Thirty-Eight
LYTHIA LED THE FOUR OF THEM BACK THROUGH THE TREES TO THE River of Dreams, a branch of the River of Oaths that ran directly through Losrohiria.
The most beautiful ship Thia had ever seen waited in the water, anchored to nothing, yet holding remarkably still where it sat along a dock made of dew.
The hull itself was woven from branches sprouting leaves so green Thia wondered if they were still alive, and the sail was a lattice of flowers and vines braided tightly together to catch the wind.
“For your journey,” Lythia said, leading them aboard. She raised a hand, and the sail filled with a light breeze.
The Mirror of Souls, she explained as the ship crawled into motion, was a lake at the heart of Losrohiria. In its center was an island upon which, if travelers slept, they would have “true dreams.”
Dess leaned against the rail, facing the river. “What kind of true dreams?”
The question Thia would have asked, if she hadn’t been so distracted by Oskaren’s hand brushing the small of her back as she swayed forward with the ship’s motion.
She wanted to turn and face her, to make sure she was okay, to thank her for sharing her story, but felt trapped with the others around, in light of the girl’s request.
Lythia shrugged. The gesture was awkward, like she was imitating human body language for their sake. “That is for the Mirror to decide,” she said vaguely.
Thankfully, it was not a long sail to the lake. Lulled by the gentle motion, the strangeness of the night finally caught up to Thia, and she found herself yawning. She guessed it had to be near dawn, though the sky had yet to lighten as they exited the river for the Mirror of Souls.
The island was tiny. At first Thia thought it was the distance.
But as they crossed the lake, Lythia directing the ship to dock, Thia realized it was truly only the size of a basketball court or so.
It was covered in smooth grass, floral tents marking each corner, four in total, their frames made of wood similar to that which structured their ship, with hanging vines for walls.
Thia wondered if there were always four, or if they had been constructed just for their group. The island was barren of anything else.
Lythia exited the ship first, followed by Dess and Thran. Oskaren went ahead of Thia, her long legs handling the gap between ship and dock with ease. She held out a hand, which Thia took gratefully, allowing herself to be guided down and secured by two firm hands on her elbows.
“This is where I leave you,” Lythia said. “The ship will sail itself. You need only tell it where to go.” She took them in one after the other to make sure they understood. “May the Mirror make what must be known Known. And may the fortune of Fair Havens go with you.” She bowed.
Following Oskaren’s lead, Thia did the same, making the sign from shoulder to hip again. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “For everything.”
Lythia nodded solemnly, her voice ringing suddenly in Thia’s mind. I think we shall meet again, Storm Crow. Then she turned, before Thia could respond. Raising an arm, lily pads rose out of the lake, and she crossed them like stepping stones. Then she was gone, disappearing into the trees.
“To sleep?” Thran asked.
Dess yawned. “Definitely.”
Thia could feel Oskaren’s eyes on her. She wanted to say something, or to give a more ceremonious goodnight than this, but under the others’ scrutiny she felt awkward.
So she settled on a brief hug that felt both too intimate and too dismissive, and let the others choose their tents first. When only the far one remained, Thia set out across the island, giving one last look over her shoulder at Oskaren as she went.
Inside, she was greeted by a luxurious four-poster bed, also crafted from branches and vines, and piled high with blankets softer than any material she had ever felt.
There was a bath across from it; she poked the water with a tentative finger and found it hot.
The air was different too: a warmer, sleepier temperature than the brisk night outside.
Her pack had been left at the foot of the bed, along with her travel clothes, and beside that was a small table laid with a bowl of fruit and a loaf of bread.
A nightgown of the same spider silk was folded on the pillow.
She slipped off her festival gown and climbed into the bath, sighing with relief as she was finally able to wash off the mound of sweat that had dried in a salty layer from days of travel and her wild dance.
To her relief, the paint came off with ease as well.
Once she was clean, she emerged and pulled on the nightgown, sighing with delight as the material caressed her skin.
Then she shifted her pack and her spare clothes to the floor and burrowed into the blankets.
It was heaven. She should have been asleep instantly, tired as she was, and so, so comfortable. But every time she shut her eyes, she thought of Oskaren. She didn’t want to leave their conversation so unfinished, not after everything the girl had told her.
But what if she wanted to be alone? If she wanted Thia’s company, surely she would have come to find it herself.
