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If she knows that he’s watching her, she doesn’t let on.It’s a beautifully sunny day, but despite that, Romelle is the real reason why Sven is out in the garden. She smiles at her brother Bandor, she smiles at Sven, she smiles for her people.But the smile is a mask, and Sven fears she will never appear without it again.He is in the garden, but Romelle is not. He knows that the doctor has told her to spend as much time in the sun as she can, but she does not like to leave the castle, not even to go into the gardens. She spends her time on the balcony that forms part of her suite of rooms, and often retreats indoors if anyone lingers in the garden below.Except Sven. Sven has realized that he is somehow… exempt from Romelle’s strict privacy.And that is why he’s in the garden.Romelle’s balcony looks out over the gardens to the rear of the castle, over the hedges and paths and beds of royal flowers in many colors, the trees great and small, over the fountains that flow after the rain has fallen.The largest of the fountains marks the center of the great garden. It has a white stone basin that is deep and wide, decorated with rosettes at the cardinal points, with smaller jets of water spaced around the edge that spray toward the center. A carven pillar stands in the center, of the same white stone. The water bubbles gently from the rosette atop the pillar, and there are two small spill basins to catch and hold and let fall the water from the central spray. It is a continuous soft waterfall, from the top to the center, from the center to the broad pool, flowing endlessly.(He likes this one not because it is the largest, but because it is the simplest. It has no statues, no water nymphs, no stern visages of men, just pure white stone and water.)The fountain is not a direct line from Romelle’s balcony, but he knows that she will see him nonetheless; he is dressed in severe black and looks like a shadow against the riot of colors. She has not noticed him yet, but she will shortly.And she will wonder.Sven takes off his boots and sets them carefully on the raked path, and steps into the fountain. The day is warm and the water is pleasant and cool, flowing around his bare feet.He can feel her eyes now, as he has the past two days when doing this. She has not asked him yet why, but he knows she will today.He stoops down, plunging his hands into the water. He cups them and lifts them, and the water runs between his fingers, his palms. Before it can all escape, he raises his hands over his head and opens them. The water trickles through his hair, a cool contrast to the warmth of the sun on his scalp.I am cleansed, he thinks, and closes his eyes for a moment.Then he steps forward, water swirling around his ankles, until he is able to cup his hands in the water falling from the lower basin on the pillar. It splashes over his hands, tickling his wrists, dampening his cuffs. He raises his hands over his head and opens them. The water runs down his neck, soaking his collar.I am pure, he thinks, and closes his eyes for a moment.Then he stretches up, water splashing against his chest from the lower basin. The pillar is taller than he is, and he must reach to cup his hands in the water falling from the top basin. It fills his hands, sluices down his arms, drenching his sleeves. He raises his hands over his head and opens them. The water flows down his face like tears.I am free, he thinks, and closes his eyes for a moment.Sven lowers his arms and just stands there. The water eddies about his feet, his trousers wet now almost to the knee. The sun is warm, and he lifts his face to it, letting it burn away all the things the water did not wash away. Patterns of color dance behind his eyelids.The splash of the water does not quite cover the crunch of footsteps on gravel. “Sven?”He turns instantly at the sound of Romelle’s uncertain call, not quite smiling at her, but not stern or unwelcoming. “Your Highness,” he says, and inclines his head.Romelle tilts her head slightly to one side, as if unsure how to say what she wants to say. “Why are you…” she starts, then waves a hand at him, the fountain, the water.He wades to the edge of the pool and kneels at the edge, all his clothes wet through now. “Come inside, your Highness,” he says quietly. “The sun is hot now, but the water is cool.” He motions for her to give him her foot and he divests her of her shoes, first one then the other, and she rolls down her stockings before he can ask.He stands, water pouring from his trousers, and gives her a gallant hand to help her into the basin. Clutching her skirts tightly with her other hand, she joins him in the water. After a couple experimental steps, she gives him a smile slightly less uncertain. “It is nice and cool.”Ah, it is a start… but only a start, and there is far to go.Sven nods at her words. “But that is not the only reason why I am here.” He crouches down to cup water between his palms, only to release it without rising. “You saw me here today, and yesterday, and the day before.” He glances up at her and sees her nod.“Yes,” Romelle says, a little hesitantly, as if she’s not sure she should ask… or if she’s not sure she wants to know. “You take the water and pour it over your head.” She mimes what he has done, and he feels a flicker of feeling that she watches him so closely.So he nods, and says nothing, leaving it to her to ask or not.(He fears she won’t, but hopes she will.)“Is it… a ritual?” Romelle asks.“Yes,” he replies, because he has made it into a ritual. Today is the third time, and three times is a ritual, or at least the start of one.
I tell you three times, and what I tell you three times is true.
