Page 65 of Ties of Frost

“What if he learns I’m wounded?” I wasn’t even certain Kyrundar could understand my keening words through my sobbing. “That I can’t shift? What if I have to quit being a rengir? What if he realizes you’re half light elf, and that I’ve always known and don’t care? And if Zarik is training at Harcos, why didn’t he visit me? He had to have attendedthe ceremony, but he didn’t seek me out. Is he ashamed of me?” The last word was drawn out on a hiccuping wail.

All ability to speak abandoned me, and I could barely see.

Pressure on my shoulders tugged me forward, and then I collided with Kyrundar’s chest. His arms encircled me. Usually someone touching me while I was crying would have been overstimulating, but Kyrundar’s embrace felt right in a way I couldn’t explain.

“Let it out,” he whispered.

I broke.

Sagging against him, I grabbed fistfuls of his tunic and buried my face in the soft fabric. My body shook with my weeping. Some distant part of my mind was embarrassed of my gasping wails muffled against his chest, but I couldn’t stop. Years of suppressed hurt and the last several days of fears and doubts had built pressure, and like water that had found a crack and burst through a dam, the flood couldn’t be stopped.

Kyrundar squeezed me closer. His hand stroked my back.

By the time my crying subsided and I could breathe enough to pull away and wipe my face, my head ached. Exhaustion pulled at my limbs. I backed out of his arms and stumbled to my pack, from which I retrieved a handkerchief. My cot squeaked as I sat heavily on it. I turned away from Kyrundar to blow my nose. Embarrassment at last caught up to me.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you dare be ashamed of crying.” Kyrundar sat next to me on the edge of my cot. He wiped his eyes, and his voice was hoarse. “The holy texts would not say that Iskyr keeps a record of our tears so that he may comfort those who mourn and execute justice for the afflicted if we were not meant to weep over suffering or injustice. And your family has treated you unjustly. Every wyveri who has judged you for being a rengir and every person who has judged you for being a wyveri has hurt you. You can cry as much as you need to.”

I was already tired of crying, yet listening to the raw emotion in his voice, I nearly began again. Instead I took deep breaths and massaged my forehead as if that might help my headache dissipate.

After a few minutes, Kyrundar slid closer, so his leg brushed up against mine. Despite the layers of fabric between us, the gentle pressure of his knee against mine felt oddly intimate.

“Zidra,” he murmured. “Are you ashamed of being a rengir? Ashamed of how well you did at Harcos, or of how many people you’ve protected and monsters you’ve slain? Do you think you’ve failed to honor Iskyr as you vowed to do?”

I took a few slow breaths and tried to ignore how much I wanted to lean against him. “No. Perhaps I could do better, but—”

“That’s not what I asked.” He chuckled softly. “Do you honestly believe you’re doing anything wrong?”

“No,” I whispered. “But—”

“Do you think Iskyr is ashamed of you or displeased with you? Or do you think he smiles on your efforts to protect his people and follow your vows?”

I swallowed. Everything I had been taught told me that Iskyr cared and would not be ashamed of my honest efforts.Iskyr? Is that true?

“I’m certain Iskyr is pleased with you,” Kyrundar said. “If you know you’ve done nothing wrong and Iskyr approves of your actions, then the blatantly wrong and vicious opinions of people like your cousin aren’t what matters. Right?”

A reassuring calm tinged with pride brushed across my consciousness, so quiet and still I almost missed it, yet underlain with the power of Iskyr that I sensed whenever I had a premonition.

My heart still ached, and I felt like a wrung-out rag, but Kyrundar was right. I nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder, firm enough to be comforting but light enough I could have easily shrugged him off if I’d wanted to.

I didn’t want to, and I refused to examine why too closely.

“Do you need to talk about it more? Or do you want some time to yourself? Or shall we do something to distract you?”

A weak laugh emerged shakily from my lips. “I tend to avoid comforting people. I never know what to say or do.” It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Kyrundar knewwhat to do. He was good with people—even sobbing wyveri, apparently. “How did you get so good at this?”

“I had parents who believed in allowing emotions, even uncomfortable ones. My father often rants about human men who speak as if they have no emotions. They do, of course; they simply don’t know how to handle them, and then most often they misdirect them into anger, and then they can’t handle someone else expressing an emotion they’ve always denied. My parents did their best to ensure I didn’t grow up to be like that.”

“Your parents sound wonderful.”

His shoulders caved. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. I don’t want to let my hurt over my own family cause me to resent others for having a good family.”

“Still.” He rubbed my shoulder. “What do you need?”

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