Goddess Liv Savell (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

was only one seat, but that didn’t stop Meirin—she just pushed Etienne down into the rickety chair and then settled herself in his lap. The chair protested and seemed like it would break, but no one ended up on the floor.

She would study their shared cards astutely and whisper loudly to Etienne what she thought they should do. Others often folded whenever Meirin revealed they had a good hand, but more often than not, that wasn’t the case. By the end of the game, they had easily won back what they had spent that night, and Meirin was in high spirits when they left the crowded building.

The street air seemed fresh in comparison to the overly packed tavern, and she sighed. Aimlessly Meirin and Etienne wandered until they came to a large fountain. In its center, a woman was carved out of stone. She was striking, with her thickly braided hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate crown and her slender body framed by bushels of wheat and apples. Baskets piled up about her feet were filled with other foods, and water poured from the vase she held in her hands.

Meirin paused to examine the masterpiece. “Mynydd Gwyllt seems so barren in comparison.” She sounded neither jealous nor forlorn. Only factual.

Etienne swallowed hard, chest-thumping with sudden nervousness. In the thick of the crowd, he had felt so easy, so confident. Now his palms were slick as he wiped them over his pants. “How could it have been, with you there?” he asked, only the words came out awkwardly and quiet—not for any lack of meaning, but rather an over-abundance of nerves.

The mage couldn’t really remember ever liking someone quite as much as he did the little warrior—certainly not at school. His few bedfellows had not been anything more. And now that he did, really, truly like someone, he was not quite certain how to act.

Meirin looked away from the fountain and smiled broadly up at Etienne, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “Oh? You think so?” She laughed at the compliment and looked back at the fountain. “Truthfully though, could you imagine making something like that? All the stonework and I can’t even imagine how they get the water up and out. And then, of course, it’s beautiful. All I make are bruises and bread. Simple things, really.”

She stepped closer, her arm brushing against Etienne’s, and though he wasn’t sure if she had done it on purpose or not, he didn’t move away. “I guess I took it for granted. The streets of Dailion have many such fountains, each of which represent the same time and care.”

He, like many Ingolans, had thought nothing of the statues, just so much background in the bustle of school worries. Now, he saw them again in a new light. Just like he did so many things when Meirin was nearby.

⫸

“I suppose I am guilty of the same thing. I took for granted that the rest of Thloegr was much the same as Mynydd Gwyllt. Of course, I knew Ingola was different, but here… Even in my homeland, there are cities and towers and fountains of such magnitude and complexity… My life seems small.” Meirin looked up at Etienne and nodded towards the path they had taken to find the fountain. It was time they started returning to their camp and Delyth. “What about Dirigian Islands? Or the far north? What other treasures does Illygad hold that are waiting to be uncovered?” And while it seemed that Meirin was making an example, she was also asking Etienne. Because he had gone to school. Because he would know such things.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Moxous did not hold any records of the far north, and the Dirigian Islands were largely dismissed as the barren strongholds of pirates. That’s not to say that there aren’t treasures there, though... Your life is not so small anymore. You’ve gotten caught up in big things. Fought Gods. Traveled through your homeland.”

That was true. Meirin had done those things, and her eyes were opened now. She knew how much grander the world was than what she had been led to believe. True, Mynydd Gwyllt was a stronghold and filled with mighty warriors. Proud and strong.

But it was not the metropolis she thought it to be, and their way of life was not the best, the only way to be.

People here were existing just fine. Happy. Drinking and dancing and playing cards. Living.

Thriving.

Were her own people able to claim that? She wasn’t so certain anymore.

“I find myself envious of you, Etienne. It’s strange since you’re so dreadful at hand to hand and fighting, and you’re hardly a blood mage yet, but you’ve learned so much. You know so many things. When we met, I first thought you were frail and that your intelligence was merely a means to compensate for it. That Ingola had done you a disservice by not teaching you arms and tracking and hunting.”

Dark eyes traced his face thoughtfully as she realized what a different light she saw him in now.

“Maybe my people are the ones who are wrong.”

✶

Etienne looked down into her wide, brown eyes, his breath catching in his throat. “You once asked if it were better to be a fool or a coward,” he said, reaching out to brush her cheek. “I still think it's better not to be wholly one thing or another, but to learn as much as possible. Of all sides.”

They had nearly reached the city gates without his notice, so occupied was he in their conversation.  Now that their evening was so clearly drawing to a close, he was filled with sudden urgency. Meirin, beside him, was beautiful in the dim light, the flicker of lanterns reflecting warmly in her skin and against the dark coils of her braided hair. He needed to tell her, to let her know somehow just how lovely she was, how she made him feel…

“Meirin, wait, I—” he started, heart hammering in his chest. He