“Are you interested in reading about things like that?”
“I am,” Dorian said, seemingly warming up to the conversation a little. “I like stories.”
“Do you have your own books?”
“Some,” Dorian said. “But I… I like to tell stories, too. I like to write them down.”
Diara smiled faintly. “What do you write about?”
Dorian shrugged. “Things,” she said, either embarrassed or shy about it. “I wrote a story about a fae named Flit.”
“Flit? I like that name.”
“She lived in a bluebell and rode on the back of a bee.”
Diara’s smile grew. “I think that’s lovely,” she said. “Will you read it to me someday?”
Dorian looked at her, shocked. “You want to hear it?”
“I would. But only if you want me to hear it.”
Dorian seemed encouraged by that. “I wrote another story about a lass who falls into a well and shrinks to the size of a bug,” she said. “She lives in the well with the other bugs, and they crown her the queen of the well.”
Diara laughed softly. “How wonderful,” she said. “Was she happy there?”
“She loved the well, and when it rained, she would dance on the water like the other bugs.”
“What is her name?”
“Echo.”
“That is an interesting name.”
“It’s because her voice bounces off the sides of the well when she talks.”
“I think that is very clever,” Diara said. “Your father did not tell me he had such a clever daughter.”
Dorian’s smile faded. “My father does not know about my stories,” she said. “I do not think he would like them.”
“Why not?”
“Because he is very busy,” Dorian said. “He does not have time for things like that.”
“Have you ever asked him if he would like to hear your stories?”
Dorian simply shook her head and averted her gaze, and Diara sensed a very timid and lonely girl. Diara didn’t know what Roi’s relationship with his daughters was like, and, truthfully, he didn’t seem like a disconnected father, but she did notice that he let his mother take charge of his girls. He had since Diara had known him. Perhaps it was because he simply didn’t know how to raise girl children, or perhaps it was as Dorian said—he was too busy. Whatever the reason, Diara felt a little sorry for quiet, lonely Dorian.
“Well,” she said briskly, “I will listen to your stories whenever you wish. I would like to know what happened to Flit and Echo. Will you tell me sometime?”
Dorian nodded. “I will,” she said. “If you really want to hear.”
“I do, very much. Do you have more stories you wish to write?”
Dorian was flushing, having difficulty looking at Diara because they were on a subject she never spoke of for fear of ridicule. “I… I want to write a story about a lady who rides lightning and chases horses in the clouds,” she said. “I even drew a picture of her, once, but the priest found the picture and told me it was wicked to draw such things.”
Diara’s smile faded. “What priest?”
“At Pelinom Castle,” Dorian said. “That is where I fostered. He came to give mass every Sunday, and he spent hours talking to us. Some of the other wards fell asleep, but I drew a picture.The lady who rides lightning is called Helen. If I ever have a daughter someday, I want to name her Helen.”
