Followed by Fros(54)
Lo gathered his things as Aamina prattled, silently excusing himself. However, as Aamina began unloading yarn and foodstuffs from her basket, Lo leaned down to me, his fingers brushing my scarf, and whispered, “You do not have a cold heart, Misa.”
My pulse quickened at the feel of his breath on my skin, and his words stopped my heart completely.
He left without a second glance back, disappearing into the drifting snow.
Aamina continued her story behind me, but I admit I did not hear it. My body had fixed itself to the ground, as though the cavern floor had risen and solidified about my ankles. I stood there, barely breathing, staring at the door. Staring at the place Lo had been just moments before.
“You do not have a cold heart.”
My lips quivered, and tears blurred my vision. I pressed one palm to my lips and the other over my heart, shivering and aching and feeling . . . light. A sort of airy relief I can’t describe passed through me at those words, words I hadn’t realized I needed to hear. Words that answered the question buried in the deepest part of me—the one I had never thought to ask.
And Lo . . . oh, Lo. How had he known the one simple phrase that could relieve such weight from my shoulders?
Aamina gasped. “Goodness, your hair! What have you done?”
I swallowed hard and blinked back my tears before turning around. Clearing my throat, I touched the short, uneven locks.
Aamina’s eyes bugged. “What is wrong? Are you ill?” Her brows skewed and nearly crossed each other. “Did that man do something?”
I shook my head, wiping away half-frozen tears. “No . . . no, Aamina. I’m just glad you’re back.”
She rolled her eyes, but her face lifted into a smug smile. “I told you I would be. I sent a letter with Rhono—didn’t you get it? Anyway, you’re skinnier than I remember, and I have a treat for you. Ever heard of chocolate? It comes from a funny sort of tree that grows in the Hurot Isles, and you wouldn’t think much of it on its own, but get your hands on some honey and it will do wonders for the soul.”
Using her sewing scissors, Aamina very carefully fixed my hair while wearing a pair of my gloves, evening it out so it looked acceptable, even cropped as it was. She talked a great deal about her sister and her new nephew, and I was glad to hear they were in good health, though try as I might, half my mind lingered in Mac’Hliah, a bird perched on Lo’s shoulder, unable to fly away.
CHAPTER 23
The next time Aamina came she brought me leather shoes with hardy soles and long stockings, as well as a new mauve dress with especially baggy sleeves and a white head scarf trimmed with olive. She was insistent that I try out my new shoes, so we used my newfound mobility to journey into Mac’Hliah together for the afternoon, she on her camel and me walking alongside. The idea of me riding on the back of the saddle didn’t bother Aamina, but I did not want to risk harming her, and her camel looked at me with the sort of knowing eye that affirmed my decision to walk. Walking or riding, I was elated to leave the cavern.
When we reached Mac’Hliah, we walked through the vibrant market, which brimmed with a surprising number of soldiers. Aamina chatted about anything and everything, from how to select the best melons to the strange shapes of moles on her husband’s body. She often spoke of her husband, who worked as a trader between countries in the Southlands and was often away. Aamina painted a laughable picture of a short, stout, dark-skinned man with half a head of hair, but I could tell from her small smiles that she cared for him deeply. I hoped I could meet him someday.
Aamina had a strange way of shopping. She stopped at nearly every booth to gander at its wares, often prodding produce or examining strings of beads against her wrist, completely ignoring the merchants’ sales pitches. She fondled this and sniffed at that but rarely pulled a coin from her purse. I wondered if she was picky or just curious. I stayed close to her, constantly aware of my surroundings, stepping this way or that to avoid brushing shoulders or startling a camel. I tried my best to smile when others stared, to laugh at the few who still crossed their chests and tapped their shoulders at the sight of me, and to nod to those who greeted me. I recognized a few of the soldiers from my spring trek to Zareed’s largest cities and waved. A few signed to me in handtalk, simple things like Hello or Nice to have some shade.
Nearly an hour into our jaunt in the city Aamina took great interest in a shop that sold clay pottery. Not wanting to hold still, and seeing the shopkeeper’s wariness over my presence, I excused myself to await Aamina outside. As I paced the store’s perimeter, I noticed a group of women across the street and down a ways, eyeing me and whispering. I paid them little mind at first, but their eyes followed my every move. While I could not hear them from such a distance, particularly over the noise of bartering and gossip, I saw them constantly shake their heads and gesture with their hands, always in my direction.
I was about to fetch Aamina when she stepped out of the shop of her own volition, a chilly breeze from my storm nearly tossing back her head scarf. She carried in her hands two bowls carefully wrapped in linen and began explaining her bargain to me when one of the women who’d been watching me, apparently startled to see us leaving, cut off a man pulling a handcart to cross the road and hurried after us. I paused and waited for her. It must have unnerved her, for she hesitated before approaching me. The other women gawked from their cluster.