Sorrows of Adoration (5 page)

“I suppose I’ve never
had good boots.”

“You shall have some
when we return. I shall see to it,” he said, kicking aside the snow
that had drifted at the entrance to our shelter.

“I need no reward,
Jarik. I—”

“You were only doing
your duty. I know. You keep saying that. Well, I consider it my
duty to ensure that you at the very least are properly outfitted
before you leave the palace. That is, if …” He paused, then
stammered, kicking idly again at the snow, “That is, if you want to
leave.”

I wasn’t sure what he
meant. Was he offering me work at the palace? I dared not hope for
it and certainly dared not ask. I chose to say nothing rather than
risk saying something absurd.

He turned to me,
seeming to expect a response. When none was forthcoming he
continued awkwardly, which was quite different from his usual
elegance. “Because, you know, there is no one who would make you
leave. Not after what you did for me. And the Prince. The Prince,
of course, you saved his life. He, well, he’s unlikely to forget
that. In fact, I can assure you with certainty that he won’t. And
he’ll definitely want to reward you whether you want it or
not.”

Again he looked at me
as if expecting a response, and again I was afraid to say anything
lest I should appear presumptuous.

“Well, regardless of
that, that’s days off and we should start moving, if you think
you’re able.”

I nodded, because truly
I was saying yes to his seeming offer of employment.

“But your boots. Aenna,
the snow will melt under your feet and make them wet. You’ll catch
your death of cold. We have to do something about them.”

I looked thoughtfully
at the thin, cloth boots. The leather soles were almost worn
through and had already been patched from the summer. I looked back
at Jarik and confessed that I didn’t know what to do.

He stared at my feet in
thought for a few minutes and then looked to the pile of gear
beside him. He bent to the pile and set about putting the contents
from two of the smaller bags into one of the larger ones. One of
the smaller bags was really a large leather pouch with a thin
leather cord to close it. The other was made of heavy burlap. He
knelt beside me in the confined space and slipped the leather pouch
over my foot. It fit, albeit awkwardly, and he arranged it so its
bottom corner was over my large toe. He asked how that felt, and I
stammered, “I suppose it’s fine, but—”

He held up a hand to
silence my rebuttal. He took the pouch off my foot and removed its
tie cord. He cut the cord in half with a knife and rethreaded half
of it in the pouch’s holes. Then he placed it back over my boot and
tied the small cord around my ankle. There was barely enough of the
cord to make a knot, but he managed to do so, and asked if it was
too tight. I shook my head, and he immediately set about putting
the burlap sack over my other foot, and threading the remaining
piece of cord through the burlap’s weave to tie it similarly.

He bade me stand and
walk, so I did feeling silly and awkward but dearly appreciative of
his efforts. The Temple folk who had raised me as a child had cared
for my well being but never with such intense concern and effort. I
was so touched by his efforts my throat felt tight, and I found
myself fighting silly, girlish tears.

He had me walk about,
as much as our tiny shelter allowed, and he decided the burlap was
too loose and I might trip on it. He looked through the packs to
find something to wrap it tighter with but found nothing. Then, to
my shock and dismay, he began tearing a piece of his own cloak.

“No, don’t do that!” I
cried, stopping his hand, though the tear was already begun.

“Aenna, we can’t have
you falling, nor can we have you freezing to death with wet feet.
This is just a cloak. I’ll get a new one when we’re home.” He
looked at my hand on his arm, and I realized I was being very bold
in touching him so. I went to pull my hand back when he placed his
other hand over it gently. I looked at him and found that he was
looking at me with great concern. “Aenna, really. It’s the least I
can do. Please, sit.”

I sat back down and
watched as he tore a strip from the bottom of his fine cloak. The
strip was wide and long, and he was able to wrap around my foot
several times, like a dressing, tightening the burlap and giving me
an extra layer of protection from the snow. He wrapped it slowly
and carefully, being sure to pull it snug and asking me frequently
if it was too tight, then adjusting it accordingly.

