Mother sighed and grabbed Idlysi by the wrist, forcing me to step aside. Head down, Idlysi followed her back to our home, leaving me behind.
Once they’d gone, Caen set down his tools. “She let you off easy.”
I folded my arms. “She always does.” I had always been different from my sisters. To me, rules were things to be bent and tried, if they detracted from happiness—mine or others’， it didn’t matter. Joy was my primary motivator. I believed that was why my parents betrothed me at so young an age. To inflict me with responsibility, yes, but also to assure themselves someone else would take the burden of ruling over me. Once the agreements were made, I didn’t matter anymore. Regardless of what I did, I was still the milkless cow in the backyard, watching through the window as my sister took my fall, again.
I wouldn’t be able to bring her along next time. The consequences hurt too much. But little did I know then how true that statement would be, or how wide our separation would become.
I helped Idlysi with her chores anyway, when my mother wasn’t there to supervise, though my sister refused to speak to me. When the chores were done and I was bored, I sat on my bed to work on my latest embroidery, though I should have been finishing my wedding dress. The embroidery was a gift for Caen, a small token to show I thought about him, a trinket to perhaps endear him to me, for while Caen was kind and long-suffering, I knew he didn’t love me. Not in the way I had grown to love him. Not in the way I so dearly wanted him to love me. He looked at me as a little sister rather than a woman to be desired.
I worked on the tapestry until the Sun had passed, and though it was but half-finished, I was so eager to show him I snuck from my home after my parents turned out their light. It was an image of Caen fighting a dragon, only the dragon wielded a sword and Caen breathed fire. I’d yet to add Caen’s legs, and the dragon’s tail was only an outline—but I thought myself so clever I wanted to share it. I wanted to impress him. I also grasped at any excuse I could to see Caen, even improper ones.
So I trotted across town to his home, climbed up his woodpile, and rapped on his window, quietly, for he shared his room with two others. His bed was closest to the pane, so I felt confident in my sneakiness.
But Caen’s head didn’t appear behind the glass, and no candles lit within. I knocked again, louder. Then a third time.
Color appeared behind the dark glass, and the pane opened, but it was Todrick, Caen’s baby brother, only twelve years old. He blinked sleepily at me. “Oh, Ceris”—he thickened my name with his lisp—“he’s not here. He’s out in the wood somewhere.”
I blinked. “Out in the wood?”
Todrick shrugged and closed the pane, for there was a slight chill in the air, and he clearly wished to return to the warmth of his bed.
Concerned, I clutched my embroidery to my chest and wrapped around the house, peering into the south wood. It was summer, the leaves still bright and green. I knew it wasn’t wise to venture into the wood at night—there were wolves and godlings, though the latter were rare—but Caen also knew not to wander deeply, which meant he couldn’t be far off. I followed the worn dirt path left by many members of his family, passing a little shrine to the Earth Mother, and pushed myself between the trees beside it, walking among them until the brush around my hips grew thick. I didn’t go far before I saw a lamplight ahead and heard murmuring voices. Creeping as close as I could without detection, I stuffed my embroidery into my mouth and climbed a tree for a better look.
I couldn’t make out what they were saying, only a word here and there, but it was Caen and Anya, the weaver’s daughter. I wasn’t surprised to see them together; they had been good friends since childhood, and I’d often suspected Anya of harboring feelings for Caen.
I’d just never thought he’d reciprocate.
She held the lamp. He bent low, talking close to her ear. I heard my name a couple of times, saw Caen caress the side of Anya’s face. That was all he did, for I stayed up in that tree until long after the two parted. Their voices were laced with regret and sadness and love, but I knew them both, and they were too good in their hearts for a tryst. They would neither shame their parents nor break my heart.
But after that night, it started splintering.
He will learn to love me, I told myself again and again. I had learned to love him. He just needed more time.
After that, I doubled my efforts. Brought Caen larger lunches, showed him the embroidery, and made him laugh. I put more time into my wedding dress, perhaps thinking that if the gods saw my dedication, they might be willing to help turn my betrothed’s heart away from the weaver’s daughter.