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“Nor should they,” she agrees. “But haven’t you learned your lesson yet with that fatalistic attitude, with your refusal to believe there was another way out?”
I don’t think Einar told her everything, but somehow, she knows. I don’t insult her by denying the truth.
“There was no other way,” I insist.
There is less steel in my voice than usual, because for the first time since I left the castle with Damian, I’m starting to wonder if she is right. If Einar could have helped me, had I only given him the chance.
She raises her eyebrows like she knows what I’m thinking. “A week ago today, it would have been easy to believe we would never be cured. Yet here I am, because of you. Because of the two of you working together instead of against each other for once in your blasted marriage.” She hasn’t turned from her quick work, and I finally realize what she’s doing.
She’s making room in Einar’s armoire for my clothes. My lips part. No one will notice my things being moved, since no one enters his room or mine, but...it feels even more permanent than the tea, and also curiously intimate considering the newness of our actual relationship.
“Did he ask you to do that?” I ask instead of responding to her question.
I don’t know what to say, anyway, because while I have no intention of abandoning him again, it also feels like too much to hope that we might ever be free of this wretched situation.
“No. But you can’t very well keep going around in that.” She gives the oversized shirt I’m wearing a pointed glance. “Shower, then we’ll see about getting you measured for some of those fabrics. There will be time to worry about the rest, but for now, we will plan on the future you have here.” Sigrid’s tone brooks even less argument than it had before, and I find myself powerless to do anything but heed her advice.
Sigrid is stillin Einar’s room when I emerge from the shower. Once I’ve dried off, she gestures for me to sit at his desk where she’s relocated my cosmetics and jewelry, muttering something about how it will have to do until she can get the vanity in here.
I blanch a little at the idea of my gilded vanity in this decidedly masculine room. Already, I worry how he will react to all of my things in a space that has been solely his for probably most of his life. But they can sort that out between the two of them.
Sigrid starts to brush out my hair, and a thought crosses my mind.
“Could you style my hair more...Jokithan, today?” I ask.
She stills, not answering for a moment, and I backtrack.
“Unless that’s offensive,” I add hastily.
I’ve never actually asked about the braids. It’s possible they mean something specific, something they wouldn’t want an outsider claiming.
But she clears her throat. “Why would it be offensive for our lady to adapt to our culture?” Her tone is clipped, but I hear the note of satisfaction in it. I’ve made her happy by asking this, and it makes me regret not doing it sooner.
She surprises me by talking while she braids, telling me about when she came to the castle, Einar growing up, and the family she hasn’t seen in nearly twenty years. She doesn’t ask me questions, but I know it isn’t a lack of interest.
She pauses occasionally in case I want to interject, then continues on when I say nothing. Sigrid is one of a handful of people who have seen my scars, and she seems to know without my saying that my past is not something I have any interest in discussing, casually or otherwise.
When she’s finished with my hair, she goes to choose an outfit from the armoire. I take a moment to admire my hair, the way it is practical and fierce, but still manages to be pretty.
She returns with clothes I never noticed before, an eggplant-colored tunic and soft gray leggings. It’s beautiful, or it would be, if purple weren’t the only color Madame ever wears. She can’t seem to help but draw attention to her unique violet eyes, something my youngest sister tends to avoid instead.
“Not that one, please.” I try to soften the sharply edged tone in my voice, to slow my heartbeat. “I don’t wear purple,” I explain, knowing exactly how spoiled and finicky it makes me sound.
But Sigrid defies my expectations again by not arriving at the worst conclusion first. She merely takes in my stance and expression with a single glance, then nods. Pulling out an ice-blue shirt the exact shade of Einar’s eyes, she asks, “Do you like this one?”
“It’s perfect,” I tell her with a smile.
She turns back to the wardrobe and systematically removes several items of clothing, ranging from lavender to violet to the eggplant shade from before. “We’ll just donate these,” she says matter-of-factly. “No one will suspect Einar giving a few of your things away to his people in need. I can go take care of that now, if there’s nothing else you need?”
“No,” I shake my head mutely, overcome by something I can’t quite explain, at her easy acceptance of the pieces of me that will never quite be whole. “Thank you.”
She turns to go but pauses with her hand on the door handle. “You know, if I never see another bird again as long as I live, it will be too soon. We all have things we would rather leave in our past.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Zaina
Iwatch Einar’s face carefully from the moment he walks into the room, waiting for a sign of how he feels about the changes to his chambers...and his wife.
