The Changeling

33

Cetlali turned back to Lovou once the door closed. Her smile was stiff. He thunked the empty flask down at the bedside table with a slight hiss as the contents went down something like smooth.

"Ready?" she asked. He nodded and lifted his shirt. Cetlali got right to work with a clean needle and catgut thread.

She was about six stitches into twenty when he spoke. "How did you meet Veerke?"

Her smile was wan, and a bitterness rose in her chest as her memories went back to the time. "York Pratch abandoned me in the markets because I kept getting distracted. I'd gotten lost and frantic before Veerke found me.

She brought me into the temple and helped me settle." Her blooming smile felt more genuine and good as she continued, "We chatted for a time, became fast friends. I would visit her

whenever my time in the Citadel would allow."

Without looking up, she asked the same of him,

"How about you?"

"She chose me one night. Out of the blue."

He swallowed his nerves. "I've been with her a time or two since."

Cetlali grinned absently. "You'd be silly not to."

He snorted and nodded. A few beats passed before he deigned to speak again. "And were you? Uh, silly?"

Cetlali bit her lips to stop her laughter so she could maintain her focus. "I'm plenty silly, but no, not right away. I approached her about it eventually when I was nineteen."

His eyes widened as he looked down at her,

"She rarely does requests."

Cetlali's chuckle came out bitter. "Well, I was a bit of a special case." She swallowed down the bile that wanted to rise. It tasted

noxious. She remembered the naïve pain and confusion of rejection. A unique terror in being uninvitedly desired. All that young, fresh turmoil dulled her into something she resented.

Veerke couldn't help her out of that bleak pit, but she'd at least given Cetlali a metaphorical lantern and perhaps a bit of sustenance she gravely needed at the time.

The silence stretched on for a few more stitches before he wavered and spoke again,

"Do you truly feel free of him tonight?"

Cetlali was glad she just finished a stitch when he said that. She almost dropped the curved needle in shock. She realized talking likely helped to keep him awake while she finished. His tongue must be loose from the drink.

She cleared her throat. Scowling at the wound, she focused harder with her blank reply, "No." She waited for him to go on, but he didn't.

As Cetlali mended Lovou, Veerke came and dropped off food, getting Lovou to eat with some gentle prodding. She said nothing after that and left once she checked on their progress.

Cetlali's nerves were getting the better of her. Like she was wont to do, words started spewing out of her mouth without her permission, "I don't know if I ever had a choice, but if I did, I don't think I'd want to marry Ezren." She didn't stray her gaze from his wound, staring at it like it would escape her if she dared to blink. She couldn't look at the rest of Lovou. Definitely not his wide chest. Not the strapping arms. Neither of the godsdamned thighs she only half-purposefully leaned across.

It was to get to the wound best. She'd sooner sew her own shut than look in those eyes of his she adored. That sort of truth could spell such a ruination.