50 Mine Is a Hand To Hold (1/2)

She woke slowly to his touch, gentle and warm as always, familiar against her skin. She yawned and rubbed her eyes as she sat up, pulling her body from the confines of sleep to see Arren's smiling face. If I had not been frightened how would our wedding night have turned out, she thought suddenly, her face heating up.

You didn't come see me this afternoon, as you promised, she wrote.

He smiled and bent to kiss her, brushing his lips against her cheek. ”You're a bit warm, is your fever returning?” his concern clear in his voice.

Her breath caught in her throat and she shook her head quickly.

”Good,” he said sitting back on the bed. She realized that he wore clothes for sleeping. Soft pants and a long, loose shirt in plain fabric. ”And I did come to see you. You were resting and I decided not to wake you then.”

He plucked the book that she had been reading when she fell asleep from the bed, inspecting the cover, ”What is this little bird?”

A history book, that's what I need to talk to you about, she wrote. He glanced up from the open page of the book, frowning.

”Please explain,” he said before turning back to the page, ”Are you able to understand this? Your grasp of our language is very good but this is quite heavy.”

It's difficult but I am managing, I think. I'm looking for information on the darktellers, she responded.

He knit his brows together, confused, ”Who? Why?”

They're like me, but for nightmares and because I met them, she responded, her body tense.

Frowning he closed the book and focused on her completely, his shadows shifting from lazy to alert around him, ”Explain.”

As quickly as she could, Isilla went over the things that had happened in the Veil during her long days of illness, the people that she had met and gotten to know. She told him about Elixabete's nightmare and how she had captured the girl and then later when she had drawn the others to her. What she understood of their plight and the crown's part in it.

He shook his head, ”I have never heard of any of this. The only time I've heard of someone like you, here, was what my father said the day you were presented to the Court. I believe you, my love, but I do not think this is something you should meddle in.”

She rolled her eyes. Haribit said the same, she wrote.

”Haribit is very wise and we are both lucky that she is your friend. Had she not come to me the day you met Lehan, I may not have found you in time. On this, I am inclined to agree with her,” he said.

I can't just leave them, she responded.

”I know, so, I will look into this. When we know more, we can decide what to do. For now you need to rest. The ball is in a few days. I have told the ambassadors and the Prince that you will not see them until the ball. The Council, of course, wishes for you to be present but fortunately, this is a matter for the Crown to decide on.”

My brother has returned, she asked, curious.

Arren smiled, ”Or at least a person who claims to be him. Your people's illusions are very good, very strong.”

He is not so impressive, it is the power of the dreamweavers. If he casts from the palace, he can draw on them. Face to face, you would be much stronger, she wrote.

Arren raised an eyebrow, ”Is that so? How does that work?”

Her face warmed again, her comment, now on the page, seemed like something she should not admit to but he had asked so she explained. We make dreams and my people's magic works on that. The more dreams there are, the more power there is. Is it not the same for nightmares?

He smiled softly, ”Yes, I suppose. I am just surprised how readily you would admit something like that.”

There's no reason to keep it secret, she replied even though his words mirrored her own feelings.

He yawned, lifting his hand to cover his mouth. His sleeve feel back, revealing the bracelet she had made. She reached forward, touching it and he smiled. ”I can't take it off,” he said casually.

She tilted her head, questioning his statement.

”I tried, later, so that I could look at it closer but it will not come off my wrist. I suppose it's to stay there. Are you sure you weren't attempting to tell me something with this?” he asked playfully.

She shook her head, I wanted to make a bracelet like my mother used to wear to dance. The color and size are wrong, she wrote.

He looked at it, ”I don't remember my dreams. I just have some vague feelings about them, a few images. But when I think of last night, all I can think of is your hair, something about it seemed so bright. This bracelet reminds me of it.”

You're not worried, she asked.

”Why would I be worried? I do not think that you would create something that would hurt anyone,” he chided gently.

She pointed at Ilun's slumbering form on the floor and Arren smiled, ”Yes but what pain he has caused was only in service to you.”

Not the cows, she thought, remembering the violence of the act and realizing that she had never told Arren about it. It's not important, he knows what damage Ilun can cause if provoked, she reasoned, dismissing the thought.

”But this is something else. When I touch it with my own magic, it does not feel like any of the other items that you've brought back, not even like the flowers. This feels like light,” he said slowly turning his wrist. ”Can I see the original?” he asked.

She nodded and moved to get out of bed. He put his hand on her arm to stop her. ”I'll get it, you should stay in bed.”

She smiled and shook her head, kissing his cheek to let him know she was fine, that she could walk, at least in her own room. He blushed at the brief touch, his breath catching in his throat.

She used his minor distraction to slip from the bed and cross the room to where her trunk sat. What if they're not here, she thought, realizing that someone, likely the maids had been in her personal belongings when they took the letters.

They wouldn't bother with such plain things when they can steal all those fine pieces from my dresser, she reasoned as she opened the trunk. Inside she could see that her things had been gone through, and not carefully. The shawl had been unfolded and crumbled into a ball, she picked it up and refolded it before digging deeper and finding the bracelets dumped at the bottom.

She picked them all up, counting them, fifteen in all, relief spilling over her at finding them. She closed the trunk and stood up, the thin bands of metal in her hands to present to Arren.

He plucked one at random from her, inspecting it next to one he wore. The silver one identical in it's simple twisting pattern to the one that Arren wore, the size and its strange red coloring the only difference.

”What were these for?” he asked curiously. ”Some mark of royalty for your people?”

She giggled and shook her head. She dropped the bracelets on her blanket and took up her book again. My mother wore these to dance. She was not royalty.

”Yes, I know, you said in your letters that you did not live in the palace but I assumed that you were brought up properly. You are so well educated.”

Properly? My mother raised me very well, she replied, frowning at the backhanded insult, unexpected from his lips.

He realized his error immediately. ”That is not what I meant. I should have phrased that better.”

She did not reply, there was nothing for her to say, she was raised by a dancer on the streets.

His fingers cupped her chin, pulling her gaze back to him. ”Isilla, I'm sorry. That was a thoughtless comment. I'm tired and am not thinking.”