from somewhere beyond the clouds,
I heard the Goddess laugh.
I heard the Goddess laugh.
“I
thought nobody would ask.” His reply catches Aghavni by surprise — a difficult feat to accomplish. Though August has always managed it better than most.She looks up at him, only to realize her mistake when the boy’s smile makes her stomach flip over itself like the tailor’s scruffy little dog did whenever he begged her deploringly for treats. Her only solace lies in the fact that her particular affliction has not yet learned to spread from her stomach to the muscles of her face.
“Am I the first?” Aghavni’s voice carries true, as she trusts it to do, though it crests with genuine curiosity. Do you really only go to fetch the bread every morning, August? she wonders, incredulous. Times like these are when she laments not having Minya’s talent for reading boys like books.
Still, she is just a bit pleased at his words. She almost relishes that she is the first one brave enough to ask, until she reels herself back, indignant, because when has she ever been afraid? Her head tilts as she regains her bearings. “I’d thought you more popular than that.”
It is easy, too easy, to pretend that nothing is wrong when she jests with him like this. The arms of habit are welcoming, and she allows herself to sink into them, just for a moment, before she pulls herself away.
She spins neatly on her heels and makes for the end of the hall, expecting that he will follow. The staff dash about the rooms, readying themselves for the night, and guilt gnaws quietly at her as she slips past them and pulls spike after spike from her tightly-knotted mane. There is no need for her hair to be bound if she is not working the Floor, and anyways, the gold pins do not feel half as lovely as they look.
The winter wind is laden with the promise of frost. She shivers, but it is only partly due to the cold. Tonight is a night of full moon, and her city of stars has turned into something entirely other. Sounds carry too easily. Shadows stretch too eerily. And despite living half of her life in the Scarab’s own whispering dark, Aghavni’s heartbeat thump thump thumps in her chest when she realizes just how much she does not recognize it; this shadow city.
She draws closer to August’s familiar golden shoulder, a beacon in the gloom, and masks her unease with silence. Her father’s letter has sucked her wits dry like a leech.
“I can’t remember the last time you took an evening off for festivities.” Aghavni startles at the proximity of his voice. How long have they been walking? How far are they from the castle? She knows it sits on the banks of the Vitreus, but she has only been to the mirror lake once before, and that had been a long time ago.
“I can’t… either,” she says, frowning as she tries to remember. “It’s getting harder to step away. With Father gone so often.” The admission falls from her tongue unadorned by her usual caution. She has never felt the need to keep her facade of polished self-assurance around August. He saw right through her every time, unfailingly. (Sometimes — she wished that he didn’t.)
Which is why, when she sees the castle of ice shimmering from beyond the trees, Aghavni does not bother to hide her astonishment.
Her eyes widen as they scrutinize every inch of the impossible creation through the dense foliage, then through the willow fronds, until at last it looms, mirage-like, in front of them. A castle of ice. She had not believed the rumors, not really. But now — she forgets why she ever doubted them.
She forgets the letter, folded into thirds, slid under a vase, on her father’s long-empty desk. She forgets the Solterran king's impending visit. She forgets even the Scarab, because here, under the silver moon, everything not carved of ice (or kissed with gold) evaporates like her steaming breath.
She turns to August, studies how the moonlight bleaches him silver — into a frost king, she thinks, remembering her childhood stories — and laughs. Sol's laugh. “Am I asleep? Is this a dream?” But before she allows him time to answer, she adds with a toss of her hair: “But if it is, don’t tell me. I don’t wish to wake so soon.”
@August | "speaks" | notes: more. bread. jokes.
