whispered

Kel has always been strong. She doesn't like failing at anything, much less failing at life. Her cheeks burn with shame when she thinks about her loss of control, and the only thing that keeps her from turning her head into the pillow and crying (even though Keladry doesn't cry) is Dom's arm around her waist and his chest pressed firmly against her back.

She likes the warmth of lying in his arms, the way cinnamon clings to the air and the way his breath blows gently against the nape of neck. She's never slept entire night through with anyone before, and she thinks she likes waking up with their limbs tangled and the sheets a warm nest around them.

But Kel doesn't like failing, and his presence in her bed burns her pride. She wriggles out from his arms and stands with bare feet and body on the thick rug beside the bed, watching him for long moments.

Sleeping, he looks different to how she's ever seen him before. There is no laughter in his eyes, and his lashes curl like butterfly wings against his angle cheek bones. His hair is rumpled and mussed; she remembers it felt like warm silk and velvet between her fingers. She longs to touch him and ascertain that he's real.

She turns before she can touch him; she will not give in to another weakness.

---

The late-summer morning is dried roses and daisies and a sweet breeze against her skin. It tangles clover fingers in her hair and kisses her cheeks with bruised petal lips. A whisper of winter laces the breeze, and Kel pulls the light robe tightly around her body to ward off the chill.

"It's not nice to leave without saying goodbye."

"You've learnt something in the last two years," she says. The words are sharp and bitter, and she learns that it's possible to draw blood without lifting a weapon.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, looking down at her where she's crouching against the wall.

"Fine."

Looking up at him standing over her in nothing but breeches, Kel wonders what will happen next. For a few moments she contemplates the scandal and rumours if someone sees him standing here on her small balcony half undressed, but she's realistic enough to realise the damage was done last night when she lost control.

"Don't lie to me, Kel," he says simply. "What happened last night?"

The problem is she doesn't know what happened. She doesn't know what went wrong. By the light of the day it all seems so far away and unreal. If it weren't for the burning ache of shame in her gut, she would think it was all a nightmare. But it wasn't a nightmare, it was real.

"Kel?"

"I don't know, Dom," she says quietly. She can't meet his eyes, so she stares between the stone columns of the railings and pretends to be interested in the distance.

He sits down next to her, close enough so their shoulders and hips and thighs brush. He's warm against the kiss of winter in the air, but she doesn't lean toward him.

"We've never really talked, have we?" Dom says thoughtfully.

"Of course we've talked," Kel disagrees, confused. "We talk all the time."

He smiles at her, his eyes gentle. Kel feels lost, as though she's missed something important again.

"We never talk about how we feel."

Kel never talks about how she feels. The Yamanis teach that expression of emotion is a weakness, and Kel has fought long and hard to be anything but weak.

"You've got your Yamani face on again," he says, nudging her with his shoulder. There's a glint in his eye, but it's overpowered by an unfamiliar sobriety she's only seen a few times before. "Kel, as much as you respect and admire the Yamani, you aren't Yamani."

"The Yamani are strong," Kel says quietly, averting her gaze before her eyes give too much away. "Their strength isn't equalled by anyone else, Dom."

"That's true," he agrees, "but it's also one of their biggest downfalls."

The words surprise her – she has never considered the Yamani calm and control to be a flaw. Her entire life the Yamani training has guided her well and seen her to success. The thought that something fundamental to her being could be wrong… Kel doesn't like to think that.

"No," she says. "The Yamani don't let things like emotion or fear stop them from achieving great things. The men of the emperor fight with broken arms, and they walk through snow storms as if they're nothing more than spring showers. Tell me that isn't enviable, Dom?"

"It is enviable," Dom agrees. "But how happy are they, Kel? How much do they enjoy life?"

Kel opens her mouth to tell him they're happy, a people with a lot of enjoyment of life, but she can't say the words. She doesn't know they're true, she realises, because the Yamani never show what they feel.

"You see?" Dom whispers in her ear. "Maybe sometimes it's good to tell people things. To let yourself feel things. I think the Yamani are a wonderful people and very, very strong, but I think they sometimes forget what's important in life."

