Emyr's Smile (8 page)

Elin sighed. “Calm
down, boy. You talk now, and you’ll just panic each other more. Go
home tonight and apologize.” She smiled, more kindly than he’d
expected. “Apologize for anything you can think of, not just that
piece of foolishness, and you’ll be fine.”

But it wasn’t fine.
When he got to the house, the back door was locked, and though he
could see the light in the bedroom, Emyr didn’t come out for all
his knocking and shouting. Heavy-hearted, Heilyn went back to the
inn.

It took three days
before he even managed to get into the trade office and that was
only by hiding behind two much larger sailors and a very big barrel
of oil. He lingered after they left, clearing his throat
nervously.

“Emyr?”

Emyr was sitting behind
the desk, his back straight and his face stern again. His eyes had
gone back to cool sadness. “Heilyn, you have no business with me.
These are my work hours.”

“I’m not leaving,”
Heilyn said, the words tumbling out. “I want to stay.”

“That’s good,” Emyr
said, turning away to file the papers he had just signed. “I know
Elin needs another pair of hands at the inn, and Father Cian speaks
highly of your work.”

“I’m staying for
you.”

Emyr didn’t look up
from his desk. In the dim light of the office, it was hard to see
much, but Heilyn thought his knuckles were whitening as his fists
curled up against the wood. “Don’t.”

“Emyr.” Heilyn took a
step towards him.

Now Emyr looked up, and
his eyes were fierce and miserable. “I said don’t. I won’t do this
again, Heilyn. I won’t have a lover who’s always looking at the sky
and dreaming of the next ship.”

“Who says I do that?
I’m not him.”

“I didn’t want to see
it,” Emyr said wearily, “but you were looking. You’ll get bored,
eventually. What is there here for you?”

“You.”

Emyr shrugged a little.
“That won’t be enough. You need more.”

“I need you.”

“You’re young. You’ve
never had a serious lover before, and you feel sorry for me. That’s
all it is, Heilyn.”

“No, it’s not!” Heilyn
did rush forward then, but Emyr moved before he could get close,
stepping through the door to the inner office and letting it slam
behind him. The lock clicked, and Heilyn was left standing alone
again.

“But I love you,” he
said to the empty room, his voice wavering.

He kept trying, of
course, but Emyr had somehow managed to disappear inside his own
life. He seemed to be simply refusing to see Heilyn, even when they
were at arm’s length, and no amount of begging and pleading got
past his solemn demeanor. Every night, lying sleepless and
shivering, Heilyn felt a little more of his hope slipping away. He
wanted to be back in Emyr’s bed, in the warm circle of his arms,
but it was starting to seem like an impossible dream. Emyr was so
determined to hide from him. Instead, he wrapped the blankets
tightly around himself, stealing the spare ones off the other beds
when they were empty, and imagined Emyr’s face, lit by a quiet
smile. He lost himself in the memory of evenings sitting with Emyr,
talking quietly about the business of their days, of squeezing
under the oilskin together to brave a rainy walk home, of the
growing clutter in Emyr’s kitchen, which Heilyn has stealthily
filled with pots of herbs and piles of sketches.

It hurt, in a way he
had never understood before. He had always been a little scornful
of those who claimed to be lovesick, but now his heart simply hurt,
a low ache behind his ribs which never went away. He couldn’t
paint, because the colors had lost their brightness. He just wanted
Emyr.

But Emyr wasn’t his,
and never would be, it seemed, and eventually he put hope away,
tidying it up as carefully as he had once cleaned his brushes at
the end of the day. Time, sympathetic people kept telling him,
would heal all. So he would wait, and maybe one day he would feel
like making something beautiful again and be able to sleep without
waking up with burning eyes.

Just before midwinter,
on a day when he had wandered out to the quay to look down at the
sea and wonder why he had ever wanted to paint something so gray
and dismal, the mail ship Aderyn came skimming down from
the sky, her storm sails bright white against the dim winter
clouds. Heilyn watched her dock with his hands in his pockets, not
really caring but needing something to busy his eye.

