Sent Away (excerpt)
Day seven would have been Shirayuki’s wedding day, and Obi knew as soon as he woke up that this one was going to be different. Yet again he’d failed to wake up before her, but the fireplace was cold in the main room. Shirayuki wasn’t busy in the kitchen, stirring fruit into her breakfast oats and scolding Obi for sleeping his life away. She wasn’t chattering about plans for the day or the interesting variations in seed storage techniques she’d just read about. She was wrapped in a blanket, curled in the main room window seat, staring out into the glittering morning. He’d bet money that she wasn’t seeing a thing.
A cup of tea sat, cold and forgotten, beside her hip. “What do you think Zen is doing today?” Her voice was thin, quiet against the heavy stillness of the cabin.
He didn’t want to speculate, didn’t want to imagine Master back at Wistal going about his business unchanged by the fact he’d jilted the best woman he’d ever have the privilege to know. Just as little did he want to think about Zen upset as he’d been the first night, tears running unregarded down his face as he tried to justify himself. He couldn’t change his mind again, not this time, not after he’d torn her heart out, left her tearless and empty in a window like this, filling her time with the play of sun on snow. “Being yelled at by his brother, if there’s any justice,” Obi grumbled.
That got her attention, neck craning back awkwardly to where she could see him in the doorway. “That’s not fair, Obi, he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You can say that, even now?” He could hear the emotion in his voice; no way could she miss it.
“I don’t want to be angry at him.” She sounded tired, so very resigned. “I don’t know what things will be like when I get back, but anger isn’t going to make anything better.” She tightened the blanket around her shoulders, and out in the forest a pile of snow silently dropped from a pine tree.
They’d been over this before, and nothing he said could change the situation. So he did what he could. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?” She just shook her head, eyes still fixed on the outside.
“All right. While I make breakfast, can you get dressed?” Now she looked up, surprised somehow despite the fact she’d just had a whole conversation. The skin at the corners of her eyes was red. “Wear something warm.”
She was still quiet through breakfast, cleaning her plate mechanically while Obi focused on getting through food as quickly as possible. “We’re going for a walk,” he informed her as soon as she finished eating. “It’s too nice a day out there to waste it inside.”
At last a gleam of interest pierced the fog of misery. “It is?”
“It is.” He took her plate. “I’ll clean up and meet you outside.”
When he came around the side of the building, she was sitting on the front step, eyes closed and turned toward the sun. Her hair stood out like a cardinal in the snow, and illuminated by sunshine and framed by the blue of her favorite cloak, she glowed. If only she were content, the scene would be perfect.
Cheeks wrinkled in a squint as she opened her eyes and turned to him. She looked like herself again, pink with cold and bundled against the weather. It took him back to Lyrias, to simpler times, and he could smile for her. She stood, and they headed into the forest.
There were distractions all along their route, from a tiny bird so puffy it was round to a tree still sporting crimson leaves traced in frost. Ten minutes in, Obi decided it was time for the biggest distraction of all.
A mushroom growing out of a tree gave him the excuse. “What’s-” He stepped off the road, sinking past his ankles in the snow, then dropped with a cry. Shirayuki saw him as graceful, capable, nearly invincible. It was wonderful, the way she looked at him. But none of it was too important to give up, least of all his pride.
“Obi?” Shirayuki stepped forward, hand extended as though to pull him free, and he leaned sideways onto his other hip. Snow crunched under him, and he grimaced.
He didn’t have much experience pretending to be injured, but a wealth of the real thing to remember and work from. He improvised a grunt, and because she’d never believe him if he asked for help right away, pulled himself to his feet. There he smiled sweetly, all his weight on one foot. “Maybe it’s time we head back.”
“What did you do?” Her eyes narrowed, focused on his legs.
“Nothing.” He trailed off and limped a step. “I’m fine. Just remembered that you owe me a rematch at chess and I’d hate to put that off another minute.”
Yuzuri would have rolled her eyes at his acting, but Shirayuki bought it, sliding under his arm to wrap an arm around his waist and offer her shoulder for support. “Let’s get you back so I can take a look at it.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” he protested, dropping his weight onto her at the first step. “We’ll be back there in no time and you’ll see it’s nothing.” Sometimes the best deception was the honest truth.
The sun had already passed midday by the time they made it back to the cabin, sweaty and exhausted but still smiling. Obi had rolled them both into the snow twice, once intentionally and once when Shirayuki was laughing too hard to hold him up. She was tough and determined, but ticklish, easily embarrassed, and far too easy to tease. He was pretty sure he was still limping on the same foot he’d started with, and he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. Nobody had mentioned Zen, or weddings, or so much as the date since they’d set out. She’d wrap his ankle, they’d play their game for the day, he’d make a nuisance of himself over dinner preparations, and that would be that. All that was left was the three stone steps up to the front door.
Shirayuki stopped at the bottom. “If you sit, you can push yourself up one step at a time, and I’ll help you up at the top.” She pulled away from his side, cold air creeping in where she’d been warming him for the last hour and change.
“That’s not going to happen.” He reached for the handrail to support himself. The day he couldn’t hop up three stairs on one foot he would turn in his knives. A clean jump put him on the first stair.
“Obi, I don’t think that’s a good-” Another jump and he was solid on the second. Smiling, he braced for one more, and his one foot slid out from under him. There was just enough time to remember the ice before he hit.
“There doesn’t seem to be any swelling at your ankle, so that’s a good sign, but your knee is severely bruised.” She had the fire rebuilt, his trousers rolled up, and his bare leg draped across her lap for inspection before he had the presence of mind to protest. And at that point he didn’t want to anymore. The salve she was rubbing in felt warm, like firelight in a jar, and her confident fingers wrapped the bandage tightly. It was so much fuss for so little, so much more than he needed, but there was never any arguing with her like this.
He needed to thank her. For caring for him when she was hurting like this. For caring for him at all. Words didn’t seem right for this, so he grabbed her hand as she finished tucking in the last end of the bandage. He couldn’t bow, halfway in her lap as he was, but he could duck his head over her hand like a knight to his lady, kiss the air just above the skin. If his lip grazed her knuckle it was accidental, if his fingers caressed her palm it was just a consequence of the position. Her eyes were round as teacups when he lowered her hand, lingering a moment before releasing her, and her stare gave him the words he needed. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
“You care for me too, Obi.” Her voice was soft and full of emotion, too much like how she’d been in the morning for his comfort. He wanted her laughing, not crying, even if it was over him.
“And don’t you forget it,” he chirped, grinning. “Now come on, we have a game to get to.” He levered himself off the floor. On to the next distraction
