Kilkenny fixes me with a troubled expression. “Durvla?”
“I … it’s trivial.”
“Your woes aren’t trivial.”
Gnawing on my lower lip, I stare up at the moon again as more clouds float by, eclipsing the celestial body repeatedly. It’s oddly reflective of my life—my joy continuously obscured by tragedy, misfortune, or ill-health. I have smiled in the face of adversity daily, tending to the plants back home in Cluain Baile, cataloguing, volunteering to make solo deliveries to Ballybaeg even though it sapped the little time I had left to wind down.
Ma had been my greatest role model. When she was alive, she took great care of us. She taught me to read, shared her love of knitting and embroidery. My father was brave and loving, and even though I was arubbish hunter, he still took me on excursions to bond with me. Often, Osheen came along—his own father deceased and mine stepping in.
My throat swells as a gentle breeze chills my damp face. There’s so much compassion in Kilkenny’s eyes that I have to turn away to gather my composure. I brush my hand lightly over wind-dried tears crusting on my cheek and find the nerve to face him again.
“I had two loving parents and a wonderful childhood. There should be no reason for me to have anything to complain about. You’ve been in the Royal Brigade, lost your lover and—” I choose not to finish the sentence, to mention his lost unborn child, but pain already shadows his features.
“You lost your parents,” he signs. “And you were left with the responsibility of looking after a child this kingdom has made it entirely too difficult to care for.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Many people are in that position.”
“Don’t do that,” he says.
“What?”
“Don’t diminish your own pain based on the pain of others.”
It’s hard not to.My lips tug down.
“You’ve been the sole caregiver to your brother. And yes, other people have been through that. You’ve done so while also handling your own ailment and while navigating losing your hearing.” He pauses and hesitates for a moment. After a little while, he asks, “Does your ailment or your deafness scare you?”
“Yes and no to both.” I worry at my lower lip for a moment. “We live in a world not built for people like me or like Taig. That’s what scares me more.”
“Then let’s change it.”
“Change what?” I gesture.
“The world.”
I laugh light-heartedly, but he doesn’t crack a smile. “Us? Maybeyou, but I’m nobody. Besides, no two people can just changethe world.”
“You’re somebody to me. And change starts with one small drop of water with the potential to become a storm.”
I scoff at him. “What grandiose ideals.”
“What can I say? I’m a dreamer.”
“Hmm… Actually,I’mthe dreamer, remember?” I crack a small smile, and he laughs.
He leans in as if to kiss me, but he stops and pulls back a bit, his full face in view again. I can’t help but release a small, disappointed breath having had his lips so close to mine for a second.
“You are worth far more than you believe.”
My chest clenches. “I want to believe it.”
“Then believeme.” He smiles and it’s devastatingly charming.
“Alright,” I say.
“Alright?” He leans in close again.
“Alright.”
