I have sinned.

The house of the shining Day was not a subtle place. It could afford to be bold with its glamours and proud, pearl white candles. It was held up in high regard by those who wished, craved what the house promised. To let all dense secrets hidden within burn away in the shining light of Day. I have sinned. Nothing could worm its way darkly into the spirit if it was exposed to the shining air within the house. Only freedom could remain.

Talwyn walked past the rows of high backed benches, head covered with lace and weighted at the edges past her shoulders with silver, shining beetles. When she first wore them as a child, as all children did, it seemed vast and awkward. I have sinned. She had vocally wished to have bells instead of sacred beetles. I have sinned. She had only been placated by her brother’s hand holding hers as they walked with the others along the rows, to sing songs and praise the shining Day.

Mostly she recalled the sweat pooling between their palms as she held on tightly to his hand. I have sinned. Neither willing to let the other one go, despite the discomfort. I have sinned. Then when their head covering weights got tangled together, tearing the fine lace. I have sinned. The trouble they got into. I have sinned.

It was only then as Talwyn paused to reflect on that memory with downcast eyes that she realised where her feet had taken her. To a quiet corner of the sacred house, with two heavy, carved doors set against richly coloured wood panels.

It was time for confession.

The confessional seat was quiet, all outside sound muffled as the door clicked closed. It was only when the first candle was lit and she could see the silhouette of the crescent moon through the screen that separated the chambers that she realised she had been holding her breath.

It all came out in a rush. A momentary breeze in the otherwise still air.

“I have sinned.” Said Talwyn. She had hoped speaking these words that gouged their way into her mind would be freeing, but all she felt was pressure. A dense weight behind her eyes.

“Come, let me shed light in the small places where sins reside.”

The voice on the other side was somehow familiar. It was comforting and curved around the barrier between them to knock against her ears. Though it was warm she could feel a tremor run through her as she thought how to compose her grievances.

“I…have purposefully taken a lover.” Talwyn began, trying to stifle the grimace that was setting her teeth on edge. The figure on the other side was patiently mute. Expectant.

“One that I should not.” “Speak to me of them.”

“He is wonderful.” She began, hesitant at first but with more enthusiasm as every word passed her lips.

“People have been kind to me, I do not feel unloved but his words and actions are always loving. There is no guessing or hesitation in him. I never second guess his intentions.”

Every damning word felt like undoing stitches to a wound that was not yet healed. Raw and puffing at the edges. Hot and promising nothing but sickness and slick skin.

“At first it was just curiosity. It was not about him, you understand? It was about the both of us. We have always been together. I wanted to understand him. I wanted to understand why we were different. But when that passed it-” “-Hold a moment.”

The interruption jolted her from her mind, forcing her shoulders stiff and awkward.

“I meant, tell me who he is.”

The voice on the other side was strained, but not from disapproval but withheld laughter.

A hot flush of embarrassment did not help as she tried to retain what little composure she had left. The words came out bitten and sharp, staring at her hands bunched in her lap.

“Thomas. My brother.”

A laugh, bold and flat felt like a blow to the cheek and she twisted her mouth into an unhappy line.

“It is not a laughing matter!” “No, I agree. It’s just sad. Continue.” “Sad?”

Talwyn stared at the screen expectantly, wondering if further explanation was coming or if she was to accept this pity tossed at her feet without understanding.

“I don’t…” She felt a touch to the side of her face, a thumb pressed against her cheek and then a palm cupping it. “…think it’s sad.”

There was no explanation for Thomas’ presence there. To her mind there didn’t need to be. No doors needed to be opened and no shutters pushed aside. Thomas had always been there and to her mind, he always would be. She looked up to him and smiled, leaning slightly into his hand.

The voice on the other side of the screen was talking. There were certainly words, like waves pushing and cresting against the shore they worked their way over the screen to Talwyn who happily let it all wash over her. It didn’t matter now.

There was only space to hold him, to pull him down to her by the shirt sleeve. To kiss his cheeks and his brow. To lean into him as he knelt on the floor before her, holding her with trembling limbs that she couldn’t feel.

