Roses and Rain, Part III
by Merriandra Eldaronde
Wil was pleased when he could finally manage a full sentence without chuckling. Of
course, he owed no small measure of credit to the fact that his ribs still hurt enough to make his eyes water. He was also pleased that Renna snatched her fingers from his grip and allowed her lips to curve upward into a satisfied smile.
“I don’t remember the last time you smiled, Wren,” he commented, trying not to stare. Her thin, sharp features were transformed by her shift in expression: Wil was reminded of the girl who had arrived with her parents, her long, glossy hair flowing around her shoulders, her social rank and station obvious in the fine fabric of her dress and her quiet, refined movements. He remembered, too, his shock when he learned that she had come to join the army as a recruit. He hadn’t known, on that night, three years ago, when he had chosen to share supper with the family from Tursh, how exceptional Renna Rynior would become.
To Wil’s great disappointment, Renna merely shrugged, seeming almost embarrassed by his comment and turning her face away, as if hiding. “I am happy ‘nough, from time t’time,” she claimed, clasping her hands over her swollen belly, “What does it matter if I smile?”
He wasn’t sure if she wanted an answer from him, but he gave her his opinion anyway. “Renna, I can’t deny that even the darkest, foggiest noon is brighter when you are in good humor. I’ve seen you out there among the customers: they are all trying to make you laugh, or to tease you, and you are polite enough, too polite, but they can’t fathom your melancholy, Wren.”
She didn’t say anything at all, but instead picked up a plate and began to dry it carefully. Hiding, he thought, definitely hiding. Wilasne Watchword had grown up with three sisters, one elder and two younger: if he knew anything about women at all, it was how to tell when they wanted to keep to themselves, or to keep a secret. So, when she stacked the plate neatly and dropped into a chair, then lifted her head, looking him directly in the eye as she spoke, he wondered again at her ability to surprise. She kept him on his toes, that much was certain.
“I’ll tell you a story, Wil, because I owe you a story. Then I am going to put on my scarf and my cloak and go out to the market, if only to hear the news from the castle.” There was a tankard of ale on the table. Renna almost reached for it, to drain it dry, but then her babe kicked, sending a shower of flutters up her spine.
Wil saw her reach for the ale and pull her hand back, so he dipped the ladle into the barrel and poured Renna a healthy cup of water. “There.” He set the cup down in front of her and poked his head out of the kitchen into the dining room, just to be sure there were no customers hidden in any of the shadowed corners. “Not a soul,” he assured her, allowing his long frame to stretch out, leaning back against the sink, where he could watch the doorway. “They won’t be back until they’ve sampled the meats and preserves and ales from the new arrivals.”
Renna closed her eyes and thought about how best to frame her tale. Wil had believed it, had believed her now for these last seven months with the barest of details, but if she filled in too many blanks, would he continue to believe? She was the first to admit it: everything that had happened in the castle that night seemed far-fetched when exposed to the bare light of day. She had been so naïve, she had trusted that those who served the army could do no wrong, even when her own heart was breaking.
Hollow. Her voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears. Her footsteps had sounded hollow that night, echoing up from between the buildings as she made her way back to the barracks. The moon had been hanging over the harbor, kissing the waves with bright silver. She remembered because she had stopped at the top of the long stairs down, just watching, just enjoying the warmth of late summer before she descended into the shadows of the city.
“Do`manen was waiting for me just outside the door to the women’s quarters.” She found that the voice that slipped out was little more than a whisper, “He told me that they had arrested him for plotting against the King, that they had proof of his treachery but that they needed more. They needed me as a lure, as an informant. I was his friend, after all.” Renna bit her lip, hard, disgusted with herself. The baby kicked again, a butterfly, a tickle, indigestion. She shifted.
“You don’t have to…” Wil began, concerned.
She interrupted. “Yes, I do. I have to tell you. I need this. I’m the traitor, Wil, don’t you see?”
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