I stood again and
walked out to the snow. It was amazing—I couldn’t feel the dampness
at all. The foot with the leather pouch was colder but would
probably stay dry longer. I looked back at him and said, “Thank
you.”

He nodded and smiled at
me. Then he picked up the remaining packs and handed me one to
carry, and we were off.

We spoke little on that
third day of travel, as the snow was shin-deep and tiring to trudge
through. In some places, drifts were hip-high and we had to assist
each other through with the packs. In the afternoon the sun shone
down and warmed our upper bodies, though our legs and feet were
still encased in cold.

No shelter was found
that night, and so Jarik and I dug the snow away from a large rock
with our hands. We took turns, as only Jarik had gloves. They were
awkwardly large on my fingers, but it was sufficient protection to
pull away the snow. We managed to carve out enough that we would be
sleeping on frozen ground instead of wet snow, ate quickly, and
slept sharing the blankets once again.

In the morning Jarik
tried to be cheery, but in pointing out that we would likely reach
Endren in two days more, he inadvertently depressed me. On one
hand, I was sick of the cold and the dirt on my skin, and on the
other, I didn’t want my time with him to come to an end. My
attempts to keep romantic thoughts at bay were failing more and
more with his every kind gesture, smile, and word. I grew sad to
think that it was likely I would not see him again, or if I did, it
might be worse to watch him marry a lady of court, knowing I could
never win the heart of such a man. These thoughts occupied my mind
and made me feel hopelessly lowly and insecure.

Jarik sensed my
melancholy mood and kept making little jokes to force me to smile.
I did every time and even laughed once or twice, but the very fact
that he went to such efforts and seemed so concerned made my
heartache worse. I abandoned hope of preventing my feelings for him
and instead concentrated more on keeping them from him. I might
have been falling for him, but I decided that there was no need to
embarrass myself in doing so.

After a pause to eat
and a failed attempt to catch something for a later meal, we
continued walking along the increasingly rugged terrain. As we
crested the rocky hills, we could see the entire mountain range
stretching far to the east, and the green valley to the south where
Jarik said Endren was situated. He explained this was why he had
chosen to go west of the road in the first place, for if we had
gone east we would be scaling true mountains instead.

The sun shone overhead,
but a cold wind prevented its warmth from reaching us sufficiently.
It was, however, enough to heat the top of the snowdrifts so they
melted slightly, only to be quickly refrozen by the winter wind. A
crust of ice was thus formed over the snow, and walking was
difficult. We had to crunch through the thin ice, and frequently in
doing so our shins would collide with broken edges. Jarik earned
himself a particularly nasty scratch on the inside of his left
knee, right above where his boot would have protected him, of
course. He insisted it was fine, but I made him sit on a rock and
tear another strip from his cloak, which I wrapped around his knee
as best I could with numbed fingers. The frigid air helped to numb
the wound as well, and we were able to continue.

As we walked along a
sloped ridge down the southern face of a hill, I almost slipped on
the ice because of the smooth surface of the leather pouch on my
foot. Jarik caught my arm, preventing me from going over the edge,
although the fall would not have been far enough to kill me. His
effort left my shoulder sore from being yanked, but it was
certainly better than a broken limb from a fall. The worried look
upon his face was touching as he helped me back to my feet. I could
not help but smile at him, only to blush immediately
thereafter.

Closer to the bottom of
the ridge, the slope increased drastically, and Jarik bade me go
first, that I might hold his hand behind me in case I slipped
again. He anchored himself by grasping a protruding tree root and
helped me ease myself downwards. I did not slip, and he was able to
lower himself behind me. I led us down the ridge thereafter.

When we were about a
man’s height from the bottom, the rock of the ridge disappeared,
leaving only ice. Unfortunately, we did not know this until I had
stepped on it, breaking through and sliding down the hill to land
in a snowdrift at the bottom.

Jarik cried my name out
so loudly that it echoed between the hills. As I picked myself out
of the drift, he came rushing down the hill, half stumbling, until
he was at my side, panicked. He quickly asked if I was all right,
and his face was so pale with concern that I could not help but
laugh.

