by Imogen Sera
The next morning, Mira didn’t know what to do, and she didn’t want to spend another minute in the house with her dead brother. She rose early and dressed in one of her old gowns she’d found hanging in her wardrobe, the skirt feeling strange around her ankles after she’d officially adopted her uniform of pants and a blouse. They weren’t sturdy though, and she only had the foresight to bring one outfit with her from Cyrus’s house, so she set them aside carefully to avoid them being ruined. She darted down the stairs, careful to avoid glancing at Colin, and in the kitchen ran straight into Eve who was seated at the kitchen table. She seemed to be in the same state she’d been the day before, and Mira wondered if she had gone to bed at all. Her eyes were dark and her face was miserable, but Mira wasn’t sure what else to expect in such a situation.
She touched the poor woman gently on the shoulder, and when Eve looked up to meet her gaze she saw nothing there… just a dark kind of blankness, and Mira tried not to let her discomfort show.
“Let me get you something to eat,” she murmured, and when the woman didn’t respond, she set herself to work making a quick breakfast of eggs and toast. She set a plate down in front of Eve, and one in front of herself, and then both of the women sat silently and didn’t touch their food.
Mira itched to leave the house but couldn’t leave the poor woman alone, and everyone else was absent, so she just sat and tried not to think about her brother’s corpse behind her. She released a sigh of relief when her father emerged from his bedroom, and didn’t even greet him before she darted out the front door and into the fresh air.
She breathed in deeply, enjoying the chilly morning air after the stuffy oppressiveness of the house, and decided to make herself useful. She mucked out the pig pen, and thought as she worked. Before she’d gone to bed her mother had wept on and on about how happy she was to have Mira home again, and her father had taken her aside and thanked her for coming to her senses and returning home. Surely they understood, though, that this was temporary; surely they knew that she’d only come home for the sake of Colin, and now would only stay until he was safely in the ground. She doubted that, though, and the thought bothered her. She didn’t want to hurt them again by leaving, especially not so soon after Colin’s death, but she couldn’t possibly stay in that house forever. She couldn’t possibly ever return to any semblance of a normal life; not after what she knew and had seen and had done.
She should be mourning, and she was, but she didn’t know if she was mourning her brother or her sudden loss of freedom. Even being here for a few days sounded like too much— the house was too small, the air was too still, the farm was too lifeless. She’d grown up and lived nearly her whole life there, but it was too small for her now.
Tarquin ran through her mind repeatedly while she worked, but she shook him away every time, guilt settling over her for even thinking of him at a time like this. She wasn’t sure if she was angry at him still, or just sad, but it was easier to just pretend that he didn’t exist. It was the very slight advantage of being somewhere so isolated from the outside world. When she’d lived here before she hadn’t known he was in the world, and if she paid attention to her work very hard then she could pretend she was the old Mira, the one who hadn’t been changed forever by a dark gaze and a searing kiss.
She returned to the house as the sun was setting, filthy and exhausted and her thoughts no more settled than they’d been when she’d begun her day. She sat through dinner and was pleased her appetite had returned, after a day of labor, but couldn’t help but notice that Eve sat in the same seat she had this morning, and didn’t reach for anything.
“We’ll bury him in the morning,” her father announced as they were nearly finished eating. Her mother broke into renewed sobs, but her father just looked at Mira disapprovingly, as if he already knew she would be leaving soon afterward. She met his gaze, not shying away from it as she often had as a younger woman. Of course she would be leaving. There was no life for her there.
As she watched Eve’s vacant expression, she wondered if there was life anywhere for the miserable mother-to-be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Colin was buried the next morning. Mira had spoken privately with her father beforehand. She agreed to stay for a week, for her mother’s sake, and he agreed to let her go willingly and not force her to steal off in the night.
He was buried between her grandfather and her baby sister who hadn’t lived long enough to take a single breath. Mira looked down the row of graves, only a few clearly marked with crosses, the others too old and overgrown to even be recognizable for what they were. It was a loving family display, she supposed, each member having adored the farm so much that they wished to rest here for eternity. She shuddered at the thought. She would not be put to rest here, not if she had anything to do with it.
After the short, private ceremony, Mira wandered a distance away, but watched Eve, who hadn’t moved from her beloved’s graveside, and her mother, who stood over the graves of two of her children, weeping for both of them. Mira was grateful, suddenly, that her father had insisted she stay, even for just a little while.
She spent the week throwing herself into chores under the guise of helping to fill the gap that Colin used to take up, but really just savoring the solitude and being away from the house. She’d managed to coax Eve out with her, a few times, and though the woman just sat and stared at nothing Mira couldn’t help but feel like the sun must be good for her.
