fic (tamora pierce)
Only the shadows

That night they dine at Yanholm; her fourth night since rejoining the Progress. Fresh from the Countess’s etiquette lessons, she performs her duties as well as she knows how; dancing with her brother’s friends, answering questions about her studies, listening to the ladies’ gossip. But there is only one person she wants to talk to, and he has not been seen all evening.

At last she asks Neal. His eyes flicker; his smile fades a little. In the library, he says, after a moment’s hesitation.

Kalasin nods her thanks and moves to go, but Neal catches her wrist, leans towards her.

I know you haven’t got long, he murmurs in her ear, but you have to leave them alone a bit. This is his future; do you understand? You have to give them some space.

She flinches. Neal is looking at her in that infuriatingly patronising way he has, a mixture of pity and kindness.

I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t have to, he says.

Wordlessly, she removes his fingers from her wrist. Then she walks away without a backward glance.

Kalasin climbs the darkened staircase, shaking with anger. Space. Space. But what would Neal know? He was probably going to see him every day for the rest of his life; spoil his children, grow old with him, spend evenings with wine and books, chatting about politics and children these days. In a month, she was going to go away and probably never see him again.

-but that didn’t change anything.

Neal was right, she realises. It had been like this since they were children. Neal looked out for Roald, Roald looked out for her. She only knew how to look out for herself.

She stood outside the door. Light seeped out from beneath, a guardian against the dark. She heard the sound of glasses clinking, low voices, then surprised but genuine laughter.

For the first time, she thought: this must be how a beggar feels.