Gallel's Heir

Chapter 13: River of Tears

Serenity, the confidence of love, is the heart of joy.
—Anath shen Sorrel Albandor of Yambisey

Canúden tensed on the settee, watching Dylin dress for the feast, where Tamil would likely sit in smug triumph. Afternoon sunlight angled into their room. Tea that filled the air with warm spices simmered at the hearth behind him, as though his and Dylin’s world hadn’t shattered. With jerking movements, she undid the ties at her collar and let her lavender dress fall to her elbows, then to the floor. Canúden traced her bare contours as she removed her shift and unfastened her corset, imagined how her curves would look in pencil. His and Dylin’s anxiety would add texture to his lines.

She seemed thinner, more angular than she had that morning. Her mood, sharp panic, scraped the corners of his mind like balls of steel wool. The stinging cuts on her arm distracted her only a little; that she had returned to cutting pained him. His dread for Lianna matched hers, and he felt his heart beat in his chest.

Tamil’s demand was yet another torture in Dylin’s experiences; while old scars no longer marred her skin, bandages covered the new marks on her arms. Those in her heart were part of her as surely as her hair, her lips, her fingers, or the emotion in her eyes. Impossible, he knew, but he remembered every tear she’d shed, every tear he’d wiped.

“We’ll get through this,” he said.

“Surviving isn’t enough.” She fumbled with corset ties she normally managed with no problem. Light from the window surrounded her flesh, brought out red tones in her hair, and she glowed, like the morning sun. “Will you help me?”

He stood as he said, “Surviving will get us through until we get to happy times again.” With one hand on her shoulder, he pulled the ties at her diaphragm, only tight enough to provide support for her perfect breasts.

“Will there be happy times again?” she said.

“As long as you love me, I will have room in my heart for happiness.” She collapsed into his arms. He held her quaking frame, and kissed her neck. Her hair covered his face. It smelled like zanath: earthy, spicy, and windblown.

“What are we going to do?” she said.

He attempted a brave face for her, though she felt his fear through their bond, just as he felt hers. “We are going to sit down, have some tea, and calm ourselves.” He stepped to the hearth and poured the tea into mugs. Trembling, she slumped at the table and wrapped her fingers around the mug he gave her.

“Lianna doesn’t even know,” she said. “Her afternoons at Ophia’s are so rare, and happy, and now she’ll come home to a nightmare.”

“She’ll be more afraid if she sees us like this. When will she be back?”

She attempted a smile. “She’s got your knack for punctuality. She’ll be here just as the clock strikes late afternoon.”

“That won’t leave her much time to get ready.”

“She’ll dress even plainer than we do.”

“We’ll certainly stand out, won’t we?” he said.

She set her mug on the table and went to the wardrobe, donned a linen shift, then pulled out a sienna-colored wool dress, well made but plain. As she put it on, she said, “I want Tamil to see me. See me scowl. I’ll stand out like a pebble in her shoe.” She finished by tugging brown stockings to her knees, and pushing her feet into thick brown shoes. “I’ll be warm, anyway.”

“You look beautiful in sturdy clothes.”

“You’re not dressed up either.”

He wore a linen shirt and brown corduroy trousers, slightly worn, only slightly. There were limits. Comfortable, everyday clothes. He never wore the kel’s vest Tutang had made for him. “Yeah, well, I bathed and brushed my hair. See how nicely I have it tied back? Dressing up is for people who actually want to be there.”