Page 48 of Changelings
He turned to leave, taking his warmth and all the air in the cottage with him.
The front door shut behind him with a solemn finality. Shadow looked back and forth between the front door where Balar had been and Imogen in her corner, concern and confusion writ in his expressive eyes.
She couldn’t explain it to him. She couldn’t explain it to herself.
In the sucking silence Balar left behind, Imogen slid to the floor. Gathering her knees to her chest, she wrapped herself up in her own shivering arms and began to weep.
17
There was no explanation needed—everyone in the village knew by sight and mood that something had changed for Balar. Something had happened. Something bad.
Of course, Balar wouldn’t have explained it even if they’d asked. Other than his brothers, he hadn’t told anyone of Imogen yet, so no explanation was required, really, but many started to suspect that a woman was what drew their mayor away so often.
So when he had all the time in the world for the village over the next two days, others took note. A few approached him, asking or teasing over his sudden presence, but one good look at him sent them scurrying away.
Even his brothers gave him a wide berth. They didn’t know details, although they could guess, he supposed. Hadn’t they said all along that Imogen was prickly? That she seemed eager to be rid of him?
Balar huffed as he drove the blade of his shovel into the damp ground.She isn’t rid of me,he grumbled. She just…wanted to be away from him for a while.
The truth stung no matter how he worded it.
What was worse was the memory of Imogen pushing away from him, crowding herself into a corner to get that distance. It wasn’t just his pride but his very soul that screamed in agony to think that he’d frightened his ownkigara. That she’d not only turn away from him but shudder when he came near.
Balar wouldn’t soon forget the sight. It was burned into his memory, a wound that would scar on the very face of his soul.
He held onto the small consolatory hope that she hadn’t banished him forever.A few days,that was all. He hadn’t wanted to concede days, but if he’d heeded the advice of others, waited out the storm, those days would be done by now and he wouldn’t be temporarily banished.
From his place in the new latrine pits, which he’d decided to dig himself for something to do with his hands that worked him to bitter exhaustion, he understood now that he’d pushed too hard. His blood had run hot, his hopes had run high. Heknewbetter, knew from every experience he’d had so far with Imogen that he couldn’t push her.
She was strong and capable but also achingly shy. Hadn’t she told him multiple times that she had no experience with matters of the heart? He’d taken it as a challenge, a call to arms.
He should’ve heeded it as the warning it truly was.
Imogen needed his patience and understanding, not his ardor. Not yet, anyway.
She’d hidden herself away from the world in that cottage. A few weeks of his attention and two kisses wouldn’t be enough to conquer her reservations. Heknewall this, had seen the fruits of his patience blooming—over the past week or so, she’d begun speaking more easily not just with him but his brothers, too. She hardly ever tugged at her hair to hide her birthmark anymore.
He very well might have undermined all of it with his selfishness. He’d known better, even in that moment, had toldhimself to hold on, to wait as she told him to, but her scent and softness overwhelmed him. He was the first to know just how soft the prickly Imogen truly was—and he’d be the only one, if he had his way. Even thinking on it now almost made him dizzy.
One little taste wasn’t enough. Waiting all these weeks had rendered him a desperate male, and he couldn’t help succumbing to temptation. He didn’t know many males who wouldn’t.
Maybe Soren.
Balar squinted over his shoulder at his brother. Soren was the only one who’d braved approaching him, staying by his side as a quiet albeit supportive presence. Even if Balar sometimes wished to be alone with his masochistic thoughts.
Muddied up to his knees, Soren spent the day digging alongside him. Balar couldn’t decide if it was all in selfless support or if Soren also meant to keep an eye on him and intercept him from doing anything too stupid.
Honestly, perhaps that was for the best. It was a constant battle not to throw himself into the sky and let the wind take him to hiskigara. He would throw himself at her feet, beg for her forgiveness, swear anything she asked, if she would only smile at him again.
Histurukrumbled unhappily inside him. It didn’t like all the pricks to their pride, but Balar wasn’t above doing anything if it meant having Imogen.
Others might not understand it, but so what. Balar enjoyed her prickliness. It made her smiles and laughter all the sweeter. He admired her strength, her good heart, and her deep convictions. She would’ve made a fineerez, ruling her pride fiercely and fairly. And he, as herbaraz, would stand beside her proudly, even smugly.
All who would see her would be in awe; and look upon me with burning jealousy.
For even if they lived in the savannahs, Balar wouldn’t be sharing.
Imogen’s smiles and laughter were for him. He didn’t care if she ignored or renounced the rest of the world—so long as she would have him. They had their animals and their complicated dice game and a deep love for each other. What else could they need?
