Ariah (21 page)

Liro offered him everything, anything. Liro offered to come to Rabatha. He offered Dirva a place in the City. He offered to go south, to Vilahna, to Elothnin, anywhere. The Pirate Isles. The archipelago. Money was no object; he’d sell some paintings, all the paintings. Liro said he’d stop painting. Liro said he’d paint all the time if Dirva didn’t want to work. They could hide it, if Dirva wanted, Liro said, but there must be some way to be together. And Dirva told him no.

“
But you love me,” Liro said. Ah, and the herb was in me still, but I felt it, and it broke my heart. I think that moment was when I finally unlearned it, when the tapestry of old rules finally unraveled all the way. “I know it. I know you do.”

“
I do,” Dirva said. “I have, I will. It’s part of me.”

“
I don’t understand.”

“
There is more to me than you. It’s part of me, but this is part of me, too.”

“
But why? Why would you choose this?”

Silence lingered for a long time. I am not proud of it, but I strained to hear something, anything. I crept out of bed, ear flat against the wall. I heard nothing: no movement, no rustle of cloth, nothing. Nothing for so long. I have always wondered what happened in that time. Did they look at each other, or did they avoid each other’s gaze? Did they sit side by side, hands joined, or was there a distance between them neither could bring himself to bridge? I have no way of knowing. I hope there was tenderness in that moment, but I have no way of knowing.

Finally Dirva spoke, and his voice when he spoke was utterly vulnerable. He was a man who built walls at every turn, who did so as instinctually as I tore them down. It was conscious, this decision to stay so open. “There were only ever two things back there that kept me sane, and it was you, and it was him. And he’s gone. And you know I love you, but you can’t be the only thing. You can’t be all of it, my entire life. I can’t just be yours. I’m sorry. It’s a weakness, and I’m sorry for it. I would have written when I sent it back, but Liro, how does a man say that in a letter?”

“
I knew,” Liro said.

“
I thought you would.”

“
When I saw the damn thing, I knew.” There was a caught breath. There was the ghost of a sob. “Damn it, Dirva. Fucking hell, Dirva. Damn it.”

“
You’ll be all right.”

“
I know. We’ll both be fine. I don’t know, that…fuck, I don’t know, that makes it worse somehow, you know what I mean?”

Dirva laughed, and Liro laughed with him. The bed within creaked. “Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean, Ro. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for before, I’m sorry for coming back, I’m sorry for all of it. I am sorry for all of it, and I am grateful for all of it.”

“
But you’re still sending me packing, eh?”

“
You’ll be all right.”

“
Will you?”

“
I’ll be all right.”

* * *

He wasn’t all right. Not for a long time, but he pretended to be. I wasn’t all right, either. Our relationship was still fragile, and there was something about that day that splintered it a little more. I waited until Liro left. I gave Dirva a few hours to himself. I went to the markets and listened to the gossip traded by the gold slaves. When I came back, I came back burdened. Dirva sat by the window, near my cot, in the shadow of where
The Reader
once hung. He asked me if I was hungry.

“
You shaped me,” I said. He could not meet my gaze. “You pulled me all the way here. You knew I couldn’t handle that.”

He said nothing to me. His frame seemed diminished. He seemed not so much larger than myself, like really the breadth of his shoulders was half shadow. He looked to be slipping away.

“
Did you know you did it when you did it? Or did it just happen?”

“
I knew,” he said. “I was well trained.”

“
Then why haven’t you trained me? Why?

The anger surprised him. The force of it—my voice raised, my posture—caught him off guard. “I…Ariah, you…I can’t train a thing you won’t admit to having.”

“
I came to you! In the City, I came to you!”

“
In the City, I was useless.”

“
But you knew! You’ve known for years. You are this well trained? I thought you studied with a linguist! I thought Vathorem was a linguist!”

Dirva stood up. He took half a step towards me. He was bewildered. It bothered me; I wanted him shamed, and I wanted him frightened. I wanted him shaken to his core. But the most I dredged out of him was concern and confusion. “Vathorem is a linguist. And he is a shaper. I never lied to you.”

“
You didn’t tell me the truth, either!”

“
I…” He raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Yes. I do that. I’m sorry for that. Let me tell you about him,” he said. He took another careful step forward. I felt a slight pull from him, which abruptly stopped, like he’d thought the better of it. His fluency with his gifts raised my hackles. “Ariah, please. I would like to explain something, something that may be relevant to you.”

I shook my head. It was a violent thing, a rapid, whipping movement back and forth, back and forth. He stopped mid-step. “Liro was right. That was improper, what you did. You used me, and you used him. And you’re seeing a matchmaker, and you’ll use whatever woman the matchmaker pairs you with. There is a code, Dirva. You taught me little about this, but even I know that much.”

“
Ariah, I’m sorry.”

I left. I left before he could say anything else, or do anything else. I left before he could explain himself. I left because I didn’t trust him, and I didn’t trust myself with him. I had very few places to go, and I ended up at Parvi’s shop. On the walk there I thought about Sorcha, and the night he’d caught me in his thrall. I remembered how it felt a violation, but how I knew it hadn’t been. What Dirva had done was a violation, made worse because it hadn’t felt like it. Parvi opened the door. “Professor? It’s close to curfew. We don’t have an appointment.”