"And I suppose that you know what's important," Kel snaps.

He smiles his gentle smile again, the one that makes her feel like a silly kitten who doesn't know what she's doing wrong. "Of course I do," he says.

"What?" she asks.

Dom kisses her with dry lips, a fleeting brush like the whisper of the breeze in the grass stalks, and smiles at her. "You'll find out," he says. "You've just got to learn to trust other people, the way we all trust you."

He disappears into the room. The ghost of his kiss lingers on her lips and whispers to something inside her. It aches, she thinks, a piercing ache that is so beautiful it hurts.

---

Kel knows she can't avoid the world forever, but she longs to be able to stay in her rooms, hiding until the memory of her shameful behaviour fades away. But Keladry has never been afraid to own up to her mistakes, and she is not about to start acting like a coward. She squares her shoulders and straightens her tunic, her Yamani calm her shield and her courage a sword.

The hour is late, she realises, and the dining hall is empty.

"You missed breakfast. It's okay, we saved you some," Raoul says, appearing behind her and bearing a plate. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm fine," she says, accepting the food. "Thank you, sir."

"Sit, Keladry."

She obeys, waiting for further instruction.

"Mithros' shield, girl, eat your food before it gets cold."

She eats, though the food has no taste nor does she realise what she's eating. Only when she's finished and pushes the plate away does Raoul nod his head and lean his elbows on the table between them. "Now," he says calmly, "you and I are going to have a talk."

Kel swallows. She knows what's coming.

"And before you start thinking we're about to take away your shield, you should know you're not the first knight that's been drunk. And, though it pains me to say it, you're not the last that will find that state either. Have you learnt your lesson, Keladry?"

"Yes, sir," she says quietly.

"And what lesson would that be?" he questions.

"To not drink wine."

He sighs when he looks at her, his eyes sad. "No," he says, "I don't think you learnt your lesson."

She frowns. "Oh, I did. I'm not going to drink every again," she says emphatically.

"I don't doubt that," Raoul says, and she's confused by the trace of humour in his voice. "What did Dom say to you this morning?"

Her cheeks flame and she stares at her empty plate.

"Kel, none of us are stupid or blind. In fact, I'm tempted to believe that out of everyone who knows the two of you, the both of you are by far the silliest and blindest of the lot."

"I'm sorry," Kel whispers. "I tried-" She falls silent, swallowing the words that nearly spilled out.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Raoul says kindly. She doesn't understand his kindness or the gentleness in his eyes – it's almost the same way Dom looked at her this morning.

"When you were my squire, I warned you against certain… activities," he says delicately, and despite the gravity of the discussion, Kel feels a smile quirk her lips at the sight of the light blush staining his cheeks. "Sometimes, advice can apply to one situation but not another."

"Forgive me, sir," Kel says, tiring of veiled talk, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Raoul sighs. "You and Dom aren't serving under the same commander. You're not even stationed near each other. If you and Dom were to… to court, there would be no harm done or rules broken."

Kel's mouth opens in a silent 'o' but nothing comes out.

"Now. Back to what we were discussing before. You need to learn to talk to people, Kel. You are a fine commander, one of the best in the service, but command is a heavy load to bear by ones' self."

"You bore it just fine, sir," Kel points out gruffly. "Just because-"

"This has nothing to do with you being a girl," Raoul interrupts. "When I was a commander I had friends who I spoke to. I told them when I was scared or unsure or didn't know what to do. You might be surprised to find the things friends can help you with, Kel. No one will think less of you for telling them how you feel."

Kel remembers Neal helping her as a page. She remembers them swapping maths problems for etiquette advice and help with a staff weapon. She remembers fighting bullies, and confessing her fear of failure to him late one night when everything looked dark.

Raoul smiles. "I think," he says, "you're beginning to understand."

---

The arrows whistle through the air and thud with a solid whump into the target. She lifts another to her bow and aims, releases. Another arrow. Aim. Release. Aim. Release.

