asked, disbelief creeping into her tone.
“Only some,” I reassured her. “And only small things.”
“There is so much,” she said, allowing a note of despair into her voice. “With one’s family one knows what every small movement of face means. You grow up watching. You know the all of what is in them. Those friends you are young with, before you know better than to grin at everything. It is easy with them. But this . . .” She shook her head. “How can one possibly remember when to correctly show one’s teeth? How often am I supposed to touch eyes?”
“I understand,” I said. “I am very good at speaking in my language. I can make the cleverest meanings. But here that is useless.” I sighed. “Keeping my face still is very hard. I feel I am always holding my breath.”
“Not always,” she said. “We are not always still of the face. When you are with . . .” She trailed off, then quickly gestured,
“I have none I am close to,” I said.
Penthe nodded. “I saw.” She reached out and ran her thumb along the side of my face. It felt cool against the swelling. “You must have angered her very.”
“I can tell that by the ringing of my ears,” I said.
Penthe shook her head. “No. Your marks.” She gestured to her own face this time. “With another, it might be a mistake, but Vashet would not leave such if she did not wish everyone to see.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach and my hand went unconsciously to my face. Of course. This wasn’t mere punishment. It was a message to all of Ademre.
“Fool that I am,” I said softly. “I did not realize this until now.”
We ate quietly for several minutes, before I asked, “Why did you come to sit with me today?”
“When I saw you today, I thought I had heard many people speak about you. But I knew nothing of you from personal knowing.” A pause.
“And what do others say?” I said with a small, wry smile.
She reached out to touch the corner of my mouth with her fingertips. “That,” she said. “What is the bent smile?”
“Not all is bad,” she said gently.
Penthe looked up at me and met my eyes then. They were huge in her small face, slightly darker grey than usual. They were so bright and clear that when she smiled, the sight of it almost broke my heart. I felt tears well up in my eyes and I quickly looked down, embarrassed.
“Oh!” she said softly, and gestured a hurried
“You are right with your smiling,” I said without looking up, blinking furiously in an attempt to clear the tears away. “It is an unexpected kindness on a day when I do not deserve such a thing. You are the first to speak with me from your own desire. And there is a sweetness in your face that hurts my heart.” I made
Her left hand crossed the table and caught hold of mine. Then she turned my hand face up and pressed
I looked up and gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
She mirrored it almost exactly, then covered her mouth again. “I maintain anxiousness about my smiling.”
“You should not. You have the perfect mouth for smiling.”
Penthe looked up at me again, her eyes meeting mine for a heartbeat before darting away. “True?”
I nodded. “In my own language, it is a mouth I would write a—” I brought myself up short, sweating a bit when I realized I’d almost said “song.”
“Poem?” she suggested helpfully.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “It is a smile worthy of a poem.”
“Make one then,” she said. “In my language.”
“No,” I said quickly. “It would be a bear’s poem. Too clumsy for you.”
This just seemed to spur her on, and her eyes grew eager. “Do. If it is clumsy, it will make me feel better of my own stumbling.”
“If I do,” I threatened, “you must, too. In my language.”
I’d thought this would scare her away, but after only a moment’s hesitation she nodded.
I thought of the only Ademic poetry I had heard: a few snippets from the old silk spinner and the piece from the story Shehyn had told about the archer. It wasn’t much to go on.
I thought of the words I knew, the sounds of them. I felt the absence of my lute sharply here. This is why we have music, after all. Words cannot always do the work we need them to. Music is there for when words fail us.
Finally I looked around nervously, glad there were only a scattered handful of people left in the dining hall. I leaned toward her and said:
She gave the smile again, and it was just as I said. I felt the sharpness of it in my chest. Felurian had had a beautiful smile, but it was old and knowing. Penthe’s smile was bright as a new penny. It was like cool water on my dry, tired heart.
The sweet smile of a young woman. There is nothing better in the world. It is worth more than salt. Something in us sickens and dies without it. I am sure of this. Such a simple thing. How strange. How wonderful and strange.
Penthe closed her eyes for a moment, her mouth moving silently as she chose the words of her own poem.
Then she opened her eyes and spoke in Aturan.
I smiled wide enough to make my face hurt. “It is lovely,” I said honestly. “It is the first poem anyone has ever made for me.”
After my conversation with Penthe, I felt considerably better. I was uncertain as to whether or not we had been flirting, but that hardly mattered. It was enough for me to know there was at least one person in Haert who didn’t want me dead.
I walked to Vashet’s house as I usually did after meals. Half of me hoped she would greet me, smiling and sarcastic, the morning’s unpleasantness put wordlessly behind us. The other half of me feared she would refuse to speak with me at all.
As I came over the rise, I saw her sitting on a wooden bench outside her door. She leaned against the rough
