Author's Note: I frequently work with women leaving abusive relationships. The two questions I get asked most frequently are (1) why did they stay so long and (2) why didn't the tell anyone. The psychology of domestic violence is complicated, and this is a relatively superficial portrayal of a very complex issue, but one which I hope might help people have some insight into these issues.
All characters belong to Tamora Pierce.
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Daine felt stupid. She really couldn't understand how she had gotten into this situation. And finding herself here, she couldn't seem to figure out how to get out.
It had all started innocently enough. When Perin had asked her to the Midwinter Ball, she had almost turned him down. The blond clerk was a little too... much. Too loud. Too arrogant. Too sure of himself. But, as the hard look from Miri had reminded her, it wasn't as though the person she wanted would be asking her. And it was an invitation. And he was reasonably good looking.
Okay, so he had been a bit pushy at the Ball, but that was men, wasn't it? And he had gotten frustrated when she had cut off his advances, stopping him when he tried to loosen her bodice or raise her skirts. But maybe she had been leading him on a little. It was nice to have the attention. To have someone notice her.
And it was nice when he continued to notice her. When he kept coming around to talk to her. She'd noticed that he didn't really ever want to talk to her; it was more like talking at her. But some people were like that. And she wasn't really a talker.
She remembered the first time he'd shouted at her. Maybe she was late meeting him? He didn't like it when she was late. He didn't understand that an animal might need healing or a mother might lose a little one. He'd said that it felt like everything else was more important to her than he was. That couldn't be right. That wasn't how to act in a relationship. She was bad at being in a relationship.
The next day he'd brought her one of her favourite sweets from the kitchen. He was sorry for losing his temper. It had been a long day.
She remembered the first time he'd grabbed her. He'd cornered her, in a horse stall, at night, when she checked on a pregnant mare. He'd pressed her against the wall, kissing her, rough and clumsy and bruising. She could smell the wine on his breath. It was a horrible, sour stench. When he reached for the lacings on her breeches, she'd pushed him away. He grabbed her by the arms, slamming her back against the wall; there had been such a loud sound when her head hit the wood. He'd said she was a tease. She was cold. She was frigid. Didn't she know she'd never find anyone better than him?
The next day he'd sent flowers with a beautiful note, in his crisp handwriting. He was sorry for his behaviour. He'd been drinking. He was under pressure at work. He didn't mean any of it.
She remembered the first time he'd struck her. It was a slap, so sudden and unexpected that her cheek was stinging for several minutes before she realized what had happened. They had been arguing. She had agreed to go out on a scouting trip with the Riders. When he found out he was furious. It had bothered her, that he didn't want her to go. Didn't he realize she had a job to do? Her job was important, after all. And then he had done it. And as she stood, holding her cheek, he had screamed at her. He had an important job. She didn't value him. She didn't respect him. She didn't even deserve him.
The next day, before she had left, he came to see her. He brought her a beautiful hair comb. He said he was sorry. He was just going to miss her while she was gone. He loved her.
She looked at herself in her mirror. The bruise under and around her eye was darkening, from red to purple. The small split in her eyebrow had stopped bleeding. She should go see a healer.
He had seen her talking to one of the new pages, Duke Baird's son. A nice boy - she'd often seen him around court. Too young for her, though she knew the boy was sweet on her. He'd brought her a sparrow with a twisted leg. She wondered how much time he spent looking for injured animals so he would have an excuse to talk to her. She didn't mind. He was harmless, and the animals got helped.
He was furious. He found her in an empty stable, the last of the horses turned out to pasture. She was a cheat, a harlot, a whore. It didn't matter how much she protested, what she said. His face had gone red. She was terrified. She hadn't even realized she'd called Cloud until the gray pony was standing there, his arm in her mouth, keeping him from swinging again.
What could she tell a healer?
She jumped at the sharp rapping that cut through the silence of her room. "Who is it?" she called, forcing her voice to sound light.
"It's me, magelet," came a familiar light, male voice.
She closed her eyes. The healer was the least of her concerns now.
"Come in," she said, knowing that any delay in her response would raise suspicion. She didn't turn to look at the door as it was pushed open and a tall, lanky man walked in.
"I was looking everywhere for you," Numair said as he entered, his voice still light. "It's not like you to be inside on a beautiful day. Are you unwell?"
"No, I'm fine," she said quickly, busying herself with papers on her desk, looking down to hide her face from him. No use offering details.
A long silence stretched between them, making Daine uncomfortable. She pretended to read a sheaf of papers. "Did you need something, Numair?"
