“And now you have a husband who does love you,” she said, eyes searching my face.
I did not want to explore this with her. I smiled, looking away and I stood.
“The way he looks at you, Edie. I did not think such a man, of so little emotion, could have such longing in just his eyes.”
I leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Have you told your babe’s father?”
She shook her head. “I wanted to tell you first. He is—” she paused to chuckle. “He is so loud. The whole second level will hear his reaction.”
“When you do, the man will fall at your feet,” I predicted.
Helena’s face looked like it would crumple again. “I have told you of his childhood.”
“You have.”
She wiped a tear from her eye. “He also lost a wife and their babe in childbirth. When he was younger. Fifteen winters ago. He told me he never wished to remarry until me. This babe will be as mending to him as she is to me.”
I shook my head. “Only a woman such as you, kindred, could heal a wound like that.”
Helena smiled. “We have done it for each other.”
“As well as made love in stairwells.”
She made a sound with her tongue and teeth. “You will never let that go, will you?”
“I will reference it when we are a hundred. Thank you for telling me. Do you need help down the stairs? To the dining hall?” I reached down to bring her to her feet.
“Too early to be handled so delicately,” she said. “I am going to nap instead of eat.”
I walked her to the dormitory, embraced her and walked, almost unseeing, to my door. Inside, I shut it closed and then stumbled towards the desk, collapsing next to the chair. I sat on the ground and pulled my knees to my chest.
“Not her,” I said out loud. “I have had to have that conversation with so many other friends, but not her. I have but a day and a half left of my life. I could not be spared that? I could not be relieved of the task of having to smile?Haven’t I suffered enough?” A torrent poured from me, a rip in my lungs and heart and throat, vomited out in a strangling cry. “Why?” I cried. “How can you make me suffer so? I thought you loved me.”
My goddess did not speak.
91. Promise
I held my skirts to my mouth and screamed. This was too burdensome. I was going to spend my second to last afternoon in a spiral of envy and hurt. My sobs came in heaves. I made myself try to breathe in between them, as I became lightheaded. And they were twice as heavy for being made with as little sound as I could make, unsure of who could be out in the hallway, knowing if I fully let go, I would wail. I had not tied my hair up, letting it dry after a washing that morning and it fell in a veil around me. This and the pounding in my head prevented me from hearing the door open and shut, my husband coming to kneel next to me on the floor.
“Edith.Edith,” he urged, his right arm around me, his left hand parting my hair, tucking it behind each ear. “Edith, please. What is it? You worry me. Are you hurt?”
I kept my hands over my face and shook my head.
“Did someone upset you?”
“No,” I whined, catching my breath.
He took my wrists in the capable fingers of his left hand and pulled my hands away from my face. His cheeks were ruddy with that morning’s exercises and there was dust and sweat on him. His well-shaped eyebrows were raised, a half frown on his mouth. “Edith, you are worrying me. Please. What is it?”
I took a shaky breath. “Do— Do you— Do you have time to speak—”
“I have cancelled the rest of the day.”
Helena’s guess had been correct. It was hard to speak, but I tried.“Have you eaten?”
“Yes, quickly,” he replied, still holding my wrists. “I wanted to see if you were still in the keep. I need to bathe, but would you like to do something with me this afternoon?”
“I would,” I whispered.