On the other hand, what if she was in her own bed, feeling the same, embarrassed by everything she’d shared?
Moving before she could overthink it, Thia kicked off her blankets and exited her tent, casting a quick scan across the island to make sure the others weren’t about.
Then she hastened as quietly as possible to where she knew Oskaren slept.
She had just reached a hand for the vines of Oskaren’s tent when she stopped, suddenly second-guessing the decision.
Oskaren’s face appeared between the flowers, flushed.
Her hair was damp from what likely was a recent bath of her own, loose around her chin, making her seem altogether more rugged and vulnerable.
Her brow lifted as she registered Thia’s presence, then she shook her head, grinning, and pulled Thia into the shelter of the vines.
“Um,” Thia started, trying and failing to come up with a good response. “I came to see if you were okay,” she said honestly. It felt stupid now, seeing Oskaren clean and confident in the soft flower-glow. She was fine. She’d needed a cry, sure. She hadn’t needed Thia.
Oskaren’s mirth dissipated. “Ah.”
“A-and to thank you,” Thia added. “For trusting me.”
“I see.”
Oh god. She’d already ruined it. But she forced herself to finish. “I’m…honored.”
Oskaren said nothing.
Thia wished Lythia would come back and make the vines smother her. “Okay, I’ll leave you to sleep then—” she started, just as Oskaren said, “Would you like to sit?”
Thia expelled a breath. “Yes.” She resisted the urge to nervously smooth her hair. “Yes, I’d like that.” She waited for Oskaren to move to the bed, then followed suit, perching a little stiffly on the opposite end. “So…are you?” Thia asked, when silence lapsed.
Oskaren ran a hand through her damp locks. “Am I what?”
Thia gulped. “Okay?” Why was this so hard? It had been so easy in the glade, with the music all around them.
“No,” came the short reply, and Thia felt it like a knife.
“I’m so sorry, I never meant—”
Oskaren cut her off. “Thia. Stop. I’m not okay because I’m not okay. Not because of you.”
“Oh.”
She gave that same half-smile. “I’m glad you’re here. That I…” Her eyes skimmed Thia, then fixed on the blanket between them. “I’m glad I told you.”
“Good.” Thia exhaled. She studied the girl, the tightness of her fingers as they nervously wrapped around each other, the slope of her shoulders. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know,” came the hesitant response.
“Do you want me to go?”
The reply came quicker. “Definitely not.”
Thia’s chest warmed. “I could tell you something about me.” Not that Thia had experienced anything similar, but she understood the vulnerability hangover she got when she felt she’d overshared.
“Please,” Oskaren said.
The heat in Thia’s chest spread further as she tucked her legs up onto the bed, considering.
Oskaren, in turn, lifted her own up and over Thia, then rolled so she was lying on the far side, staring up at the tent from her back.
Then she patted the space beside her, indicating Thia should do the same.
Tentatively, Thia mirrored her. They were still several feet apart, but Oskaren’s hand lay in the space between them. Thia could reach out and grab it if she wanted.
She put that thought out of her head and decided what to share.
“My best friend’s name is Riley. He’s g—Vanari,” she corrected herself, remembering Thran’s word.
“Like me.” She didn’t think Oskaren could possibly be surprised by this news, but stating it outright, letting it hang in the air, sent her heart skittering.
It still wasn’t easy, no matter how many times she voiced it, though thankfully her grammy had only ever been full of love.
Oskaren stayed quiet, but she rolled to face Thia, propping a head up on her elbow, expression soft.
Thia took courage from that and plowed forward.
“Where I’m from—it’s not always accepted.
Not by everyone, anyway. When I started school, I had this best friend called Stacey.
At lunch one day, all the girls were picking which boy in the class they’d marry, and I said I’d pick Stacey.
I was too young to understand much, I just knew that she was my friend and I loved her, and you were supposed to marry someone you loved.
“One of the other girls called me—well, not a nice word, but then again, I was also too young to understand that. She told me not to sit with them. I thought she was joking at first, but then Stacey started crying, told me not to say things like that, or we’d get in trouble.
So I started crying as well, and walked away to eat under a slide by myself. And that’s where I met Riley.”
She didn’t know if Oskaren knew what a slide was, but she didn’t interrupt, just listened with rapt attention.