“It’s only snow, Jarik.
I’m fine!”

I was about to continue
brushing myself off when he pulled me towards him and held me.
Before I had a chance to enjoy the sweet embrace, however, it was
over and his hands were on my shoulders, his eyes staring at me in
worry.

“Are you sure? You fell
so hard! You should sit—we should make sure you haven’t injured
yourself,” he babbled.

My heart raced from his
touch, and yet I could not let him see how much his tenderness
meant to me. I made myself laugh again, hoping it did not sound
forced, and said, “Really, Jarik. Your concern is kind, but I just
slid into snow. We peasant girls are not delicate, fragile
flowers.”

He let go of my
shoulders and stepped back. Putting forth a smile but clearly still
worried, he said, “I’m starting to realize that. You’re the
strongest lady I’ve ever known, peasant or otherwise. You’re one of
a kind, Aenna.”

I blushed at his
compliment. “Hardly,” I said, starting to walk again. “It’s just
that poor girls can’t waste their time being pretty and proper like
your court ladies.” I stopped, realizing how rude I had been in my
attempt to seem nonchalant about his compliments. I turned and
said, “Forgive me, that was rude. I didn’t mean to—”

He waved off the
apology. “You speak the truth, and I know it, Aenna. There’s no
need to apologize for it.”

“But I said it based on
rumour and the very few ladies I’ve seen stop by the inn. It’s
awful of me to make such statements of things outside my
experience. I am sorry.”

“Well, the rumours
you’ve heard are true. Court ladies do spend their time being
pretty and proper, sitting up very straight in their tight
corsets,” he said, standing tall as if to mimic them.

“Corsets?”

“Yes. They’ve been the
fashion around the palace since I was a boy. Wretched things,
really. It’s a garment of cloth and wire and rope that the ladies
must have their servants squeeze them into, lacing it up tight in
the back.”

“Why would they want to
wear such a thing?” I asked, trying not to seem rude again.

He rolled his eyes and
shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t try to understand women’s
fashions. My father says it’s supposed to make them appear thinner
and more graceful, but I know he hates them as much as I. Most of
those ladies are already willowy—they hardly need to be squeezed
any smaller. Mother says it’s proper—it holds one’s back straight
and prevents proper ladies from exposing their seductive curves to
eager men. I don’t know what that’s supposed to accomplish. Dancing
with ladies in corsets, it’s as if they’re in bandages from some
great wound. So stiff and unable to move. Father told me once that
he remembers in his youth when the fashion was loose dresses, and
when he danced with ladies he could feel their hips moved as they…”
He stopped himself and blushed. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t say such
things in a lady’s presence.”

I smiled and said, “I
told you. I’m not a lady.”

“Perhaps not like one
of the tea-sipping, court variety,” he said, mimicking dainty hands
holding cup and saucer, tipping the imaginary cup delicately to his
lips. We both laughed. “But, Aenna, you are a lady. You’re very
brave and noble in your actions. Birthright or not, you’re a lady
in my estimation.” He turned and continued walking, and thankfully
didn’t look back to see how deeply I was blushing at his kind
words. Blushing was becoming so common to me that I wondered if my
face would soon give up and remain red!

That night as we slept
close together again, I found myself unable to sleep despite the
soothing sound of his breath. I dearly wished to lean my head
forward that it might rest on his shoulder, but I dared not for
sake of propriety and my own sanity. I knew by that time that I
loved him, and the pain of knowing it was a love that could never
be fulfilled sent my emotions on a chaotic ride of alternating
delight in his company and depression at knowing we would soon be
separated. His consideration of me as a lady was sweet, but once we
reached Endren I knew all too well that I would cease to hold such
esteem, perhaps even in his eyes, and he would no longer be simply
Jarik, but instead Lord Jarik, cousin to the Prince, nephew of the
King.

My heart fluttered when
I recalled how he held me when I fell or his worried face when I
slipped. Then it sank as I imagined him returning to his station
and I to my own. Such madness kept me awake until just before dawn,
when finally I managed to sleep long enough to continue walking the
next day.