Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Halithe laughed, since she knew he hated what he called “fungus.” She darted over to the nursery door, which was standing ajar. “Dayva?” she asked quietly, sticking her head in. “Are you free? Can you come with us?”
Dayva was seated in a sunny spot by the window, her lap covered in fabric and thread. She shook her head regretfully. “Herself and Rosalind took the babes, but I want to practice this new knotted stitch,” she said. “It’s really pretty, but it’s really hard, but I want to get it right.”
She grinned at Halithe. “But I love mushrooms,” she added.
Halithe laughed, closed the door and skipped for the stairs, running down in delight until her steps slowed and she stood for a moment, thinking.
She walked back up, slowly, reluctantly, until she entered the office.
Ritathan looked up, eyebrows raised.
“Was this what you meant,” Halithe asked, not really wanting to know the answer. “When you said that magic requires sacrifice?”
“Yes,” Ritathan said simply. “Yes, it was.”
Halithe stood there, looking over his shoulder at the sun on the trees, disappointment and resentment washing over her. She really didn’t want to sit and stare at a candle. She wanted to run and laugh, and be with her friends and—
“It’s odd,” Ritathan said in his “papa” voice. “Everyone thinks of sacrifice as something grand and noble. But in truth, it is the daily decisions that make the difference.”
“Aren’t you going to scold me for not practicing?” she asked, her mouth dry, almost hoping he would make the decision for her.
“No,” her Papa said. “Remember, this is your choice and I won’t condemn you for making your own choices. The decisions are yours, as are the consequences.” His eyes were kind, but his gaze drilled into her.
Halithe slumped against the door jam. She knew what she wanted.
Didn’t she?
“The pursuit of magic requires intense focus,” Ritathan said. “Hours of concentration and dedication to the craft.”
“That doesn’t leave much room for anything else,” she grumbled.
“You can’t have everything in this life, apprentice,” Ritathan said as he rose. “Come. They will gather for the meeting soon, and I’d rather not remind Jerrold of my presence. I will go see if Aramal needs help in the workshop.”
Halithe heaved a sigh. As Ritathan moved past her, he paused and placed a kiss on her forehead.
Mulishly, she stuck out her lower lip. “I’ll practice later,” she muttered.
“Welcome to the hard part of having to make choices, and then living with the consequences.” Ritathan released her and headed down the hall toward the stairs. “I am also not saying it’s either/or. I do want you to make conscious decisions and not drift. Or regret.” He started down the stairs.
“Like you regret?” she asked after him, conscious of the spite in her voice. “About Aramal?”
He stopped but didn’t turn. “Yes,” he said, and then continued down, as if she hadn’t hurt him. But she had, she knew she had, and she shouldn’t lash out, but it wasn’t fair.
“It gets easier, right?” she asked as she followed him, dragging her feet.
“No. Not really.” He didn’t turn as he entered the kitchen.
From out in the courtyard, Yfin called to her. “Leeda, you coming?”
She hesitated, conflicted, but the sun was streaming through the windows and the air was crisp and she could hear the voices of her friends.
“Coming,” she called, feeling defiant and guilty. Then she ran out the door and into the sunlight.
The days that followed were filled with fishing, hunting, and sewing, laughter and teasing, and falling into bed exhausted and happy. Her muscles ached, her nails were broken, her elbows were rough, her skin was tanned, and no one—no one—mentioned her ankles.
Halithe had her lesson with Papa every morning, and for a quarter of an hour he would explain the concepts and ways of using the power. Then it was classes with Hisself and chores and history, and somehow she rarely found the time to practice.
Mistakes, she made so many mistakes, from burning bread to sewing crooked seams. But there were no cutting remarks, no carping. Yes, her mistakes were corrected, but not dwelt on.
Every night, she’d snuggle down, catch a glimpse of the stars out the window, and pull out her spoon for a few moments of scrying.
Always seeking Caris.
She’d hold her breath, and focus, whispering her will, and a wavy picture would form, of her brown-eyed, auburn-haired…goddess. So beautiful, so graceful, every movement perfection. Halithe’s heart would beat faster, her breath grow quicker when the image became sharp and clear.
Sometimes, Caris was in attendance on the Queen, sometimes doing her own chores, but always, always lovely. Halithe could have watched all night, but a yawn would break her focus and the image would fade, or sleep would catch her, and she’d wake with the spoon beside her on the bed.
Even better was the way everyone wasn’t so stiff anymore. Hisself and Herself were more relaxed, and while not maybe trusting, at least comfortable. One night, as they washed dishes, Amari had leaned over and whispered. “Leeda, are Rye and Aramal…together?”
“I don’t think they’ve figured it out yet,” Halithe said quietly.
“Ah,” Amari said, and to Halithe’s delight, the Lady shared a knowing glance and a secret smile with her.
Halithe smiled back and returned to her scrubbing.
Time tumbled on, flowing like a river over rocks, limitless, endless, until one day Dayva’s babble pierced Halithe’s consciousness.
“…brother burnt another batch of caramel, and Da scolded him something fierce. ‘Never going to lure a partner with burnt sugar and you’ve only a week’ he said and—”
“A week?” Halithe raised her eyes from her mending. “A week to the Solstice?”
“Aye,” Dayva laughed. “I can’t wait. There’ll be grappling contests, and archery, and music, and dancing, of course, and…” she continued on as Halithe sat there, thinking of just how much time had passed.
“Anticipation is half the joy,” Amari settled next to her, picked up a sock, then put her finger through a hole and wiggled it. “But darning is daily.”
Halithe laughed.