She could tell the older mage was suspicious already. "The King and I were going over some maps, and there was some confusion about what areas you had scouted already," he explained, his voice wary. "I know you already told us, but I was hoping we could just confirm."
Daine steeled herself. She casually ran her fingers through her curls, letting them fall into her face, hoping it would hide the worst of the damage, as she turned to face her friend.
"Of course," she said brightly, pretending not to notice the look of shock on Numair's face.
"Daine!" he exclaimed, dropping the sheaf of maps he held on a table and striding across the small room to her. "What happened?"
Long fingers, exceedingly gentle, tilted her face towards the light from the window. The curls she had just pulled forward were brushed back.
"It's nothing," she said dismissively, pulling her face away.
Those gentle hands coaxed her face back to their hold, the elegant fingers tracing the edges of her marred skin. "It is not nothing," Numair contradicted. "What happened?"
"I fell," she lied. "That's it. I wasn't paying attention and tripped and fell."
His dark eyes stared into her blue-gray ones, worry etched in his features. He knew she was lying. She was sure of it.
"You need a healer," he said, his face unreadable. "Baird is in the infirmary. Come on, I can take you."
"It can wait," Daine protested. "The scouting locations..."
"We will see to them later," Numair interrupted. He grinned, though the smile did not reach the worry in his eyes. "You know, if you continue to argue, I can simply carry you there," he quipped, though Daine could tell that there was more steel behind the light-hearted joke than there ordinarily would have been.
Daine returned his smile, glad to have even the façade of their teasing friendship to hide behind for the moment. "Okay, okay, I'll come," she finally agreed.
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She loved the cool freshness of early spring nights. After Duke Baird had healed her injuries, he had invited her and Numair to join him for dinner. Harailt and Lindhall had joined them. It was a bright and lively conversation. She enjoyed spending time with these men. A small part of her mind kept reminding her how they had included her in the conversation, asked her questions, kept silent while she talked. They had talked to her, not at her.
Numair had watched her closely through dinner. She thought she'd seen Duke Baird looking at her from the corner of her eye as well, but when she turned her head, he was chatting with Lindhall. But neither of them had said anything to her, and the meal had been a quiet, pleasant affair.
Now she headed back to her rooms, thinking to check in on Cloud before she went to bed. She'd been so busy lately she'd had little time to talk to the gray mare.
"Where were you?"
The voice was cold as its owner stepped out from the shadow of a large tree.
"Perin!" Daine exclaimed. "You frightened me."
"I came to see you," the blond boy repeated. "Where were you?" Perin was half a foot taller than her own five-foot-four frame, broad-shouldered. His eyes were a muddy hazel, and there was no warmth in them as he stared at her.
"I was having dinner with Numair and some of the others," she answered, her voice tentative.
"With Numair," Perin repeated. "You'd rather be with him than me?"
"He asked me," Daine said, feeling stupid. What had she done wrong? Numair was her teacher - why was Perin upset that they'd had dinner together. "We didn't have any arrangements for dinner."
"I expected you to be there," Perin snapped.
"I'm sorry," Daine said, though she was not sure what she was apologizing for. "You should have-"
"I SHOULD HAVE?" Perin screamed. "I should have WHAT, Daine? Told you I didn't want you whoring around with some lecherous old man?"
Dain's temper flared. "Numair is NOT a lecherous old man!" she snapped back.
She didn't even see the first blow coming. He had backhanded her, the heavy ring he always wore opening a new cut on her lip. With the second blow, a fist to her temple, he knocked her to the ground.
Daine knew how to fight. She knew how to defend herself. But her body had frozen. When he reached for her again, she could do nothing but let him haul her to her feet by her shirt.
"I've told you over and over, Daine, I will not tolerate you making a fool of me. I will not have you whoring around with other men. You don't deserve me..." He threw her heavily onto the ground. "You're no better than your mother," he spat.
Daine waited for the next blow, but it didn't come. She glanced up.
Perin seemed frozen in place, a look of shock on his face. Behind him, striding down the place grounds, Daine could see a tall man, a long black robe flowing out from behind him. Black magic, glittering with white, streamed from his outstretched hand. Even at this distance, Daine could see the fury written on his face. Behind him hurried three other men, shorter and struggling to catch up.
She could only sit on the ground and watch as Numair strode closer. Her head was spinning, relief mixing with pain, confusion, and shame.
He came straight to her, falling to one knee in front of her. His free hand brushed her cheek as he surveyed the damage on her face. "Stay where you are," he finally said, his voice shaking, but gentle. "Baird is on his way."
"I'm okay," she said, her swelling lip slurring her words.
