and i must pour forth a river of words
or i shall suffocate.
or i shall suffocate.
F
or as much as Maret had craved a different life, for as much wondering and wishing and waiting that had consumed her each day she sat in her bedroom and looked out at the other worlds hiding behind the horizon — still, she would be remiss to overlook the benefits of home. And it would be nothing short of ignorance to pretend that while she did not find Delumine to be the most exciting place in Novus, it had still been the place of her upbringing and was responsible for the young woman she had become. And it would be further wrong to not at least acknowledge that there were undoubtedly others who would find pieces of themselves at home there.
She wonders now, as she watches the other girl swirl her glass and gaze around the room, if she has ever been to Delumine (and if so — when? and why? and which parts?) Maret wants to ask her all these questions and more, wants to know what she thought of the quieter court where scandals were more often buried and swept quietly away because they were less exciting than the latest scholarly articles — but before she has a chance, Ruth counters with another question.
There are a thousand ways Maret could answer it, not the least of which being that it was tradition for the newly-come-of-age to leave the Court and explore the world (a tradition that the new Regime was intent on reanimating.) The words are there on her lips, ready to be confessed — and then and only then does she realize it would sound like an excuse. And, worse, that the excuse was far from exciting or true.
Why does anybody leave home, if not for the excitement of rebelling, of carving out their own fate from the threads of the world?
How does that make her any different from any other young adult with a newfound sense of freedom?
She smiles tightly. “To find out who I am, I suppose, without the influence of my parents. Solterra is the closest to Delumine’s antithesis that I could think of.” And perhaps the honesty surprises even herself, because she follows the words with a quick sip of her drink (and is further surprised that it tastes far sweeter than she expected, although the spice stings her nose and the aftertaste is far more sour than she would like.)
And she is about to take another drink, to replace the sour aftertaste with the sweetness of another sip, when Ruth voices her warning.
Maret looks down at the glass, as though weighing the options with the revelations. Her smile turns sheepish as she lowers the glass, words tumbling like a waterfall through her mind. She had not recognized her as Ieshan at first — but of course she recognized the snake-haired man of the hour. And as Maret looks from brother to sister the resemblances slowly trickle in like sunlight through a hole in the ceiling.
Another warning quickly follows the first, and Maret thinks it interesting that the only advice she has to offer is voiced in the form of cautions. The thought makes the pit of nerves in her stomach grow tighter, the ice creeping ever higher up her legs. She nods along politely.
“Duly noted,” her voice sounds quieter than it did before. And even when Ruth doesn’t say it, it’s there in her eyes: a final warning, a note to be careful. A warning she has not heard before, not with such sincerity.
But she is nothing if not a curious creature. And as she studies Ruth’s eyes, and as the corners of her vision come alive with stars dancing back and forth across the room, and the sour taste at the back of her throat intensifies — she cannot stop one more question from rising unbidden to her lips.
Later she might question herself for not choosing her words more carefully, or perhaps she might blame it on the spices that seemed to go straight to her mind like smoke. But in the moment, all that comes out is this: “if Solterra is so dislikable, then why do you stay?”
And the party feels suddenly dangerous. But as her parvus magic creeps along her skin there is something else there — the reflecting of light casting rainbows across the floor; miniature prisms circling her hooves; and the sense of something more, something warmer, something unknown rising up in her veins.
{ @Ruth "speaks" notes: <3 }
