I can’t help but glare down, realizing that this is nearly exactly the lead up to when she patronized me. A kind gesture of food, plus one kind gesture of a hug, and suddenly I’m able to heal illness.
I push down the image of her horror and start on the pasta. “Can I learn about the pasta now?”
She pauses, stirring her fork in pointless circles. “Whore pasta is just a word my wife would use to call whatever she could make from her pantry. She probably got it from the whores she worked with.”
“Why did she work with whores?”
“She was one.” Mistress Vincenza’s eye glimmers, affection. “You might feel that you’re behind your schedule to learn necromancy, but I was even further behind you at your age. I completely refused interactions with men, staying completely without consort… First thing I did when homosexuality was legal was visit a whorehouse.”
I snicker inappropriately before suppressing it. “Sorry.”
Her eyes raise to mine, bright and beaming. “No, it is alittlefunny. If you could imagine, I was incredibly awkward, and my chosen meretrice was also having her first time with a woman.“ She slides a cup of water closer to me. “Drink.”
“Oh, okay.” I down the cup, realizing that my mouth has been cotton dry. “How am I supposed to remember to eat and drink without feeling hungry or thirsty?”
She grabs a pitcher of water, refilling my cup. “You make a schedule of it. Mine’s a little bit shaken today by doing this in the morning, but typically I have this exact meal after the parlour closes. I find that four glasses of water works out well enough for me.”
“Should I adjust for height?” I say half-jokingly while swigging down more, and pouring my next glass. I’m…independent. Yeah.
“You’re far more active than me. Try to eat what you did before joining the parlour.”
“I don’t remember.” I shrug.
“My sweet meretrice would always be the one who kept me eating properly.” She casually throws a tear off her cheek. “After our first encounter, she came to my home and said she ‘owed me another round’ after how poorly she did. I was hosting dinner for my family—and they all overheard.”
“You gave her your address?”
She averts her eyes and excuses, “I paid with check, and she went to the credit union for my address. If she wasn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, I might’ve held a grudge.”
I bundle slightly closer to her, swallowing down just enough to ask, “what happened next?”
“It was clear that she just wanted my access to the Ring again… and she wasn’t the type of woman I could say no to.” Her throat catches. “After my father caused a fight, she stayed in my apartment to comfort me.”
“Oh.” My eyes widen, imagining what kind of ‘comfort’ there was.
“Oh, sure, there was that…” she teases, licking her teeth. “But, her comfort actually started with rifling my kitchen and making me a ‘real dinner.’ And yelling at me for not having anchovies.”
“She sounded lovely… Do you miss her?”
Mistress Vincenza frowns. “Is that even a question? It’s been just beyond a year since...” She looks at the space I summoned Oliva. “I’m afraid, Kate. I was supposed to spend immortality with her, but now—I can’t. What if I forget her? Iwantto wake up looking for her. Iwantto hold her grief as though it was recent. Iwantevery time I enter this room to miss her, but no matter how many pictures—It feels so long ago now. When she was here, it felt like I only just met her yesterday, but now it feels like decades have passed.”
I don’t know how to comfort her. Eyes shredded by tears, skin and bones that quiver. I offer my hand into hers, hoping it won’t be too inappropriate.
She squeezes it with both her hands, pulling it to her chest. “I’m sorry. You’re my apprentice; you shouldn’t be burdened by my own history.”
“I don’t see why I can’t.”
“Becasue it’s unfair, Kate. You came here to be a necromancer, not my emotional comfort. You deserve to be able to choose to ignore my whining, but I’m your mistress. No choice is free in my presence.”
“Then be selfish. I don’t mind. Burden me. I’ve been a burden to you.”
“Don’t call yourself that.” She hesitates, then grabs me and pulls me to her chest in an embrace. “...Now I’ve made two mistakes,” she whimpers into my shoulder.
I search the matron’s words for comfort. The Great Ring doesn’t create evil. I’m not evil.
But, this moment calls for something more platonic than I’m feeling. It feels sickening to realize that I’menjoyingthis—when she’s in grief. I swear, Great Ring, I don’t want to be. I want only to feel empathy and her sorrow, but there’s something warm bubbling beneath my fingertips.
“Is this so bad?” I whisper.
