Chapter 20
Sacred Word
Of course I surged out of bed, wrapped in not much more than a blanket, and immediately went to the hygiene room to freshen up, and it was while I was staring at myself in the mirror and brushing my teeth that I had the thought that maybe, just maybe, I was being a little too easy.
And I don't mean in the way that everyone on Seraphim would have said I was too easy. It wasn't about being fallen; it wasn't about being a harlot.
But it occurred to me, as I looked at myself in the mirror, the skin beneath my eyes dark and my body beset with a bone-deep weariness despite an otherwise pleasant flush of anticipation, that Araxis was on shaky ground as head of house and maybe he wanted…
a sure thing. If he could give me what I wanted, at least, then he might be able to feel a bit more settled.
Except what he'd wanted was to court me.
He'd wanted to do it right. And I didn't know why he'd chosen to approach things this way, but he hadn't been delicately avoiding having sex with me this week by accident.
And because he knew I wanted to fuck him and he was still holding off, there had to be a reason with some importance attached to it.
I'd be lying if I said that I wanted anything except to be close to him, then and there; I wanted the weight of him against me; I wanted his breath in my lungs; I wanted our bodies to press together until we were perfectly aligned.
But the wanting that gnawed at my bones like a starving wolf was less important than what he needed.
He needed to apologize to me. And then I wanted to lose myself in his body. I wasn't sure if that was what he needed too, or if he needed… more time. In order to feel like he'd courted me properly, that he'd shown me whatever it was that felt essential for him to demonstrate.
When Araxis got back, I was staring out the window, squinting in the fake sun. "You got dressed," he observed, tipping his head toward the low table by the couch.
I shrugged, sinking down on a cushion as he set a small cluster of bowls before me, carefully doling out my favourite abayan breakfast foods.
I let him; I knew he liked doing it. I knew it was important to him, part of the ritual, a way he could tend to me.
"I thought I'd better," I said, tugging on the cuffs of the sweater he'd given me. "I've got to balance out last night."
He trilled, setting three dumplings atop the rest of the food in my bowl before nudging it toward me. "Hm, you may need several additional layers then."
I dug in, sighing happily as Araxis watched me through half-lidded eyes.
He looked, in that moment, suffused with light, as if he could imagine nothing better than letting me sleep in and then stuffing me full of dumplings and preserved vegetables and soft grains.
As if, in the particularly hellish landscape we were navigating, I could be a bright spot for him.
A navigational star.
My chest tightened and I had to look away to stop myself from doing something silly like tearing up. Or telling him, again and again, how much I loved him.
"Where did your thoughts go?" he murmured. His hand brushed my elbow, and his touch felt like pure light.
I looked into the bowl I'd cleaned out, let my stare drift to my half-empty cup of tea. "Just –" I cleared my throat. "You really do like me, don't you? The way you look at me sometimes…"
Next to me, Araxis was quiet, although his fingers kept their steady pressure on my elbow. "Yes, beloved, I like you. I adore you. With every day, I find yet another dimension to the vast expanse of my feelings for you. You must know that."
I looked at him, finally. I turned my cup in a half-circle, and I was careful not to blink too much, in case the sear of heat in my eyes turned to tears. "It's just hard to believe sometimes," I said, throat raw, like holding in too many of these feelings had scraped the skin back.
His black eyes were glossy in our bright room, his stare soft. "I feel the same," he said. Then, "I wish to apologize to you, if you are willing to hear it."
I nodded.
Araxis fluted out a breath, releasing my elbow and instead pressing his hand to his sternum. I watched him as he breathed, his hand sliding back and forth, and I realized that the gesture was familiar, although I'd never seen him make it before.
He was self-soothing, trying to dampen the subvocalizations humming in his body. His eyelashes fluttered as he stared out toward the windows and the ward beyond.
"You don't have to," I said, concern tightening my chest at his obvious distress. "It's fine. If it's too much –"
"It is not too much," said Araxis, breathy.
