The Third Question
Rinka
“Thank you, your highness,” said Rinka when no one else responded. “Your help was most…helpful.”
Ceri smiled brightly. Rinka still didn’t know whether to trust her—was this an intentional ploy to humiliate them, or was her suggestion to the king a genuine attempt to help the situation?
“Just what do you think you’re playing at?” hissed Idris, coming up alongside Rinka to face his sister. “Another one of your schemes? Another plot?”
“Idris, don’t—”
“Really? I’ve gone out of my way to help your friends, and this is the thanks I get?” Ceri was incensed. Rinka caught the smell of smoke on her breath.
Rinka gestured to Alison and the others to continue on. It was better if they weren’t a part of this.
“Can we just stop this, Ceri? I don’t know what I’ve done to you, but I just want this to end. I know what you told Rinka—” He looked around to check who was watching, and seeing that their argument had drawn the attention of quite a few onlookers, he stopped himself.
“I told her because I knew you wouldn’t. Because you’re a coward, and you only care about protecting yourself,” Ceri snarled under her breath.
“Stop it, both of you,” said Rinka. “This is ridiculous. You both care about each other—”
They turned to her and glared, the expression on their faces exactly the same.
Rinka couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re exactly alike,” she said.
Idris said, “I’m nothing like her,” at the exact same time Ceri said, “We’re nothing alike.”
“See?” said Rinka. “Pretty close.”
Idris sighed heavily. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t know what I have to say to convince you that I’m not out to get you, that I don’t want to take anything from you, that I’ve never tried to hurt you. I don’t care if you believe me or not; I just want you to leave me alone. Whatever game you’re playing, leave me out of it. Leave my friends out of it. Leave Rinka out of it.”
Ceri’s eyes were full of tears. “It’s not a game!”
People were turning to look at the princess getting upset.
“Come on,” said Rinka, “let’s go somewhere private.”
Rinka led them back to the drawing room of the manor, which was empty with everyone out at the regatta. She took a seat on a sofa and gestured for them to join her.
Ceri did so. Idris remained standing.
“I’ve lost everything this summer, and you didn’t even notice,” said Ceri, her reddening eyes focused on her brother. “Isaac is engaged. Deepa, Elise, Jerta—they’ve all stopped talking to me. Do you even know who they are? Where have you been, Idris? Why did you stop coming home?”
“It had nothing to do with you,” said Idris. “And the last time I saw you, you told me you hoped someone would break my other wing, so I didn’t think I needed to ask your permission to stop coming to visit.”
Rinka looked between them, shocked.
“I was hurt, Idris. You left me. You left me alone with Father.” Ceri started to cry. “I just wanted you to come back. You were supposed to go to university and come back, and you didn’t.”
Idris stood with his arms crossed, refusing to comfort Ceri. Rinka looked at him, nodding her head towards the princess.
“I didn’t mean the things I said,” said Ceri through her tears. “I never forgot what you did for me. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”
Rinka glared at Idris. If he didn’t do something soon…
Idris sighed. He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to Ceri. “’Dris,” she said, her voice very small. “I miss you.”
That did it. That was the thing that melted the ice wall Idris had built around the place Ceri occupied in his heart. Rinka could see it on his face, could see his expression soften as he continued holding the handkerchief.
“Come here, you,” he said. He leaned down to hug her, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’m sorry too.”
He took a seat down next to her. “Tell me about what happened with Isaac.”
Rinka rubbed Idris’s shoulder, proud of him. “I’m going to go see if I can catch up with everyone else. I imagine they’re hard at work on a plan.”
“But you’ll be back in time for the ball?” asked Ceri.
“Of course,” said Rinka. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Rinka found the others at the inn in Fossholm in a state of abject panic.
“It’s just not possible,” said Gwenla. “Rinka, thank the Gods you’re here. Can you talk to the princess? Perhaps if we can find an actual dwarven industrialist, we could do this. But not in two weeks.”
“I could try,” said Rinka. “But I don’t think she’ll be able to buy us more time.”
“That’s what I said,” said Lady Sibba. “We were talking about it before you got here. Keir and I read the same article in a journal a few years back—what Gwenla made up on the spot is actually possible. We could harness the power of the sun to run the ‘lectrics here.”
“I should have been a scholar,” joked Gwenla. “I just thought it sounded impressive.”
“It will take some time to research though, and even if we could meet with the scholar that proposed it, it’s unlikely she would be able to help us make a working prototype. And even if she could do that, there’s no way to have it in time.”
“Which I why I said we need to get more time,” said Gwenla.
“And you just heard it from Rinka that we don’t have it,” said Lady Sibba.
“If we just had a few more months, I could reach out to some of my extended family. There are a couple of industrialists in my mother’s line that could help with the manufacturing—”
“Wait,” said Alison. “What we need in two weeks is a working prototype of something that can harness the power of the sun to power, say, a ‘lectric candle, right?”