Impossible. The thoughts and words became louder. The barrage of noise battering against them both as Talwyn’s mind worked away at the situation. He couldn’t be here. It was impossible.

No matter how much she kissed and touched, the weight of reality crushed the dream she realised she was having. The voice on the other side was more insistent, demanding her attention when she had nothing to offer.

Whispering his name to drown out the hissing in her ears, the rushing of blood was more real than Thomas was at that moment. It made her want to scream. Though there was no air in her lungs to power it, all her strength had gone into holding onto what little scrap of Thomas she had now, as he sat before her, head bent and dark veil of hair hiding his face.

It wasn’t a sharp awakening. It was painful and slow, gasping for air with a red face and tense jaw. Like pulling herself out from the bottom of a lake, gravel scraping against her skin at every step.

Talwyn was one to wake early. She lay in her bed feeling hot and cold all at once. She had to force herself to move out of it. He would be home soon she knew it, but the wild frustration was like a wire in her blood. He wasn’t here NOW and that was what mattered.

The morning routine of making her bed, brushing her hair and airing the room didn’t dull the edge of her feelings. Everything reminded her of him. The delicate inlaid pearl in the handle of her hand mirror felt like a secret in an otherwise unremarkable item.

When he presented it to her, all he said was that it reminded him of her. To know that she occupied his thoughts was enough to drag a sigh out of her. Then a snort of frustration.

It sounded stupid even in her head, if she dared to speak it out loud she feared she might scream. He would be home soon. To wilt and wail like an untended bloom was not to her liking. She had managed nearly a year without him; she would manage another day.

Talwyn paused in the hallway, unhurried by the drone of the morning outside. The day had already started for many, the bubbling chatter of the outer courtyard was melting into the rumbling beats of wheels and hooves on the stones.

She pushed the window open to peer out, hauling her upper body to lean an alarming amount to get a thin slice of a view of the front palace gates in the distance. Her center of balance shifted and she felt her legs kick in distress, letting her hair fall out of its netting like a pale flag signalling defeat.

No sign of caravans. No horses. No soldiers. No messengers.

A hand firmly clapped onto her calf and brought her heel back down to the floor. A lilting, rapid voice followed.

“Careful now Yarrow, you’ll be out on your head. No way to greet the morning made into a fine jam on the flagstones.”

A slender person stood aside from her, making a small step to keep out of arm’s reach of her. Their smile widened at Talwyn’s huffing and rearranging of her hair as she settled herself.

“Thank you Motley, but I told you not to call me that.”

“She did.” Interjected another a half step behind Motley.

“I know-I know.” Motley waved away the complaint like shooing off an insect.

“I don’t think Yarrow would make a very good jam anyway…” The second continued in a slightly more wistful tone.

“What about Meadowsweet? Mead Wort? Dollof!”

“…those are the same thing!” Talwyn sighed, not wanting to deal with the fool so early in the day. They had a habit of speaking without order or concern for anyone else around them. Though it was of course within their right to do so, she didn’t need to be the one to bear it before breakfast.

Motley’s slender fingers touched their mouth and they drummed their fingers thoughtfully at their lips, trying to coax something out of them.

The other fool behind them piped up quite suddenly, “Oh we need some more gruit!”

An explosion of laughter blew past Motley’s fingers, sending them into a cackling fit, gasping out words as the initial blow left them.

“What has that got to do with anything!?”

Talwyn finished pulling the netting on her hair and tried not to roll her eyes.

“Good morning, I have to be going.”

Talwyn left the shrieking laughter behind her as it exploded out of Motley again, echoing oddly down the hall and following her into the dining room.

It was too early to be busy but the room had a yawning, awkward vacancy to it. The table was set simply, expectantly. Bowls and cups anticipating breakfast while it was being prepared in the rooms nearby.

Talwyn stood near her chair awkwardly for a brief time, touching at the carved back of it, knocking her knuckle into the indentation between two ornamental leaves. The chair next to her though present was barren of any kind of setting. No woven place mat. Nothing.

