Sorrows of Adoration Read online

  He stared at my feet in thought for a few minutes and then looked to the pile of gear beside him. He bent to the pile and set about putting the contents from two of the smaller bags into one of the larger ones. One of the smaller bags was really a large leather pouch with a thin leather cord to close it. The other was made of heavy burlap. He knelt beside me in the confined space and slipped the leather pouch over my foot. It fit, albeit awkwardly, and he arranged it so its bottom corner was over my large toe. He asked how that felt, and I stammered, “I suppose it’s fine, but—”

  He held up a hand to silence my rebuttal. He took the pouch off my foot and removed its tie cord. He cut the cord in half with a knife and rethreaded half of it in the pouch’s holes. Then he placed it back over my boot and tied the small cord around my ankle. There was barely enough of the cord to make a knot, but he managed to do so, and asked if it was too tight. I shook my head, and he immediately set about putting the burlap sack over my other foot, and threading the remaining piece of cord through the burlap’s weave to tie it similarly.

  He bade me stand and walk, so I did feeling silly and awkward but dearly appreciative of his efforts. The Temple folk who had raised me as a child had cared for my well being but never with such intense concern and effort. I was so touched by his efforts my throat felt tight, and I found myself fighting silly, girlish tears.

  He had me walk about, as much as our tiny shelter allowed, and he decided the burlap was too loose and I might trip on it. He looked through the packs to find something to wrap it tighter with but found nothing. Then, to my shock and dismay, he began tearing a piece of his own cloak.

  “No, don’t do that!” I cried, stopping his hand, though the tear was already begun.

  “Aenna, we can’t have you falling, nor can we have you freezing to death with wet feet. This is just a cloak. I’ll get a new one when we’re home.” He looked at my hand on his arm, and I realized I was being very bold in touching him so. I went to pull my hand back when he placed his other hand over it gently. I looked at him and found that he was looking at me with great concern. “Aenna, really. It’s the least I can do. Please, sit.”

  I sat back down and watched as he tore a strip from the bottom of his fine cloak. The strip was wide and long, and he was able to wrap around my foot several times, like a dressing, tightening the burlap and giving me an extra layer of protection from the snow. He wrapped it slowly and carefully, being sure to pull it snug and asking me frequently if it was too tight, then adjusting it accordingly.

  I stood again and walked out to the snow. It was amazing—I couldn’t feel the dampness at all. The foot with the leather pouch was colder but would probably stay dry longer. I looked back at him and said, “Thank you.”

  He nodded and smiled at me. Then he picked up the remaining packs and handed me one to carry, and we were off.

  We spoke little on that third day of travel, as the snow was shin-deep and tiring to trudge through. In some places, drifts were hip-high and we had to assist each other through with the packs. In the afternoon the sun shone down and warmed our upper bodies, though our legs and feet were still encased in cold.

  No shelter was found that night, and so Jarik and I dug the snow away from a large rock with our hands. We took turns, as only Jarik had gloves. They were awkwardly large on my fingers, but it was sufficient protection to pull away the snow. We managed to carve out enough that we would be sleeping on frozen ground instead of wet snow, ate quickly, and slept sharing the blankets once again.

  In the morning Jarik tried to be cheery, but in pointing out that we would likely reach Endren in two days more, he inadvertently depressed me. On one hand, I was sick of the cold and the dirt on my skin, and on the other, I didn’t want my time with him to come to an end. My attempts to keep romantic thoughts at bay were failing more and more with his every kind gesture, smile, and word. I grew sad to think that it was likely I would not see him again, or if I did, it might be worse to watch him marry a lady of court, knowing I could never win the heart of such a man. These thoughts occupied my mind and made me feel hopelessly lowly and insecure.

  Jarik sensed my melancholy mood and kept making little jokes to force me to smile. I did every time and even laughed once or twice, but the very fact that he went to such efforts and seemed so concerned made my heartache worse. I abandoned hope of preventing my feelings for him and instead concentrated more on keeping them from him. I might have been falling for him, but I decided that there was no need to embarrass myself in doing so.

