Chapter Eighteen #2
Seraphina moved deeper into the shop, trailing her fingers along the walls until she found a rack of dresses.
The fabric was smooth under her fingertips, softer than anything she’d worn in months.
She gathered a handful and brought it to her face, breathing in the smell of wool and dye.
It reminded her of another life, one where she’d owned nice things and didn’t have to steal to survive.
“Don’t light anything,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
She heard him moving through the shop, his footsteps cautious.
Seraphina kept exploring, running her hands over dresses, cloaks, and shirts, marveling at the quality.
Some of the fabrics were heavy and thick, others light and delicate.
She used to have dresses like these when she lived in London.
But then she’d come to the academy, and it was all gray and black robes.
She’d been proud of her house colors, had worn them with dignity, but she wouldn’t lie, they’d been drab and hadn’t complemented her at all.
Too severe, too dark, making her already pale skin look sickly.
But now wasn’t the time to choose something pretty. She needed something functional that would keep her warm.
“Freising is only two days away,” she said. “But the weather is getting worse, so we need to make sure we’re dressed well. Warm clothes. Sturdy.”
“All right.”
She also needed clothes that fit her properly. She was tired of wearing things that were too big and hindered her agility. The cloak she’d stolen the day she’d escaped prison dragged on the ground. She needed something that wouldn’t get in her way.
On the other side of the shop, Rune gasped. A moment later, he murmured words she couldn’t make out.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
“I’ve never seen so many clothes in one place,” he said. “They’re so beautiful. I don’t know what to pick.”
“They need to fit you well and keep you warm. And avoid bright colors. We need to go unnoticed.”
“Hm... too bad. I rather like this crimson coat.”
Seraphina laughed.
“The idea is for you to wear less crimson, not more.”
The words were out before she could stop them, and her laughter died in her throat.
She couldn’t believe she’d just made a joke about how his clothes were stained with blood after he’d killed someone for her.
She swallowed heavily and hung her head in shame, waiting for Rune’s reaction.
She expected silence, as he rarely made his feelings known unless she pushed. Silence would be too kind.
Rune laughed, and to her shock, it didn’t sound forced.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ll go with black.”
She relaxed, but the guilt didn’t leave.
How could she have been so insensitive? He’d torn a man apart with his bare hands just yesterday.
It wasn’t that it was too soon to talk about it in a casual manner, it was.
.. They should never talk about it. And she should never think about it so lightly.
Her insensitivity wasn’t only toward Rune and the sacrifice of his innocence so she wouldn’t soil her hands with a man’s blood, but also toward the victim.
Hartmann had been vile. A coward. He was dead, and it was indecent to think about his demise with any amusement attached to it.
If she did, then she was no better than him.
Worse, maybe she was more of a villain than he had been.
She heard the rustle of fabric as Rune pulled something from a rack.
“What do you think about these pants?” he asked.
Seraphina turned to him, pointing at her face.
“I would love to give you my opinion, however...”
“Oh.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’ll find you a scarf. That one is... It doesn’t look good anymore.”
Seraphina chuckled. The strip of fabric Rune had torn from his shirt was nearly in tatters. She’d shifted it around and tied it as best as she could to cover her empty eye sockets. She knew it looked bad, but without it, the state of her face would’ve given any sane person nightmares.
She’d just made another joke that had killed the mood. She sighed and wondered what was wrong with her today. Many things were wrong, and they had been for years. She pulled a few dresses and walked over to where Rune was. She held one in front of her body.
“Can you tell me if this one is good?” she asked.
“It’s blue,” he said.
“Absolutely not. How about this one?”
“It’s yellow.”
“Of course it is.” She pulled another. “This?”
“If you like ribbons...”
She laughed.
“They look pretty on you,” he said.
She pursed her lips so he wouldn’t see how big her grin was. She kept searching, and they fell into a rhythm. She would pull a dress, and he would tell her what it looked like, sometimes adding unnecessary details that made her laugh.
“That one has ruffles,” he said. “Lots of ruffles. I think more ruffles than dress.”
“Pass.”
“This one has lace on the sleeves. And the collar. And the hem.”
