Chapter 3 #4
Nazlen grabbed her wrist. “Bron told him he expected to be at his mother’s house this afternoon,” she said over her shoulder, as she dragged Disaris behind her back toward the path she’d forged through the field.
Disaris planted her heels, even as everything inside her urged her to sprint back to Panrin. “Wait. Are you certain that’s what Yeoman Kasark said?”
Nazlen rolled her eyes. “He’s the one who sent me to you.
Said you’d want to know.” She pulled on Disaris a second time.
“Come on. I asked Dame Hova to keep an eye on the hell-brood. I need to get back before they try to drown her in the well.” Her nose wrinkled as she inspected Disaris. “And you need a bath.”
Almost lightheaded with euphoria, Disaris sent her friend on her way, promising to follow shortly.
She discovered a pair of villagers who’d harvested beside her gathering up her bundles.
One shooed her away. “We heard,” she said, exchanging a smirk with her companion.
“Go. We’ll tie your bundles. Tell Bron we said hello. ”
That euphoria gave Disaris’s feet wings as she raced home.
Bron was coming home! Bron was coming home!
The chant in her head might have been a scream of unadulterated joy had she given voice to it.
She didn’t bother unlatching the short gate at the front of her house, clearing it with one leap to race up the walkway where her mother stood at the threshold, waiting.
“Amman!” Disaris skidded to a stop in front of Gheza. “Where’s the honeysuckle soap? Bron will be at his amman’s house this afternoon.”
Gheza chortled and motioned her inside. “I see Nazlen found you. Get in the kitchen. I’ve a sheet laid down and a kettle heating. You’ve only time to bathe from the wash basin. We’ll do your hair by the well.”
Disaris had never scrubbed so fast in her life.
She didn’t complain when Gheza dumped a bucket of freezing well water on her head to rinse her hair clean as she stood in a sheltered spot of the garden, wrapped in a wet sheet for modesty.
In short order, she was bathed, dressed and seated in front of the small fire her mother had built in the kitchen while her five-year old sister Luda did her best to scalp her with a comb.
“I think that’s enough helping for now, Luda,” she said as she gently pried the comb from the little girl’s hand.
Luda stuck out her lower lip. “But I’m not finished!”
Gheza stopped a burgeoning tantrum from erupting. “Your sister is in a hurry, Luda. If you want, you can comb out my braid tonight.” She flinched a little and gave Disaris a long-suffering look.
Disaris mouthed a thank you before retreating to the bedroom she shared with Luda.
The larger chest at the foot of the bed held her clothes, and she rummaged through the neatly folded garments, uncertain what to wear.
Nothing too fancy, not that she really owned any true finery, but she didn’t want Bron to think she’d dressed up just for him.
He’d tease her about it. Still, she wanted to wear something pretty, something that didn’t make her look childish or plain.
The thought brought her up short, and her cheeks suddenly fevered. She covered them with her hands, grateful no one was in the room to witness her blush. When had she developed such thoughts about her appearance and how she might look to Bron?
He’d known her since she was six, joined her in catching frogs, slathered slug slime on her, indulged her in numerous mud fights, challenged her over who would be brave enough to eat a grasshopper (he won that one), and protected her from mockery when her first menses made their appearance in the most embarrassing way.
She’d taught him to fish. He’d taught her to swim, an event that altered their lives in ways neither could have fathomed.
Why was she so concerned now whether or not Bron would think her pretty in a dress?
She shook off such contemplations. The skirt she’d chosen first, along with the bodice, went back into the chest. She kept the shirt but selected one of her everyday skirts with a patch near the hem.
He’d seen her in both before, numerous times.
They still fit and would suit fine. The heat in her face slowly lessened as she changed and repeated the phrase to herself a dozen times.
She made one bow to vanity, twining a lock of hair at each of her temples into tiny braids that she tied off with string.
She left the bedroom and found both Gheza and Luda waiting in the parlor. She twirled for their inspection. “What do you think?”
Luda clapped her hands. “I think you’re pretty!”
Gheza’s reaction was far less enthusiastic. She raised an eyebrow as her gaze traveled over Disaris’s brown skirt and rust-colored shirt that hung loose over the skirt. “I thought you’d wear something…else. Fancier. What about the bodice I made for you in the spring?”
