Errant, p.30
Errant, page 30
“Actor, yes. Simple, no.”
While Aspen earned money grunting and sweating and coming home streaked with dust and dirt, Charm had fallen back on the familiar as well.
She’d found a theater troupe in need of a star and a fresh set of plays. On the nights she wasn’t performing on stage, she would wander into taverns and have a drink with the locals or sing if the mood struck her.
It was a pleasant interlude, but Charm felt the pull of Harstead, of returning to her troupe. She loved a good adventure, but an adventure always needed an ending.
Aspen, she suspected, was the opposite. She was afraid to immerse herself too deeply in case she didn't want to leave. Charm was too selfish to encourage Aspen to integrate. She didn’t want Aspen to stay when spring came. And she didn’t want her to return here after the Scale was dealt with.
Charm wanted Aspen with her.
“You and Aspen…” Charm waved her hand in what she hoped was a universal gesture. That was another reason she hadn’t minded leaving Ayzeh’s home. Aspen was different around him. She was softer, more open. She would sometimes even sit and let Ayzeh cook rather than bustle around, making work for herself.
Ayzeh chuckled, but it wasn’t cruel. More like commiserating. “Yes. Me and Aspen.” He repeated her gesture and then laughed again. “She has this effect on people, you know. She’s completely unaware of it.”
“Do you have any advice?” Charm asked. Aspen had kissed her before they set off for Ozhleh Zna, and it had been an incredible kiss, but it had come on the heels of thinking Charm was dead. She didn’t fancy the idea of seeking out peril in the hopes that Aspen would kiss her again.
“Patience,” Ayzeh answered. Now his smile was amused at Charm’s expense. “She’s cautious with her heart, our Aspen-el. She will fling her body into a fight, but into someone’s bed?” Ayzeh shook his head.
Charm couldn’t help the face she made. She preferred sex to be lighthearted, a mutual declaration of interest, not a marriage pact. “You can offer up your body without offering up your heart,” Charm said. She did it all the time.
“Then I advise you to set your sights on a different partner,” Ayzeh said, a suggestion as well as a warning.
Renting rooms with Charm was different than traveling with her. On the road, their supplies and amenities had been limited. But now that they were in the city, stuck here for an entire season, Aspen had a front row view to Charm’s routines as she made this place her home.
Aspen continued to rise much earlier than Charm did, so each morning she watched Charm stumble about the room, half-asleep, until she’d had her first cup of tea. Aspen grew used to bringing breakfast upstairs to let Charm wake up in peace. She came to hoard the soft smiles Charm gave her as she accepted the tea and pastries.
She didn’t know why she hoarded them. Charm gave her one every morning. Maybe it was because Aspen knew that even though their stay here would span months, it wouldn’t last forever.
Charm had a tendency to hum as she went through her morning routine. And, in the afternoons, as she prepared to leave for rehearsal, she would sing to herself or recite bits and pieces of her play.
She was never quiet, but she wasn’t loud. Even at night, when they were each in their beds, Charm still made noise. She moved in her sleep. Her breathing was deep and steady, easy to filter out as Aspen waited for sleep to come.
Charm always made sure to have a ticket set aside for Aspen at each of her performances. And Aspen made sure to attend each one. Once, she’d allowed Charm to coax her backstage afterward. It had been the opening of a new play, and Charm giggled and held Aspen’s hands and pulled her through the hallways until they reached Charm’s dressing room.
Aspen had expected a vanity with Charm’s various face paints on it. She’d expected a rack of clothes for her various changes from scene to scene. There were both of those things, but they were nearly buried under bouquets of flowers and gifts of jewelry and clothes and whatever else Charm’s admirers sought to tempt her with.
It was enough for Aspen to take a step back. How long had they been here? Since the beginning of Snow Moon, a little more than a month. And already the people of Ozhleh Zna loved Charm. Aspen wasn’t surprised—Charm was an easy person to fall in love with, after all—but the sheer scope of it was staggering. Intimidating. Humbling.