She was pulling weeds and rocks from the ground when Eve made a sound that surprised her, specifically because it was Eve that had made the sound. Something between a gasp and a shout, and when Mira followed her outstretched arm she saw the very person she had been trying to keep from her mind. Eve’s alarm made sense, though, since he wasn’t a person right then, and before he landed Mira shushed her gently and promised her that everything was alright.
“What are you doing?” she hissed at him, and then he shifted and she turned her attention to the frightened woman sitting beside her as he pulled on his clothing.
“Coming to see you,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. What are you doing coming here like that? Nobody here knows.”
“What the fuck was that?” asked Eve suddenly, hysterically, the first words Mira had heard her speak since she’d arrived. “What the fuck are you?”
Mira glared at Tarquin, and he had the presence to look slightly ashamed.
“Sorry, Eve,” she said. “It’s just… I can explain it to you in a minute, let’s get you back inside.” She guided the woman toward the house, and looked over her shoulder to see Tarquin hesitating behind her. “Just stay here,” she ordered, exasperated.
She helped Eve back to the house, asking her along the way to please, please not tell anyone what she’d just seen, and swearing to explain as soon as she could. Eve had nodded along quietly, and Mira just hoped that no one else had witnessed Tarquin’s landing.
Back in the house she was relieved to see the rest of the family gathered around the table for lunch, far from any windows. She deposited Eve inside and agreed to return shortly to eat, excusing herself to finish her tasks, and then darted back out the door and to the field where she’d left Tarquin.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked as she approached.
“I’m staying nearby,” he said.
She crossed her arms and looked up at him, disdain on her face. “Why?”
“I missed you,” he said.
She rolled her eyes and frustration consumed her. “It’s been four days.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” he said. “I was worried about you.”
“There’s no reason to do that,” she said, then sighed and plopped clumsily onto her butt, right on the ground. She regretted it right away; there was mud under her. She didn’t move, though, and didn’t acknowledge her discomfort for fear of Tarquin holding his hand out to her. She didn’t know if she could stay mad if she touched him.
“Yeah, sitting was probably a bad idea,” she acknowledged.
“I like to sit with you,” he said, and then he was silent for a long time.
She sat in silence too, not wanting to talk to him, not wanting him to slip into her heart and her bed as easily as he had every other time they’d played this silly game. So she stared ahead, not looking at him, not touching him, not acknowledging that he was even there aside from the determined way she pointedly ignored everything to the right of her.
“I’m mad at you,” she said into the silence.
“I know,” he replied.
“I hate you,” she said.
“I know,” he replied, but when she chanced a glance at him he was smiling.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” she said, unable to bring herself to describe any more clearly the horrifying confession she’d made in her anger.
“Okay,” he said, but he still smiled.
“You don’t believe me.” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t,” he said.
So she just sat there, continuing to not touch him or talk to him or look at him. She squished her hands in the mud around her, enjoying the cool feel of it between her fingers, and ignored the little disgusted sound he made when he saw what she was doing.
He looked at her. She could feel it. His gaze swept over every inch of her, and every inch of her seemed to heat in turn. He watched her all he wanted, and she felt frozen to the spot. She wanted to tell him to go and leave her alone, but she was afraid that he would listen to her. She wanted to tell him that she had lied just now, that of course she loved him, but she was afraid that he would listen to her.
She was contemplating what to say, if anything, when her mother approached. She shouted for Mira, and then froze in place upon seeing Tarquin.
Mira leapt from the ground and tucked her hands in the folds of her skirt, trying to hide the mud. “Mom!” she said, forcing a smile onto her face and dread filling her at the encounter. She gestured to the rising man next to her. “This is just a friend from home. Tarquin.”
Her mother watched her warily. “Home?” she said, and then, “oh yes, of course.”
Mira turned back to Tarquin and narrowed her eyes at him. “Tarquin, this is my mother,” she said, wishing she could sink back into the mud and avoid the most awkward introduction of her life.
She watched him as he smiled, and as he said hello politely, and then bent to kiss her mother’s cheek.
She watched him and could see how others might see him, when he made an attempt to be charming. She watched him and grew angry, and then hurt. He had never made an attempt with her. He’d just sneered at her and then fucked her. And wouldn’t everything be so different now if he’d just been as polite as he was being to her mother.
Her mother directed her attention toward her. “Mira, I wanted to find you before I packed up lunch. Come eat, honey.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “Tarquin is leaving.”
“I am?” he asked, smiling faintly.
The look Mira threw at him made him pause and raise his eyebrows.
“Don’t be rude,” her mother snapped at her. She turned her attention to Tarquin. “Eat with us.”
