Chapter Thirty-Eight

The next day, Cor "took it easy" and traded places with Aravis. It was not her idea, not in the least—Nim suggested it, and Cor eagerly agreed. Aravis would return to the fields, and he would help Ragna continue to preserve in the small farmhouse. If it had been up to Aravis, she would have slapped Cor upside the face and made him see sense, but he was the prince and she was just Aravis, so she had to let it slide.

As it was, Cor made various appearances throughout the day with Ragna at his side, looking for all the world like the cat that'd gotten into the cream. Ragna was obviously and utterly besotted with him, and she hung on his arm like she didn't have any legs of her own. If Aravis didn't know better, the angry nausea she felt would have made her think she had sunstroke.

The real kicker was when they came with water jugs halfway through the afternoon, and the queue was formed so that Aravis was at the back. She got distracted, turned away, and when she turned back, Cor and Ragna had already started back towards the farmhouse. Aravis couldn't bring herself to call out to them.

Cor felt rested enough the day after to return to the fields, and Aravis went back into the farmhouse with Ragna with a sense of trepidation that had no real cause and a feeling not unlike a kettle about to boil.

"'E is such a fine lookin' lad, innee," Ragna tittered, dumping a load of cucumbers into Aravis's arms. "'At gorgeous hair—like spun gold, 'tis—an' 'is eyes—blimey, I swear m'knees go t'jelly when 'e looks a' me…"

They're heart wrenching when they're sad, Aravis wanted to tell her. Nothing made her feel more awful than when Cor was sad—he was rarely sad, it wasn't his personality, so when he was, it showed, and it always threatened to break her heart. Had Ragna ever seen him sad? Hardly. She saw him at his near best, his chivalrous, blustering, impressive façade.

"'And 'is arms, so long an' lean—like a young 'orse, 'e is!"

Aravis wanted to tell her he'd gotten that build from being a slave all his life. But she didn't. She kept her mouth shut, much as it killed her to do so, and tried to smile convincingly. "Has he told you why his name is really Cor?" she asked sweetly.

Ragna looked confused. "Why would anyone tell anyone 'at? My name is Ragna 'cause it's Ragna, 's all."

"Never mind," Aravis sighed. If Cor wanted to marry this girl, he would have a lot of explaining to do first, and she had no intention of making it easier for him.

They brought water out to the workers mid-morning. It was a bit cooler that day, a bit of autumn in the air, and there were clouds in the sky, so they weren't as thirsty as usual, so Ragna didn't have much time to stand around and titter with Cor before Aravis was reminding her sharply of the peach preserves that were bubbling on the fire.

Luncheon, however, was another matter. This time, Aravis was enlisted to help, and she and Ragna brought pails of cold meat sandwiches up to the men, who were resting under the tree by the cart path.

"We're getting quite a bit o' work done today, lads," Lognar was saying when Aravis handed him one of the pails. "A' this rate, we'll be done afore the month turns."

There was a murmur of approval, and Aravis settled down next to Nim to nibble on her own lunch. "The preservin's goin' good, too," said Ragna from where she perched next to Cor, her hand on his shoulder. "We star'ed out rough-like, eh, Finuala? But she's a righ' fast learner."

Aravis gave a terse smile. Imagine, Ragna insinuating that she was slow! It was almost unbearable.

The conversation drifted on, and soon Aravis stood and gathered up the pails and soiled napkins from the men as they stood up and drifted back towards the field. "Ragna, the plums will be ready," she said, bending over to pick up a napkin and marching down to the cart path. "Ragna—"

She had just turned to call the girl again when she saw why she wasn't answering. Her mouth was otherwise occupied, Aravis thought dimly, watching Ragna kiss Cor lingeringly on the lips. Aravis's own mouth went dry, and she turned back abruptly, one of the buckets slipping from her sweaty hands and clattering to the ground.

"Aravis—"

It was Cor's voice. The sound of it accompanied a violent rush of anger, and Aravis gripped the pails hard and kept walking.

"Aravis, please, wait—"

She heard him skid down onto the path and run after her.

"Where are you going? Please don't be angry—"

"Why would I be angry?" Aravis forced out with a little laugh. "What you do with strange girls you hardly know is none of my business."

