“That you are not sisters? Yes, but not I nor any of the other women care.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they are all Ecclestonians and that has been decriminalized there. And because, if you are like me, spending your formative winters in Perpatane means you think everyone hates you as much as the spirit of Rodwin hates you.”
She nodded. “It has in Tintar too. Been decriminalized, I mean.”
“That must have truly been a hell for you, Quinn,” I said, my tone apologetic for my guessing. “I should have allowed you your secrets.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s nice that you know. And do not care. Only some of our neighbors knew and they did not offer opinions either way, but, well, I just had my forty-fourth winter and I still look over my shoulder for the sheriff.”
“Gods,” I muttered. “Were you jailed?”
“A winter. My lover and I were found out. She repented and married a man her parents chose. Mine disowned me and I served time in prison. I hitched a ride on a transport wagon to Eccleston the day I got out.”
All sex outside of marriage was an offense both against Rodwin and the law in Perpatane, particularly between two women or two men.
“I’m sorry, again, for guessing. But I know how you feel. It never goes away,” I said. “The shame. All of our pleasure is tinged with it. Especially for women. Men who defect from the faith seem to be able to walk away more easily. But we have Rodwin’s chastening shadow over all of our joy.”
“That we do,” said Quinn. “Except with River. I could never have shame for what we are. My soul be damned by Rodwin. She is worth a torturous afterlife.”
I reached out to hold her hand in the water. “That place will never have us again. Even shackled by these rude Tintarian invaders, we are still free of Perpatane.”
She let me hold it briefly but pulled away. As if to make up for her withdrawal, she said, “You seem to always know what to say.”
There was a shout from the bank and then the sound of Alric’s walking towards the man shouting. I heard one of the younger soldiers, it sounded like the one called Tristan who had guarded us outside the priest’s quarters.
“The tall one’s sister is having some sort of attack. She keeps asking for her.”
“River,” said Quinn, alert and sloshing through the water, reaching for the hand Alric had extended to her from the rock, having come back in our direction. He pulled her up and led her up the bank to where Tristan was waiting.
9. Nakedness
I floated in the stream and waited, unsure.
Footsteps echoed along the rock and then Alric came into view. He looked down at me and knelt on the lip of the rock. If I stood up and lifted my hand I could have touched him. But I was acutely aware that I had shed my scribe’s dress after scrubbing it with soap and tossing it up to where he was. My shift and stays were pale and the robe was a gauzy white as priest robes were meant to be worn over white shirts and trousers. With the garments wet and the light from the bedrock beneath me, my bareness was self-evident the moment I stood.
“Is River unwell?”
He shrugged. “Apparently, she gets seizures.”
“But is she unwell?”
“Her sister was upset but not hysterical. I’m sure the woman will recover. Finished?” he asked, his hand holding up my soaking scribe’s dress.
“No,” I said, my voice small.
He stared. His eyes visited my mouth like that first day on the road, then roamed down my neck to where my body met the water, then through the crystalline surface to the swirl of my clothes. “What do you need to do?”
“Wash myself. I just finished cleaning my hair and my clothes.”
“You mean this dress you had on under your priestess robe?”
I gulped. “Yes.”
“I see. I will give you some more time. But be quick.” He dropped the scribe’s dress with a slap on the rock.
As he stood to walk away, I blurted out, “Do you have a comb?”
