Lasrua is sent to bed
“Stay in your bed, Rua,” her father warned as he went to open the door.
“But it sounds like Vash!”
“That’s what the elf Iylaina thought last moon.”
As soon as the door opened, she heard a sob. “Osh! Osh! Where’s Paul? I need Paul!”
“Vash…”
If her father called him Vash, then it was Vash. Lasrua slipped out of her bed and hurried around the screen.
“He’s not here, Vash,” her father was saying.
“Where is he? I need him!”
“What happened?” Lasrua asked.
Her father gave her a look that clearly said, “I thought I told you to stay in bed.”
Lasrua ignored him and looked at Vash – or rather the top of his head. She said, “Paul and Cat are an hour away from here tonight. Some knight’s baby had a fever.”
“Why do you need him, Vash?” her father asked. “Do you need help?”
Lasrua glimpsed a flash of white over Vash’s head and looked up. She should have known.
“Vash?” Flann asked timidly. “My sister?”
“Your sister is fine,” Lasrua sighed. “For all we know. Vash is looking for Paul.”
“He isn’t here,” Flann said.
“I just told him that.”
By now Flann had gracelessly waddled her way to the bottom of the stairs. She slipped one arm around Osh’s waist and laid the other hand gently on Vash’s shoulder. “Do you need help?”
“We just asked him that!” Lasrua snapped.
What she wanted to say was: “Get your hands off my father!” And: “Get your hands off my friend!” And: “Who do you think you are, and how dare you?”
Lasrua had certainly not dared touch him yet, and she had known him since she was a baby. But Flann dared anything she liked. And she had the belly to prove it.
“I take care of Vash tonight, my sweet,” Osh said to Flann. “You go lie down and take care of you.”
Flann rubbed Vash’s back and said, “Good night, Vash. I hope you feel better.”
As if that could make a difference!
Vash whispered, “Good night. And thank you.”
At last the young woman turned and began the slow climb back up the stairs.
Lasrua moved before Flann had gone, and she threw her arms around Vash and squeezed him, as she had every right to do.
“Tell us what happened, Vash,” she murmured – in the elven language, so that Flann would not understand even if her weak ears had heard.
“She loves me no more,” Vash whispered hoarsely.
For an instant, Lasrua believed – foolishly – that he meant Flann. But of course, there was only one “she” in the world for Vash.
She heard her father sigh wearily behind her, but Lasrua tried to think of what her brother would say.
“Of course she does, Vash. She’s simply confused. And was tricked by the men.”
“No more, Rua,” Vash repeated.
“Yes! You are bound together.”
“No more.”
“What did you say?” her father asked gravely.
“No more, Osh,” Vash whimpered. “No more.”
“What did you do, Vash?”
“Do?” Lasrua gasped. The question seemed absurd. Nothing could be “done” about that.
For answer, Vash merely held up the palm of his right hand, across which ran the scar…
But Vash’s scar was so old one could scarcely say he had a scar. And then Lasrua saw that it was not a scar at all, but a fresh, unbleeding wound.
“What did you do?” her father repeated.
“I have been to the Bright Lady. She took Iylaina’s life out of me.”
“But that is not possible!” Lasrua cried. “If I pour water into milk, can you – ”
“It is possible for her,” Vash said dully.
“What are you saying? You are no longer bound?”
“I am still bound to her. She is free.”
Lasrua was stunned. Such a thing had never been done – not even in stories. Not even in the old stories they were not allowed to tell. Being unbound – it was as absurd as the idea of water leaping back into the pitcher… of a child crawling back into the womb… of the great wheel of the years spinning backwards.
Her father seemed shockingly insensitive to all of this and merely asked, “Did you tell anyone you meant to do this?”
Vash summoned a pitiful smile. “You’re thinking like a father, Osh. I was thinking like an elf who will never be one.”
Then Lasrua had a new idea. “But if you’re unbound – ”
“Lasrua!” her father hissed.
“What?”
“I thought I told you to stay in your bed?”
“But it’s truly Vash!”
“I did not tell you why. Now go lie down. Vash, let me get dressed and we shall go sit by the pond…”
“But I want to go!” Lasrua whined. She knew she was embarrassing herself, but she could not bear to be left out of this, as she was left out of everything.
“In your bed, girl. You can’t help with this.”
“But why?”
“You cannot understand.”
“No!” she cried. He had unwittingly released the spring that held back all her frustrated anger at the unfairness of her life – at the emptiness her future held. “And I never shall!”
“Lasrua, this is not the time for you to be feeling sorry for yourself,” her father growled. “But if that’s what you want, if you are not in your bed by the time I am dressed, I shall give you another reason to feel sorry for yourself. Now, good night!”
“Good night, Rua,” Vash said. His voice was gentle, but the words struck her like the back of his hand. He did not want her either. She thought she would cry.
“Good night,” she whimpered. “I hope you feel better.”
Then she knew she would cry for certain, as soon as she passed behind the screen. In her misery she had said nothing more – nothing less – nothing better – than had the woman Flann.