“What…” Romelle swallows, and the moment lengthens as she tries to find the question she can ask. “Why are you doing it?”“The water,” he replies, straightening. “It is… helping. It washes away my dark feelings, my dark thoughts. I am… like a holy man.” He gestures toward himself, his severe black clothes. “And the water is blessed.”Suddenly, Romelle’s expression is blank, and he is not sure if she understands too well or not well enough. She turns away, and starts to wade toward the edge of the basin.He does not reach out to take her arm; it will not help. “Your dark thoughts,” he says, just audible over the plash of the fountain, and she freezes. “Do you not wish to be free of them?”He does not say sin, he does not say guilt. They are not applicable, even if that is what she believes.Slowly, she faces him again, and there is a yearning in her eyes that he knows only too well. She has been brought up too well to bite her lip, but he thinks she wants to.“It can’t hurt,” he says, still in that same soft tone. “If it doesn’t help, then the only harm is your dress and hair are wet, and you have to change.” He gives her a small smile, and is heartened when she returns it.So she offers him her hand, and he takes it, drawing her gently back to the midpoint of the basin. It’s only a step or two, but it feels like something much greater.Sven crouches down again, and with a little moue, Romelle does as well. Her skirts grow dark and wet.“Take the water in both hands,” he says, guiding her hands into the water and cupping them in his own. “Then lift it up and let it fall on your head, and as you do, you must say, ‘I am cleansed’.”She jerks, her eyes wide and blue as she stares at him, and he holds her gaze calmly before nodding. He releases her hands.Her hands tremble as she cups the water and raises it above her head. Nearly all of it spills out, but when she opens her hands, a little bit still falls upon her hair, turning it dark gold. “I am cleansed,” she whispers.She isn’t looking at him, but he still gives her a tiny smile and a nod. He takes her hand and helps her to her feet. She kicks her skirts to move; they are heavy with water, dampness licking up above her knees.It is only a step or two to reach the pillar with the catch basins. Again, he guides her hands into the water where it falls from the lower basin and cradles them between his own. “Take the water like before,” he says softly, “and let it fall on your head, and this time, you must say, ‘I am pure’.”Her eyes are agonized this time, and she opens her mouth as if she means to protest. He releases her hands; the decision is hers, as it must be, to continue or not.The water falls on and around and between her hands for a long, long moment before she positions them to catch it. Her hands shake and most of the water spills before she can lift it over her head. Still, when she opens her hands, a little bit falls on her hair, and the damp spot of dark gold grows larger. “I… am pure,” she whispers, her voice catching, nearly lost in the plash of the fountain.Her eyes are focused on the water – or perhaps on some other sight only she can see – but he gives her a tiny smile and a nod. The spray of the fountain has dampened the front and shoulders of her dress, but she doesn’t seem to notice, or care.He takes her hands again and raises them over her head. She must stand on her toes and stretch to reach the water falling from the higher basin, and the overflow from the lower drenches the front of her dress. He stands beside her, his hands cradling hers between them in the flow of water; it runs down her arms, and the spray dots her face, droplets shining like diamonds against her skin. “Take the water like before,” he murmurs, “and let it fall on your head, and as you do, you must say, ‘I am free’.”He releases her hands.She trembles with her whole body, wavering, sinking back on her heels. Her eyes are open, but he knows she doesn’t see the water. She is lost in the past. Without a word spoken, Sven knows she is wondering, Can it be true? She is wondering, Am I cleansed? She is wondering, Am I pure?She is wondering, Can I be free?The choice must be hers, but he knows what she will choose.In an instant, Romelle’s eyes focus again. She strains upward, her hands cupped. They are steady when she draws them back, and when she opens them, the water streams over her head, her face. “I am free,” she says, and her voice is strong.“You are free,” Sven repeats quietly, and smiles.She does not flinch at the sound of his voice, but turns toward him, flings herself toward him. He is ready and catches her with ease, holding her against his chest as she dissolves in tears.She has not wept since their return from Doom.She cries until her sobs turn to shivers, until her tears run dry and the only dampness on her face is from the fountain spray, until she has spent every terrible moment of her captivity into his ears and on his shoulder.Now she feels lighter in his arms, and his heart feels lighter, too.When at last she lifts her face from the damp patch her tears have created (all his clothing is soaked), Sven lets his lips quirk into a smile – not at her grief or pain, never at that, but at her strength.The smile Romelle wears is small, but real for the first time since they returned from Doom. She might don that mask again in the future to cover her hurts, but he no longer feared that she would become the mask.“You are cleansed,” he whispers, “and pure, and free.” He brushes a damp tendril of golden hair from where it is stuck to her cheek.Slowly, she nods, and the lurking shame in her eyes retreats until he can no longer see it.The water swirling around their feet is cold now, and the sun no longer beats down upon their heads. Sven guides Romelle to the edge of the fountain, but before she steps out onto the path, he tugs on her hand to stay her.“The dark thoughts, they may return,” he says quietly. “It is their nature. But do not fear them. The water, it is holy, and it has made you holy, too. You are cleansed, you are pure, you are free.”And then Romelle proves that she is braver than he is, for she squeezes his hand and leans in close to whisper, “And so are you.”***
March 21, 2023
Revised August 12, 2023