Chapter Thirty-Nine: Confidant
OSMUND HAL TRUEMANE
Bright Sun, Day 12
Hello, journal, how are you? Truthfully, I’ve never kept one of you before. Not that I can remember, anyways. I’m not sure what to write. I suppose something that shall interest my future self? And here I am, already wasting Sakina’s special ink. Okay, here I begin.
I’m writing this six days after being abducted by a gryphon, but I don’t think I need to document the experience. I suspect it will haunt my memories for a while yet, and I’d rather remember the good things that have happened since then. And so, here is an account of those things:
- Banu’s been found safe, thank heavens! She’s clearly a bit spooked and I doubt she’ll react well to hearing a gryphon’s cry again, but hopefully that won’t be a problem once we get home to Şebyan.
- The little Anshan girl has recovered well. Apparently she wishes to forget the entire affair, which I certainly understand. She is already back to playing with her friends and relatives. Kids are so resilient. I’m relieved, if somewhat envious.
- I feel physically back to normal, and Cemil is coming back to his old self too, at long last, which means he is voicing his displeasure that we’re “fussing over him.” (Those are his words, not mine! He won’t even let us help him bathe. It’s been nearly a week. Let us say no more on the subject!)
- I’m not angry at Sakina anymore. In fact, we’ve been getting along rather nicely! She’s given me recommendations of Meskato romance novels. Cemil tends to lend me classics and epic poems and things like that, and the heavens know I have tried my best to be absorbed by them the way that he is, but Sakina I think understands my tastes better. She has started me off with a story about a resourceful merchant woman who winds up catching the eye of several important men in the imperial palace, and then they compete for her affections. It’s not what I would usually read, but it’s still great fun. I enjoy knowing what kinds of popular entertainment the Meskato are drawn to.
However, there are important things we still haven’t talked about, and it feels like we’re dancing around the subject. I know she had good reason to put her life in danger on the cliffs, and besides, she loved him well before I did. Is she really still in love with him? I’m afraid to know the answer. (This he underlined not one, but three times!)
“How is it going?”
Osmund looked up abruptly, ink blotting beneath his pen. Sakina stood at the doorway, a long spoon in her hand. “Has it helped get your thoughts out?”
For twenty minutes he’d been sitting here, attempting to focus only (well… mostly) on the positive, and yet, his mind didn’t feel any clearer. Osmund frowned. “I don’t think I’m very good at this.”
“You’ll improve,” she assured him, leaning against the doorframe. “Just…treat it as a confidant. Someone you can tell anything to.”
Osmund’s brow furrowed. Though Sakina had guaranteed that this enchanted ink was very secure and private, deep-rooted instinct warned against baring his every secret anywhere someone might see. “This really helps you?” he asked, deflecting. It was why she’d gifted him this journal in the first place. “Don’t you…have anyone else to talk to?”
He hadn’t realized how ruthless this would sound until after it was already out. Before he could reverse course, Sakina said, “No. Not really. It’s sad, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Osmund agreed, then winced again. “Sorry.”
“It’s only the truth. I’m not hiding from it.” She turned. “Help me finish the pilaf?”
The rice, chestnuts, currants, and other ingredients that they’d left out to steam were giving the widow’s kitchen an agonizing aroma. Sakina pointed him towards some greens (parsley? And something else? He didn’t know the Meskato words) and left him to it. Osmund picked up the knife and started to chop.
Truth be told, he’d never so much as fried an egg prior to the last few days. Sakina had said that learning her way around a kitchen was one of her favorite parts of striking out on her own. And now that Osmund was (slowly) benefiting from her knowledge, it was proving to be a bit of fun.
“Okay, let’s combine it,” Sakina instructed, lifting the lid off the covered pot. Osmund poured in the chopped greens and watched her gently fold them in. “Want first taste? Here, use some lemon, too.”
The smell was so tantalizing, it would have been torture to refuse. He lifted a spoonful to his lips. “It’s good!” he exclaimed immediately, bringing a hand to his mouth for politeness’ sake. “I like the chestnuts.”
“This was Cemil’s favorite when we were children,” Sakina reminisced, voice fond. “If we had some lamb, it’d be perfect, but after the gryphons went through so much of the local livestock…”
She sounded remorseful now, like the lack of this final touch was a grievous personal failing. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” Osmund said carefully. “It’s delicious as it is.”