A strange expression crossed his face. "You're not," he said. "Stay put."
He stood again, gathering power around himself like a cloak as he did. He turned to face the still-frozen man, putting his body in front of Daine.
Numair towered over Perin, looking down at him, his black eyes sparkling with anger. "How dare you," he said softly. "How dare you lay your hands on a woman." He raised his hand, the sparkle of magic becoming more intense.
"Numair!"
The three men following had finally caught up. Lindhall. Baird, and a member of the palace Guard came along, breathing heavily.
"Numair, stop." It was Lindhall who spoke, wincing as he put his hand on the taller man's arm, the sizzle of magic running through his fingers. "The Guard is here. They'll deal with him."
Daine could only see Numair's back, ramrod straight.
"Numair," Lindhall said again.
Daine saw Baird lean in and speak quietly to Numair. She watched as he lowered his hand, the glittering black cloak that had enveloped Perin dropping away. The Guard stepped forward and seized the blond boy.
"I'll go with them," Lindhall said. "Inform the King what's happened."
Baird was kneeling in front of Daine. "Look what you've done to all my hard work," he joked mildly. "And now you're even forcing me to make house calls." He smiled, trying to spread his calm demeanour like a healing balm. "Perhaps we could get you to the infirmary?"
"My rooms are closer," Numair said. "I can carry her."
"I can probably walk," Daine said, though she had some doubts herself.
But Numair had already lifted her gently into his arms, cradling her against his chest. "It's ok, magelet," he said quietly. intensely. "I have you."
Something about the simple words struck at Daine's heart, and she turned her face into Numair's chest to hide the sudden tears that had sprung up in her eyes.
Baird made short work of Daine's injuries, though he could not wipe away the bruises from her face this time. "It's hard to lay a healing on top of a healing so quickly," he'd explained, as they sat together on Numair's couch. "And you'll need a good night's sleep. That concussion was serious."
"She can stay here," Numair said from where he stood, arms folded, watching them. It was a statement.
"Sounds good to me," Baird said, standing. "I'd prefer if there was someone to keep an eye on you anyway, Daine."
"The King wants to talk to you, Daine, but he said he'll wait until morning," Lindhall said. He had rejoined them a few minutes earlier. Daine nodded, dread already settling in her chest at the thought of the conversation.
"In the meantime, you need to get some rest," Baird reminded. "Numair, you know how to find me if there are any problems."
As the two men stepped out and the door closed behind them, Lindhall turned to Baird. "What did you say to him anyway? To make him release the boy?"
Baird smiled, his green eyes kind. "The one thing I knew he'd listen to. I said 'Daine needs you.'"
Inside the room, Numair closed the door before crossing and sitting on the beside her on the couch, taking Baird's palce. He took both of Daine's hands in his large ones and just gazed at her silently.
"You're not going to wait until morning," Daine said in response to his stare. Numair shook his head silently, expectantly. She waited for him to ask a question, but he just sat, watching her, his face filled with an emotion that she could not name, clearly waiting for her to speak.
"We met at Midwinter," she finally started. "It... he... he wasn't always like this. He would just get mad sometimes. First, he would just shout at me. But he calmed down, he apologized. Then, one day, he got mad and he grabbed me, he shoved me against a horse stall. Then..." He voice trailed off, unable to continue. "He wasn't always this bad," she repeated.
"He was," Numair contradicted, gently but firmly. "He'd hit you today. Earlier. When I came to your room."
They weren't questions, but she nodded anyway.
"Why wouldn't you tell me? Why didn't you come to me?"
Daine felt tears prickle the edge of her eyes. "I... didn't know... didn't know how to tell you... or anyone." She took a deep breath, trying to control the tears that threatened to spill over. "I just... I was so stupid. I was just so stupid to let it happen... and that I was letting it keep happening."
Numair reached out, stroking her cheek. The tender gesture provide to be her undoing, and she broke down, tears streaming down her cheeks. He shifted on the couch, gathering her into his arms. "You are not stupid," he said, his voice full of emotion. "You are not stupid and this was not your fault. It was not your fault." Large, gentle hands stroked her back as she cried, her face buried in Numair's shoulder.
He noticed that she seemed to grow heavier in his arms, her sobs quieting. "Magelet?" he said softly, shifting to look at her face. Exhaustion, both from the healing, and from the events of the day had clearly caught up with her. She laid against his chest, her eyes closed, the tears still shining on her cheeks.
He gently manoeuvred them both until he could lay back on the couch, still holding her to his chest. And while she slept, he laid awake wondering how he had missed it all.
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