Chapter 10 #2
He spent quite a bit of time on the couch beside her, and she watched as he sketched, the sure and steady way his fingers moved. More often than not, he would get frustrated and crumple up the pages.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked, after two days of sketches going straight to the fire.
‘No, no,’ he sighed. ‘You focus on resting.’
While he continued to fuss, he didn’t take it too far, which she appreciated.
His anxiety ebbed after the fever broke, and though he was quick to bring her whatever she needed—water, fruit, a book to read, biscuits to nibble on—he didn’t stop her from moving around herself, which she appreciated.
Whenever she’d fallen ill at the castle, she hadn’t been allowed out of bed for almost a fortnight, even if she was doing better, and it had always felt so stifling.
Winnie came to visit when she heard Sonya was sick, and the girls went up to Sonya’s room.
‘A Mirabel Summer book from the shop, on loan, and dumpling soup from my mother,’ Winnie said, pulling items out of her bag. ‘Have the soup first, while it’s still hot.’
Winnie lived close enough that the soup was still steaming, and when Sonya had some, it was the perfect remedy: hot and spicy, with a strong bite of ginger and nutty sesame seeds in the broth. She felt warmed all the way through.
‘This is delicious,’ she said, talking around a mouthful of dumplings. ‘Is your mother a kitchen-witch?’
Winnie laughed. ‘No, just a good cook. She’s always trying to get me to learn her secrets.’
Sonya smiled and, after finishing the soup, they read a bit of the book together, before Winnie looked around her room. She spotted the stack of books on the dresser and read through the titles.
‘Did you buy these from the shop?’ Winnie asked, confused. ‘Was I not there that day?’
‘No,’ Sonya said, lips tilting into an easy smile. ‘Azam gave them to me.’
‘Oh.’ Winnie smiled, jumping back onto the bed. Thank goodness the soup was done, or it certainly would have splattered. Winnie picked up the empty dish and put it on the side table, then pulled her legs up, smiling at Sonya.
‘What?’ Sonya asked.
‘Nothing. That’s just so sweet of Azam.’
‘He’s a sweet guy.’
‘Yes, he is,’ Winnie agreed, ‘though particularly with you, it seems.’ Sonya’s heartbeat quickened as Winnie continued, ‘I heard he’s reopening Bunto’s shop.
You know, people in the Outskirts have been after him to do that ever since he closed the place, but he never entertained the thought. Not until you suggested it, that is.’
‘I don’t understand your meaning,’ Sonya said, brow furrowed. She felt there was something she was missing, something she would have known if she had gone to school and had friends her own age. But she hadn’t.
‘You don’t find it curious?’ Winnie asked. ‘And he took you in so easily …’
‘Because he is kind,’ Sonya said. ‘I’m sure he would do the same for anyone in need.’
‘He is kind,’ Winnie said. ‘He always has been. Even in school, Azam was the sweetest. More than a few village girls have their eyes set on him.’
Irritation cut through her, and Sonya frowned.
Winnie looked amused. ‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about in that regard,’ she said. ‘I think he likes you.’
Sonya gasped. Her gaze jumped to the door, hoping nobody had heard.
Winnie giggled deviously.
‘You’re wrong,’ Sonya said, shaking her head. ‘He can’t—I don’t … It makes … What—’
She didn’t know what to say. Everything was so jumbled in her mind.
Her heart was beating too quickly. She didn’t know what she felt or how to decipher it; it felt like trying to read a book in a language she didn’t understand.
She felt faint, but she was prone to fainting, so she wasn’t sure what that meant, either.
Winnie seemed to understand perfectly. She clapped her hands. ‘This is exciting!’
‘No, it’s horrible!’ Sonya said, falling back onto her pillows. Even so, a thrill shot through her—the kind of feeling that was both wonderful and absolutely terrifying.
More than her confusion, Sonya reminded herself that despite how close she felt to him, she didn’t know Azam that well at all, not truly.
And he certainly didn’t know the real her.
‘We’re better off as friends,’ Sonya said. She knew that, and yet, saying the words out loud still disappointed her.
‘Boo, you’re boring,’ Winnie said, hugging a spare pillow to her chest.
Sonya gave her a look. ‘And what about you, hm?’
Winnie furrowed her brow. ‘What about me?’
‘You get this look on your face,’ Sonya said, ‘whenever Enzo is around.’ Winnie scoffed, eyes sparkling. ‘See! That’s what I’m talking about!’
‘My evident disgust?’ Winnie asked.
Sonya laughed. ‘The sparkle in your eyes.’
‘My eyes are naturally sparkly, darling,’ Winnie said, cracking a smile. They both laughed, and guilt needled through Sonya. She wanted Winnie to know the truth, but she didn’t know how to tell her, either.
Winnie stayed for a bit longer before heading home, and then Sonya fell asleep in the great heap of pillows and blankets Azam had brought to her bed.
When she woke hours later, it was deep in the night.
She got out of bed, wanting to stretch her legs, and went to the bathroom.
On her way back, she noticed the light was on in Azam’s room.
Curious, she went over, knocking gently. She wondered if he’d forgotten to blow the candle out, but then she heard his voice call lightly, ‘Come in.’
Opening the door, she entered to find Azam sitting on the floor, papers all around him. She caught glimpses of frenzied sketches, and bunched up scraps, and then his mother’s old sample books.
‘Goodness,’ she said, taking it all in.
‘I know.’ He sighed, looking around him.
‘May I join you?’ she asked.
‘Please,’ Azam said. He moved some papers aside so she could sit beside him on the rug.
She looked around, moving some papers; many of the sketches were only half finished and messy. He had been keeping his sketchbook very close, not divulging the designs to anybody. She had only ever caught glimpses, and that was usually before the sketch made its way into the fire.
‘These are my mother’s,’ he said, showing Sonya Bunto’s sketchbook. Those, of course, were perfectly neat and also very beautiful. ‘I want to keep a similar style, while also making the designs my own.’
‘Hmm.’ Sonya made a thoughtful sound, looking around. She shuffled the pages, choosing the ones she liked most.
‘These are all lovely,’ she said, showing him her final pile. She flipped to one in particular; it was baby pink with little pearls on the bodice. ‘I love this one best,’ she said, a small smile tilting her lips. ‘Pearl work is always so beautiful, and it reminds me of my mother’s bridal outfit.’
Azam looked up at her, expression soft. She shook her head; she probably shouldn’t have said that. People had seen portraits of the king and queen’s wedding.
‘Anyway,’ she said, clearing her throat as she flipped to another design. ‘These are stunning. I would wear any of them in a heartbeat.’
He looked at her again, more intently this time, and an idea seemed to click into place. ‘That’s it!’ he said. ‘I need a muse!’
She furrowed her brow. ‘A muse?’
‘A source of inspiration, a reference point …’ He trailed off, his gaze intent. ‘Sonya,’ he said, and the way he said her name made her catch her breath. ‘Will you be my muse?’
Her pulse quickened, and she clutched her wrist, trying to hold herself steady. His eyes tracked the movement, his lips parting. He met her gaze once more, and heat poured over her.
‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Yes, I will be your muse.’