I shrug. “Nothing, but he doesn’t seem to be the enemy.”
With one final tug, I finish securing the bundle of hair at the top of her head. It’s not my best work, but it seems secure enough.
“Why did you come here again?” She asks, clearly not wanting to continue discussing Thorne.
I slide next to her. “I wanted to find some paper to write down my memories.”
She smiles. “You’ve been practicing your writing. I think that would be excellent. You should write down the plants as well. We have a whole bush of the one you call lavender now—not to mention some of the other herbs we use almost daily.” As she speaks, it’s almost as if she is eager to cast off thoughts of all else.
I smile. “That is a good idea.”
She stands. “I’ll get the things.” Then she bustles off down an aisle. I look around the library, a place mostly unknown to me. The rows of tall triangular shelves, mostly scrolls, but a few tomes, are stunning.
Calculations from sleepless nights spent Teo spent here after leaving our bed are still scattered over several tables. There’s a contradiction of messy, wild studying that meets meticulous organization and reminds me of my husband’s mind.
He’s very neat… but just below the surface, there’s a bit of chaos.
I like this room very much.
When I look at one of the walls, I see a scroll that has been unraveled and tacked up for all to see. Stepping closer, the text seems familiar. Not for the words, but the drawing at the bottom.
It… my marriage contract. My signature is the universal hand gesture for¡vete a la mierda!?2
There’s an undeniable crassness, especially in contrast with Teo’s tidy script. Ulla comes up behind me and laughs.
“I’ve never told you this, but it was very creative of you,” she says, laying out an ink well, a sharpened crystal, and a scroll.
I frown. “I think… I should redo it.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t. That’s a binding contract. Be proud, you certainly will be remembered for all those who come after.”
Her words revive the anxiety pulsing in my chest. All of the fears of our extinction and death return with a vengeance, demanding to be let out and shared with all. It’s as if I am standing over the vast, black expanse in the sea once more. Just waiting to be swallowed up.
A hand rests on my shoulder. I look up to see Liana. “My child, breathe.”
Ulla looks at me, clearly alarmed. “I don’t know what I said.”
I shake my head and sit down. “You did nothing. I am fine. Thank you for getting this for me.”
The women position themselves on either side of me. “Do you need help spelling the words?” Ulla asks, still clearly concerned.
I shake my head. “I want to try for myself.”
“Writing will do you good. If you want to be free from pain, you must be willing to do what needs to be done to cure the wound,” Liana says, pleased.
I nod. Teo has been helping me so much, with our memoriestogether. He calms me through each moment, but I am slowly realizing that a court is not just a king or his advisors.
I put my pen down and think about what I should write. My eyes slide closed as image after image passes through my mind. Not the tender intimacy between my husband and me, but Dyrn. The funerals. Tirin’s sacrifice.
Putting my pen to paper, I take a deep breath.
A hunter, barely older than a boy, gave his life for humans to live in the tunnel. His name was Ra’Tirin. They took his head back to the giant court and placed it all on a wall. I stole it and burned it to give him a proper burial away from the true monsters.
Each letter is almost painful to write, and tears spring to my eyes. This happened while I was at the giant court, but the memory is already blurry, caught up in dozens of others.
Liana touches my shoulder. “You really honored him that way?”
I nod.
