty,” he said.
Her conscience twinged to see him so tentative. Once upon a time, his self-confidence had grated on her nerves, but as she’d gotten to know him better, she’d found it strangely comforting. No doubt it was past time she forgave him, yet she just couldn’t seem to make herself do it.
“You said it was urgent.” Her voice came out sounding cool and dispassionate, despite the turmoil that brewed in her breast. She imagined she suddenly bore a startling resemblance to her lord chancellor, Semsulin, whom everyone thought was cold and unfeeling.
Zarsha sighed and shook his head, meeting her eyes for the first time. “If you’re determined to continue punishing me until the end of time, then perhaps you should just send me home to Nandel. I can present it to my uncle as my own choice, so you need not fear it becoming a diplomatic incident.”
Her throat tightened, but she kept her emotions off her face by sheer force of will. “This is what you so urgently needed to speak with me about?”
He dropped any pretension of humble subservience, his blue eyes flashing with anger. “If you’ve given up entirely on both me and the trade agreements, then I suppose we have nothing urgent to talk about after all. Maybe I was giving you too much credit by believing you were mature enough to put aside your hurt feelings for the good of your kingdom.”
She gasped at his harsh words, for though Zarsha had occasionally shown glimpses of annoyance before, she’d never seen him truly angry. It stung to hear that tone in his voice, to see that coldness in his eyes. But he wasn’t through.
“I’ve asked you to forgive me, but we both know I’ve done nothing to deserve your anger. I had a life before you knew me, and unless and until we are married, you can have my loyalty, but not my first loyalty. You forced me to share secrets that were not mine to share, and now you refuse to give up your grievance no matter how unreasonable. You forgave Graesan after he attempted to murder me, and yet you will not forgive me for having had a lover? How is that fair?”
“I loved Graesan,” she snapped back, feeling a momentary—and very mean-spirited—satisfaction at seeing him flinch.
“And you do not now and will not ever love me,” Zarsha finished for her. “You have made that abundantly clear. But I did at least believe you liked me. Or was that just because you found me useful?”
Ellin closed her eyes and bit down on her
tongue. Her heart thudded in her breast, and she reminded herself of all the things Zarsha had done for her over their acquaintance—starting with saving her life on the day of the earthquake that had killed the rest of the royal family. There had always been some hint of ulterior motives to what he’d done, but his support had been unwavering, and she had leaned on him more times than she could count. He was more than deserving of her forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” she said without opening her eyes. “I know I’m being unfair…but I can’t seem to stop myself.” She forced her eyes open and looked up at him, at the sternly cold face that had so often warmed her spirit when the rest of the world seemed to conspire against her. “You are the best friend I’ve ever had, and I’ve taken you for granted in a shameful manner.”
Some of the ice in Zarsha’s expression thawed, though he still looked far from happy. “What is it you want from me, Ellin? If it’s perfection, then I’m afraid I can’t give it to you, however much I might like to.”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “You’ve given me more than I could dare ask for already. And I promise I do…like you.” She could almost hear Star’s voice in her head, telling her her jealousy proved her feelings for Zarsha ran deeper than merely “liking” him.
For the first time, he ventured a small smile. “Well, that’s a start at least. Now, are you going to offer me a seat, or must I remain standing like a supplicant for the entirety of this conversation?”
It showed something about Ellin’s mental state that she hadn’t even realized she hadn’t offered him a seat. He had more than once during their acquaintance taken a seat without asking first—despite knowing it was a terrible breach of protocol—but she was not surprised he’d refrained from doing so now.
“Please sit down,” she said, hoping that time would help smooth things over between them and restore the ease that had once made their conversations so comfortable. She searched for her equilibrium as he took his seat.