Ethnia asked if they could head down to the sandy shores outside Sailane and stay for the morning. Azel agreed (because of course he did), so they rode out later than they typically did but early enough to not miss the whole day; she wanted to be back in time for her teatime, afraid that if she was late the other princesses would stop inviting her. They only took one horse, strangely used to the press of her hip against his back, her hand on his hip, or in his as she hopped down.
"I know Silesse is not famous for its warm weather, but I'd like a bit of it," she said, undoing her red ribbon and the tie holding her hair back. "I tire of wearing my cloak all the time."
Azel peeked at her while tethering his (their?) horse, not getting a good look before they left. Beneath her usual cloak she wore a green dress that wouldn't be out of place in the forests of Verdane, stopping just beneath her knees. She looked good in just about anything, he thought, but she did not ask so he kept it to himself. She had not brought much from Friege, if her childhood bedroom was anything like Tailtiu's.
"I do not mind it," he admitted. Silesse's consistent if cold weather was preferable to the whims of her western Grannvale. Friege was sunny one moment, pouring the next. "Though I confess to being warm and not bothered by the cold."
She wound her ribbon around her delicate wrist. "Are you bothered by anything?" she asked, looking up at him. He cherished the feeling.
"Yes…?" What a strange thing to ask. He looked towards Sailane, making sure they were well alone. As Silesse stood, things were at a tentative peace, meaning everything and nothing.
She tucked her hand in his elbow, leading him down to the shore. A breeze whiffed by, ruffling her hair. Strange but nice to see it down. "I fear I may be a bother," she said.
"Never." Overeager? Certainly, but she often fretted about being one. They were friends. "Why do you think so?"
As quick as he had her touch, he lost it. She scratched the toe of her flat across the sand. "My reasons for bringing you here were not entirely innocent. I hoped a bit of privacy would make this easier for you and myself, in case I've misread you."
Azel blinked. "And what have you read?"
But even if her reasons were not wholly innocent, that part was there. She crouched, brushing her fingers through the sand and digging out a small shell. "You look at Father Claud weird."
"Weird?" he echoed. "With my face?"
"Yes…?"
Of course with his face, and he knew what face he used.
Rude to make her look up, he joined her, gathering his cloak in his hand. Sand was a different beast than soil. "I do not mean to," nor did he realize it was obvious. "It is one of my many bad habits."
She offered her shell to hold. "I only know the Father from afar. I think he's kind." Father Claud was kind, undeniably — kind, graceful, a man of faith and good standing. He knew him as well as Ethnia did, the closest he'd stood to him that horrible day at the Tower.
"He is a good man."
"You don't look at him like a good man." She handed him a second shell. He shook it. "You needn't tell me, but what happened that day?"
Nothing — he did nothing but look: Tailtiu's covered body, Father Claud's hand clutching his holy staff, the Tower rising behind him, forgetting everything he saw on the way up, the ache in his legs. (Who left home with only a staff, sacred or not? Without a tome a child could use?)
"You know what happened." Ethnia did not deserve frigidity. Together when everyone else went to bed, burning pecan pastries. She went with him to get gloves, she went with him to Lex and Ayra's.
The wind picked up; he shuffled closer, watching her toss little sticks towards the crashing waves. Alone. "May I say something uncouth?" he asked.
She nodded, digging out a divot. His hand held three small and sturdy gray-washed scales. Shells in books were more colorful, but if Silesse's air was this frigid, he could not imagine the sea. She seemed happy with them, dropping a fourth one in his hand.
"I would have brought her back."
Ethnia stopped. "That…that does not seem horrible."
"I do not think I would know where to stop."
Turning her head to look at him, windswept bangs and tender eyes and pink cheeks, his heart stopped. "I wouldn't either." She scooted closer, wobbling a bit. "How lucky we are that we do not have the burden."
Lucky.
He ran his thumb along the bumpy back of the shell. A Crusader's blessing. The weight of Valflame on his lap but refusing to open, cover like steel, while his lord brother flipped it open like a normal tome.
Valflame made the dead, not raised them.
For a while, there was only the crush of the waves and the soft, distant nickers of their horse. Ethnia was up to twelve shells, picking through which ones to discard, other hand cupping his. "Thank you for answering," she said. "You didn't have to. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
"Anything for you. You know that." She tried to fold his fingers back, going along with her. They'd be back in Sailane sooner than he thought, but he wouldn't mind the chance to take an early bath.
Ethnia bowed her head, kissing his knuckles. "Thank you," she said again. Azel felt hot up to his ears (nobody kissed his knuckles, hoping it was not respect she kissed him out of), smiling. She mirrored it. "What if someone caught you scowling at the Father?"
"You did."
"Respectfully, I might be the only one looking."