Tarashana by Rachel Neumeier (little red riding hood ebook TXT) 📕

because I loathe what you did. I do not care that your reasons were good. I do not care that you will never have any reason important enough to do it again. I want that leash broken because I do not want anyone to hold that kind of power over me, but if someone must hold it, least of all do I want that to be you. It is unspeakably wrong that anyone should have that kind of power over anyone else, but it is much worse when a friend does such a thing to a friend. If someone must set a different leash in my mind to break yours, let it be someone who belongs to the country of the Son of the Sun. Let the whole width of the summer country lie between me and that sorcerer. If a Lakasha sorcerer comes north, our singers will show her why she should have kept to her own land.”

“I’m sure they would,” he said in a low voice. “I can’t argue with any of that. You’re perfectly right. I ... are you certain you won’t let me apologize?”

“You drank the wine I gave you. You thought I would kill you as you slept.”

“Well ... yes. I hoped you might be deceiving me, or that you might change your mind, but neither seemed likely. You’ve gotten very good at confounding my sorcery when it’s important to you.”

“When I am angry enough, it is easier. If I gave you that kind of wine again, you would drink it again.”

He spoke softly. “Yes, I would.”

“I would not claim to know what the days might bring, but I doubt I will see any reason to do so. I am not afraid of you. I loathe what you did,” I said forcefully. “I forgive the act because it was not as wrong as letting the Saa’arii take the victory. But I do not forgive you for doing that to me. I will not accept your apology.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“But I accept your regret for the exigency that drove the act. I will be angry for a long time. But you let yourself be made helpless. You put yourself into my hands, even though you thought I might kill you while you slept. That is enough for me to let the matter rest. I do not want to speak of it again unless there is reason to speak of it.”

“All right, Ryo.”

I studied him for some time. He had lowered his eyes again. His shoulders were relaxed. He was waiting. He could probably see into my mind better now. I had spoken the truth when I said I would be angry for a long time. But I had also spoken the truth when I said I preferred to let the matter rest. I did not want to speak of it because I did not want to think of it. I was tired of all those thoughts, of the rage and grief and hurt and shame that would not resolve to anything better.

I said, “Nothing will be as it was. But everything can be better than it has been this past time. I will go back to the others. So will you. We will show everyone that we have come to an accord. No one will speak words of blame against anyone else. Everyone will speak of quiet things, unimportant things. When the pass opens, we will go back into the winter country. Then we will go back to the summer country. Then you will see to it that someone, Tesmeket-an or another of her people, breaks the leash you put in my mind. When that is done, you may apologize to me and perhaps I will hear you.”

“All right,” he said again. He sighed, a long breath, and got to his feet, a little stiffly. He did not offer a hand to help me stand. Probably he knew that if he had, I would not have accepted his help.

 -28-

For all this past time, of all things other than speaking with Aras again, I had been most afraid of meeting my younger brother. That fear came back to me as we neared the village where everyone else had been living—every other Ugaro—and where everyone must now be waiting for me. And waiting to see whether Aras might come here with me, or whether I came alone.

I did not even know whether Raga might prefer one decision or the other. I had failed him once. He might think I had failed him again, when I chose not to kill Aras. I could not say he would be wrong to say so. And this time the choice had been entirely my own.

I had never cut my hair. I had thought of it, but then the thought had passed out of my mind. When I had thought of it again, the idea has seemed stupid to me. It had seemed a gesture that denied what Aras had done to me, that tried to hide what he had done. Especially from myself. So I had chosen not to cut my hair, despite the shame that tightened my stomach when I thought of everything that had happened.

I had run away and left Raga to die. My brother had died. Arayo as well. They had both died in that place, torn apart by our enemies. They had died knowing I had abandoned them.

Thinking of that was unbearable.

Aras flinched when that familiar desolation came back to me. He said, not looking at me, “Your brother doesn’t blame you for anything. Truly, Ryo.”

I did not doubt this. I thought he had most likely forgiven Aras as well. It was my brother’s nature to forgive an injury done to him. But whatever Raga thought about what had happened, he would remember my abandonment. He would remember that I had turned my back to him