Chapter Eleven – Sorina
Chapter Eleven
Sorina
I keep losing my focus. Julie is talking about a shipment of glass jars that came more broken than intact, and I’m nodding along, but my hands are doing the work on their own while my head is somewhere else.
The bracelet slides on my wrist when I reach for a vial, and the light glints off it.
I’m back in the Highhalls, Korr’s thick fingers working the tiny clasp, his voice low and reverent when he said, “pretty like you.”
I’m smiling. I catch it and press my lips together, but a minute later the smile is back.
“You’re in a good mood,” Julie says.
She’s watching me over the counter with that look she gets when she thinks she knows something.
“Am I?”
“You’ve been grinning at the chamomile for the last ten minutes.”
I roll my eyes. She’s right. I am in a good mood, and the reason is a massive golem with cracked stone-like skin and a voice that sounds like gravel shifting.
I don’t smile about men. I trained myself out of it during my marriage, and after Bran was gone, I stayed away from the opposite sex like it was my job. But Korr isn’t Bran. He’s not like any man I’ve ever met.
Every time I turn my wrist, the bracelet shifts, and I think about how careful he was, how his big hands managed a clasp meant for human fingers.
I think about the cream cake that was so delicious, and the way he sat across from me without crowding me, even though he’s a literal giant compared to my diminutive stature. There it is again. I’m smiling.
Julie asks if I want to grab lunch at the Pickaxe.
I open my mouth to say yes but change my mind at the last moment.
“I think I’ll get something and take it up to the Highhalls. Maybe eat with Korr, if he isn’t busy.”
Julie’s eyebrows disappear under her long bangs. She bumps my shoulder with hers, light and playful.
“He’s growing on you.”
“He’s not…” I say, but there’s no conviction in it, so I give up.
Julie takes my wrist and lifts it gently, turning the bracelet toward the window where it catches the sunlight.
“This is beautiful,” she says.
“It is, isn’t it?” I lower my arm and fiddle with one of the stones. “I’m afraid I didn’t react as I should have, so... you know. Maybe I can make it up to him by bringing lunch.”
Julie shoos me with both hands.
“Go, then. Do your thing.”
I laugh and untie my apron, hang it on the hook by the door, and step out into the corridor.
The bakery is three stalls down from the apothecary.
I buy a meat and potato pie, and the baker wraps it in cloth and hands it to me steaming hot from the oven.
I feel myself blushing as I carry it to the lift and pull the lever for the Highhalls.
I’m jittery, anxious… I don’t know why. It’s nothing special, just a nice gesture to let Korr know that I’m paying attention to him as well.
An apology for being so cold and distant when I am, technically, his wife.
The living room is empty. The fire is low, and there are books abandoned on almost every surface, but Korr isn’t here.
The man reads a lot. I walk down the hall toward his bedroom.
The door is open, and I peer inside. My eyes go straight to his bed – massive, neatly made, furs smoothed flat across it.
I stare at it for a minute before I realize what I’m doing and step back, my face hot.
What am I thinking? I’m standing in his doorway looking at his bed like a fool.
I remember him telling me he spends most of his time in his workshop, so I exit our chambers and carry the pie one door further down the main corridor.
I find him hunched over his worktable, his broad back curved over something I can’t see, tools and scraps of metal spread all around him.
“Hi.”
He startles. He turns to me with wide eyes and drops the pliers he was holding.
“I thought we could have lunch together,” I say. “If you want. I brought a pie.”
He looks at the cloth bundle in my hands, then at me, and his face opens in a mixture of surprise and delight.
“That’s lovely,” he says. “Thank you for thinking about me.”
I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to thank you for the gifts and do something for you in return.”
“You don’t have to…”
“I know,” I say. “I want to.”
I set the pie on his worktable, between a coil of silver wire and a tray of tiny, polished stones.
“Where can I find cutlery?”
He grips the arms of his chair and tries to push himself up, then drops back down with a groan.
“Are you okay?”
He waves me off.
“My leg fell asleep. The cabinet in the living room, but you shouldn’t… I’ll go, just give me a moment.”