Aspen couldn’t compete with this. She had the habit of wandering the market stalls on her way home from work. Occasionally something would catch her eye, and she’d bring it home and leave it on Charm’s bed for her to find. But those were silly little trinkets. This was—
This was the adoration Charm deserved. Aspen would never be able to match it.
“Oh,” Charm said, and her smile faltered as she caught sight of whatever expression was on Aspen’s face. “I’m sorry. I know People of the Wood don’t care for cut flowers, I should have sent someone ahead.” She gathered as many of the bouquets as she could and then threw a shawl over them.
“It’s not that we don’t care for them,” Aspen said, although in her case the mass of flowers reminded her not only of her unlamented late husband, but also of how much everybody else loved Charm. “They’re perfectly lovely. We just don’t give each other gifts of plants with no roots. But I don’t find them offensive. Is the cast planning to celebrate tonight?”
“Drinks down the street,” Charm said. “Will you come?”
Sitting in the crowd, Aspen was one of dozens of people who had come to see and admire Charm’s work. It was easy to fit in there—as easy as fitting in ever was, anyway. It would be different at the tavern. There, Charm’s closeness with her new troupe would be the show. All the friendships and connections she formed so effortlessly. There’d be interruptions from theatergoers stopping to congratulate her and bring her gifts, too. Aspen would spend the night besotted or jealous, and neither was appealing.
“I have work tomorrow,” Aspen said.
Charm smiled tightly. “Next time we play house, we should find occupations with more compatible schedules.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aspen said. She didn’t let herself linger on the possibility of a next time. “You really were quite good tonight.”
“Quite good?” Charm sniffed. “I was a revelation.”
“I’m sure everyone who buys you a drink will have a fancier way of congratulating you,” Aspen said.
Charm lost her pretense. Aspen had given away too much with her words or her tone. “Thank you,” she said, sincerely and softly. She plucked a box of sweets off her vanity. “Do you want one for the walk back?”
“They’re yours,” Aspen said.
“I don’t really like them.” Charm dropped her voice to a whisper, sharing a secret.
“I know,” Aspen said. Charm enjoyed sweet things but not hard candies. She liked honey in her tea, jam on her flat cakes, and almond glaze on her pastries. She liked to bite into something and taste the sweetness. Hard candies were too much effort, she’d told Aspen, the first time they’d spotted them in a jar at a shop in Falland.
“I won’t stay out too late,” Charm said. And then, watching Aspen carefully, Charm added, “Or, I could stay with someone else.”
“Whichever you prefer. It doesn’t bother me when you come back.”
“I wake you up every time,” Charm said.
“And then I fall back asleep.” Aspen had spent too many years as part of the Scale to sleep through a door opening and someone entering her room. Honestly, she liked the routine. She woke up enough to know Charm was home safe and then she slept again until it was her turn to move quietly around the room.
Aspen had hoped their quiet domestic life might lead to… well, that didn’t matter. It had been a foolish thought, anyway. Charm’s dressing room overflowing with lavish gifts from strangers was the opposite of quiet and domestic.
They were closer than they’d ever been and yet somehow further apart.
She shook the melancholy thoughts out of her head. They were safe. Charm was happy. Those were the things she should focus on.
“Have a good evening,” she told Charm.
She took the long way back to their rooms. At night the streets were still busy, even if they weren’t as crowded as they were during the day. Aspen paused by a stall boasting an assortment of glassware. Delicate and beautiful colored glass blown into vessels or shaped into tiny figurines.
One thing in particular caught her eye. It was an Eyzo lily. The petals were a deep orange with a bit of red at the center like the burst of a sunrise. It was a common sight in the region, the flower itself and also its image. It graced the lantern shades that were sold in the market, it was painted on murals throughout the city. There was an abundance of jewelry all crafted to appear like the flower.
Aspen traced the thin, fragile, green stem, hesitant to pick it up.
“Are you shopping for someone special?” asked the stall minder.
“She likes flowers,” Aspen answered. “How much is it?”
“For a woman in love? I’ll give you a discount.”
