Chapter Text
Karathael didn’t go home that night or the entire rest day that followed. The next time anyone saw her was the morning after that when she showed up to work and began reading over her assignments for the day.
“Go home,” a deep voice rumbled from behind her. She turned around, shocked when she opened her swollen eyes just enough to see Mastersmith Fandarel himself standing there. She’d never met him in person, but with the sheer size of the man it could be no one else. Why today, of all days? She didn’t have the energy to make a good impression right now! She straightened her shoulders. He must have seen her on the way in looking like a ragamuffin.
“I’b thorry. I cad chaje,” Karathael apologized through the congestion, straightening out her two-day old outfit and tucking some of the frizz behind her ears. She knew she looked like a mess, and she felt like one, too.
Fandarel gave her a look she couldn’t interpret, then held out a familiar steel bootknife. “Dakoral left this for you. He’s accepted a Journeyman’s assignment in Southern Boll. Left with the traders this morning.” The young woman took the knife and stared at it, tears dripping down her face yet again. “From the looks of it, you already know. You’re in no shape to work. Go home, Karathael.”
She nodded, reluctant to follow the order. At least work would have given her something else to think about. But the mastersmith was right - she could barely see, couldn’t focus, and had a crushing headache from crying. “Thag you,” she said, making her way slowly to her parents’ quarters. It was a small mercy that they would already be out of the house and not waiting to pass judgement.
Karathael spent the morning forcing herself to get cleaned up and preparing herself for the inevitable. Not only was Dakoral gone, but he’d left her to deal with the fallout. She didn’t have quite as much time as she’d hoped, however. Karalea burst in at the beginning of her lunch hour with a pitying look already on her face.
“Oh, girlie,” she said, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “Master Fandarel told your father what happened, and he said you weren’t looking too good. Thalenna and I took care of spreading the news. Everyone already knows, ok?” She pulled away, then pushed Karathael’s hair behind her ears for her and patted her on the arm. “I was afraid this would happen,” she crooned, walking to the counter and filling a pot for tea.
“What do you mean? You said he was a good guy.” Karathael sat at the table, dropping her head on her arms. The dagger rested on the table in front of her, a reminder of what should have been.
“Not now that he’s hurt my little girl.” Karalea looked through the cupboards, pulling down some cheese and bread for lunch. She even buttered Karathael’s bread for her like she did when she was tiny. “But I did tell you that you’d have to grow up a little, remember? No one’s going to take a wife that insists she’s ‘not a woman’ or refuses to meet his needs. It’s one thing to insist on working until the babies come, but…”
“Mom. Stop.” Karathael lifted her head just enough to flash a warning glare at her mother. “That’s not why he left.”
“Maybe that’s not what he told you, but it is. He was probably trying to be nice. Why else would he drop you so close to the wedding? And right after your ‘picnic,’ too…” Karalea put the plates on the table, sitting down across from her daughter and squeezing her hands, giving her a knowing look. “You freaked out, didn’t you?”
Karathael pulled her hands away, successfully transforming the scream threatening to boil up inside her into a tiny shrug. Karalea didn’t know what she was talking about. That wasn’t why Dakoral left - a lack of expectations was probably the only reason he’d put up with her for so long. But she couldn’t say that, not without his secret getting out to the entire Hall, so she swallowed the information with a tiny bite of cheese. It hurt going down.
“I’m just saying,” Karalea continued, “you’re gonna have to get over this whole ‘no touching’ thing and gender nonsense. If you want someone to love you, you have to stop insisting you’re special and learn how to please a man. I can give you tips.”
Karathael stared at her mother in disbelief.
Karalea sighed. “I just want you to be happy, girlie.”
“Maybe I'm happier being unloveable,” Karathael answered, sounding resigned. She stood up and snatched Dakoral’s knife off of the table. A slew of different emotions and comebacks swirled through her mind, but she needed time to untangle them before saying something she might regret. “I’m going for a walk.”
Karathael was halfway to the river when the teapot started to sing.