I laughed. It was a cracked, broken laugh. I pinched my eyes shut and laughed that awful laugh again. “Would it be at all possible, sir, for me to sleep in your parlor tonight?”

“
Sleep in my…Ariah, are you all right?”

“
I have had better days.”

He sighed. He glanced over his shoulder, then out at the street, up one side then down the other. He sighed again. We both knew there would be talk. But he opened the door and ushered me inside. We stood just inside the doorway; he stared at me, and I stared at my feet. I felt very numb. I felt very hollow. Life seemed strung together, second by empty second. He cleared his voice. “May I ask?”

“
I would rather you not.”

“
You will not bring the law here, I hope.”

“
No, sir. It is just personal.”

“
Ah,” he said. “Ah.” Gently, tentatively, he squeezed my shoulder. “I will get you a blanket.”

I sat in his shop with my head in my hands and listened to the rhythm of my heart. I heard him walk up the stairs, and I knew it was inevitable that Shayat would come down. He must have told her I was not well, but she was not the type to be told much of anything, and in her infinite wisdom decided to evaluate the situation for herself. She sat next to me on the floor. “What happened?”

“
I would rather you not ask.”

“
It had to be something.”

“
It was something. I would rather not discuss it.”

“
You could, though,” she said. “Discuss it, I mean. If it would help. You don’t have to. I’m not going to make you. But if it would help, I’d listen.”

I peeked over, my hands still covering half my face. She smiled. I smiled back. I very much wanted to talk to her, just then, but how could I? It was all bound up in my gifts—gifts I ran from, had run from my entire life—and Dirva’s gifts. I couldn’t. Even if I’d decided to flout the rules, I wouldn’t have known where to begin. But her offer helped, and her smile helped more. “I would rather not. I’ll be all right.”

CHAPTER 15

The next morning, Dirva appeared at Parvi’s shop. Parvi opened the door, and I heard him ask to see me. Parvi told him to wait. I was already out of bed and dressed when he came into the shop, already folding the blanket. “I’ll see him. Thank you. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“
You don’t have to see him, professor.”

“
Thank you for that, too. I’ll see him.” I slipped out before Shayat woke. Dirva stood on the street, large and dark. “How did you know I was here?”

“
I checked the jails first. You have a history,” he said. “If you weren’t there, you must have been here.”

“
It’s Monday. It’s eight. You have…”

“
I canceled it. Personal reasons. I felt we should talk. If you are willing, I think we should talk.”

I nodded. I stared down at my boots—old, beaten boots that had once belonged to Sorcha but before that had likely belonged to several others, boots that had traveled a long, long way. I tried to think of something to say.

“
Ariah, I am sorry.”

I looked up. “You are?”

“
Of course I am.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I am very sorry. I owe you some explanation. And there are things I have needed to tell you for some time. Things I’ve wanted to tell you for some time, but as you know, I sometimes lack bravery.”

“
Let’s go home,” I said. “Let’s talk.” I walked past him, leading him back, and as I passed by, I reached out and squeezed his hand. I shouldn’t have, and certainly not right there in front of Parvi’s house, because it spurred gossip, but it felt right to do it. We walked side by side, in perfect rhythm, and in silence. I’d had the night to think on it, and the night to sleep on it, and much of my terrified anger had leaked out. The distance calmed me. I was ready to listen.

When we reached the apartment, Dirva had me sit. He prepared us food and tea. We warmed to each other again while we ate. When we finished, he took the plates, rinsed them, and sat down at the table across from me. “I am sorry,” he said.

“
I think I know why you did it.”

“
It doesn’t make it right.”

“
No,” I said, “but it makes it make sense. Don’t do it again.”

“
There is no danger of that.” Dirva scratched at his beard. He glanced out the window. He was composing himself; when he looked at me again, he was contained and quiet and patient. “There are two things I need to tell you. They are both about me and about you. I have a request of you, and I have an offer for you, and you can do with each of them what you will.” He began to speak and stopped himself. He leaned towards me slightly. “You owe me nothing, Ariah. You know this, yes?”

“
Yes.” But the truth was I owed him everything. He had taught me who I was. He was deeply ingrained in me. He had trained me, and he had rescued me more than once, and he found me a job and let me live in his apartment without financial contribution. Without him, I’d be an untrained mess, homeless, trapped at the border.

He sighed and rested his chin in his hand. He drummed his fingers along his jaw. “I will say it again: you owe me nothing. Nothing. I want you to remember that when I tell you what I’m about to tell you.”

“
All right. I will.”

He laughed. “It’s true.”

“
It isn’t true. I owe you nothing? What does that even mean? It makes no sense. But I’ll remember you said it.”

He laughed again. “Your student has rubbed off on you.”

“
What?”

“
From what you’ve said, you’ve picked up some of her brashness.”

“
I have not. You don’t know her.”

“
Well, no,” he said, “but it is a truth that a student marks a teacher as much as the teacher marks the student.” There was a kindness in the way he said it, which cut right to the heart of me, and made it that much more difficult to believe I owed him nothing. He laughed. He smiled. He looked on the verge of speech, grew consternated, and laughed again. “A match has been made for me,” he said very slowly, each word parceled out carefully, fastidiously, each said with a tiny bit of awe like he himself did not quite believe it was true. “A match has been made, and…and I’d like your approval.”