Aspen laughed but she didn’t deny it. She exchanged a few coins for the flower, grateful when the stall minder wrapped it carefully before handing it over. She continued on her way to her rooms, only stopping once more in order to buy a late-night snack of roasted peanuts spiced with salt and chili powder.
When she arrived at her temporary housing, she placed the flower on Charm’s pillow where she would see it tonight or tomorrow morning. And then, cursing her own foolishness, she prepared for bed.
Charm understood the importance of outside help. She was an actor, and she could play a dozen roles during a play, but only one at a time. She had an entire cast to help craft the story. Life wasn’t theater, but it still sometimes called for reinforcements.
It was easy to coax Ayzeh to a late performance and then the celebration afterward. And with Ayzeh onboard, Aspen didn’t flee the moment the curtains closed. It wasn’t as good as Aspen staying for Charm, and Charm didn’t have Aspen’s undivided attention, but it was something.
Or maybe it was another way for Charm to torture herself. Aspen stayed at the edges of the crowd, far out of Charm’s orbit. Charm still tracked Aspen’s movements. Aspen smiled and chatted with the bartender before requesting a drink, made polite conversation with anyone who approached her, and allowed herself to let her guard down in a way she didn’t with Charm.
All of that was Ayzeh’s influence. Aspen had a drink at each bar or stall their party stopped at. Her cheeks grew more and more flushed with each one, and she even agreed to dance after her third.
It was Ayzeh’s hands Aspen held as she danced, laughing as he twirled her and then encouraged her to twirl him in return. It was Ayzeh’s shoulder Aspen leaned on when she was tired and Ayzeh’s arms that steadied her when she stumbled.
Had Aspen ever been this relaxed around Charm? Charm had a very good memory, and she couldn’t recall a single instance. Aspen was always alert, always prepared for trouble. She trusted Ayzeh to watch her back, and Charm knew jealousy was a useless, poisonous emotion, but she couldn’t help it.
Charm couldn’t wield a sword, but she’d been instrumental in their adventures.
Charm had drained a few drinks of her own and, unlike Aspen, she didn’t water any of hers down. Maybe that was why, after they tumbled out of the first tavern and into the street, she resolved to ask for a dance wherever they stopped next.
It was an open stall at the night market. The proprietor was furiously cranking a large wooden machine that crushed pomegranates into brilliant red mash while their assistant strained and poured the juice into ceramic cups with a splash of zhashvis.
Their party of actors and admirers and a few newcomers who were drawn to the excitement crowded around and passed drinks down the line as quickly as they were handed out.
Someone produced a small stringed instrument and began to strum. Like the last time this happened, another two people began to tap out a rhythm on a nearby stall. Two more joined in, slapping their thighs in time with the tappers.
Soon, people were stomping their feet or adding their voices, no lyrics, only a twisting, weaving sound that made everyone want to dance.
Aspen was on the outskirts, and she laughed as she held her drink up and out of the way of an uncoordinated man’s flailing limbs. The woman next to her had bangles up and down her arms and they clinked together as she moved, dancing in a circle around Aspen as if trying to tempt her into joining.
Charm pushed her way through the crowd until she was inside Aspen’s personal space, one of the few people who could do so without Aspen adopting a defensive stance or drawing a weapon. She reached up but instead of taking Aspen’s drink, she grasped Aspen’s wrist and drew it closer until Charm could sip from her cup. The liquid was cool, sweet and sharp at the same time, and Charm licked it from her lips.
Aspen’s eyes were wide as she stared. Her laughter was frozen on her face, preserved for Charm to stare at. Aspen’s eyes crinkled when she laughed. Already there were faint lines there, impressions left from previous laughter and smiles. In a few years, the lines would be deeper. Wrinkles.
Charm wanted to see them and know she was partially responsible for them being there. She wanted to leave a mark, some kind of reminder so that Aspen would never forget her.
It was, perhaps, a dangerous thought.
“There,” Charm said after she’d had two swallows of Aspen’s drink. “Now, it won’t spill.”