"It wasn't like that, really, Aravis."

"Oh? Pardon me. You just fell lips-first onto her face. You said you had learned your lesson, Cor. Think with your head, not with your—" She broke off abruptly.

Cor stopped for a moment, then hurried to catch up. "Really, Aravis, she kissed me, not the other way 'round."

"I don't care either way," she repeated.

"Aravis—" He reached out and took hold of her wrist.

Before she knew what was happening, Aravis had dropped all her pails and her other fist snapped out, colliding full on with Cor's nose. He staggered back, his hand covering the lower part of his face. Her knuckles throbbed.

Cor sniffed hard and brought his hand away; there was a thin stream of blood trickling down his lip, which he wiped gingerly away with the back of his hand. "Well. I probably deserved that."

"I'm sorry," Aravis said stiffly, horror rising up inside her. "I shouldn't have done it."

He shook his head with a grimace. "Corin taught you well."

"I'll get you something to staunch it with," she forced out, and turned to go.

Cor caught her wrist again, flinching a bit as she turned to look at him. "Aravis, please. You have to believe me. She kissed me, not—"

Aravis wrenched free, the anger that had been repressed by remorse rising to the surface again. "I do not care!" she exclaimed. "Do what you want, Cor! You always do! You brought me along to help you—to give you advice—and what do you do but ignore it? I've finished!"

"Finished—what do you m—"

"Choose!"

The word exploded out of Aravis so violently that it even took her aback. Cor stared, the blood smeared on his upper lip, but it was like lancing a wound; she couldn't stop now that she'd begun. "Choose, Cor, you have to choose!"

"Aravis—I don't—choose what?"

"Them—" Aravis pointed wildly at Ragna, who was standing behind a tree looking frightened, "or me. Your harem, Cor, or your friend. What is it going to be?"

He stammered out an incoherent response, and Aravis dropped her hand by her side. "Think about it, Cor. You said you brought me along on this journey to give you advice and support, that you wouldn't go without me. But now—Cor—do you even know that I'm here?"

"Of course I d—"

"That was rhetorical! You've been an ass, Cor, since the day you met Gyneth. I don't know what the hell she did to you, but the second you clapped eyes on that wench, you forgot I ever meant anything. We used to be best friends! We did everything together! But now—it's—you put women you have never met before ahead of me."

Cor swiped automatically at his nose, smearing the blood even more, but he said nothing. This only made Aravis angrier.

"Are you listening to me?" she cried, her voice growing louder with impatience. A tiny voice in the back of her head whispered caution, but she smashed it down. "The only time you give me the respect I deserve—pay me any attention at all—is when I get injured or when I do something you don't like—"

"Oh, Aravis, that isn't tr—"

"Darrin."

Cor turned a funny pink color and shut his mouth.

"But otherwise it's always about your women! You have to choose, Cor! Or you'll keep bouncing between me and the pretty faces you find on the streets. When will it end, Cor?"

At least he had the decency to look abashed, Aravis thought vaguely before blazing on.

"You can't treat them—me—us like that. One of us has to be first, and you know it. I don't want much—I just want you to treat me decently again—and not jump around like I bore you. I can't take it anymore."

Damn it, here come the tears again…

Cor reached out for her hand, but she slapped it away and, leaving the pails in the dust, stumbled back towards the farmhouse.

Her vision was clouded with tears and dust, but she made it back eventually. The plums on the fire had begun to burn, and she dumped them out savagely in the pigpen, where the huge brown sows tore the purple mass to pieces. It had been a relief to get it off her chest, she thought as she watched the disgusting animals nose around in the muck, the dark plums making them look like they were covered in blood. All the same, she wished she could have planned out what she was going to say—honed her words until they bit and gored like swords.

Ragna did not come back to the farmhouse for a long time. Aravis took it upon herself to pickle some peppers she found hanging in the cellar, and she amused herself between stirs by envisioning the many possible ways Ragna could prove her right. Poison? Too sophisticated for her. But she was perfectly capable of giving Cor a good solid thump on the back of the head when he wasn't looking.

