Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.

Chapter 3: Love Cuts Deepest

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Summer was nearly over when Denna found me in the garden. I had been sitting behind the trellis that held the cucumber vines, watching the leaves begin to droop as brown spots snaked along their edges. Within another span, they would shrivel up and there would be no more cucumbers until next summer. They were still holding on for now, though. Seeking out those last bits of sunny warmth.

She climbed behind the trellis and settled beside me, fluffing out her layered skirts atop the grass. Once, it would have been odd to see Denna in a skirt, much less two, but I had grown used to it. The girl who insisted pants couldn't only be for boys had grown up into — as Mother called her — a fine young lady. Pants were only for children. I was still a child, though, so I wore her old ones as I pleased.

She seemed content to sit in silence, so I kept studying the leaves. There was a half-grown cucumber hanging down the back of the trellis with a drying flower on the end. I carefully flicked it off, watching the cucumber sway in the wind.

"That's going to be a good one," Denna said appreciatively. "Good haul this year."

"Like you'd know," I said, pulling my legs up to my chin. I looked decidedly ahead at the trellis and avoided her.

She sighed. "I'm sorry I haven't been around as much. I've missed you horribly."

"Uh huh," I said, still refusing to look at her.

"I have something for you," she said, her voice taking on a hopeful tone.

I glanced at her, unable to help myself. "A present?"

"I hope so," she said, smiling. She dug into her skirts to pull out a small cloth bundle and handed it to me.

I felt it carefully. It was soft, almost spongy. I tugged at the twine that held it together and pulled apart the wrappings: cloth first, then some sort of waxy paper. Inside was a small cake, slightly squished from its prolonged time in Denna's pocket, but delightful-looking all the same.

I smiled in spite of myself. It was a simple pleasure, but I adored sweets. It was the surest way to my heart. And I wasn't mad — not really. I just missed her. That was all. With that in mind, I took a giant bite of the cake and felt my face break into a blissful smile.

"Did you make this?" I asked around a mouthful of strawberry filling.

She nodded. "Trent snuck me into the palace kitchens. It was brilliant. Oh, they have the best things there, D! There are these machines for rolling the dough. Almost mechanical. Oh, you wouldn't believe…" She trailed off wistfully, a silly grin lighting up her face.

"Well of course," I said, licking the remainder of the frosting off the waxy paper. I was feeling rather resentful again, though I tried not to show it. "It's the palace, isn't it? Of course it's the best there is. Nothing like what we commoners have in our kitchens…"

"I reckon Mother would love to see it," Denna said. "Oh, I should bring all of you!"

I laughed. "Like they'd ever let us in the palace."

"Of course they will," Denna said, smiling again. She turned to me, taking hold of my arm as her eyes sought out mine. "They'll have to. Because, well, I'm with child."

She blushed and glanced down at her skirts as I stared at her, my mouth dropping open. The cake wrappings slipped down to the grass, small bits of frosting still trapped within the folds, but I barely noticed. Denna's words had shattered the entire world.

"Tehlu anyway," I gasped. A child. I couldn't believe it. I had just gotten my first bloods three span ago, and I was now well-versed on the subject. Denna had been there to help me through that, at least. "You aren't!"

She smiled a little sheepishly. "I'm afraid I am."

I stared, realization sinking in. She was all grown up, just like Mother said. She was leaving. Leaving us. Leaving me. She would never stay here if she was carrying a nobleman's baby. She would move into the palace, with Trent. She picked him.

We would never get back what we had.

I wanted to cry.

To my eleven-year-old credit, I didn't. Perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of the cake.

"So you'll be marrying Trent," I said dully.

She smiled again, the turning of her lips slightly bittersweet as she watched me. "Yes, we'll have to be married soon. I just…" She paused, her eyes dancing as they landed on mine. "I haven't told him yet. But he'll be pleased. He always talks of a family. Oh, D, how should I do it? Would you like to help me?"

It was a little heartbreaking to help Denna make real this very thing which would take her away from me, but I was desperate enough to cling to any time she offered, especially now that she was on the verge of leaving me behind. We sat there in the yard, running through potential scenarios, each wilder than the last. We could ask Mother for Grandmother's ring, and Denna could propose to Trent herself — on one knee and everything! — before giving him the news. We could dress Denna in silks like Ava from The Ghost and the Goosegirl to show her claim to nobility, or we could act out the birth of Menda from The Forging of the Path, because however kind Perial was, she had nothing on Denna. I would burst out from beneath her skirts for the representation, of course. I would be the aunt, and such things were my duty. Our ideas grew wilder and sillier, and we doubled over in laughter as we sat behind the trellis, lost in the wanderings of our imagination as the sun began to set on the last day of Before.