It was enough to push Talwyn from the dining room, sending her to her mother’s rooms. The curtains were drawn, dark cloth covering the shutters and hanging fringe keeping them in place. Talwyn nudged open the bedroom door and chanced a peek inside.

The square edged drifts of books that surrounded the bed carefully guarded a darkened object beneath the bedding. Talwyn decided that it would be best not to wake her before food was even being laid out. It was always best not to inconvenience her mother without something to show for it. Even if it was a skinned knee or spilled ink.

Talwyn’s thoughts drifted back to her restless dreams as she walked through the hall to her family’s common room. Perhaps she should go to confession after all? She had been blessed in the house of shining Day as a child and went every second week with her family to sing praises. Though if she were being honest it was mostly to see the rest of the court and catch up on gossip. Motley could not be relied on to keep a secret for longer than they could hold their breath, so it was best to only spread news through them, not keep it.

When her father arrived, face and chin strap beard were still damp from washing, she greeted him and caught his hand.

“Have you slept?” She asked, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Some, yes. But!” he gave her hand a squeeze and a shake, his excitement lifting the lines on his round face, “The copperas shipment is coming this week! Your mother heard whispers during her ritual!” “Is she alright?” “Yes, yes. Just tired. I don’t think she was expecting it. Not that she was listening for anything like that! Haha.”

Her father’s laugh came out flat and his eyes were worried, but his smile still sat pleasantly on his face. Talwyn was constantly impressed by his ability to mask his feelings and yet be so obvious at the same time.

“The copperas comes from the mines past Potter’s Reach, doesn’t it?” “Yes! OH! Yes it does, you’re right. Thomas will probably be along with it. Two gifts together.” “Papa! You should have said that first!”

Talwyn’s father chuckled, an amused noise he held in his throat for himself more than anyone else. He kissed at the back of her hand and tried to pull her along with him.

“What I should have done is told everyone at the table.” “Why would they care that Thomas is coming home?” “No, my dear. The supplies to the court.” “Oh, yes of course.”

The dining room was busier now as Talwyn took her seat. The other court mages and their families took to their own tables, each place setting the same but the chairs ornately and purposefully different. Though the broad shouldered and scarred Summoner of Dusk, the only summoner Talwyn had known of, sat by herself. The chair was from the King’s own rooms, brought in with the rest of the court mages when the last conflict ended. Before Talwyn’s knowing.

The Summoner didn’t talk of it, people mostly spoke at her of the stories they’d heard. They called her Pauline with a playful tug of laughter as she nodded and thanked them for their tales. Talwyn watched as she sat, prayed quietly with her hand to her neck, then began eating.

“Do you think mother will join us?” Talwyn was brought back to the Clearwaters table with a small blink as smoked fish and white bread was put on the table.

“No, no I don’t think so.”

The gentle murmur of conversation began to rise as the last stragglers entered in and sat. Her father gave the briefest, no doubt devout, prayers with one palm upwards in thanks before eating. Talwyn mimicked him as quickly as she could, knowing that mother would just stare at him and take her time if she were present.

When her father was done eating, he stood and held himself straight backed and upright. He cleared his throat rather pointedly and looked across the room. It took a moment or two more than Talwyn would have liked for some of the tables to notice him. He was not a tall man, moreover he wasn’t even the head of the family where he sat. He was wed to one, that was enough to get him into the room but respect was another matter.

“Goodness, I wonder what he’s going to say.” Said Motley, perched with their knees clutched against their chest.

“Probably that the caravan’s coming. I hope they’re bringing wine.” murmured the second fool, leaning against the chair back and staring out over the room.

Talwyn hadn’t noticed Motley’s arrival and laughed in surprise. “That’s mother’s chair!”

“Well mother can come get it.” Motley replied, giving her a rather haughty look and flicking a lock of hair from their face that wasn’t present.

“I’d like to inform you, as Brangwen informed his highness last night, that the caravan from Deryn Hills is finally on its way!” Her father laughed a little as he spoke, putting ink stained fingertips against the edge of his belt to steady his enthusiasm, “They’re past Potter’s Reach th’now.”