“Right,” said Lady Sibba. “What’s your point?”
“We don’t need a working prototype. We just need a prototype that looks like it’s working.”
There was a pause as they considered it. “You’re saying we try to trick the king? But how?” asked Gwenla.
“Magic,” said Alison. “We build something that looks like it would work—have Weyland make something that looks like what the scholar came up with in that article—and then we use magic, my magic, to make it seem like it’s working. That will buy us more time to figure out how to actually make it.”
“But the king hates magic,” said Rinka. “I know he can recognize Idris’s magic—he told us as much. Maybe he won’t recognize yours, but it’s a risk.”
“Could you talk to Idris? And maybe Ceri? See if they have any ideas for how to conceal that we’re using magic?” asked Alison.
“I can ask,” said Rinka.
“How are they, by the way?” asked Gwenla. “That looked tense back there.”
“They’re better,” said Rinka. “I’m sure they’ll help us if they can.”
“Lady Sibba, you don’t happen to have a copy of that journal at the schoolhouse, do you?” asked Keir.
“No, I wouldn’t. I throw out journals every couple of years. I can ask Duncan.”
“I’ll check the manor,” said Keir. “I haven’t been back to my library there in some time, but we typically hold on to our journals.”
“Keir, are you sure?” asked Alison. They had been avoiding Lord Ainsley most of the summer.
“It’s time I got it over with,” said Keir. “Would you like to go to a ball with me?”
Alison smiled, blushing. “I would. But what will I wear?”
“I’m sure Ceri wouldn’t mind you borrowing one of her gowns,” said Rinka. “You’re about the same size.”
Gwenla downed the rest of her pint of ale in one long gulp. “Well, it’s far from a sure thing, but it’s better than the coal mine. Welcome to the family, Rinka. We’re glad to have you with us. I’d say we do more than just harebrained scheming and plotting, but then I’d be lying.”
Rinka laughed. “Harebrained scheming for a good cause,” she said. “That’s something I can get behind.”
“Cheers to that,” said Gwenla, who then realized her glass was empty. She picked up Alison’s half-drunk glass. “Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
Ceri had invited Alison and Rinka into her chambers to dress for the ball together, which wasn’t ordinary, exactly, but their family wasn’t known for their respect for the rules.
“You simply must wear this one,” said Ceri, handing a long piece of blue satin ribbon to her lady’s maid to tie in Alison’s hair. “It’ll match your eyes.”
The dress she had given Alison to wear was blue as well, a slinky column of sapphire blue silk with delicate sleeves.
Ms. Murray brought the three evening gowns Rinka had not yet worn to allow the other girls to help her decide.
“That one,” said Ceri immediately, pointing to a red dress as her lady’s maid helped her into a sleek black gown of her own. “It’s Idris’s colors. He’ll love you in it.”
The red dress was stunning, Rinka had to admit. And it was true that the beads and sequins that did somewhat resemble his scales.
“Red on red?” said Rinka, pointing to her hair. “Are you sure?”
“I’m certain,” said Ceri.
Rinka glanced at Alison, who nodded.
They headed into the ballroom together once they were finally ready, a little late due to Ceri insisting on changing their hair accessories several times before settling on the right ones.
“We need to hurry,” said Ceri. “Most of the dances have already been promised.”
Rinka helped Ceri and Alison fill their dance cards as she filled most of her own. She was especially looking forward to dancing with Keir, whom she’d heard was an accomplished dancer and one of the most coveted partners tonight, although he hadn’t been seen yet.
“Where are they?” asked Alison, speaking of their respective men. Idris was also nowhere to be found.
Alison finally spotted Keir as the first dance was just about to start. His collar was bent out of shape, and he was shaking his hand.
As he came closer, Rinka could see a bandage on his knuckles.
“What’s happened? Are you alright?” asked Alison.
“Fine,” said Keir. “Better than fine. My father and I have reached an understanding.”
“Oh Gods, Keir, you didn’t,” said Alison.
“Didn’t knock that smirk right off his face? I did, and he deserved it. I doubt we’ll see Lord Ainsley around tonight. He’s looking a bit worse for wear. Come, my darling. I’m feeling very much like dancing at this moment.”
Alison shot Rinka a bewildered look as Keir took her to the dance floor.
Rinka shrugged. From everything she’d seen and heard of Lord Ainsley, Keir was right about him deserving it.
She was just beginning to regret saving a dance for Idris when he finally arrived. He was as handsome as ever in his tuxedo, and Rinka had to stop herself from jumping into his arms at the sight of him.
It’s just for the summer,she reminded herself. At least her mother’s voice wasn’t here to judge her. It had been quite some time since she’d heard it—perhaps her outlandish actions had silenced it for good.