“Thank you?” Aspen’s brows drew together. She didn’t understand what Charm was doing—or she didn’t understand why it was Charm who was doing it. Aspen had been receptive to Ayzeh’s presence all night, and she’d even blushed once or twice before gently turning down other admirers.
Was it truly so shocking that Charm would show interest? Aspen had kissed her. Now it was Charm’s turn to initiate.
A youth passed by, old enough to be out this late and therefore, old enough to drink. Charm plucked the drink from Aspen’s hand and gave it to the boy. He grinned and thanked them before wading into the crowd.
“What?” Aspen asked.
“You need both your hands.” Charm placed Aspen’s hands on her body. One on her hip, the other on her shoulder. She stepped forward and Aspen stepped back, but whether it was because she knew the steps to this dance or because she was retreating, Charm wasn’t sure.
After a few moments, Aspen relaxed. Her fingers curved around Charm’s body instead of holding taut. Her smile returned, and she twirled Charm away and then reeled her back in. It was Charm who stumbled and pitched forward. She braced herself with two hands on Aspen’s shoulders.
It brought their faces scant inches apart.
Charm’s gaze dropped to Aspen’s mouth, the handsome line of her lips, thinner than Charm’s own. She was a good kisser, Charm remembered that. The first time they’d kissed, outside the tavern, Charm had intended it to be a distraction and nothing more. Aspen had surged into the kiss as if it was something she’d been denied for far too long.
Their last one had been just as passionate. If Charm hadn’t been dazed and dizzy from her transformation, that kiss would still have left her reeling.
She bet Aspen would be as enthusiastic now as she had been the two times before. They even had beds waiting for them back at their room. Neither of them had anywhere to go, they weren’t in danger. This would be the perfect moment.
Aspen leaned in, and Charm felt the burn in her lungs as she held her breath. This was what she wanted, Aspen choosing her. She would hold Aspen’s hand and run the entire way back to their rooms. They would take the stairs by two and then collapse on the nearest bed, laughing and out of breath.
Aspen’s lips brushed the curve of Charm’s cheekbone. “You were incredible up on stage tonight.” Aspen stepped back, and Charm’s reflexes were too slow. By the time she reached out to catch Aspen and keep her close, Aspen was too far away.
3
Aspen could not kiss Charm again.
It would only end in heartbreak. She repeated this to herself every day for a month, and then it was Lambsmoon, heralding the spring thaw and the ensuing freedom to travel.
She should have felt relief, but instead she wanted to keep what they had here: the quiet intimacy of living together, the routine of shared breakfasts and late nights, the smell of Charm’s perfume always in the air. Aspen’s work was hard but satisfying, and it was a pleasure to spend time with Ayzeh and get to know his family.
Whatever domestic dreams Aspen had, they couldn’t come true. Charm had her troupe waiting for her return, and Aspen had a duty to see through. It was time to plan her return.
She started by contacting Strength Dyer Lark.
Ozhleh Zna had a diverse population and every type of magic. The People of the Sun had no magic other than a small fraction of them being able to breathe fire in very limited circumstances, but luckily for Aspen, they were happy enough to host People of the Earth selling enchanted trinkets.
The simplest Earth magic for communication across long distances was a pair of mirror-shard pendants like the ones Charm kept, one for talking to Flick and one that she’d given to Aspen. To attune the pendants, each person had to prick their finger and draw a drop of blood, but after that, they could communicate when needed. The more often they used the pendants, the more often they would have to re-apply the spell.
That wouldn’t work for Aspen now. She’d have to forge a connection with Strength across an unknown distance. It was still possible. In the quiet back room of this magic shop, all the windows covered by heavy drapes and the air scented with sage, she had what she needed.
Aspen couldn’t do Earth magic, but she’d paid the shop owner, an overly cheerful middle-aged woman, a lot of money to chant the ritual words and then leave her alone. The other components were simple enough: a strand of Strength’s hair, provided by Ayzeh, and a drop of Aspen’s blood squeezed into a bowl of water. Red bloomed outward in a cloud that faded into mist and left the water barely changed.
