Nobody's Goddess (Never Veil #1)(29)

I snapped out of my daze just long enough to pull out one of the sawdust-covered chairs at the eating table. Alvilda followed suit.

“It’s all right,” I said, breaking a few tense moments of silence. I wanted to talk about everything. I wanted to ask her if there was a way to act as if I’d never gone to the castle. I wanted to ask her if it would be okay to delay the lord’s courtship as much as possible, to pretend to be preparing my heart for the Returning day after day, year after year as I continued living as if nothing had changed.

But why is it different for me? Why do I have to Return at all? I’d rather live the rest of my own days in the commune.

Alvilda of all people should have been able to understand my feelings, but even she thought it a bad idea to reject the lord. “He’s good to us. He pays the villagers well for their wares.” But what did I care? If even Alvilda thought that I should sacrifice myself so the rest of the village could pocket a few more coppers, I couldn’t betray any of my plan to delay the Returning. “Plus, he’s—” Alvilda had dropped what she was going to say then, choosing to bite her lip instead. It was probably “always watching.” The people in the village were worried he’d punish them for forgetting to invite someone to a Returning, so what would he do to them if his goddess refused to love him?

He’s not always watching, though. He can’t be. He’s just a man.

So I couldn’t ask any questions. Not questions that mattered anyway. Still, I figured it would be rude to pass up a rare invitation to get to know Alvilda better. She wasn’t one for musings. “A waste of time, effort, and the brain our foremothers blessed you with,” she often said.

“Why did you choose woodworking?” I asked. Maybe she’d mistake my intentions and tell me about the beauty of the craft; I could let it wash over me and retreat back to the emptiness in my heart.

“Well,” said Alvilda softly. “Women have the right to choose what their hearts tell them. It’s a gift from the first goddess.”

My eyes welled again. “That’s a lie! It’s not a gift—and it’s not even true!”

So much for sidestepping the issue.

Alvilda coughed. “It’s not an easy gift, I know.” She tapped her fingers over the table and looked thoughtful, a rarity on her features. “I know.”

She let me cry a bit without saying anything more. I almost grabbed a rag with which to wipe my face, but I remembered the sawdust and spread my tears all over my sleeve instead. I no longer could stand to wear aprons.

Finally, I managed to compose myself. “Whatever it is, it’s different for me.” I can’t send the lord to the commune. I just can’t. No one would let me.

“I know, dear. I’m sorry.”

What else was there to say?

Alvilda broke into the silence. “You know, I tried to love Jaron.” So that was his name. Mother’s first love. “I really did. I certainly didn’t dislike him.”

I scoffed. I hadn’t intended to be rude to Alvilda, especially as she opened herself up to me. But even though I felt Alvilda was the closest person I had to someone who might understand, it wasn’t the same.

Alvilda didn’t notice or at least didn’t comment. “Whenever I let my thoughts wander, I feel so ill at the idea of what my choice has done to him I want to retch.”

I met Alvilda’s eyes. They were strong, dark brown like mine, but I detected a glisten in them. Unlike me, though, she held it in, her throat making a gurgling noise as she steeled herself to speak further.

“I thought about marrying him even without the Returning. So many had done it before.” She looked upward at the art carvings behind me. “But I couldn’t decide if his muted happiness at being near me would be worth the torment of my own soul in his stead.”

I nodded. “And people didn’t urge you to marry him anyway? Tell you how sometimes the Returning is delayed years and that there could be a chance you would both one day be happy?” The words were not my own, but the echoes of voice after voice and lecture after lecture.

Alvilda bit her lip and didn’t look away from the wall behind me. “Yes, they did. But no, I would never, ever be happy.”

My gaze followed Alvilda’s. She saw me looking and tore away, but I saw the carving in which she had been engrossed. Her family. Luuk as a toddler in his bunny rabbit mask, his mother holding him in her arms with a sour look carved deep and permanently into her features. Master Tailor stood next to Mistress Tailor, one hand on Jurij the puppy dog who stood in front of him, his other arm tightly around Mistress Tailor’s shoulder, his demeanor projecting a sense of joviality that his face could not. Because Master Tailor still wore a mask, his face obscured by that of an owl’s.

Of course. Alvilda had witnessed her brother marry without the Returning. As his blood relation, she knew his face, but she chose to carve him with his missing features. Perhaps to guard his secret from the wandering female eye. Or perhaps to remind herself of what could have been, had she chosen to marry Jaron against her heart’s desire.

“In any case,” Alvilda said, her tone calm but still trembling, “I’m sorry for my foolish ramblings. I know that your circumstances simply don’t compare to mine. The lord is—well, in any case, you don’t want to go through what I did.” Alvilda walked across the room, rummaged through her toolbox, and came back to the eating table.