  After a pause to eat and a failed attempt to catch something for a later meal, we continued walking along the increasingly rugged terrain. As we crested the rocky hills, we could see the entire mountain range stretching far to the east, and the green valley to the south where Jarik said Endren was situated. He explained this was why he had chosen to go west of the road in the first place, for if we had gone east we would be scaling true mountains instead.

  The sun shone overhead, but a cold wind prevented its warmth from reaching us sufficiently. It was, however, enough to heat the top of the snowdrifts so they melted slightly, only to be quickly refrozen by the winter wind. A crust of ice was thus formed over the snow, and walking was difficult. We had to crunch through the thin ice, and frequently in doing so our shins would collide with broken edges. Jarik earned himself a particularly nasty scratch on the inside of his left knee, right above where his boot would have protected him, of course. He insisted it was fine, but I made him sit on a rock and tear another strip from his cloak, which I wrapped around his knee as best I could with numbed fingers. The frigid air helped to numb the wound as well, and we were able to continue.

  As we walked along a sloped ridge down the southern face of a hill, I almost slipped on the ice because of the smooth surface of the leather pouch on my foot. Jarik caught my arm, preventing me from going over the edge, although the fall would not have been far enough to kill me. His effort left my shoulder sore from being yanked, but it was certainly better than a broken limb from a fall. The worried look upon his face was touching as he helped me back to my feet. I could not help but smile at him, only to blush immediately thereafter.

  Closer to the bottom of the ridge, the slope increased drastically, and Jarik bade me go first, that I might hold his hand behind me in case I slipped again. He anchored himself by grasping a protruding tree root and helped me ease myself downwards. I did not slip, and he was able to lower himself behind me. I led us down the ridge thereafter.

  When we were about a man’s height from the bottom, the rock of the ridge disappeared, leaving only ice. Unfortunately, we did not know this until I had stepped on it, breaking through and sliding down the hill to land in a snowdrift at the bottom.

  Jarik cried my name out so loudly that it echoed between the hills. As I picked myself out of the drift, he came rushing down the hill, half stumbling, until he was at my side, panicked. He quickly asked if I was all right, and his face was so pale with concern that I could not help but laugh.

  “It’s only snow, Jarik. I’m fine!”

  I was about to continue brushing myself off when he pulled me towards him and held me. Before I had a chance to enjoy the sweet embrace, however, it was over and his hands were on my shoulders, his eyes staring at me in worry.

  “Are you sure? You fell so hard! You should sit—we should make sure you haven’t injured yourself,” he babbled.

  My heart raced from his touch, and yet I could not let him see how much his tenderness meant to me. I made myself laugh again, hoping it did not sound forced, and said, “Really, Jarik. Your concern is kind, but I just slid into snow. We peasant girls are not delicate, fragile flowers.”

  He let go of my shoulders and stepped back. Putting forth a smile but clearly still worried, he said, “I’m starting to realize that. You’re the strongest lady I’ve ever known, peasant or otherwise. You’re one of a kind, Aenna.”

  I blushed at his compliment. “Hardly,” I said, starting to walk again. �
�It’s just that poor girls can’t waste their time being pretty and proper like your court ladies.” I stopped, realizing how rude I had been in my attempt to seem nonchalant about his compliments. I turned and said, “Forgive me, that was rude. I didn’t mean to—”

  He waved off the apology. “You speak the truth, and I know it, Aenna. There’s no need to apologize for it.”

  “But I said it based on rumour and the very few ladies I’ve seen stop by the inn. It’s awful of me to make such statements of things outside my experience. I am sorry.”

  “Well, the rumours you’ve heard are true. Court ladies do spend their time being pretty and proper, sitting up very straight in their tight corsets,” he said, standing tall as if to mimic them.

  “Corsets?”