“You’re late,” she said with a flirty pout. “I did save the first dance for you, though.”
“Rinka, may I speak with you?”
She was caught off guard by his serious tone. His face was serious too, and more than a little sad. It was almost haunted.
“Of course,” said Rinka, her mind racing. She had just seen him a few hours ago. What could have possibly happened in their time apart?
They went into the garden once more, returning to the same secluded spot from a few weeks prior. “What’s wrong?” asked Rinka. She rubbed the bare skin of her arms above her gloves nervously.
“You look unbelievable,” he said, keeping her at a distance, as if he didn’t dare move any closer. “Impossible. I can’t take my eyes off of you.” His voice was strained, breathless.
“I don’t understand,” said Rinka. She was terribly worried. Something was definitely very wrong here, but she could not fathom what it was.
“I almost didn’t come here tonight,” said Idris. “I wasn’t sure I could handle it, not after today.”
“Today? What happened today?”
Idris adjusted his cufflinks, staring at them, unwilling to look at her as he spoke. “It was the way that you were with Ceri. The way that you listened to her, believed her, comforted her even when I wouldn’t. The way you took care of us both. You stayed with us and made sure we worked it out.”
“You’re not making sense,” said Rinka. “Did I overstep? Did you want privacy?”
“No,” said Idris. He sighed, turning away from her to look up at the manor. There was a nervous energy about him, something pent up inside that threatened to burst to the surface the longer they stood here. His shallow breaths raised and lowered his chest in a way that made Rinka worry he might faint. “I’m going mad. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say this.”
Rinka felt her pulse flutter. Did he want to end their arrangement early? Did something change?
Or could it be that there was something that had always been true that had been left unsaid? Something that could no longer be denied?
“I know what I said a few weeks ago about what this could be. A bit of fun, a bit of a game. Something light and easy. But it’s not that for me, not anymore. Maybe it never was.”
“Idris,” she said, closing the distance between them and taking his hand. “I want to ask my third question.”
He startled, but he didn’t pull away. “What?”
“My third question,” she said. “The third question you promised you’d answer truthfully. I’m ready to ask it.”
He swallowed, meeting her eye for half a moment. “Alright,” he said. “Ask away.”
She looked at him, and she could see the torture and the hunger and the longing, the last secret they shared begging to be revealed.
She dared herself to ask it.
“Is this real?”
He looked at her then, one eyebrow cocked in surprise. He was still for a long moment, his eyes studying her face, her neck, her shoulders. And then he reached out with his free hand and touched her arm on the sleeve. He stroked the delicate fabric, smiling slightly, perhaps remembering what he’d said about a similar dress their first night in the manor. Remembering the dream of it, the vision that haunted him night by night.
He moved then to graze the sequins on her waist, understanding their meaning. They were his, the smooth red beads so much like his scales, and she was his. Really, truly his. Not just for the summer. She had lied when she said it, had known it was a lie.
It wasn’t enough. The summer wasn’t enough.
Then he pulled her closer to him. He stroked her cheek delicately, tracing the line to her jaw and then once more to her lips. It wasn’t just a pattern of movement; it was a ritual. A ceremony in three parts. An offering in prayer at the altar of her body.
Rinka’s heart pounded, the pulse hammering in her ears. Her vision was in a tunnel, transfixed.
There was only him.
He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers, their eyes so close they could not focus.
“Gods, I hope so,” he whispered, and then he kissed her.
If the kiss in the rain had been a confession, this one was a revelation. The end of the mystery, the end of the games and the riddles and the secrets in the dark. This kiss was the truth laid bare.
And it was a demand for the closeness of skin on skin, the baring of everything, body and soul.
She followed him silently as he led her by the hand. As they walked through the moonlit gardens, there was a sudden boom in the distance and an explosion in the sky—fireworks.
They didn’t notice.
There was only this.
Idris took her to the place near the stables. He pulled her to him hungrily, desperately. He kissed her lips, her jaw, her neck. She gasped as he pushed the fabric from her shoulder, revealing the flesh there, smooth and grey and oh-so-soft, and he kissed it too. The dream of it made real.
Then he hesitated, remembering what she said about the other dress. He reached for the hooks on the back.
“No,” said Rinka, tugging on his hands. “I can’t wait. I want you right now.”
“Fuck,” said Idris. He moaned, low and deep. “I need you.” And then he slipped the red gown from her shoulders, but it didn’t tear. It stretched, his magic expanding it so that it fell from her to the ground in one fell swoop.
He was on her then, Rinka pulling him to her, begging him not to stop, not to hold back. There would be time for all of that later, time for anything and everything, but for now, this was all she needed.
His lips on hers, their bodies entwined.
It wasn’t enough, would never be enough. But for now, at least, she was satisfied.