There is a calmness that comes only with focusing on a small target in the distance. Kel notices nothing except the weapon in her hands and the small mark on the target. The motions empty her mind and free her soul in a way nothing else does.

Another arrow hits the mark with a satisfying thump.

Thump.

Thump.

"You've gotten good."

"I've always been good," Kel retorts as she strings another arrow.

"I meant what I said this morning, Kel," Dom says.

Thump.

"I didn't understand what you said this morning," Kel replies.

Thump.

Dom sighs. "I was trying to say-"

"I think I understand now," Kel interrupts.

Thump.

"You do?" Dom asks.

Kel nods. "From now on, I'll tell you when I have a crush and I'll ask you what colour I should wear to the midwinter ball. And I expect you to giggle with me about all the young men who try and impress us," she adds.

"Are you mocking me, Kel?" Dom asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Never," Kel says firmly. "That would be insensitive."

Dom smiles widely. "So who do you have a crush on, Keladry of Mindelan?"

Kel eyes him sidelong, before turning to her bow again.

"Oh, just this man I know."

Thump.

"Really?"

"Really," she nods. "Only, I have a confession to make."

"You do?"

Thump.

"Yes."

"Well, if I'm your best friend you better tell me."

"Well, this man expects a lot from me," she says quietly. She can't look at him suddenly as the sky presses in and she feels weighed under by the fear.

"I don't think he'd expect more from you than was possible," Dom replies carefully.

"He wants me to trust him, see," Kel says. "I do trust him. I trust him with my life. But he wants… he wants…"

Dom's hand rests on her arm, pushing the bow down and turning her so that she has to look at him. His eyes stare into hers, and she's never felt as bare or naked under his gaze as she does now.

"What does he want?"

"I think he wants me to trust him with my heart," she says. "And my soul."

"You trust him with your life. Is it so much harder to trust him with your heart and your soul?"

Kel nods. "Oh," she says, "it's very hard. It's hard to let him in sometimes, because I'm so scared of not living up to expectations."

He smiles. "I think you'll always exceed his expectations."

"It's only fair," Kel continues, swallowing roughly, "that I tell him I don't want babies right now or marriage or that sort of thing."

"Then what do you want from him?"

"Someone… someone who I can talk to. Who listens to me. Who cares about me. I want him to hold me when I want to cry, and to tell me when it's okay to cry."

"I bet he'll pinch you to make sure you cry when you need too," Dom says solemnly.

Kel laughs, and for the first time in a long time she feels light inside.

"So who is it, Kel?" Dom asks, also grinning. "This man who you happen to know."

"I don't just know him," Kel says. "I love him."

His breath catches in his throat. "Kel?"

"I can't promise anything, Dom," Kel says hurriedly, "it's hard to trust the way you want me to. But I'll try. I promise I'll try."

She's in his arms before she's finished babbling, and he's holding her tightly against him. Her fingers dig into his back through his tunic, but he doesn't complain.

"That's okay, Kel, that's okay," he tells her, crushing her against him. "All you need to do is try."

She smells his cinnamon and leather and apple pie skin and presses her cheek against his chest. Tears prick at her eyelids, and she tries to hide her face against him, but he pulls her back and looks at her. "Don't be ashamed of crying, Kel," he tells her gravely. "Don't be ashamed of loving either. Even men love, you know."

"Really?" she asks through her tears, fingers still tangled in his clothes.

"Really," he tells her, and kisses the salt drops away with warm lips and a whisper of his soul.

---

And that, I'm afraid, is it! I wanted to say thank you to everyone who sent me reviews on this. I wasn't planning on finishing it because I didn't think anyone actually read it, given how dark and prose-like it was. To say I was astounded by the response would be an understatement – the reviews, in this case, literally prompted me to finish it, and not on an egotistical review counting basis but because people actually wanted it finished, if that makes any sense.


Anyhow, I'm so happy you read it and I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for sticking by it, and please take the time to let me know what you thought of the ending; I'm not very good at endings usually.

Cheers,

Silf