There was a small wave of mutterings from the other tables, excited. No one questioned whether the King’s own Warder had heard correctly. It was her profession to do so. If she was wrong that wasn’t their business.

“Ooh some wine would be nice. None of this stuff I have to strain through my strings.” Said Motley, rocking slightly at the idea and waggled their thin eyebrows at Talwyn.

Talwyn smirked and wagged her finger in pretend admonishment, “Thomas is coming home too, you know. And Derrington’s boy.”

“I know! I know! They’ll be all grown now no doubt. I wonder if either of them will be joining me, hm? What do you think?” Motley leaned closer to Talwyn conspiratorially who shoved at his shoulder sending him rocking backwards until he rolled onto the floor with a dramatic wail.

“Rejected! In my own home!” Motley smeared absent tears across their cheek.

The other fool just shook his head with a smirk, “Serves you right.”

“I’ve done no wrong!” Motley continued as the other tables began to clear. “I am a fool by trade but a fool by choice also! I must seek reformation for this wrong done to me! I will travel to each Cardinal House in the land and weep for forgiveness. I will travel so far and wide! I will show all my sorrow.”

There was a distinctly unimpressed air surrounding Motley as they flailed on the floor, the other fool shook his head and looked back to Talwyn. She looked mostly amused.

“Anything else?” She asked, rising and offering them a hand up.

“Oh, maybe I will make a Unicorn my lover.” Motley took her hand and hauled themself up onto their feet as if they had not been rolling on the floor in a dramatic monologue.

“You’d have to catch one first.” Said the other fool, trotting away on his toes and shaking his head like a playful filly.

Talwyn held onto Motley’s hand a touch longer and peered at them, just to assure herself they weren’t actually wounded. Of course not. They had done far more than just roll from a chair in mock sorrow before, Talwyn had seen such things before on feast days. Motley’s long limbs and boney construction gave the impression of a rather brittle frame at first, but there was a solid core of mischief to them. Sometimes it just leaked out.

As Motley shook off Talwyn’s grip they stood their full height and peered at her expectantly. There was a slight tilt to their head like a curious bird, wishing to peck at something.

“You look thoughtful, Yarrow.” Said Motley, ignoring the slight frown of disapproval from her at the pet name. “I was wondering if I should go to Dawn house with mother.” “Yes your mother is most devout. I see her stride out with great pride every day to sing praises palm upwards. But that doesn’t seem to be your concern. Unless sudden devotion has struck? An awakening perhaps?”

Motley didn’t dare attempt to mock the symbolic gestures expected of people when they went for prayer but their long fingers did restlessly touch at one another as they spoke. It was with a growing unease that Talwyn realised she couldn’t really bring herself to explain what was stirring in the deeper parts of her mind. Like a fish through dark water it shifted and upset the surface slightly, just enough to unsettle.

“No, no such thing as that.” Talwyn said with a small, dismissive gesture and a cringe of a smile. She had not been as lucky as her brother. “I am anxious. Perhaps I should go to confession?”

“Oh! I love it! I adore this sudden need to confess.” Motley’s laugh rumbled around in their throat, bared teeth holding it back with a wide grin. “What have you been getting up to, Yarrow? Something in the gardens? Gotten your hands dirty?”

“I didn’t know you had suddenly taken up the mantle of confessor, Motley! Congratulations.” Said Talwyn with a small bow. Motley immediately returned it with an exaggerated flourish, touching at their brow then their chin.

“Thank you! Thank you! I put my swift ascension to my delightfully humble nature. Now please tell? What have you gotten your pale little fingers into?” Motley spoke as they loomed closer over Talwyn, only to get a slap on the hand. Shrinking away Motley pulled their hand to their lips and gazed sorrowfully to their attacker. They opened their mouth as if to wail again and Talwyn raised their hand swiftly to stop the deluge of noise.

“Go and get pity from your unicorn lover, you’ll get none from me.” Said Talwyn, turning to leave the dining room after her father.

“Such cruelty.” Whispered Motley, mostly to their hand.

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