In the end, Denna chose to forgo the theatrics in favor of sweetness. More simple, she explained, as we planned out the day. More honest.

She met him in the gardens on the edge of Renere. The gardens were large; manicured in some places, and rather wild in others. That day, they shook in the slight wind, still mostly green but hovering on the edge of season, imbibing the air with the musky scent of early fall. Denna stood alone within the late summer flowers, the wind blowing her hair about as she waited. She was clutching a small clout fit for a newborn child, her fingers squeezing rather tightly against the soft cotton.

I stood hidden within a grove of trees several feet away, watching her with excitement. Despite the impending sense of change, I couldn't help but be excited about putting our plan into action. We had spent most of yesterday hunting for the perfect fabric — nothing cheap would do for a noble child, after all. This baby would have the best. We had spent a pretty penny on it, but Denna was content to fork over most of the contents of her purse.

"Once we're wed, money won't be a concern," she said brightly, counting her remaining coin: one bit and three pennies, most of which we spent on a loaf of fresh bread and several pastries from the bakery in the Belem quarter, which was renowned for its baked goods. We also bought a small wheel of creamy, soft cheese and a bottle of sweet, fruity wine. Then, Denna and I had sewn the clout, giggling over sewing patterns we had found among Mother's old things, tucked away with our own baby clothes.

"Perhaps it will be a girl," Denna had said, smiling. "And she can wear all these things too."

"I'm sure Trent will have her in silks," I said. "Brand new things every day! She won't want these old rags."

Denna had merely smiled, clutching her old tunic to her chest for a moment before we took what we needed and stole out into the yard, where we worked until the sun bathed the world in red.

Now, the feast was packed into a basket beside me, which stood upon a thick blanket laid out upon the late summer grass. I stood still, clutching Mother's rebec in a slightly trembling hand. My other hand held the bow. Denna would tell Trent, and then the spotlight would fall on me. And I was ready. I would be the best aunt — Denna would never abandon me.

The crunching sound of footsteps cut through the sleepy air, and I blinked out of my musings to see Trent approaching Denna through the trees. I had met him many times before, but here, as the sunlight sliced through the trees and glinted across the silver buttons on his tunic and the hilt of his jeweled sword, I couldn't help but think how striking he was. His hair was pure gold, glowing in the rays of light. It created a beautiful contrast to Denna's dark and curly locks. He smiled when he came upon her and placed his lips lightly on her brow. They looked wonderful together. Like a painting of beauty and nobility.

"Here I am, love," he said easily.

She grinned and leaned forward, brushing his lips with her own. I watched with curiosity. Was that what growing up was all about? Touching lips and hearts, until babies came?

"Thank you for coming." Denna's voice seemed shy; much more demure than how I was used to hearing it. I frowned slightly where I stood in the trees. How could she contain her secret so calmly, when she was usually so prone to letting her heart burst free?

"You said it was a surprise." He leaned forward, kissing her again. I stared, fascinated, as he held his lips on hers for a long moment before leaning back to brush her cheek. "What is it, love?"

"I have — um—" she stuttered, fumbling with the clout, "something for you."

She seemed to steel herself, then held it out, her face breaking into a smile. She looked calmer now, happier. "Here it is."

This was it! My moment. I raised the rebec, practically dancing with excitement.

"What's this?"

I paused, the bow inches from the strings, and glanced out past the trees again. He sounded confused. Didn't he understand what it was? We'd worked so hard…

"It's a clout," Denna said, smiling. "I made it myself."

"I know what it is," Trent said, his voice entirely unreadable. "Why are you giving it to me?"

"Because," she said patiently, reaching out to take his hand. "I'm with child, Trent!"

There was a silence. A silence so thick and sudden that it seemed to suck out all the surrounding air. I stared, my fingers frozen, my task entirely forgotten. The silence was captivating. It seemed to pull me in.

"That can't be," Trent said finally, staring at her.

"What do you mean?" Denna said, laughing a little. "It was a bit of a surprise for me, but considering…" She smiled at him again. "I mean honestly, it's almost shocking it hasn't happened sooner…"

Trent seemed to come out of a daze. "Right," he said. "Right. I see."

"Right," Denna agreed, seemingly happy with the turn of conversation. "I reckon I'm about three span along. So there's plenty of time to plan. Isn't that wonderful? We can tell our parents—"

Trent's face had turned white as she spoke. He took a hasty step back, dropping her hand.

"—and I suppose we should be wed sooner than we…" She trailed off, looking at him. "Trent? What's wrong?"