“Also pass.”
“This one’s brown,” he said. “Like mud.”
“Better than blue.”
Finally, he said, “This one’s gray and it has pockets.”
“Pockets?”
“Two of them.”
“Sold!”
He helped her pick a cloak, then Seraphina went to search for undergarments and stockings. Her life had been miserable without stockings. They had been taken from her when she was arrested, then she hadn’t found any to steal.
“I think I found everything I need,” Rune said. “I’m going in that corner to change.”
She saw his shadow pointing at a corner at the other end of the shop, and she nodded at him.
This was her chance to change as well. She slipped out of her clothes, letting them pile up.
She kicked at the heap with her foot, as if it had offended her.
They were dirty and smelled foul, and she hated that she had no way of washing herself before putting on the new, soft garments.
She scratched at her skin for a few seconds, then sighed and forced herself not to think about it.
She got dressed and allowed herself to enjoy the feel of cotton and wool.
She inhaled deeply and thought she didn’t smell too bad given the circumstances.
“Gather your old clothes,” she said. “We’ll throw them in a ditch somewhere.”
They met again in the middle of the shop, and she heard Rune stop and stutter, as if the sight of her had taken him aback.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“In a sad, gray dress? I’ll take your word for it.” She felt her cheeks heat up. “I’m sure you look dashing, though.”
He chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t know...”
“I wish I could see you.”
The words were innocent enough, but she sensed Rune tense up.
She’d said the wrong thing again. In her defense, she knew him by his low, vibrating voice, by the poems he wrote, and the songs he’d sang to her, and by his kind gestures and promises of violence toward those who’d hurt her.
She also knew him by his fear of open spaces, and his self-loathing when he thought he’d disappointed her.
She didn’t think that someone who was so beautiful on the inside could be ugly on the outside.
To her, he wasn’t a creature. He was Rune. And she would’ve given anything to see him right now.
“It’s better that you can’t,” he murmured.
“I don’t care–”
“You would,” he cut her off.
“Do you care about my eyes?”
“No.”
“That’s because you’ve never seen me with my face uncovered.”
He reached out to her, and she saw the shape of his hand through the relic.
His long fingers were getting dangerously close to her face, and she forced herself to keep still and not pull back.
Was he going to remove her strip of fabric?
It was threadbare at this point. He could probably see the two voids of her empty eye sockets through it.
If he wanted to remove it, would she let him?
If she let him, would he allow her to run her hands over his face – properly, this time – and feel the true extent of his scars?
At the last moment, when his fingers brushed her cheek, she turned her head. He curled his fingers, hesitated for a few more seconds, then pulled away and cleared his throat.
“I found a scarf for you.”
He held it out to her, and she took it with trembling hands.
She wished she were braver, but she simply wasn’t.
Because if she didn’t care about how he looked – she truly didn’t, he could’ve been the most monstrous man alive – that was because she was a woman.
She knew women who were married to ugly men, disgusting and foul so many of them, and as long as the men were warm to them and provided for their families, their wives loved them.
It was in the nature of a woman to love and nurture and ask for little.
Kindness over beauty. Men were not like that.
A man, however despicable and unwashed, sporting a beer belly and garlic breath, would always want his woman to be a pretty thing to look at.
Not that Seraphina thought Rune to be that way. He was unlike any man she’d ever met or heard of. But this was not the time, nor the place. The night stretched before them, and they had one more thing to do.
She turned her back to him and undid the knot behind her head.
Quickly, she replaced the worn fabric with the silk scarf and fastened it, but she found she couldn’t bring herself to add the piece of torn shirt to her pile of discarded clothes.
It was dirty, but it was something Rune had given her, something that she’d worn for the past week.
It had kept her safe and hidden her shame from the world.
She wrapped it around her wrist as she picked up the clothes.
“Let’s get rid of these and find the cutler’s shop.”
“Let me.”
Rune took the heap from her arms and added it to his.
“And this,” he said, pulling at the strip she’d wanted to save.
“I’d like to keep it.”
“Why?” He sounded slightly bewildered.
Seraphina shrugged. “I just do.”