His brows draw together. “If you would allow it, I would hold you every second. You would rest only in my arms.”
I half laugh.
He shakes his head. “You are not so large as to prevent me from doing what needs to be done.”
When I don’t say anything, he continues. “I would tend to your wounds, bathe you, comb your hair, and rub the aches I know you feel across your body. I would kiss your face too often to be endearing. When I say that I ache for you, you should know in all ways. Some are less pure than others, but they can wait until you are fixed. Until you are home and you want me, too.”
My breath stills and slows down. I don’t know what to say, only that…there is a part of me that wants those things, too.
“You can comb my hair,” I say softly.
He blinks again, then moves swiftly. In no time, he is behind me, and my hair, knotted and wavy and frizzy, is in his hands. Despite the size and the callouses, it doesn’t hurt. He gently begins to work through the knots.
The sensation is exquisite.
“And…” I start, realizing I don’t trust myself to talk about intimacy with him quite yet, and then change my words to, “What parts of me do you feel you cannot touch?”
“Your life before.”
“Before?”
“In the slave pens. I know the basic story, but when I was looking for you, they went on and on about you providing an heir for Arion. It bothered me more than you would know.”
I keep my lips sealed tight. It was a constant battle in me as well.
“It made me remember all you’d shared with me. It made me remember that you had a daughter,” he starts slowly. “I know the story of how she came to be. I know of her passing. Have felt the rage that must’ve only been a fraction compared to what you endured. But there are times I think on that moment and I don’t know how you were able to continue on as well as you did. I used to carry Adra’s name with me. Would light it up to remember. To bless her, wherever she may be now. But your daughter…”
He pauses again, and I bite my lip. It’s mostly clear what he wants from me, but the question is whether or not I have the strength to give it.
When I don’t respond, he continues. “What was her name?”
The fire crackles in the corner, in a moment of supreme calm. The moment isn’t sad, but now that I am warm, with a full belly, the depth of the safety I feel in this moment calls upon a softer memory. One so torturous in its sadness that it makes me freeze.
Makes me dredge through time, past a myriad of wounds. Of scars. Right to grief’s doorstep. Like a wise, old mother, she welcomes me in. Wraps her cold arms around me. Whispers a few gentle words.
Vann must feel the shift, because he pauses the comb mid-stroke. Sets it down on the floor with a gentle click. His hands rest on my shoulders while I stare at the wall. I revisit the blood-soaked night, tied up too tight.
I remember the hope I had felt in the months before. I’d been so so…ready. My body hasn’t always worked as I thought it should, and it felt nice to be the one to do something so important finally.
Babies born too early weren’t always recognizable, but she was. Fingers. Toes. A beautiful head, already covered in a dusting of hair. The tight pains, the pressure, all of it had been so painful. I cried out for help, just waiting for it all to pass as the wetness made my legs cold.
What was her name?
I…didn’t give her one.
No, that wasn’t true.
It’s hard to tell how much time passes between the question and my answer, but time starts to mean little during the precious seconds sitting in a place I haven’t visited in a decade. A time when I was so utterly alone that only those with the cruelest of hearts would look upon me and not spare a glance.
But the slave pens were full of those of us with less than a kind look to spare each other.
No one watched as I folded her in my skirts and broke the ice of the ground with a rock. As I took her into the woods and buried her deep enough to avoid anything touching her small grave.
Huddled in my own clothing, pulling my coat tighter and tighter. Soiled. Shocked. My mind rejecting a new, heartbreakingly empty space.
Lirio.
My favorite flower to weave. A rarity in the giant court, sent in from the Ogrine Swamps.