Graven

Listelle bit her lip as she peeled back the fabric inside the box. A pair of dark eyes stared back at her. She dropped it immediately onto the bed, gasping. A wooden figurine, crudely carved, was tucked beneath the fabric, laid with a delicate precision akin only to a tomb. Around its head in a halo was arranged a series of objects: pinecones, dried leaves and flowers, and then something deeper than blue. It shone, yet was dull, with such a layering of colours, for a moment she thought it was a mirror reflecting the sky. Listelle clenched her fist to her chest and then darted her hand passed the doll's face to grab the blue object. It was a piece of seaglass. She could feel its cool surface in her warm hands, and at some point, someone had carved it into a perfect ring. She held it up to the window, watching how the light deflected softly through its curves. And that was when she saw him, reflected in the window behind her, silent, his eyes as unwavering as the wooden doll's.

Listelle clutched the ring to her chest and turned to face him, lifting her chin high. 'I have a perfect right to be in here,' she declared.

His eyes dropped to the open cardboard box on his bed, and then back to Listelle. She squeezed her lips together tightly, waiting, watching for the anger, but his face remained impassive, watching, waiting as much as her.

Listelle winced and pointed her hand at the box, saying, 'This is a shrine. I know. I've seen one before. Magan, these are graven images. Don't you understand the implications? My father is the head of the Church of Favont. If it was discovered that his daughter's slave was keeping a shrine to some dark spirit in her house... don't you not realise the scandal?' There was no panic or remorse. There was nothing returned. Just infuriating stillness. Listelle held the ring aloft, her last battle. There was a twitch. His eyes narrowed, focusing cleanly on the piece of glass in her hand.

'Whose ring is this?' she demanded.

His jaw locked as tight as a safe. Exasperated, Listelle snarled through bared teeth and jabbed her finger back at the box. 'You will dispose of this, and see that you return the ring to its rightful owner, or I will.'

'I can't.'

She drew in a deep breath, her features quivering. 'Don't defy me. Please, not now, I'm disappointed enough already.'

'The ring belonged to my wife.'

All her air was expelled from her body. What tightness had been in her muscles had lost all strength. She sank back down onto his bed, deflated and pointless. 'You're married?'

His face twisted up, wincing and frowning. 'Was,' he muttered. 'She died... last winter solstice.' His frown increased. 'I'm sorry, Your Highness. I know I'm not allowed to have anything of my own. It's just...'

Listelle held up one hand defensively. 'Magan, it's fine. I'm the one who should be apologising. I had no idea.' She looked down and saw the ring still gripped in her other hand, shining in the shadow of her body. A sickness began to bubble up inside her stomach. She could feel the acid leaching into her skin, swarming through her mouth, gathering behind her eyes. She yelped and dropped the ring back in her box and stood up, pacing away. 'Sorry,' she gasped, clutching her hands to her face. 'Oh! Oh, I feel quite embarrassed now. Oh... oh gosh. I feel like such a fool. Why did you never tell me?'

'About my personal life?'

She lowered her hands to look at him. What else was there?

'We spend the majority of our day together. How did I not know you were married?'

'It never came up,' he shrugged.

'Well, it's come up now. Tell me about her.'

Magan moved over to his bed and placed his hand inside, repositioning the ring and then folding the fabric back down, tucking the doll in. He closed the lid and then placed the box back under his bed, and there he stopped, kneeling on the floor, his head pressed against his sheet. 'I'd rather not. Unless you insist, I'd rather not speak about her at all,' he said, muffled.

'Another day perhaps?'

Magan sighed. 'Perhaps.'