03 - Bitterblue by Kristin Cashore

Author:Kristin Cashore
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

his head vaguely. "I think I fel more than once."

"You're il ," she said, upset, standing up, "and I've sent you

twice into the rain, and made you fal . Come, I'm taking you

to your rooms."

"Helda is trying to find some way whereby the fact of my

being blind explains what she believes to be the perversity

of Katsa and me not having children," he said at random.

"What? What are you talking about? That makes no sense

whatsoever. Get up."

"I real y can't stand it sometimes," he said a bit erratical y,

stil sitting on the floor, "hearing other people's thoughts.

stil sitting on the floor, "hearing other people's thoughts.

People are ridiculous. By the way, Saf is not lying about his

Grace; he doesn't know what it is."

He told me so many times that he never lies to me. I

suppose I didn't

want to believe it. "Po." Taking Po's hands and pul ing,

leaning back, yanking, Bitterblue persuaded him to stand.

"I'm going to walk you to your rooms and bring you a healer.

You need to sleep."

"Did you know that Tilda and Bren live as a couple and they

want Teddy to give them a baby?" he asked, swaying,

wincing at the room as if he couldn't remember how he got

there.

This was too astonishing for words. "I'm bringing you to

Madlen," Bitterblue said sternly. "Now, come along."

BY THE TIME Bitterblue returned to her rooms, the

light was fading. The sky was purple like Saf's eyes, and

her sitting room glimmered with lamps Helda had taken

care to light. In her bedroom, she lit candles for herself, sat

on the floor by her mother's chest, and ran her fingers over

the carvings on its top.

How lonely she felt, trying to understand al that had

happened today on her own. M ama? Would you be

ashamed of me?

Wiping a tear that had fal en onto the lid of the chest, she

found herself peering more closely at the carved designs.

She'd noticed before that Ashen had used some of the

carvings as models for her embroidery, of course, but she'd

never made a study of it. They were arranged in neat rows

atop the lid—none repeated—star, moon, candle, sun, for

example. Boat, shel , castle, tree, flower, prince, princess,

baby, and so on. She knew, from years of staring at the

edges of her own sheets, exactly which ones Ashen had

borrowed.

The realization crept into her and al through her. Even

before she'd bothered to count, she knew. She counted

anyway, just to make sure.

The carvings on the chest numbered a hundred. The

carvings her mother had borrowed for her embroidery

numbered twenty-six.

Bitterblue was looking at a cipher alphabet.

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