Free Web NovelChapter 29: Of Gentle Lessons and Borrowed Breakfasts
Chapter 28: Of Gentle Lessons and Borrowed Breakfasts
Lyria’s POV
Patricia’s smile lingered after my promise, soft and careful, as though she feared it might fade if she moved too quickly.
Then, with a small flick of her fingers, she brushed the heaviness from the air as neatly as one might sweep crumbs from a table.
Her hands rose.
’Enough of sad things,’ she told me with warm eyes. ’What new words have you learnt?’
The question startled a laugh out of me before I could stop it.
I shifted closer to the narrow table and slipped the small primer, along with the bread, the cheese, and the apple I had hidden so carefully beneath my skirts.
I laid them out one by one.
The thin little book first.
Then the wrapped wedge of cheese.
The hard bread.
And finally, the apple.
Patricia’s shoulders shook.
The sound that escaped her was husky and light at the same time, the faint breath of laughter carried without a voice.
Her hands lifted at once.
’Did you steal the apple?’
My cheeks warmed.
"N-no. I didn’t s-steal anything," I argued.
Her brows rose in a way that suggested she very much doubted that. I nodded sheepishly then.
"Yes," I signed and whispered together. "But j–just the a–apple. I am s–sorry I could not bring m–more," I added quickly, my fingers moving in a soft apology.
She shook her head.
Her hands moved gently.
’I know what you brought is half of your breakfast.’
My mouth opened at once.
"It is n–not my b–breakfast," I replied too quickly.
She only looked at me like before. Sometimes her look reminded me of the one my mother usually gave me when she did not believe me or disapproved of something I did.
I sighed.
"All right," I admitted softly, still signing. "It is my b–breakfast. B–but I ate a lot earlier. T–this is only what was l–left. I m–made sure I was f–full before I brought it."
Her expression did not change, and I also knew she did not believe me, but she wasn’t going to push it.
She leaned forward instead and then, very deliberately, she pushed the bread back toward me.
Her hands rose.
’Have you forgotten that I do not have a tongue?’
I froze.
She continued patiently.
’It is difficult to chew dry bread and turn it into a bolus to swallow.’
I knew that word.
She had taught it to me when I had asked her why she was always eating porridge and soft foods when she had teeth.
We had even created the sign for the word bolus, and she had taught me how to spell it too, and how to pronounce it.
I glanced about the room at once.
My eyes landed on the cracked plate on the table.
Then the chipped bowl.
Then finally, after far too much searching, the cup.
I lifted it, thinking there would be enough water in it, but there was only a little.
I sighed softly.
I had intended to soak the bread for her, soften it so it would not hurt her throat.
But there would not be enough.
I set the cup down again.
"It is all r–right," I signed gently. "I will m–mash the a–apple instead. Th–that will be better for you."
Her hands rose immediately.
’Only half.’
I made a face at that, because she was extremely thin and was asking for only half an apple.
She smiled at me, and I just nodded in defeat.
I took the small knife from the hidden seam of my skirt, the one I always carried with me, and set the apple upon the cracked plate.
The blade was dull.
I pressed harder than I should have as I cut the apple into tiny pieces.
I worked slowly, careful not to let the knife scrape too loudly against the plate.
When the apple was finally reduced to soft little cubes, I tipped them into the bowl and began to mash them with the spoon.
The juice pooled faintly at the bottom, and the scent lifted into the pale air.
I frowned at the bowl when I finished. There was nothing more I could do, and it was not as smooth as I would have liked it to be for her.
"I am s–sorry," I told her quietly. "N–next time, I will b–bring p–porridge."
Her hands lifted at once.
’You know how much I hate porridge.’
I smiled faintly.
’And you know since it is the only thing I can try to take down easily, that is the only thing I am served.’
"Yes," I admitted.
I sighed softly at myself and slid the bowl toward her.
She accepted it with careful hands. I watched her eat silently.
She ate more slowly than others did, because she had to chew more times. Then, when she was done, she tilted her head up to help move the food down, since her tongue was absent.
I hated that the king had done this to her. I still had no idea what crime she had committed, and she refused to tell me even when I asked her. But the Patricia I knew was a good person, and the king was a bad person, so I hated the king for doing this to her.
She patted a spot on the bed, and I sat immediately, making myself comfortable.
’So, tell me what new words you learnt, and tell me if you have mastered the others and the spellings,’ she signed.
I smiled and then once more brought out a little book from beneath my skirt.
It was thinner and older than the primer, its spine bent.
Patricia’s eyes lit with mild disbelief.
Her hands moved.
’It is always a wonder how you carry so many things beneath your skirt.’
I laughed quietly at that.
"I have to find ways to get things around, and it is better if they are beneath my skirt. The king and the queen never tell the guards to search me, after all," I told her.
Patricia chuckled, then signed.
’But be careful, okay? I do not want to see you get hurt.’
"I am," I assured her.
