Chapter Thirteen – Sorina
Chapter Thirteen
Sorina
Korr is watching me when I open my eyes.
I’m on my side, knees drawn up, hands fisting the blanket, and he’s across the bed with his head resting on his pillow, facing me. He stayed on his side through the whole night, and he now holds my gaze with open, unhurried tenderness that sends blood to my face before I’m fully awake.
He’s my husband. He bought me at the bride market, and he’d be well within his rights to ask things from me. He hasn’t asked for anything.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?”
He sits up, swings his legs off the bed, and stands. He rolls his shoulders back, stretches his arms wide, tilts his neck to one side, then the other.
“I’m feeling great.”
I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s so broad that he blocks the window behind him.
His arms are thick with muscles under the rough skin, and every line of his body is perfectly defined.
He’s built for work that would break a human body, and watching him stretch and roll his joints, I understand why the women in the Narrowhalls talk about him.
Julie called him one of the hottest golems in Steinheim, and watching him now, I can’t argue with her.
I notice that the cracks on his skin look shallower than they did yesterday.
The moss and lichen in the fissures along his arms have thinned, the patches smaller than I remember from even the day before.
I have no idea what it means because I don’t know enough about golems. But I notice, because I’ve been staring at my husband for a good while now, and when that thought catches up to me, I blush.
“Would you like breakfast?” he asks.
I get out of bed fast, smooth my dress down with both hands, and shake my head.
“I want to check in on a friend today.”
“I understand.” He nods. “What about lunch?”
“I’d love to have lunch together. I’ll bring something from the Narrowhalls for both of us.”
I slip out of his room and down the corridor to mine, close the door, and press my back against it.
I didn’t lie to him. I do want to see Vicky.
I haven’t seen her for a few days now, and I’m constantly thinking about her.
But I also turned down breakfast because I’m overwhelmed.
I slept in his bed, woke up to his intense eyes watching me, and I can feel something shift in my chest. I feel pulled toward him.
More than I expected, more than I’m ready for.
Am I falling for him? I’m attracted to him, that much is settled.
He’s kind, gentle, and shy. He stumbles over his words when he tries to tell me I’m pretty and turns bashful when I touch his arm.
And when he stands at his full height, he’s this massive, powerful creature who could carry me with one arm and not break a sweat.
It’s like his personality and his body don’t match, because in my experience, the bigger the man, the crueler he is.
I wash my face at the basin, change into a clean dress, and pull my hair back. As I adjust the sleeves, my fingers catch on the bracelet. I smile.
I cross through the living room on my way out and can hear the water running behind Korr’s door.
He’s probably taking a bath, and I imagine him in the tub, body relaxed, head resting on the edge, the water gently lapping at the planes of his chest. I shake my head and slip into the corridor, hurrying toward the lift.
The Narrowhalls are busy, but I know where I’m going. Danielle and Julie pack tinctures for Vicky and send them to her house, so I know her address. I follow the corridors past the market stalls and the Pickaxe until I find the right door.
I knock and wait. Knock again. After a few minutes, the door opens a crack. Vicky’s face appears in the gap, half-hidden by her hair. She grabs my wrist and pulls me inside, then shuts the door fast behind us.
The house is dark – curtains drawn, lamps turned low – but spotless.
The floors are scrubbed, the shelves dusted, and every dish put away, every surface wiped clean.
Vicky keeps this house sparkling, and I recognize the habit because I had it too.
When everything else is out of your control, you scrub the kitchen floor until your knees ache, because at least that you can make perfect.
“What are you doing here?” Vicky asks in a frightened tone.
“I wanted to see you. The last time I saw you, you seemed distressed. I’ve been worried.”
“I’m fine.”
She keeps her head down. Her hair falls across her face, and she won’t look at me.
I step closer. Her glance darts to mine for a second, and I see it: a bruise along her jaw, dark at the center, fading to green at the edges. I close the distance between us and touch her face, my fingers light against the mark.
