Free The Language of Souls by Lena Goldfinch Page B

emptiness.
    Rundan watched her as she finished braiding her long, shining dark hair in preparation for the journey. Swallowing his nervousness, he faced her. With hands that seemed to have lost connection with the rest of his body, he removed his votif and held it up in his cupped palms.
    As he approached Solena, he saw her eyes widen, causing him to falter a step. After firming his jaw in renewed determination, he extended his hands, presenting the votif he’d worn all his life. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “If you would have me,” he said respectfully and waited, his heart beating very fast.
    In all his imaginings of offering marriage to a girl, he’d never anticipated this choking anxiety, how incredibly heavy his arms would feel as he knelt there, offering his votif, his life. Never had he felt so exposed. There should be more words, he sensed, but none came to his lips. He could only hope she saw his love for her in his actions.
    He wanted to be with her every day. He wanted to wake up with her, spend the day with her, and fall asleep holding her close.
    When she didn’t immediately reach out to take the votif from him, Rundan looked up, feeling the muscles between his shoulder blades tightening into a knot.
    “I can’ t,” she whispered. She pressed a hand over her mouth.
    Rundan squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at the sudden, sharp pain. You should have known better , he told himself. He should have known she didn’t care about him in the same way he cared for her. Even though he’d caught her sometimes, following him with her eyes. Even though she smiled as if she meant it.
    After all she’d done for him, all she’d given, she didn’t love him.
    Rundan’s fingers clenched around the votif he’d offered. Of course she didn’t. He lowered his votif. She was a healer, and as a healer would have done the same for anyone. He was stupid not to hav e realized. He’d allowed his feelings to color his vision, but it all made sense now.
    It made sense, like so many hard lessons in life, so why did it still hurt so much?
    “I just can’ t,” she repeated and fumbled awkwardly with her hands, as if he’d embarrassed her so much she didn’t know what else to do with them. “But I’m honored.”
    She didn’t want him. Was there someone else, he wondere d, a young man from Torrani who’d already shared her kiss? His gut curled with sick jealousy at the thought. The scrolls spoke of jealousy, how it would eat away at your soul. He’d read that often enough in his years of study, but now he believed it in an entirely new and personal way. But he had no claim on Solena’s affection. They’d shared no words of commitment, so he had no right at all to feel jealous. He tried desperately to shrink the unwelcome feeling to the size of a seed and bury it so far down in his soul that it could never grow into anything.
    “I thought—” Rundan halted. It didn’t matter what he thought, did it? To speak of his feelings for her now would simply make the moment even more uncomfortable, for both of them, so he gave her a curt nod, tied his votif to his belt with fingers that felt like wooden nubs. He turned away. As he slung his chest armor on, he again became the falcon. Among a camp of soldiers bearing boars, bears, and wolves on their crests, he’d been an outcast even in his choice of design. But how apt that choice was now, for he’d be flying free soon, free and alone. He slipped a familiar mask over his face, one he’d become accustomed to wearing in his father’s army camp. As he continued to pack, his fingers still numb—numb and mindless, like everything seemed in that moment—he pretended not to notice that Solena was still hovering c lose and glancing at him often.
     
     
    For many days, they trekked through the mountains. Rundan stuck to the less traveled routes, avoiding his father’s army. He led the way for Solena and she seemed as unwilling as he to break the silence simmering