Chapter Thirteen
Vonetta
Iwake draped in soft bedding. I am held tightly across my waist by a sleeping Chiron, and a knock on our chamber door.
I’m surprised to see a fully dressed Wren get up to answer it, nodding and speaking in low tones to the messenger.
He closes it behind him and returns to the chair in the corner of the room.
His eyes meet my own when he sits. I smile at him, but he does not return it.
Wren’s eyes are tired and unfocused, and his posture is rigid.
Wren returns to his writing and doesn't look back again.
I lie back and catalogue the events of the night, our first time truly together.
Wren joined our bed of his own volition?
His kisses and his touches were freely given.
Perhaps he just feels abashed by our joining.
Wren is so often at the edge of things between us all, hesitant to step forward.
The boldness of his desire in the darkness was brave.
It makes sense for him that he would step back from that in the light of day.
I close my eyes to the morning sun streaking through our shuttered windows.
Wren remains writing, even when Chiron wakes and pulls me ever closer to him, and I turn into his arms. He plants a gentle, lingering kiss on my forehead and then rests his chin in my hair.
I breathe in the scent of him, warm and musky.
All of these nights together, and this is the first time we are skin to skin, so I drink up the feel of him under my fingertips.
“Good morning…” He says into my hair. His voice is sleepy, like his eyes haven’t yet opened to the day. He stiffens a little. “Where’s Wren?” He whispers. The protectiveness in his tone is evident.
“He’s writing. He took a messenger a bit ago, but he didn’t say what about.
” I reply, keeping my voice low. Chiron kisses my hair again, and I feel so much tenderness at the small gesture.
“I’m going to dress,” I tell him, rolling to my other side to see my dressing gown laid out across the bed.
I guide my arms through and cinch it at my waist.
Chiron seems reluctant to leave the bed, and for that, I do not blame him after the events of yesterday…and last night.
I make myself ready quickly. Jessah has left the charcoal gown for me, and I braid my hair loosely today, no pins.
When I emerge from the washroom, Wren and Chiron are speaking closely.
Both of their faces are tense; the exchange is not at all like their usual soft conversation.
Concern grows in me the longer this continues.
Chiron notices me in the doorway and stands to his full height. He smiles easily at me.
“Netta, care to break your fast with me?” He asks, turning from Wren and holding out his hand to me. I take it, looking over his shoulder at Wren, who’s back to writing again. His pen-strokes are tense, jagged etchings. I return my eyes to Chiron’s face, concern written all over my own.
“Wren, will you join us?” I say to him.
He doesn’t look up at me when he replies, “I have already eaten. Enjoy your breakfast, Vonetta. Chiron.” And returns to his work.
My stomach is hollow, with both hunger and unrest at the coolness of Wren’s demeanor. Chiron and I walk hand in hand down the stairs and into the greater hall. When our breakfast arrives, we eat in relative silence. I work up the courage to ask Chiron about his exchange with Wren.
With a deep breath inward, I keep my voice low so those around us don’t hear. “Chiron, what happened in there? With Wren.” Chiron looks up from his plate, concern is written in the creases of his eyes. We both exhale slowly, the tension of their exchange lingering between us.
“I don’t know what his shift is…But I know what the messenger was about.” I wait for him to finish, and he takes a deep drink of his glass and wipes his mouth with his hand. “We’ve been invited to tea with the Lord and Lady Nephrys.”
I lower my brows in confusion. Why is that a shock? We had agreed to as much during our dinner with them a few nights past. “Okay…” I say, a question in my voice and features. Chiron hears and answers it without bidding.
“Wren will not join us. He didn’t say why.”
Oh. This is more than simply an abashment for the heat of the night.
The hollow in me grows cold. “Did we do something to upset him? I thought maybe he was feeling shy after last night. But this…this feels deeper than that,” I say to Chiron, hoping he understands the gravity of Wren’s refusal to attend a formal and public event with us.
Chiron’s jaw is a tense, pulsing thing. His eyes are serious, but soft.
“You did nothing wrong, Netta. Whatever is happening with Wren is his own. But we do need to right it…quickly. I will talk to him.” Chiron takes my hand on top of the table.
His grip is light, but firm enough to convey his feeling to me.