I giggle.
“Don’t be silly.”
I walk past him and touch his arm as I go, my fingers brushing just above his wrist, then I hurry out and back into the living room.
I stand on my toes and open the cabinet, pull out plates, forks, and napkins, and behind them I find a bottle of wine and two glasses.
I fill my arms and carry it all to the workshop, balancing the glasses against my chest so they don’t slide.
Korr has cleared his worktable while I was gone, all the tools and materials pushed to one end, and the cloth is spread open with the pie in the center.
I climb onto the stool beside him, close enough that my shoulder is level with his arm, and cut the pie with a fork, sliding a piece onto each plate.
I pour wine into both glasses, lift mine, and take a sip.
It’s warm and a little sweet, and I roll it on my tongue and set the glass down.
I don’t feel like drinking today. It’s easy to make the decision.
I used to drink because I needed to, and today I just don’t.
“Do you like it?” I ask, watching him eat.
He hums around the bite and nods.
“It’s perfect.”
“I would normally cook,” I tell him. “I kind of miss it, actually. But it doesn’t seem like there’s a kitchen in our quarters.”
“Golems don’t usually cook,” he says. “There’s a large kitchen and a dining room in the Corehalls, and various pubs and taverns, and we eat there.
” He pauses. “But some golems have kitchens in their quarters. My sister, Irrva, and her husband, Jarrvik, do. I was always single, so I never equipped mine.”
“Wait.” I turn on the stool to face him. “There’s a kitchen space in our quarters?”
“There’s a room that connects to the living room. It’s meant to be a kitchen, but it’s empty. If you’d like, I can get furniture and everything we need.”
“That would be nice,” I say, and then add, “but don’t worry about it.”
I don’t want him to change his ways for me. If he never had a kitchen, it means he didn’t want it, and I don’t want to make him go out of his way when we don’t even know… when I don’t know, if this will last.
He shakes his head.
“It didn’t make sense before. I never had anyone to share cooking and meals with. It was easier to eat out. And I visit Irrva often. She always has a hot meal ready if I don’t feel like eating in the common dining hall.”
I pick at my pie. To me, it’s unheard of.
Someone living without a kitchen, without the smell of something on the stove.
Cooking was mine even during the worst of my marriage.
I liked preparing food with my own hands, and no one could take it away from me, not even Bran when he complained the bread was too chewy and the stew was bland.
Which they were not. He only liked to get on my nerves about every little thing, most of them invented.
“Steinheim seems to always provide,” I say. “The food is cheap at the market, but it’s good. Everything is quite affordable.”
“Steinheim is wealthy from the diamond trade,” he says. “And it’s a tight community. Golems and humans live well here and help each other. There’s no reason for scarcity when we sit on a literal treasure.”
“I love this city,” I say. “Though I’ve only seen the Narrowhalls and the Highhalls. I haven’t had business on the other levels.”
“I’d love to take you to the Corehalls again,” he says. “You could see the dining hall, the gardens, which are beautiful. And there’s a gemstone museum.”
“That would be lovely.” I shoot him a shy look.
A knock on the door interrupts us. It opens, and a golem woman walks in, smiling wide.
“If he’s taking you to see the Corehalls,” she says, “then that only leaves the last level to me.”
Korr whips around and grins at her.
I climb off my stool and walk over, extending my hand.
She’s tall, solid, massive like Korr, but shapely underneath her simple clothes, with a beautiful face, full lips, plump cheekbones, and bright eyes.
She’s bald, like all golems, but it suits her.
It makes the shape of her face stand out, the sharp jaw and the high forehead.
She looks strong and warm at the same time.
“You must be Irrva,” I say.
She takes my hand gently, barely touching my fingers. I guess she’s afraid she might crush my bones.
“And you’re Sorina. I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
“It’s lovely to meet you too. Korr talks about you and your husband a lot.”
“Only good things, I hope.”
I giggle and tuck my hands behind my back, suddenly not sure what to do with them. Even if Irrva is easy and kind, I’m still freaking out a bit about meeting Korr’s family.
