Chapter II.15
Chapter Fifteen
Two Years Before the Wedding
Miria had half expected that Adaline wouldn’t return to the woods, promised sword lessons or not, but she’d shown up around the same time every day for the past week, save for yesterday when her aunt and uncle had been entertaining guests.
“They had an archery competition set up for the boys, but of course I wasn’t allowed to participate,” Adaline was saying as she popped another raisin in her mouth.
“I had to spend the entire day with the ladies. I mean, it wasn’t all bad.
We sang and played piano, and I like that.
But then my grandmother brought out embroidery, and I was reminded how rubbish I am at it. ”
“You should have told her she’d be more impressed by your archery.” Miria smiled as she adjusted her grip on Adaline’s sword.
She’d led them to a clearing near a small stream.
Tall pines and firs surrounded them, and the ground beneath was carpeted in lush, fragrant needles.
It was a favorite spot of Miria’s. Between the scent of the trees and sweet trickling sound of the water, it felt almost otherworldly, though unlike some other spots in the woods, no magic had gone into its creation.
Adaline grinned. “I did say something like that, and you should have seen the look my mother gave me. It would have frozen molten steel. Here, pull your shoulder back a touch.”
Adaline’s hand was gentle on Miria’s arm, but that didn’t stop the prickling sensation on her neck or nervous flutter in Miria’s stomach.
The sensations were annoying and distracting, and they’d come more often over the last few days.
Miria would have thought they’d go away as she and Adaline became closer and grew more used to one other, but the opposite seemed to be happening.
Sometimes, she felt them just by thinking about her new friend.
“I don’t see why I’m supposed to be good at embroidery just because I’m a woman,” Adaline continued.
“I can sing, I can dance, speak three languages, and I can shoot straighter than half the men in my father’s guard.
Seems like that should be enough for any one person to be considered skilled.
There, that’s better. Now run through your forms.”
Adaline removed her hand from Miria’s arm, but the heat from her touch lingered.
Miria ignored it as she demonstrated the parry and block techniques Adaline had showed her.
The sword was lighter than she’d expected, but it grew heavy in her hands after too long.
Adaline had initially been surprised by how strong Miria was, but Miria supposed that was because Adaline didn’t spend much time with girls and women who were accustomed to manual labor.
Still, Miria didn’t have the proper muscles for swordsmanship since she’d never needed to use them that way before.
Miria ran through the exercises twice, then Adaline picked up her arms and repositioned her again.
Miria’s pulse picked up as well. She only half listened as Adaline maneuvered her body into positions that didn’t feel at all natural.
Adaline’s face was so close. Her cheeks were so smooth and pale, her lips so pink, and her eyes so kind.
They reminded her a bit of Yali’s eyes in that way, but only in that way.
How was Miria supposed to concentrate when someone like Adaline was touching her?
Clearly, that was the issue. Miria wasn’t used to touching anyone except her nana.
She wasn’t even used to talking to anyone for so long except her nana.
But Adaline could talk and talk, filling Miria’s head with stories of a life Miria could scarcely imagine—the capital in all its enormous glory, and dramas involving people who Miria would never meet but that made her laugh anyway.
After five days of conversation, Miria had learned more about what life was like for a woman of Adaline’s station that her previous eighteen years had ever taught her.
None of it affected her in the slightest, yet she hung on every word.
“It’s good I don’t need to rely on this thing,” Miria said after several more minutes. She dropped her arms and let the sword swing toward the ground.
Adaline was watching her with an intense expression, and Miria hoped she wasn’t offended by her less-than-careful consideration for the cherished weapon. But Adaline wasn’t looking at the sword, she realized. She was staring at Miria, and Miria shifted self-consciously.
She often wondered what Adaline truly thought of her, the feral woman living in the woods.
Of course, she hadn’t actually said she lived in the woods, but it had to be obvious.
Then there was the way Miria dressed. It wasn’t that Miria didn’t know how to dress the way a normal woman her age did—Yali had made certain of it—it was simply that she wasn’t used to it and didn’t care for the less practical clothing.