As the captain strode
past, towards Emyr’s office, he paused for a moment. “You’re not
local, boy. Looking to rope on?”

Heilyn couldn’t think
of anything worse than tying on to the side of a small ship on a
day like this, where the sky was heavy with rain. All the same,
there was nothing left for him here, and impulsively, he said,
“Yes. I’ve got some paintings and a bag, but no more baggage.
What’s your fee?”

“Two pence for you and
three for your baggage. Discount if you’re the first to shout a
storm sighting.”

“Done.” Heilyn offered
his hand and didn’t even bother to wince when the captain squeezed
it hard enough to hurt.

“We’re only unloading
letters here. Be on board by the hour mark or we’ll go without
you.”

Heilyn nodded and ran
for the inn. He gabbled an explanation at Elin and dashed up the
stairs to grab his bag. Elin chased after him, loud and furious,
but he didn’t care any more. He was going, and it was almost a
relief. Perhaps he could outfly unhappiness. Perhaps he could just
leave his heart down here on a low island and there would be
nothing left to hurt him when they reached the high sky.

He beat the captain
back to the ship, Elin still on his heels, and tossed his bags on
board before he turned to face her. “What’s the point in me
staying? He hates me.”

“Idiots, the pair of
you!” she snapped and reached out to grab one of Father Cian’s
girls as she dashed past. “You, go and rouse out Emyr!”

“Don’t!” Heilyn
snapped. “I’m going. That’s what he wants. I don’t want to see him
glo-gloating.” His voice was catching, despite his best intentions,
and he turned into the wind, blinking hard. It was bitterly cold,
and he didn’t have gloves, but he’d be tied too tightly to slip.
He’d insist.

The last starflower
petals whipped past him in the wind, scattered from the almost bare
branches of the tree in the center of the square. Looking up, he
could see snow on the high islands above them, and he shivered.

The captain was
striding back towards them. “Ready, boy?”

“More than,” Heilyn
said and turned to take a last look at the village. It looked like
it had in his picture, if somewhat drabber and colder. There were
familiar faces by every door, many turning towards him and
pointing. Father Cian was there, looking troubled, and Arianell and
her toddler daughters. Old Math was shaking his stick at Heilyn,
and Dilys was in the doorway of the shop, her hands twisted in her
apron. It was all so very dear to him, and he would miss them all
so very much, but it was time to go now. Enough was enough.

Raising his hand, he
swallowed hard and waved to them all.

Then he saw Emyr,
standing outside the office with his hand on the doorframe. Heart
aching, Heilyn allowed himself a last look. Emyr was still the most
beautiful man he’d ever seen, even when he looked as pale and sick
as he did today. The color had gone from his cheeks, but Heilyn
could remember how they flushed in passion. He would always
remember the blue of Emyr’s eyes too, even though Emyr had covered
them with his hand now, his head bowing down.

He was crying, Heilyn
realized with a sudden swift shock. Emyr was crying. For him? No.
Emyr wouldn’t embarrass himself in public for him.

“We’ll tie you on the
port side, given the wind,” the captain said. “Look lively.”

Emyr’s hand still
hadn’t left the doorframe, and Heilyn realized that he wasn’t just
touching it. It was holding him up. Was he ill? Shouldn’t someone
go to him?

“Before the wind turns,
boy.”

Emyr looked up, and
suddenly, even from the other side of the square, Heilyn could see
it. Emyr wasn’t ill. He was terrified.

Then he remembered that
the last time Emyr had watched a lover rope on to a ship in winter,
that lover had died.

He was running before
he thought about it, hurtling across the square. There seemed to be
a whole crowd that needed to part around him, probably because half
the village had appeared to watch this, and he had to dodge around
stalls and carts and the fountain. Dashing under
the derwen tree, he knocked the last flower off the
lowest branch and caught it as it floated by. Suddenly, he had a
plan, one so ridiculous and impulsive and perfect that it couldn’t
fail. With the flower cupped between his palms, trying to float
away, he suddenly felt blessed.