“Are the Stillhalls the last level?” I ask.
I don’t know why I do it. Maybe to prove to her that I’ve been paying attention to my surroundings, and I know things about the citadel.
“Yes,” Irrva says.
I look at Korr, then back at her.
“Korr hasn’t told me what’s in the Stillhalls.”
Irrva raises an eyebrow and glances at her brother. He meets her eyes, and something passes between them. I have no idea what it is, but it gives me the impression it’s a loaded message.
“You can visit the Stillhalls, of course,” Korr tells me, “But I’m afraid they’re a little boring.”
“Nonsense,” Irrva says. “I will take her.”
“Can we go now?” I ask. “I’m curious.”
I don’t miss the tension in Korr’s posture, and now I really want to know what’s gotten him so worked up. He says that he’s fine with me visiting the top level of the citadel, but his body language tells a different story.
“Absolutely,” Irrva says. “I came over because I wanted to spend some time with my new sister-in-law, and this is a perfect opportunity.”
I turn to Korr. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” he says. “Please go. You don’t have to ask me.”
I look at him sitting in his chair with a few crumbs of pie left on his plate and the full glass of wine that he hasn’t touched, and I want to step up to him and press my lips to his cheek.
I want to thank him for the easy way he said “of course”, like stopping me from doing something that clearly makes him nervous didn’t even cross his mind.
He’s been so nice to me, so patient, careful and considerate, and I’ve been behaving like a fussy ice princess.
I want to do something to let him know that things will change between us, but not now, not with Irrva watching.
I bite my lower lip and follow Irrva out the door, making a plan in my head about how I can get closer to him later.
We take the lift up one level. The platform halts, and I instantly feel the air is thinner here, carrying the smell of open sky.
The Stillhalls are wide and high, and the ceiling is partially open through carved vents.
Wind moves through the hall in slow currents, and daylight falls in long, slanted bands across the floor.
Rows of golem figures stand upright, spaced evenly, facing forward.
None of them move. They look like statues, except they don’t look carved, more like frozen in time.
“These were living, breathing golems,” Irrva says, her voice low.
“What happened to them?”
“It’s a natural thing,” she says. “It happens to golems sometimes. Nothing to worry about, just nature doing its thing. It gives, and at some point, it takes.”
I look at the faces as we walk between the rows, men and women, young and old, and so eerily still.
“Is it like a sort of death?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what it is.”
We stop in front of a golem woman near the center of the hall. She’s older, her stone face weathered and lined, but I can see the resemblance – the same plump cheekbones, sharp jaw, and wide mouth. She looks like Irrva.
Irrva kneels and rearranges a vase of flowers at the woman’s feet, straightening the stems and brushing away petals that have dried. She turns the vase, so the blooms face outward.
“This is our mother,” she says.
“I’m sorry.”
I think about my own parents. I haven’t written to them yet, and they don’t know where I am and if I’m all right. In return, I don’t know anything about them. We haven’t spoken in months, and my grandmother is old and frail. I should write and ask about her health.
“Your father?” I prompt Irrva.
“He died in a cave-in in the mines,” she says. “They never found his body.”
I look at their mother’s face, still and calm in the bright sunlight, and my chest aches for both of them.
Korr and Irrva are orphans. Irrva has her husband, who I have yet to meet, and Korr has…
me? Does he have me? Only if I allow it, and so far, I haven’t allowed much to happen between us. It makes me feel guilty.
The loneliness of him not having a kitchen keeps bothering me.
He never had one, because there was no one to share it with, and the women he brought to his chambers before me never stayed long enough for this to change.
Maybe they were even colder and more distant than me, and that’s why he eventually said they weren’t his soulmates and let them go.
I don’t believe in soulmates. At this point, it sounds like a pretext Korr has been using to release them from their wifely duties when he realized they weren’t genuinely interested in him. If I keep it up the way I have this past week, it’s going to end the same between us.
As the wind plays in my hair and I look at the mountains and valleys stretching before me, I think it would be rather sad if I let that happen.