33 Maerryl
MAERRYL
Pass me those spoons? I’ll dry while you wash.”
Dove’s voice at my shoulder made me jump a bit in the air.
I’d been lost in thought, standing at the priory’s large kitchen sink as I cleaned a pile of utensils from the evening’s meal, a simple but nourishing squash stew.
Her hand touched my shoulder lightly, for the briefest of seconds, as if to calm me, and my skin burned through the shirt’s fabric at this small contact.
I carefully dropped the pile of clean, rinsed spoons on a towel in front of her, and we stood side by side in silence, working.
We’d been doing a lot of that over the last couple of weeks as we made our way through the priory’s rooms, grounds—and yes, the stables—cleaning wherever Prioress the Elder, or sometimes the elusive Prioress the Younger, sent us for the day.
Most of it in silence, scrubbing or mopping our way through a space.
Dove was unusually quiet, with her thoughtful face on—whenever her disgusted ugh, this is my personal nightmare face wasn’t on while we cleaned something particularly dirty—and I didn’t want to push her.
We’d had one intense, long conversation on the third day here, when she’d asked me to tell her everything, from the moment I’d been given the assignment as her fake bodyguard, and I’d obliged.
As painful as it was at times, explaining it all to her felt good.
Like lancing a blister that had been causing constant, frustrating irritation.
It didn’t make me feel better about myself—the opposite, in fact—but I was lighter than I’d been in weeks, knowing that there were no secrets between us anymore.
I’d laid everything bare in front of Dove, and all I could do now was wait to see what she thought.
In the past few days, it almost seemed sometimes like she…
no, I didn’t want to jinx it. I was reading too much into tiny things—a small half smile when I made an offhand joke; a tap on my hand to request the broom I held; a lingering look down the priory’s full trestle table tonight, her eyes thoughtful, weighted.
We’d been spending a good amount of time with the orphans too, when we had spare hours in the evening after supper.
They adored Dove—she’d won them all over by now, of course, even that rambunctious class clown—and she lit up whenever she was with them.
Teaching a painting technique, admiring their latest scribbles, drying tears, or making them laugh; she seemed so happy, so content whenever we were with the children.
I could easily see her opening an orphanage like she’d mentioned.
… Though I didn’t know if I was a part of that picture for her anymore.
I shook my arms out, trying to let some of my worried nerves go and refocus on wiping the last few spoons clean.
I never thought I’d be grateful for the distraction of washing silverware.
Being this close to Dove, smelling her sweet, light perfume and not being able to touch her or even look at her properly had me acting like a kid with a crush.
This was agony, but at least it was better than the alternative—I had no idea what would happen when our time at the priory was up.
I’d already brought the moonstone to Zephyra yesterday as planned.
Just to be safe, Dove hadn’t accompanied me.
And as nervous as I was going back into her office, the tiefling guildmaster seemed pleased that I’d held up my end of the bargain.
Very pleased. Her golden eyes had lit up when she opened the little wooden box containing the enchanted stone, and she’d dismissed me quickly.
I hadn’t wasted any time hustling out of there.
Thankfully, it seemed our business with the Takers Guild was successfully concluded.
Now, we only remained at the priory because of one thing—Balfie.
If I were a better person, I’d have tried to encourage Dove to return home to her manor.
Her two weeks of service to the goddess were up, ties to the guild broken, and she’d done everything she could for my brother as well.
Mx. Bottlecoat had been a frequent visitor to the priory these past weeks.
Together, they and Dove had completed the land sale; it went quickly to a friendly neighboring noble, thanks to the solicitor’s efforts and Dove’s charm.
With the gold in hand, Dove had insisted that I write immediately to my contact, the mage across the sea, asking that he try and source the cure this time now that we could pay him back in full, immediately.
Though I felt incredibly guilty taking her coin, after everything we’d been through, I did it—there was no other option for Balfie.
This was more important than my personal feelings.
And she demanded it, even going so far as to put the quill in my hand and glare at me, fists on hips, until I started writing.
But we still haven’t gotten a reply, either the priory or I, to our letters.