Skidding to a halt, he
yelled, “Emyr! You wanted to know exactly when I’m going to
leave!”

“Right now, clearly,”
Emyr said, his voice tired and crumpled.

“I’m not going to leave
this island,” Heilyn promised, glad there were witnesses, “until
I’ve painted a perfect picture of your smile.”

Emyr frowned faintly,
but the color was coming back to his cheeks. “I don’t smile
much.”

“In that case,” Heilyn
said, walking forward at a gentle pace, “it will take me
years.”

Emyr swallowed.
“Y-years?”

“Years.”

“And then? On the day
you paint that picture—will that be the day you leave?”

“No. Because by then,
we will have grown old and happy together. Your face will have
changed. Your smile will be different, and so I’ll have to start
all over again.”

“Why then,” Emyr said,
letting go of the doorframe and stepping forward hesitantly, “you
could be here forever.”

“Forever and ever,”
Heilyn agreed, letting the dream of other islands float away on the
wind. He had more important things to do with his life.

Emyr didn’t look
convinced. “You’ll change your mind.”

“Never.” And here was
the moment, and it wasn’t terrifying at all. There was no need to
fly any further. Aware that everyone was watching, Heilyn knelt and
proffered his cupped hands to Emyr. This was the oldest and
simplest way to propose, with the gift of a starflower, and he saw
the moment when Emyr realized what was happening, the shock and
wonder in his eyes as Heilyn opened his hand and the starflower
floated up.

It was a late flower,
small and fragile, but it rose with steady determination, its
petals spreading as the wind pushed under it. Heilyn watched it go
with his heart tight in his chest. If Emyr took it, it meant yes,
but if he let it go…

“Trust me,” he begged,
as the flower twirled in the air, rising up towards Emyr’s
face.

And then, his hand
visibly shaking, Emyr caught it. For a moment, he looked as stunned
as Heilyn felt, but then, very slowly, Emyr smiled.

Heilyn stood up, his
heart pounding, and wasn’t ready when Emyr suddenly reached out and
pulled him close. He fell right into Emyr’s arms, dimly aware that
people were cheering. Shaking, he blurted out, “I love you.”

“I should hope so,”
Emyr murmured into his ear, his voice full of laughter again,
“after that display.”

“I’m never ever going
to leave you.”

“I know,” Emyr said,
and his voice shook a little. “Heilyn.”

“Because you love me
just as much, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Emyr said and
turned his head to kiss Heilyn, still smiling, as he’d never smiled
before.

After a while he pulled
back, and said, sounding a little dazed, “I think the Aderyn just
sailed away with all your belongings.”

“I don’t care,” Heilyn
said honestly, and Emyr kissed him again, his mouth clumsy where it
was curving up into a bright and perfect smile.

###

Amy Rae Durreson
teaches in an eccentric boarding school deep in the English
countryside. When not teaching, marking or trying to fathom the
mysterious logic of the typical teenage brain, she likes to go
wandering across the local hills with a camera, hunting for
settings for her stories. She has a degree in early English
literature, which she blames for her somewhat medieval approach to
spelling, and at various times has been fluent in Latin, Old
English, Ancient Greek, and Old Icelandic, though these days she
mostly uses this knowledge to bore her students when they foolishly
ask why English spelling is so confusing. Amy started her first
novel nineteen years ago (it featured a warrior princess, magic
swords, elves, and an evil maths teacher) and has been scribbling
away ever since. Despite these long years of experience, she has
yet to master the arcane art of the semicolon.

Her first full length
novel,
Reawakening
, will be available from
Dreamspinner Press in January 2014.

Follow me on Twitter:
https://twitter.com/amy_raenbow

Visit
my blog:
http://amyraenbow.wordpress.com/