"Denna," he said, his voice a little strangled. "Black hands! We can't have a baby…" He paused, staring at her for a long moment. "You've got to get rid of it."

"Get rid of it?" she gasped, her voice a shocked whisper. "What— What are you saying? I couldn't…"

"You must," he said, his voice firm. "I understand you can't ask your father, but I will help you. I will arrange for you to see a doctor. Money's no issue, of course. I'll—"

"Trent," she gasped, "stop."

He did. He froze, staring at her like a startled deer. In the trees, I stood still as a statue, unable to look away as my mind slipped into confusion.

Denna had said he wanted a child, and yet he reminded me of the sobbing woman who had stumbled into Father's apothecary last summer begging for tea, medicine, denner — anything that would take her child away. I had been in the store, meant to be sorting and reorganizing Father's inventory of herbs though I was doing no such thing, and I could still remember the desperate look in her eyes as she begged Father to help her.

Seeing the same terrified look upon Tent's face now scared me horribly.

Feet away from me, Denna drew in a shaking breath, holding it for just a moment before pulling her composure back around her like a shield.

"I know you're scared," she said, reaching for Trent's hand again. Her voice was oddly gentle. "I am too. But it's all right. My family will understand and—"

"Mine won't."

He stepped back again, the gap growing between them.

"B-but we'll be wed…" Denna said, her voice trembling now. Her face fell as she watched him stand in silence. It seemed to hover around him, like a looming shadow. "Isn't it all right if we're wed? I know this isn't proper, but we can tell them it happened after, if you like…"

"Denna," Trent whispered, his voice cracking. "We can't— I can't marry you."

"W-what?" She took a step toward him, her eyes filling with sudden tears. "But we said— you said—"

"I know," he said, stepping back again. "But, Denna, I can't just— I mean, my father's an advisor to King Roderic— and you're… you're…"

"The girl you love," she whispered, tears slipping free of her lashes to trail down her cheeks as she edged towards him again. "The mother of your child."

"A commoner," Trent said quietly.

She paused and looked at him hard, and I stared at the three steps that stood between them. Seemingly so close, and yet worlds apart. The gap as deep and wide as a canyon.

"It's never mattered to you before," she whispered. Her tears reached the curve of her chin, dangling there for a moment before dropping to the rock-strewn ground. She made no move to wipe them.

Trent looked uncomfortable and said nothing.

"Is this the face you hide beneath the silks?" she added quietly. "Is this who you really are, Trent?"

He looked away, his silence gathering around him like a shield. Her words didn't seem able to cut through it at all.

"Did you ever love me?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. To Trent's credit, he had courage enough to meet her eyes one last time.

"No." The word was flat. Emotionless. "Get rid of it, Denna. You don't need to raise my bastard."

He turned and walked away, his cloak billowing effortlessly in the wind behind him. He had vanished from my line of sight before Denna collapsed to her knees, her choked sob renting the now-silent air.

I slowly lowered the rebec and stepped out from among the trees.

That day, I had learned two things. I learned that the divide between nobles and commoners was even deeper and wider than I had ever imagined, and that love can cut hearts just as well as any sword.

There are many sweet things I can say about Denna. I can talk about her kindness or exuberance, or her capacity for love. But the months that followed were truly a testament to her strength. She cried, of course. She wouldn't be human if she didn't take a moment to let her grief overwhelm her a bit on its way out. But she picked up the pieces well enough.

Sitting across from our parents that night beside the blazing fire, she told them everything, wiping still at her swollen eyes.

"He's gone, and good riddance," she said of Trent. And "I'm keeping it, of course," of the baby. "I'll raise it myself. I'll work in the shop with Father. Do housework for the nobles. Whatever it takes."

Mother and Father were disappointed — I could see it in the looks they shared, in the hard set of their faces. There would be no suitors for Denna now, noble or otherwise. Few men would choose to care for someone else's child. Her prospects for marriage were virtually nonexistent. But there was nothing to be done for it. Nothing that could be fixed with words. And her pain was punishment enough.

There was a part of me that delighted in having Denna back, but the Denna I got wasn't quite the one that had skipped naively off to follow her heart two seasons ago. She had believed in something back then with all the best parts of herself — in something that lived in a thousand books and stories — and now that something had cracked right down the middle, and no matter how she tried to stitch it up, the edges just didn't fit right anymore. I reckon that even if she had found love again, she probably wouldn't believe it. Would probably spend it all with a dark shadow within her, searching for the string that held it all together. The string that could be pulled to unravel the entire thing. I know. Gods, Denna, I know.

Because I'm standing right there, aren't I?