"Only – I have practiced these words so many times that I fear they have lost some of their vulnerability.
I fear they have become a monologue. Give me a moment.
I must – I must apologize properly. It is atonement.
" The last word was in abayan, said with significance as he sat there, pale, his hand on his chest as he breathed deeply, trying to settle himself.
Not just absolution, but atonement.
Like what Vivith had been sent away to do.
I knew that Vivith had been angry that I wouldn't listen to Araxis's apology, but I'd assumed that was because they wanted me to settle into the role of being a good virra and to stop disrupting Araxis's life.
I'd realized Araxis needed to apologize because he was still carrying the weight of what he'd done like a stone around his neck, and I wanted him to be able to hold himself upright.
I hadn't realized that, by denying him his apology, I'd kept him from some essential cultural practice. That I had denied him some sort of sacrament and left him, instead, stewing in misery and suffering, all without realizing.
But I had realized, hadn't I? I'd wondered if an apology was necessary for his absolution.
I knew how important it was to Araxis to apologize, not just in this scenario but in others as well; I'd realized that way back on the creche ship, when we'd sat together in the dark of night and had tea when everyone else was asleep.
And he asked me every day that I had off.
Of course it was essential, and even though we'd rendered our contract null and void, I hadn't thought to give him the space to apologize.
I'd brushed it off, as if it didn't matter.
"Oh." The syllable drifted from me, unintended.
At once, Araxis looked to me. "You are already finding a way to feel badly about this," he said, and there was an edge of affectionate irritation to his words. "It is my turn to feel badly about everything, Sashen. Do not take this from me."
"We're taking turns now? I thought that was something both of us did all of the time, without doing anything as sensible as making a schedule," I said distantly, and Araxis smiled, shaking his head, and his hand dropped away from his chest.
Araxis reached and gathered the bowls on the tray, which he pushed to the far edge of the table. He then moved his cushion closer to mine, settling into a seated position as he faced me. His legs were folded beneath him, his hands resting on his thighs. "Would you face me?" he asked.
I shifted so that we were angled toward each other. "Last time, we were sitting against a wall and in the dark," I said lightly. "I hope you aren't setting a new precedent. I don't know if I'll ever be able to apologize by daylight. Then again, I never do anything wrong, so…"
His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile.
"Ah, your humour returns. I wonder why." I flushed because, as usual, he saw through all of my bullshit, even when I didn't, and then he reached out and placed his hands on my knees, two warm anchor points.
"This is the way it is meant to be done, according to our traditions.
If you do not wish to hear what I have to say at any point, you simply break contact.
You must consent to listen to an apology; consent is continual.
You are not obligated to accept an apology.
Being willing to listen is, in itself, generous.
Traditionally, you would listen until I finished speaking, at which point I would remove my hands and you would determine what to do or say next.
But you are welcome to speak at any time, beloved.
We are not bound by tradition. I would ask that if you do not wish to hear what I have to say, that you move away and I will know.
I would not wish to hurt you more through the act of making my apology. "
I looked down at his pale hands where they rested on my knees. "And what if the person listening to the apology is particularly prone to fidgeting, like me?"
"I think we will be fine." Araxis squared his shoulders, blinking several times before he tipped his head forward so that he was looking down at the floor between us rather than looking at me.
He was close enough that our knees were nearly touching, and the space between us was palpable, weighted.
"Sashen of Creche Thiel," he began. "Sashen Solar.
I am going to speak – from the heart, you would say.
Apologies for my inelegance. It does not reflect how seriously I take this task, but rather my desire to speak to you in earnestness and to express the fullness with which I have sought to understand the depths of your pain and my fundamental role in it. "
My mouth went dry as I stared at his body, curled toward mine, his palms heavy on my knees, strangely warm through the material of my soft pants. I bit back the words I could have said, and promised myself I would just listen. I could do that.