21 Dove
DOVE
The dark ink crawled up the right side of Maerryl’s neck, jagged runes indecipherable to me.
I’d noticed the tattoo before, a flash here or there when her hair slipped away, revealing it for a moment.
She always seemed to turn away or cover it up, unconsciously protecting it from view.
This was the first time I’d gotten a proper look at it.
Reddish-black and strangely ominous, the ink was thick.
It almost seemed to move, ever so slowly, as I watched, like shifting, blood-tinged oil.
Alive. Nothing like the runic tattoos I’d seen all my life, common in Kurriel—partner bonds around forefingers, healing runes for chronic ailments, pregnancy and disease wards on abdomens.
Those were simple, thin lines. A clean black ink in basic runes that most reputable, trained mages of the realm could do in their sleep.
But this—this felt wrong. A contorted blemish on her skin, harsh and strange.
Maerryl stiffened under my touch. I moved to pull my hand away, but she stopped me, holding it against her neck.
“This…” she said, swallowing before she continued, “This is a promise.”
I looked at her questioningly, and she sighed. “A promise I made long ago, and I intend to keep.”
“To someone you love?” I asked.
“Yes. My family,” she whispered. A quicksilver flash of sorrow moved across her face, gone in half a moment. My chest clenched.
“Are they… where are they now?”
“Gone,” she said. “They died in a sickness years ago. Most of my village did.”
My heart plummeted. “Oh, Maerryl. I’m so sorry.” I took her hand, and she let me.
Her hand shook in my grasp, clammy. Maerryl squeezed her eyes shut, breath coming short and shaky. Oh dear. I’d never seen her like this before—never seen her show any kind of weakness. But her shakes were now traveling up from her hand, through her arm, chest shuddering.
Gripping her hand tighter, I said, “Maerryl. You’re alright. Just breathe.”
It was as if she didn’t hear me, couldn’t, and I tried not to panic myself.
That wouldn’t do at all. Looking around us frantically, I remembered her affection for the gardens, the plants on the estate’s grounds.
I grabbed a nearby azalea stem, tugging it firmly off the bush and wrapping Maerryl’s other hand around the soft leaves.
“Here, feel this?” I said, rubbing her arm slowly. “Can you smell the flowers too?”
Gradually, her grip closed around the stem, thumb brushing against a green leaf. Her breathing began to even out, and I let out my own. I brushed brown hair away from her face, concern churning in my chest. And something like tenderness.
Maerryl held the blooms up to her nose and inhaled, letting out a shaky sigh.
The sweet, light scent filled my nose too, we were so close together.
She turned to me and pressed her forehead against mine.
I felt her thanks, and her sadness, without any words.
We stayed there for a long time, the blotchy flush leaving her skin, breathing slowing to normal. I just held her.
After a while, she pulled back a bit, gripping the plant and my hand as she quietly spoke.
“I’d been away for a few months, training with a horticulturist across the country—that’s what I hoped do before, if you can believe it,” she said with a humorless laugh.
“I’d gone far away for my training. Felt like an adventure.
“The sickness was quick, at least. That’s what they told me, the handful that survived.
A few days. Then—they were gone. No time to send and receive help from the capital.
The closest town turned our villagers away.
I returned home from my trip so happy, invigorated for the future.
Excited to see my clan again after many months apart. ”
I held myself very still. Maerryl’s voice was flat, gaze staring up into the sky. “It was so quiet when I reached the hill that overlooked our village. Eerily quiet. And they were gone. My family was gone.”
A tear dripped from my cheek onto her arm, then another.
She squeezed my hand again as if for comfort.
I had so many more questions, but I didn’t want to push her.
This already felt huge and heavy—a shifting, an opening up between us.
We stayed together on the blanket, hands linked, the soothing scent of azaleas around us.
Eventually, we sat up. Ate the rest of our picnic and talked of other things.
I didn’t tease, and I didn’t try to make her laugh.
But we stayed together, enjoying the food and quiet and time spent in a beautiful garden on a beautiful fall day.
As the sun moved from its peak in the sky and afternoon drew on, it got chillier.
I didn’t want to be the one to admit it was too cold—she’d teased me earlier about the impracticality of my silk dress and light cashmere sweater, but it was too cute not to wear!