He feels the weight of this confusion with Wren as heavily as I do.
We linger in the dining hall for a long time without speaking. I watch those who flurry around the room, the attendants and guests. Chiron does not invite anyone over to speak with us, and no one comes unbidden.
The weight of the bond at my shoulders and the weight of the looks of the people here press into me, reminding me of the absence of Wren at our table.
Even in the early hours of our time together, we have rarely had anything between us that was contentious.
I feel the path ahead of us, while always uncharted, is harder than I have believed it would be after the last few days.
…
When we return to our quarters, Wren is preparing to leave for the booksellers.
He is dressed in the clothes he brought with him and wore on our travels here, and that strikes me as odd.
They are solidly constructed breeches, but plain and evidently worn even after they've been tended to by our staff.
The small bag is packed lightly, and some things from the night before are set out on the table where he works.
Chiron and I both nod to Wren as we move through the space.
I am unsure of what to do with myself, nerves fraying my composure away.
So I settle into the settee. Chiron picks through the heavy trunk at the foot of the large bed.
He turns to me, two tunics in hand, and says, “What color suits you today?” A wickedly charming grin on his face.
Both garments are a tone of black, one more grey than the other, so I nod to that one when he holds it out.
It has fine embroidered silver at the collar and clasps.
I rise and join him at the trunk, procuring the slate purple gown and letting the fabric flow down to the floor. He nods his approval to me.
“That will look lovely on you, Netta.” He says, his eyes alight with something, a warmness that reminds me of the night before.
“Thank you,” I whisper back to him. When I turn around, Wren is watching us, jaw set and eyes hard. I suspect there is a hint of jealousy within that stare, and I do not understand it at all. Why would Wren have anything to be jealous of?
“Wren, are you sure you won’t join us today? The invite to tea was for us all. We could visit the bookseller together tomorrow, perhaps?” I say, stepping toward him. Chiron stands behind me at the chest, but he is no longer rummaging through the garments there.
Wren clears his throat.“No, thank you. I have some things I wish to see there, and there’s no need for you both to join me for that.
Enjoy your tea, tell Lord and Lady Nephrys I am on an errand.
Tell them whatever you wish.” Concern grows in me.
Why would I tell them anything other than the truth of it?
Wren had made plans prior to the invite; it is simple.
“Wren, why would I tell them anything other than the truth? If you do not wish to attend, I cannot make you do so. But I do wish you would join us. We are the Trinity, we are expected to be together.” I reach my hand out to Wrens’, crossed at his chest.
His hand pulls back, quickly. Falling to his side with a thud. Audible in the silence that is between us now. Shock takes over my senses, and embarrassment quickly follows it.
I step back from Wren and into the large frame of Chiron, who must have walked closer while Wren and I spoke. His hand reaches around to my forearm, protective. Wren looks pained and embarrassed as well by his reaction to me.
“I am sorry, Netta, I don’t mean to be…” Wren starts, but Chiron interrupts him–
“Whatever is happening with you today, Wren? You could tell us, and we could talk about it. But acting like we have wronged you in some way is uncalled for.” Wren’s eyes move to Chiron’s, and the stare that lingers between the two is heavy.
I do not look at either of them now. I cannot.
The creeping thought slithers into my mind unbidden.
He does not want us. He does not want to be a part of us. I am sick with it.
I imagine that the pain of that reads on my face, because Wren begins to speak again, “Netta, Chiron. I am sorry. I am being unfair with you—”
Once again, a knock sounds, and this time we do not need to answer it; our attendants enter the room, our current standoff on display.
I turn away from them all now, walking back to the settee and settling myself there.
Wren’s man asks him if he has something he’d like to don today, but Wren says, “No, thank you. I am on my way out for the afternoon. Goodbye.” And he leaves the room.
The staff look to each other, and then to each of us. I do not know what to say to them. Jessah recovers herself quickly, pasting a smile to her face and gathering the gown that had fallen to the floor in her hands.
“Lady, this is a fine choice. May I help you prepare?” I smile and nod to Jessah, and I take one last look at Chiron, whose face is both angry and sad somehow. He gives me a smile and a nod and returns to the trunk, his man at his side.