These days, when I wasn’t cleaning with Dove, I spent most of my time in the priory’s infirmary with my brother, anxiety slowly ratcheting to an all-time high.
He seemed paler and thinner each time I saw him lately.
I didn’t know how much time he, or I, had left under the spell.
I snuck another glance at Dove now. Her face, even when pinched in annoyance at me, always brought me comfort. At this moment, she seemed as lost in thought as I’d been earlier before she joined me at the sink, eyebrows furrowed. Was she worrying about Balfie? About me?
Not paying attention, the serving spoon I was absently scrubbing slipped from my grasp, and plopped in the sink, splashing sudsy water up.
“Owww, fuck!” Some of the soapy water had gotten in my left eye, dripping down from my forehead.
“Ahh, dammit, that burns!” Frantically, I pawed instinctively at my eye and—oww, of course, I just managed to spread more soap in from my wet hands.
Eyes closed tightly from the sting, I fumbled for a towel, my shirt, anything.
Dove’s warm hands—I could recognize the feel of them anywhere—stilled mine and pushed them down gently. I froze.
“Here, let me,” she said quietly.
I felt the coolness of a damp, clean cloth upon my eyelids.
As she softly wiped the suds away, drying my skin with a corner, I blinked my eyes open.
She was so close. Her face just a foot away—I barely let myself breathe.
This was the nearest we’d been since the night of the heist, and I took in every detail as quickly as I could.
Her ever-present, lovely scent, stronger now this close to me.
The full, lush lips that I had to tear my gaze away from.
That hint of blush spreading across each cheek—it took everything in me to not brush my thumbs over them.
I knew exactly how satiny smooth, how wonderful they would feel.
The touch of Dove’s cloth on me slowed, then stilled. Without permission, my head nuzzled lightly against her hand. I tried to hold myself back. Stop. She doesn’t want you anymore. Not like that.
My eyes rose, meeting hers. She gazed back at me steadily, carefully.
I couldn’t tell exactly what she was thinking, not by a long shot.
But Dove’s eyes held something that lifted my heart, sending my pulse scattering.
Humor, certainly, at my soapy predicament and stinging retina.
But affection too. A sincere, open affection that lit up her warm brown eyes, looking at me the way she used to.
Before. Her lips parted, she took a breath to speak—
“Maerryl! Dove!” The kitchen door slammed open. Dove’s hand fell away. Orinno, looking unusually flushed and breathing as if he’d run here, stood bracing himself in the doorway. “Come quick to the infirmary, hurry!”
Dove and I looked at each other in alarm, but Orinno let out a laugh. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just come!”
With that, he turned and headed off quickly.
Drying our hands on our clothes as we went, Dove and I followed him, her half running sometimes to keep up with us at her shorter five-foot-three pace.
We all arrived at the infirmary slightly sweaty and breathing heavily.
I rushed over to Balfie’s bed and pulled up short—a man sitting atop a large traveler’s chest leaned next to my brother, head bent.
Hearing our noisy arrival, he stood and turned.
Bastion Sling.
After all these past days of worry, assuming the worst—that our messenger birds hadn’t arrived, that he’d been imprisoned, or his ship sunk on the journey over, or worse—and here, suddenly, was Bastion.
As haphazardly handsome as always, perched on top of his ever-present trunk that had seen better days. He’d made it.
We barreled together in a hug, clutching each other tightly.
After a moment, I pulled back, introducing him to Dove and asking about his health, his journey, anything to keep myself from inquiring about the one thing I most desperately wanted to know.
Now that we were here, the hope was almost crushing.
I avoided looking at Balfie, focusing instead on Bastion Sling’s comfortingly familiar face—though it seemed to have acquired a couple more scars here and there since the last time we’d seen each other. What had he gotten into lately?
Dove and I pulled over some more chairs, and Orinno brewed us all a pot of strong black tea, served alongside some cinnamon cloud biscuits that Choia had sent over from the manor earlier. Finally, Bastion told us what we’d been waiting on tenterhooks to hear.
“I got it. A good big chunk of the crystal. But Maerryl, I’m sorry—I still don’t think it’s enough.” His sad eyes caught mine as he sighed heavily.
My heart plummeted into my stomach.