A Dictionary of Fools (The HouseOf Light And Shadow Book 2) by P.J. Fox

Author:P.J. Fox [Fox, P.J.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Evil Toad Press
Published: 2014-11-18T05:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-SIX

And so Kisten began the slow, torturous process of getting better.

It went slowly at first; days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and he put on weight and got stronger and the medication began to help. But he still hated to leave his room, and utterly refused to go outside. He kept to his wing of the palace, which he had more or less to himself. He still had dreams; he still found himself overtaken, at odd moments, by rushes of memory that seemed more solid and immediate than the world around him. He was terrified of it happening when someone could see him.

Then they’d know how weak, how wholly useless he’d become.

He’d had to let out his belt and his heart had stopped racing, but Kisten was as cowardly as ever where it counted.

He began seeing his mother, and his sister, but only because Renta made him. He was, at this point, beholden to her by guilt and so let her order him around. A little, at least. The bruise on her cheek had long ago faded, but he still hated himself for having put it there. Keshav came, of course, but he hardly counted. Being with Keshav was like being reunited with the other half of his own soul: whole, but still alone.

After one particularly grueling familial encounter, he decided to share his thoughts on the subject. He and Renta were sitting on the verandah, where they’d taken to having tea and talking in the afternoons. Kisten was less talkative now than he had been, but he liked to listen to her. She was witty and well read, and amused him with stories about life in the city. It was almost like going outside; she painted very vivid pictures.

Renta poured him a cup of tea, passed him a biscuit and commented that Zoharin was a lovely girl and would grow into an even lovelier woman. The monsoon had come and, with it, the warm weather. Slow, steady rain pattered on the verandah roof and the world outside was gray. Frogs crowded the island in the ornamental pond, belching forth their pathetic mating calls.

Kisten almost surprised himself by having something to say. It had been a long time. “I don’t see why I should be subjected to these interviews,” he said petulantly. “I gain no pleasure from them.”

“That’s not true,” his companion replied. “And even if it were, they gain pleasure from seeing you.”

Kisten’s family had made no comment on the sudden and unexplained appearance of a strange woman in his bedroom. They were used to the twins doing whatever they pleased and knew better than to inquire. Or perhaps, as Kisten thought more likely, they didn’t want to know. Whatever they thought Renta was, and however much they knew of her true identity, they treated her kindly. Mahalia, at least, sensed that she had Renta to thank for Kisten’s, if not improved mood then improved availability.

Renta, for her part, served refreshments and made herself scarce. It

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