Sakina was already ladling off another portion. It was way more than any human being could tackle at a time. “You better bring this to him,” she said in that same wistful tone as she handed over the bowl. “Make sure he actually eats.”
One of the things they weren’t talking about was Cemil’s temper. He was, in fact, angry with Sakina, and hadn’t said a word of thanks about all the home-cooked meals she’d been sending his way. The Meskato prince was as stubborn as Anaya, and held a grudge like her, too.
He was being—if Osmund could be a little uncharitable towards someone who had saved his life many times over, and who he held very dear—a bit of a pain in the ass.
“She made that, did she?”
Cemil was staring down at the steaming dish from his sitting position on the floor. His mouth was set in a firm pout (which was very cute, Osmund thought privately), but his eyes gave him away. It was evident from his longing expression that he wanted nothing more than to snatch up the bowl and bury his face into it! But of course, he had his precious pride to worry about.
“I helped too,” Osmund protested, hoping this at least could persuade him. He put his hands on his hips to show he wouldn’t suffer any nonsense. “You aren’t angry at me, are you?”
The Meskato prince gave him a wary stare, but he picked up the bowl as he did it, clearly trying not to seem too eager. “I ought to be,” he grumbled. “The way I remember it, you swore to me—in these words exactly—that you didn’t intend to ‘throw yourself into danger’. And then, you jumped from horseback into a gryphon’s claws.”
Osmund reeled. “H-how did you know about that part?!”
“Sakina sent a construct to keep an eye on you after you drew the gryphon away. She saw what happened and reported it to us down in the canyon, using a different construct as a mouthpiece.”
What incredible magic! Sakina really is a peerless mage. Osmund sank down opposite him on his knees, the follow-up realizations bowling him over.
“So that means…you knew you’d find me in that cave when you came to look for the Anshan girl?”
There was a longer delay before the next response. “Wasn’t sure you’d be alive,” Cemil said, suddenly very interested in pushing the food around in the bowl. “Thought you might be in pieces by the time we reached you.”
Osmund’s lips fell open. “Cemil, I’m so sorry,” he said at last. When he tried to imagine their positions reversed—“That must have been horrible.”
Cemil glanced briefly up, then down again, clearing his throat. “It was.”
The seconds ticked by. For a time, they both seemed cautious of breaking the silence.
“Have you been feeling alright?” Cemil asked, still not looking at him.
“I told you you can stop asking me that, I feel fine!”
“Anything unusual? No visions?”
“Nothing strange at all,” Osmund clarified quickly. “I promise.”
So maybe his promises weren’t worth much anymore, but he was telling the truth. He’d gotten plenty of normal, not-at-all-cursed sleep in the last few days and felt fit as a fiddle!
Likewise, it was a relief to see Cemil looking well-rested, and eating, too. Even though the Meskato prince lived in a grand mansion and had servants to attend his every need, it seemed like he struggled to accept help from those closest to him. It was beyond Osmund’s understanding.
“Can I wash your hair?”
Osmund shut his mouth as if he could recall the question. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out so abruptly; Cemil no doubt knew that he was starting to get rank without Osmund’s calling attention to it. The Meskato prince dismissed the idea with a motion of his wrist. “I don’t need your assistance doing that.”
That cursed mulishness again! Out loud, Osmund said, “But I want to. Can I?”
Maybe he was pushing his luck. Cemil had on an unhappy expression, so Osmund rushed to sweeten the deal. “I’ll, uh,” he began aimlessly, fumbling, “I’ll…let you wash mine too? When you’re feeling better.”
What kind of offer was that? But incredibly, Cemil started to smile, just a little. “Will you?”
“I’ll let you scrub every inch of my body if you want,” Osmund added, blushing horribly. “Anything.”
“Hmm. It sounds like you might like that.”
“You’re not good at hiding your own interest either, you know.”
He’d done it! Cemil actually laughed. It was Osmund’s first time hearing such a lovely sound in a while. “You’re perceptive.”
“I just know you.”
Cemil considered him for a long moment. Finally he said, “Alright.”
Osmund perked up. “Yes?”
“Bring us some water, then.”