She turned and marched for the house, and Mira trudged behind her, miserable. Tarquin reached down for her muddy hand but she smacked it away, and when she glared up at him his grin made her seethe.
“I fucking hate you,” she hissed, low enough so that her mother wouldn’t hear.
“I know,” he said, an impish smile spreading across his face.
Mira rested her chin on her open palm, rudely, as she watched her mother chat politely with Tarquin. She hadn’t thought him capable of politeness, and she wanted to tell him to shut up and shove a pillow in his face until he stopped talking. She wasn’t entirely sure why the sight made her so angry, besides the obvious fact that she was already angry at him, but even her father noticed the awful look she had permanently directed at Tarquin. She winced and turned her glare on him when he kicked her under the table for it.
She resigned herself to the discomfort of the moment and looked down at her food, ignoring everyone around her and trying to tune out the sound of Tarquin’s voice. Her mother had many, many questions about Arnes, and Tarquin managed to answer them tactfully, without any mentions of dragons or royalty.
Mira was grateful for that, at least. After his ridiculous arrival she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d just told them everything without a care about what it might mean to them. She glanced over to where Eve sat, in the little couch in the corner of the kitchen, and saw that the woman was watching Tarquin warily.
“Mira’s always been solemn,” she heard her mother say, as she turned to glare in their direction. “Even when she was a baby, she wouldn’t cry, she’d just give you this withering look. It was very demanding.”
“Like the one she has right now?” Tarquin asked.
They both turned to look at her and her mother nodded. “Just the one.”
Mira huffed and stood quickly, without warning. She stalked across the room to sit next to Eve, leaving her untouched plate on the table. Eve reached for her hand when she sat so she took it, squeezing tightly, and resumed her glaring from there.
“Is that why you don’t talk about it?” Eve murmured. “Where you live, I mean.”
Mira turned to her, surprised by the question, and nodded. “The… flying thing?” she asked. “Yes, mostly.”
“You’re returning there?”
“In a few days,” Mira responded.
Eve chewed her lip and stared ahead, her eyes watery. “May I come with you?”
Mira raised her eyebrows. “Why?” she said, and then saw the look on Eve’s face and regretted it. “I mean, the baby…”
“It’s Colin’s baby,” she said. “And mine. Not your family’s, and I have no family to return to. I can’t stay here; your mother hates me for taking her son from her, and nobody else cares that I exist. I’m just a vessel for them. I don’t want to be.”
Mira squeezed her hand and watched Tarquin as he explained something to her mother. She wasn’t sure if she had the authority to invite someone to come to the palace, wasn’t sure if it would be presumptuous and rude. She didn’t care though. “Yes,” she said. “Please come.”
“Thank you,” Eve said, smiling faintly and relaxing into her seat. “I could hardly tell if I was spending more time mourning Colin or worrying about the future. I know that’s awful to admit but…” she smiled again at Mira. “Thank you.”
Mira smiled back and then settled in her own seat to watch the completely aggravating man that she adored lie to her parents about what, exactly, he was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mira was exhausted.
She’d been up late with Eve telling her about Arnes. She found the more that she spoke about the palace, the more excited she was to return home. She missed her bedroom and the endless other rooms to explore. She missed the easy gatherings at meal times and even, she was surprised to realize, the other ladies.
Eve was still sleeping, so Mira had slipped out before dawn to avoid prying questions from her mother. She threw herself into the chores, but now, several hours after the sun had risen, she sat on a large rock with a sweaty face and dirty hands.
That was how Tarquin found her. She scowled at him as she saw him, striding right toward her as if he belonged there, but when she opened her mouth to tell him to leave her alone she found herself not wanting to be alone.
So instead she was quiet as he stood in front of her, and quiet as he lifted her filthy hand from her lap and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
“What do you want from me?” she asked after several minutes of silence. The question reminded her of when he’d asked her the same thing, when he’d growled it while he was still ins
ide of her, just after calling her the wrong name. She pulled her hand back from him and the look on his face made her sad, but not as sad as the memory had.
“I don’t know,” he said.
She nodded, keeping a careful distance between them. Her first impulse was to tell him to fuck off and leave her alone, to stop forcing her back into being by his side, to stop being so precious to her that she was completely and totally in love with him. He looked so helpless, though, watching her, so unsure. She was so angry, but she was also so very tired, tired of being mad and tired of running from him and tired of not knowing what was happening between them.
She reached up to touch his chest, to close the small gap that had never existed before. He knelt in front of her right away, so that they were face to face, and she was relieved when his arms opened for her. She slumped against his chest, treasuring his heat under her cheek, and before she knew what she was doing, her cheeks were wet against his shirt.