Bittersweet Beginning
Disclaimer: All characters and locations herein are the property of Tamora Pierce. Plot and actual written words owned by me. Written for Challenge 19 of the Seanfhocal Circle.
Night had fallen on Winding Circle when Rosethorn entered the Earth temple baths; her garden had been vexing her today, keeping her up late, treating the fungus that crumpled the vines' normally smooth leaves, hacking at a parasite that lodged among the branches of an olive tree. Two hours ago she'd told Lark not to hold supper for her. Now her knotted back muscles and aching feet demanded a long, hot soak.
You've been letting those plants bully you again, Lark would say, when she came back to Discipline too tired to eat and collapse in her bed. Show them some muscle; Mila knows you show it to humans often enough!
Rosethorn shook her head as she stripped off her habit and sank herself into the steaming bath, inch by inch. Those children need to learn self-control, she told her friend mentally. You're just too soft on them. There's a reason they call our place Discipline, you know. She imagined how Lark would respond to that argument -- that look in her eye. Sometimes she wondered if the patient, soft-spoken woman was ever so reproachful with anyone but Rosethorn herself.
"Working late again?"
It took her a moment to place a name to the face -- Dedicate Yellowstone, she thought. "I had a fungus in my vines," she replied, and Yellowstone winced in sympathy.
"Try copper ore crumbs," suggested the other dedicate, "in the autumn, when the spores come out."
Rosethorn made a face; she wanted those sap-thieves out of her grapevines now, not in six months! "Perhaps," she said with reserve.
Yellowstone chuckled.
Deciding to cut short her long-awaited soak, Rosethorn scrubbed quickly and gave her short hair a cursory washing. When she climbed out of the bath she said, "I ought to hurry back, if I'm to eat before I go to bed. I think Lark is keeping something warm for me."
"Of course she is, dear," said Yellowstone with a smile.
Rosethorn bristled at the endearment, pausing as she picked up a towel from the pile by the door. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Dear," said the other as Rosethorn cringed again, "don't you know? Everyone else does."
"Know what?" she asked suspiciously.
Yellowstone shrugged, sending ripples through the bath water. "About Lark."
She glared. "I am not known for my patience, Yellowstone," she said curtly.
The other woman rolled here eyes and obliged with visible reluctance. "Lark is in love with you, dear. She has been for quite some time. It's the talk of the temple, you know. The loom-houses, at least."
Rosethorn stared at Yellowstone, speechless. Finally she shook her head, showering droplets from her hair. Grabbing her bathing-things, she retreated into the adjacent room to dry off and think.
The talk of the temple? Quite some time? What was that supposed to mean? Surely she would have known about such a thing -- Lark wouldn't hide it from her. And wouldn't she have noticed it herself, if it were as obvious as Yellowstone was suggesting? She pulled on her robe and belted it firmly. There was nothing to it but to ask Lark herself. She owed her friend that much.
"I suppose you're going straight to sleep, now," said Lark when Rosethorn walked in the door. "You ought to eat supper, at least. I held something back for you, and kept the tea warm."
There was a covered clay dish on the stove, next to the teapot. The dishes were washed, the table wiped clean. Reez and Kirian both sat at it, Reez combing wool for spinning and Kirian laboring over a sketch of a human heart. Rosethorn looked at them ponderously for a moment. Then she disappeared into her room without an answer.
When she came out again, Lark was sitting alone at the table, sipping tea out of a yellow earthenware mug. "I sent the boys upstairs," she said. "Now pour yourself some tea and tell me what's wrong."
She took her time pouring, and sat slowly down across from Lark, cradling her mug between two hands. "You kept supper warm for me," she said finally. She'd never been articulate about her feelings, and the confusion she felt now was beyond her skills to explain.
Lark tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes intent on Rosethorn, questioning as though they could find their answers, written plainly on her forehead for everyone to see.
Rosethorn drew a hand over her eyes, suddenly weary. "I'm sorry, just -- I'm too tired to eat."
"That's alright," said Lark. She stood and put away her empty mug to be washed. Leaning over to take Rosethorn's mug, as well, she said, "Go to sleep. You look exhausted."
Rosethorn smiled. "I am."
"I love you," said Lark, kissing the top of her head.
"I know."