I suck in a sharp breath. “Yes.”
She doesn’t respond again, as I twist the hair several times until itcoils neatly around itself atop the crown of her head. She tucks a curl behind her ear, and I catch the scars over her fingers.
The ones I’d promised her such sweet things while holding.
“Lorien likes you very much,” I say. “It is sweet. You are good with children.”
I feel her soften at the compliment.
“I like them very much—and he is sweet.”
“You like them enough to give up time you could spend weaving. I can imagine.”
She shifts her head, and glances at me over the shoulder. “I haven’t given up on weaving. I just… think that Lorepath is more important right now.”
Lorepath. Hmm. “That is the name of your education project, no?”
“It most certainly is.”
I pull the comb close to her hairline, smoothing the edges. “It is very important to you.”
She hums.
Then, she takes a deep breath. “I think that proper education is one of the most important tools of a better life, you know? You probably learned practical skills like reading as a child, I was much older when I finally had the opportunity.”
She sounds defensive, so I tap her shoulder.
“I wasn’t trying to critique. You absorb information like no one I’ve ever met. You are witty.”
She pauses, and it’s like I can see the words tangling in her mind.
“I wish I could spend more time behind a loom… but I have the skills to make the program. I have the time. I want to give—to add so fiercely to the world around me that I won’t have to search for my mark. It will be a deep gouge, brimming with good things. And when I’ve done that, I will rest. I will weave a thousand tapestries just for me.”
When she talks, its like I can’t fucking breathe. She is so good. So so sweet. Perfect.
“That doesn’t sound like resting,” I tease.
She laughs.
After tying her hair, I reach down, and grab her hand, holding it up to inspect. I line hers up next to mine and find my palm completely swallows her.
I smile.
“But, jokes aside, I think that is beautiful. I can picture it.”
She relaxes against me, and it feels like a reward. Then her fingers expand, spreading my digits wide.
She looks up at me. “You know, I always wondered how you lost these.”
I hesitate. “It’s a gruesome tale, Firelocks. Not nearly as lovely as your gentle words.”
“How gruesome?” she pries, our hands still touching.
“Very.”
“I tell you my story if you tell me yours,” she says, the silhouette of her cheek pulling up in a smile.
We’d had such a strange, heavy night. I find myself craving an easy moment.