When Ragna did appear finally, she came meekly in through the door, nearly tiptoeing. Aravis scarcely glanced at her. "Peppers are nearly done," she said tonelessly.

Ragna sprinkled some salt into the cauldron and then timidly sat beside the hearth. A long silence reigned.

At last: "I…I though' you said you 'n he was chil'hood friends."

Aravis gave a wry little laugh. "We were."

"But you said…"

It was that kind of day. "Listen here, you," Aravis said through clenched teeth, leaning towards Ragna through the smoke and steam of the cooking process. "Cor and I have a very unique friendship. He has saved my life countless times, and I his—if you think for one moment that you are in some sort of competition with me—think again, Ragna. He and I may have our differences but he is still my friend and I swear by the Great Lion that if you or anyone you know tries to lay a finger on him, I will kill you myself. Understand?"

Ragna nodded, terrified.

"Good. Now pay attention. Cor will ask you to marry him and go with him to the capital city. You will say yes. And then you will join the two other women who he asked the same question. You are not his favorite, Ragna, you are just one of several contenders."

Ragna nodded again, biting her lip. "I won'—I won' hurt him, Finuala, I promise—you 'ave my word—'e's a good man, I can tell—an' 'e does respec' you, mum, if it means anythin' comin' from m'mouth, like—"

Aravis reached out a hand, and Ragna stopped talking with a tiny squeak, as though afraid Aravis would hit her, too. But she merely took up the spoon and stirred the peppers carefully. Heartened, Ragna sat up and tried to catch her eye.

"'E—'e talks about you all t'time—'e told me 'ow you like to race 'orses together an' 'ow clever you are 'n 'ow you like stories 'n you read to 'im sometimes—so don't—don't think I'm tryin' t'steal 'at part o' him away fro' you—I sure amn't—a lass knows not t'break another lass's heart."

Aravis looked over at her through the smoke and steam. Ragna smiled a little.

Late that night, something stirred Aravis out of a deep but restless sleep. Her brain, fogged with exhaustion, couldn't comprehend it at first, but as she quickly came to consciousness, she realized that a frigid drizzle was falling on her face, turned toward the sky as it was. She fumbled at her blankets, attempting to pull them up over her again and regain some of her lost comfort, but they were thin and damp already.

Then, soft warmth settled over her, and she looked up to see Cor, swathed in his winter cloak, draping another blanket over her head and shoulders. He wrapped it tightly around her and tucked the hem of it under her chin. "Autumn is here," he said by way of explanation.

Aravis put her nose into a fold and breathed into it, her breath fogging in the cold night air. "Indeed."

His hand was still on her shoulder. "Aravis," he said softly. She almost didn't want to hear what he was going to go on and say. "You know as well as I do that you're always going to be first with me. I just haven't been very good at showing it."

"Understatement," Aravis muttered.

Cor wasn't fazed. "True. But I'll try harder, I promise. You're right. I've known you forever, and these other women barely a few months."

"At most."

He slipped his cloak around her with one arm. "I'll always be your Shasta, you know."

"At least until you're married."

"No, even after that, I promise. Always. And if I forget, you now have my full permission to do something very painful to me to help me remember."

Aravis had to smile a bit, and Cor squeezed her. "So, Aravis, could this please be our last big row? I hate making you so upset."

"As long as you promise we can still bicker."

"How would we communicate without bickering? Of course we can still bicker."

Aravis laughed, then blushed and covered her mouth as Ram snorted and rolled over, and Cor muffled her face with his cloak. A moment or two passed, but Ram did not wake up, and she peeked up at Cor over his cloak.

"That was close," he whispered.

She smiled and slipped her arms around his torso. It was leaner than she remembered, but firmer, and he folded her up in the cozy warmth of his arms and cloak. "No more rowing," she sighed.

"No more," he agreed softly, and pressed his face into her hair.

They stayed like this for a very long time; Aravis hovered somewhere between sleeping and wakefulness, warm and more comfortable than she had felt in weeks. A few hours before dawn, Ram shook Cor's shoulder and took over the watch, and Cor curled up on his bedroll with his back against Aravis's, and she fell asleep trying to hold back a smile.