—though Maerryl quickly noticed me shivering and packed up the picnic, bustling us inside.
It wasn’t until later, resting alone in my rooms, that I realized she’d never truly explained the meaning of her runic tattoo.
The next day dawned cloudy and crisp. I ate a breakfast of ham-and-leek quiche that Choia made special for me.
I’d filled her in on every detail of my first art class, of course, the evening after Mother and Father left for Talon—the children’s antics and adorable silliness, Orinno’s kindness, the simple beauty of the priory and its strange ways.
She seemed pleased that I’d committed to volunteering there, and had even given me one of her warm, bread-scented hugs that I loved dearly.
She loved hearing about how each class went as I helped her prepare supper in the evenings, and it made me inordinately happy to see her proud of something I did.
If any doubt remained about if this was worth the risk, it dissolved at the smile that my old friend gave me as she plopped a wrapped package of delicious-smelling treats on the table at breakfast.
“For the kiddos,” she said, chucking my chin fondly. “My special berry-cocoa cookies, a double batch.”
“Thank you, Choia! Such a kind thought. They’ll love these!
” I grinned back. Holding the package close to my nose, I inhaled the rich scents of chocolate and fruity goodness.
Maerryl, sitting next to me at the dining table, reached over to try and sneak a cookie from an opening on the side.
Choia slapped her hand away lightly, pointing one of her long, spindly fingers in the other woman’s face.
“No cookies before breakfast, missy! You finish that quiche and your pear too, and then you can have one—ONE!—of these on your ride out to the priory.”
Maerryl, hardly cowed, knew when to keep her mouth shut. Eyes sparkling, she nodded seriously and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. You need protein to keep all those big muscles strong and healthy. Eh, Dove? Doesn’t she?” Choia nudged me, giving me a big too-knowing look before she squeezed Maerryl’s upper arm and crowed. “Oh my, you are a sturdy thing, aren’t you! Dove needs someone like that—good, good.”
I groaned. Hustling the tiny gnome away from Maerryl and toward the door, I said, “Arghh, Choia, stoppp. I think something’s burning in the kitchen; you should go check.”
We could hear her cackling all the way down the hall. I plopped back in my seat, cheeks blazing, and took a heavy swig of my tangerine juice. Maerryl just chuckled, sliding a hand up my leg under the table. The blazing sensation jumped to my thigh, tingling where she touched.
“I think she likes me,” Maerryl said.
I rolled my eyes. “She’s shameless. I haven’t said a word about—well, this, whatever this is—” I gestured between us, and Maerryl’s hand slid an inch higher. “But Choia always knows, somehow. She’s been with us since I was a child. Probably knows me better than my own parents.”
“You care for her,” she said, dutifully forking up her quiche as instructed.
“I do, yes. We’ve been through a lot together,” I said.
The door creaked open, and Petra poked her head in. Under the table, Maerryl’s hand slipped surreptitiously away from my thigh.
“Petra!” I exclaimed. “Join us! You adore this ham-and-leek quiche. We saved you a big slice.” The maid entered but hovered by the door, playing with the end of her wheat-blond braid.
“Oh, I’m not sure—” she said, looking from Maerryl to me and back again. “I’ll have some later. I just came to pass on the message that your horses are ready, and you might want to head out soon, Dove. It’s getting on to ten o’clock.”
“Oh, drat! Thank you, you’re right.” I wiped my fingers and mouth with a linen napkin, jumped up, and grabbed Choia’s parcel.
Slipping a cookie out, I handed it to Petra on my way and gave her a quick hug.
These past few days, I felt lighter than I had in years.
And I was so lucky to have a dependable friend like her.
“Thank you,” she said with a soft smile, though her hug felt stiff.
I took a closer look at her dear face. Light shadows hung under her blue eyes, and there was a new tenseness to her shoulders.
“Petra, are you alright? You seem…”
She laughed, but it sounded off. “Oh yes, just had a bad night’s sleep,” she said.
“Alright, well, please take some time to rest today. Tell Hanc I said for him to do some of your work.” Impulsively, I folded her into another hug.
After a moment, her arms came up around me too, relaxing into it.
“You and I must spend some time together later, yes? Have a good gossip session with tea?”
“I’d like that.” Pulling back from my hug, she said, “Have fun with the orphans today. I’ll take care of everything here.”