  “Yes. They’ve been the fashion around the palace since I was a boy. Wretched things, really. It’s a garment of cloth and wire and rope that the ladies must have their servants squeeze them into, lacing it up tight in the back.”

  “Why would they want to wear such a thing?” I asked, trying not to seem rude again.

  He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t try to understand women’s fashions. My father says it’s supposed to make them appear thinner and more graceful, but I know he hates them as much as I. Most of those ladies are already willowy—they hardly need to be squeezed any smaller. Mother says it’s proper—it holds one’s back straight and prevents proper ladies from exposing their seductive curves to eager men. I don’t know what that’s supposed to accomplish. Dancing with ladies in corsets, it’s as if they’re in bandages from some great wound. So stiff and unable to move. Father told me once that he remembers in his youth when the fashion was loose dresses, and when he danced with ladies he could feel their hips moved as they…” He stopped himself and blushed. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t say such things in a lady’s presence.”

  I smiled and said, “I told you. I’m not a lady.”

  “Perhaps not like one of the tea-sipping, court variety,” he said, mimicking dainty hands holding cup and saucer, tipping the imaginary cup delicately to his lips. We both laughed. “But, Aenna, you are a lady. You’re very brave and noble in your actions. Birthright or not, you’re a lady in my estimation.” He turned and continued walking, and thankfully didn’t look back to see how deeply I was blushing at his kind words. Blushing was becoming so common to me that I wondered if my face would soon give up and remain red!

  That night as we slept close together again, I found myself unable to sleep despite the soothing sound of his breath. I dearly wished to lean my head forward that it might rest on his shoulder, but I dared not for sake of propriety and my own sanity. I knew by that time that I loved him, and the pain of knowing it was a love that could never be fulfilled sent my emotions on a chaotic ride of alternating delight in his company and depression at knowing we would soon be separated. His consideration of me as a lady was sweet, but once we reached Endren I knew all too well that I would cease to hold such esteem, perhaps even in his eyes, and he would no longer be simply Jarik, but instead Lord Jarik, cousin to the Prince, nephew of the King.

  My heart fluttered when I recalled how he held me when I fell or his worried face when I slipped. Then it sank as I imagined him returning to his station and I to my own. Such madness kept me awake until just before dawn, when finally I managed to sleep long enough to continue walking the next day.

  * * *

  The fifth day was windy but not as cold, yet the blowing snow slowed our progress. Our food supplies were almost gone, and we had been rationing small meals since the day before. We decided not to wait for a trap to snare something else, as we simply wanted to return to civilization as quickly as possible. Jarik promised me a great feast on our return, and when I started my now traditional refusal of reward, he cut me off yet again and said, “You will be a guest and treated as such. And my family will be happy to see me safe, so they’ll no doubt have a wonderful meal prepared on our return.”

  “Do your parents live in the palace as well, then?” I asked.

  He gave me that same confused look that he did whenever I asked about anything personal, and then, as always, collected himself and answered. “No, my parents are deceased. I meant my cousin’s family, who are also my family, you see.”

  I shuddered to think that this good man was without a proper family, as myself. I considered offering sympathies but did not wish to sound trite. Instead, I avoided the subject and asked, “So you live with your cousin’s family all of the time, then?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Since Kurit has no siblings, I suppose I am next in line to the throne after him, so I have been raised alongside him.” Jarik spoke awkwardly, and I assumed it was merely an uncomfortable topic. I set about speaking of other things as we continued our trek.

  We crested what seemed to be the last of the rocky hills on our route just as a magnificent sunset coloured the sky. I stood facing the west, admiring the spectacle of fiery lights reflecting off the bottom of the few clouds that drifted lazily overhead. Jarik stood behind me. After a moment he put his hand gently on my shoulder and bade me look south.

  There I saw in the distance the walls and towers of Endren, reflecting the deep reds and oranges of the sunset. The city was surrounded by green hills and glowed there like an iridescent jewel. The size of it astounded me, even from that distance. It was all I could do to whisper, “It’s beautiful.”