“Are you okay? Don’t lie to me, and don’t lie to yourself. You don’t have to do anything about it, but let your friends help you. Let us be here for you. Everyone is worried.”
Her eyes fill with tears.
“I’m fine. I just burned the food yesterday and Noah got mad. He usually leave my face alone, but he was really upset this time.”
I guide her to the kitchen table and sit her down.
“Do you have any cream for this?”
She nods toward a cupboard; I open it and find a small jar among a few others. I unscrew the lid, dip two fingers in, and tilt her chin up with my other hand.
“Let me.” I work the cream onto the bruise. “You know, I was married before.”
Vicky looks up at me.
“His name was Bran. He was perfect when I met him, pursued me hard, made me feel like I was the only woman in the world, and asked me to marry him after a few months. I said yes without thinking. And once we were married, he became a different person. Everything made him angry. I could never do anything right. If I burned the food, if I said the wrong thing, if I looked at him in a way he didn’t like, he’d punish me for it.
Every small mistake, every imagined slight.
And his father was the same. It’s learned behavior, passed down from father to son. ”
There’s no emotion behind my words. Bran is dead, and what he did to me doesn’t affect me anymore.
I refuse to be defined by it, even though I often notice the ways in which it changed me.
I’m not telling Vicky my story because I need her compassion.
I’m telling her because she needs to hear that someone else once stood where she’s standing and came out the other side.
“What happened? Did you get a divorce?”
“No. He died. I’m a widow.”
“Oh.”
I keep rubbing the cream along her jawline as she processes this information.
The front door bangs open, and we both jump like two deer who’ve sensed a predator is nearby. Vicky’s chair scrapes the floor as she half-stands, turning toward the sound.
Noah walks in. He’s of average height, lean, with no bulk to him and unremarkable in every way.
But his face is twisted as his eyes sweep from Vicky’s jaw to the cream jar, then to my fingers still raised to touch his wife’s face.
He reads the scene in a single look and crosses the room in four steps.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? Leave my wife alone.”
“I’m Vicky’s friend. I came to see her.”
“Get out of my house. Don’t ever step foot in here again.” Then he turns to Vicky: “You know you’re not allowed to have people over. What were you thinking?”
I take a step toward him, hands raised to placate him.
“Your wife has friends who care about her. I’ll be visiting again, if she wants me here.”
His jaw tightens, then he moves so fast, I don’t see it coming. On second thought, I should’ve known this would happen, but I thought I was safe just because I’m a stranger to him.
He shoves me with his hands, hard enough that I yelp and stumble backward. Before I find my footing, he grabs my arm above the elbow and shoves me forward, toward the door, as if to kick me out. My cheekbone hits the edge of the doorframe, and pain shoots through the whole side of my face.
Vicky screams behind me.
“Don’t do this, Noah! Why are you like this? She never meant any harm. You can’t treat her like this!”
Noah leaves me alone and descends on Vicky, yelling at her, and now they’re yelling at each other and he’s smashing dishes and glasses, making a mess of her perfect kitchen.
I straighten up and walk out of the house.
The moment I clear the door, I run. The Narrowhalls pass around me in a blur of lantern light and voices that don’t register.
People might be staring, but people always stare at me, so I don’t care.
I take the lift and ride it to the Highhalls with a single thought in my head. Noah’s time is up.
I shove my bedroom door open, drop to the floor in front of the dresser, and yank the bottom drawer out. The jars and bottles are lined up where I arranged them when I first unpacked, by color and concentration. I reach for the green vial in the back row.
“Sorina?”
I look up. Korr’s huge frame fills the doorway. His gaze drops to my cheek, and the color drains from his face, gray-green fading to something pale and flat.
I lift my hand and press my fingertips to my cheekbone. The skin is tender and swelling, hot to the touch. I didn’t realize how bad it must look until I saw his reaction.
“Who did this to you?”