Disaris prayed the awful blush from earlier wouldn’t resurface. She shrugged. “It’s Bron, amman, not the Crown Prince of Daes.”
The blush betrayed her under her mother’s knowing stare. “Is that so? And you charging across the garden like a spooked herd of horses, demanding a bath with honeysuckle soap as if your life depended on it, was just for my and Luda’s benefit?”
Disaris squirmed. “Amman,” she whined.
Gheza laughed before pushing a basket of darning toward her. “No need to help in the kitchen tonight. Don’t want to waste all the effort you didn’t put into smelling nice and looking prettyish for Bron’s upcoming visit. You can darn while you wait.”
“What if he doesn’t visit?” Disaris surprised herself with the question.
When had she started to doubt him? Of course he’d visit her.
They were best friends and hadn’t seen each other in months.
They’d exchanged a few letters, but those didn’t offer much comfort.
She’d missed him sorely, missed his voice, his enigmatic smile, the gift of him being physically close by.
She hadn’t appreciated that until he was no longer there.
Her mother gave a disbelieving snort. “Does the sun rise each morning? He’ll be here, Disa.”
She sat in her mother’s usual chair in the foyer, darning feverishly and staring out the window as the afternoon lazed its way toward twilight with excruciating slowness.
Her industrious efforts with the darning cleared the basket in no time, and she paced the parlor until Gheza brought her an apron and a dust mop with strict instructions not to miss any corners and also keep her clothes clean.
The tedious tasks didn’t blunt the edge of her anticipation at seeing Bron, and she’d even argued with Gheza that maybe it was best if she visited his mother with a loaf of freshly baked bread.
“Absolutely not.” Gheza scowled at her. “Hazarin doesn’t need you underfoot at her house while she’s visiting with her son. Remember, she too hasn’t seen him in several months.”
Soundly admonished for her impatience, Disaris sighed and finished her dusting before entertaining Luda in numerous rounds of the girl’s favorite card games.
Luda had just declared herself the winner of their latest game when their father walked through the door.
Luda shrieked, threw down her cards and rushed to hug his legs.
Dusty from the fields, he patted her back and gave Disaris a quick nod.
“I saw Bron. He’s coming up the hill about now. ”
It was all she needed to hear. She was out of the house and halfway to the gate before she remembered to take off her apron and toss it onto the nearby bean trellis. Her mother could scold her later.
The sky lapped above her in waves of purple, from palest lavender to deepest indigo.
Stars winked to life, along with the fireflies that danced in the verge lining the gentle knoll between the village’s main road and her house.
The encroaching darkness didn’t slow her down.
She’d walked and run this path since she was on lead-strings and could do so blindfolded without a misstep.
Fortunately, the firmament smiled upon her, sending up a bright full moon to plate everything in silver.
She was almost to the knoll’s peak when she spotted Bron cresting the rise.
Disaris’s heart galloped at the sight. “Bron,” she whispered.
He was here, returned to her after an eternity of separation.
She waited until he reached the top, a slim silhouette with the fading orange horizon behind him. He paused when he saw her.
Disaris grinned. “The moon rises,” she called out, admiring his silvery-bright hair.
A whisper of laughter floated down to her. Bron bowed. When he straightened, his grin was as wide as hers. “And a star waits.” He held out his arms. “Why are you just standing there, Disa? Didn’t you miss me?”
She flew up the slope, hurling herself into his embrace.
He staggered back with a gusty “oomph” as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging harder than an ivy to a mulberry tree.
His neck was warm where she pressed her cheek, and he smelled of cloves and the incense his mother liked to burn in her house.
He felt different in her arms too. Larger, more muscular, definitely taller.
He clutched her just as tightly until she gasped for air. Instantly his arms loosened. He leaned back to look at her, abashed. “Sorry.” His grin returned. “Consider it repayment. Remember how you used to squash me?”
Disaris smacked him on the arm, noting there was no give in the hard muscle there.
“That was when we were still the same size.” He held her easily as she explored his face with her fingers.
“Your face is thinner, but you’re bigger.
” In the fading light, she could see the way his cheeks had hollowed and his jawline had sharpened.
“Are they feeding you enough at Burnpool?”