Nor did she own more than a single “town-ready” outfit (as her nana called them).
She had a proper shift and overdress, both of which she could alter with little glamour spells that required scant effort if she needed to, but Miria had worn those clothes twice and used magic on them once.
That had seemed more than enough. Adaline couldn’t seriously expect the sort of woman who wandered the woods by herself to own more clothing.
So rather than continue to wear her “good” outfit, by the fourth day Miria had decided to stick with her normal linen tunic and leggings.
They were less heavy, making them more comfortable in the heat, and easier to move about it in when practicing with a sword.
Besides, Adaline had already seen her dressed that way on the day they’d met.
But whether Adaline commented on Miria’s strange appearance or not (and so far, she’d opted for not, though how long her silence would last worried Miria), she’d definitely noticed.
This was not the first time Miria had felt Adaline’s gaze fall heavily on her, although the only words Adaline had ever spoken about it was to say it must be nice to have so much more freedom of movement.
When Miria had pointed out that Adaline’s clothes were much prettier, Adaline had laughed and twirled her skirts about, admitting that she did love a pretty dress.
That had led to her describing the glorious green silk her mother had bought to make Adaline a dress for her eldest sister’s upcoming wedding, and the matter of Miria’s clothes had been dropped.
Adaline jumped up and took the sword from Miria, their hands brushing a moment, then she stuck it in the sheath. “You would get better with practice, I promise.”
Miria made a noncommittal noise. “Like you and embroidery?”
Adaline let out a scream and clasped her hand over her heart. “How dare you! I thought you were a friend.”
“I’m just surprised you don’t like it.” Miria laughed. “It involves repeatedly stabbing fabric over and over with a pointy object.”
“Do not think my sister, Dagna, didn’t try to encourage me by using that same line.
It also involves something like visual artistry, however, which is a gift I do not seem to possess.
One of the few talents I appear to lack, that is.
I can’t be expected to be perfect at everything.
” She flung her braid over her shoulder.
“It would be unfair to the rest of us if you were good at everything.”
“Precisely.” Adaline stuck her hands on her hips. “Embroidery is my sacrifice for the sake of every other lady’s pride. But since we’ve discussed my faults, I demand to know what yours are.”
“I think mine are clear—I will never win a swordfight.”
Adaline scowled through her laugh. “I set you up for that easy answer, didn’t I? Fine. What are your talents?”
“My talents?” Miria’s brain raced, searching for a way to deflect and alter the direction of the conversation.
“Talents,” Adaline said, undeterred. “And do not say foraging for mushrooms or I will challenge you to that swordfight.”
“Harsh.” Miria spun around, seeking inspiration, something she could say that was neither a lie nor the truth.
A tiny, reckless corner of her heart toyed with the idea of saying “magic,” partly to see Adaline’s reaction and partly so she could stop hiding her true self (such behavior didn’t seem conducive to friendship), but Miria knew better.
Adaline might tolerate her being strange, given that Adaline was a bit strange for a lady herself, but witches were something else.
“The forest,” Miria said at last. “My talent is knowing the woods. I can identify every bird call and every tree, every leaf. I know where the best wild berries grow, how to beckon the fish to my traps, and I could find my way through these woods if you blindfolded me.”
Magic, naturally, helped with all of that, but even without it, Miria knew these woods better than anyone save Nana. Her answer was true enough.
Adaline was uncharacteristically silent a moment, seeming to contemplate this response.
Then she nodded slowly. “That’s a good talent, useful.
Is that how you’ve managed to stay hidden in the woods so long?
I mean, not that I think you’re hiding, but you’ve never told me you live in town or what you do or anything really.
I swear, I don’t think you’re a fugitive.
Unless you are and want to tell me a secret?
I won’t tell anyone. I read a story once about a group of thieves living in the woods much to the north of here.
They were led by a knight who was wrongfully accused of some great crime by the crown, and they would rob the rich travelers passing through and give the money to the poor, until he fell in love with a noblewoman, and …
” She paused for breath. “Have you heard that one?”