  I stared at it for some time and then looked to Jarik to see if he was gazing fondly at his home. Instead, I found that he was staring at me.

  “Jarik, you’re not even seeing how lovely it is,” I said.

  He turned briefly to glance at the city and said, “Home always looks beautiful when one is hungry and cold.”

  “It’s more than that,” I said, looking at it again. “I’ve never seen a city. Not a large one with walls and towers. I always pictured them as imposing and dreary. Endren is lovely, at least in this light.”

  I felt him touch a stray lock of hair that had been blowing in my face all day. I looked at him again, and my heart leapt in my chest at the expression of tenderness in his eyes.

  “My attention seems to have been stolen by a lovelier sight,” he said, and I felt as though my knees had become water. He held my hair gently, letting the wind roll it from his fingers. “Your hair, it’s like spun copper in this light. I’ve never seen its equal. The women I know, their hair is dark as night. I’ve admired the colour of yours by daylight, Aenna, but it is now more enchanting than anything I’ve ever beheld.”

  I stood very still, fearing that if I even breathed, I would fall. These were words fit for a bard’s love song, and this man whom I had tried not to adore was speaking them to me. As my heart soared, he moved his hand from my hair to my cheek. He touched me with such tenderness, caressing my cheek so softly, that I lost the ability to withhold my emotions. I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek into his hand.

  When I opened my eyes again, he was gazing at me, and my heart fluttered anew. “Everything about you is like nothing I’ve ever known,” he murmured. “Never have I met a lady so strong, so brave, and so very beautiful.”

  I know not why my mind chose that moment to blurt out, “I’m not a lady,” but that’s what I said, feeling a fast guilt for ruining his perfect words with my bluntness.

  He put a gentle finger to my lips as though to silence any further self-depreciation. “You may have been born a peasant, but you are nobler than any lady I’ve met, Aenna.” His hand moved under my chin and raised it slightly as he moved to stand quite close to me. Before I knew what was happening, my eyes had closed, this man was kissing me tenderly, and the world spun about in my mind.

  An eternity passed—or a second, I could not honestly say how long it was. But when his lips left mine, I opened my eyes and saw him looking at me with great affection. My heart raced such that I thought it might burst from my chest. I felt a blush rise in my cheeks. Speechless, I could not resist as he pulled
me close to him and kissed me again, sweetly but harder than before, with a passion that made me dizzy in his arms.

  He moved the kiss to my cheek, to my forehead, and then held me tight, and I found my arms clinging to him as all the feelings of attraction I had suppressed during our trip overwhelmed me. The whole of the King’s Guard could not have pulled me from his arms in that moment. My head rested on his shoulder, his arms around me and one hand stroking my hair. I imagined that he must be able to feel how my heart pounded against his chest, but I didn’t care! I didn’t care in that moment whether any of it was proper or unseemly or right or wrong. The love I had felt over this short journey, which might as well have been a lifetime, all poured forth into that embrace, and it frightened me and exhilarated me and made me believe I could fly right off that cliff if he asked me to.

  Then I heard him whisper, “I should build you a fire. I can feel you shivering.”

  “I’m not cold,” I replied, barely able to speak. “I’m warmer now than I have been since leaving the inn.” My words sounded so absurd, and I was embarrassed to have said them.

  “Then why do you tremble? Please tell me I haven’t frightened you,” he said in a voice rich with affection.

  “I’m not frightened. I … I don’t know why I’m trembling. I didn’t even know I was. I’m sorry. I’ve never felt …” I stopped speaking before I said something silly again. I knew I must have sounded like a child desperately trying to recite romantic poetry.

  “Surely someone as enchanting as yourself has not gone unkissed?” he asked softly, pulling away enough that he could look at me again.

  “I was a barmaid,” I said, looking up at him. “The women who work in the inns do not allow themselves to be kissed unless they have more than kisses to sell.” I could have hit myself for sounding so uncouth. I wondered where in Keshaerlan my mind had gone.