The Grey Tower

“I didn’t mean to avoid your question, Rhiale, the answer is just, incredibly uninteresting.” It was true, Terric had never given literacy among the different Septs much thought. He shrugged awkwardly, “My hold is on a major trading rout for peddlers and merchants. We bought up as many books as we could. I don’t know why you’re so condescending about my reading. Books are like spears, no maybe arrows.” Terric paused to mull over his simile, “every time you read a book, you get another arrow in your quiver. That knowledge is now something you can pull out whenever you need. And the best part about that, is the fact that you can use that information as often as you want.” The simile felt forced and a little half baked, but it got the point across. Mosty.

He leaned against one of the shelves, giving her a critical eye, “There’s no shame in not being able to read well.” Something occurred to him, “What are you doing skulking around here at all then?” He hadn’t intended it to be that rude, but what else did you call anything Rhiale did? Especially when it involved her trying to take him down a peg or two.

Rhiale tried not to bristle noticeably: Terric would not have known that she had a first-sister who spent devoted her entire life to knowledge, and he probably did not think that he was being condescending. For all your arrows, you're still dense, Terric. He did not seem to notice how her lips twitched into a frown before she could stop herself, or that her eyes narrowed with displeasure, and he happily continued to lecture her about a terrible allegory that he was making up as he went along. She wanted to snap at him - but she had told him once before that she was not a child, a lifetime ago, when she had had as many spears and arrows as he did. No, attempting to remind him that she was not a babe in swaddling would only make him think that she was.

"There's no shame in not being able to read well," he said in what he thought was a smooth voice, and Rhaile bit the inside of her mouth. He was right - there was no shame in it - but the water-logged Accepted that was teaching her seemed to think that there was plenty of shame in it. "What are you doing skulking around here at all, then?" Her small frown blossomed into a scowl that was fierce enough to make Terric shrink back against the shelves: Good!

"I am skulking in the Library because I cannot read well," she said dryly. "The Mistress of Novices believes that all of her students should be able to read textbooks that are heavier than a small goat. I am not that literate." Terric did not look amused. There was a familiar glint in his eyes, despite his impassive features: it was the you're avoiding the question glint - and they had danced verbal spears more often than they had literal ones. Rhiale sighed. "I already told you - I am here because of my first-sister. What more is there to say? She is gone. Perhaps if I had known Wetlander Healing, she might still live. But I did not, and she is gone." Her voice was hard, frozen by bitter disappointment; her shame was public, now. She should not have spoken of it and he should not have asked. If Terric was smart, he would not press the issue.

Rhiale stared at him, with her jaw clenched painfully. Why did I tell him that? Why did I tell him I was too proud to learn what Lorraine could have taught me?

Terric wanted to kick himself. He’d made a mistake and cut to close. It had been a few years since they’d seen each other and she’d changed. They both had. He’d known Rhiale the Maiden, he’d never met Rhiale the Wise One, but he would have to get to know Rhiale the Novice. First, he’d have to make amends, he valued their friendship, and his honor wouldn’t allow him to accidentally hurt somebody without addressing it. Straightening, he looked into her eyes, “I have toh.” Rhiale’s eyes still burned. Plowing on, he said, “Look, we’re both far from home. We should be watching each other’s back, not at each other’s throat. If there’s anybody here I know won’t stab me in the back it’s you.”

It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie either. He was increasingly surprised how much he was beginning to trust the young Cairhienin, Avyra. Or by how often his thoughts turned to her. “My offer still stands, I’ll teach you how to read. You won’t have to worry about these Wetlander teachers.” He lifted an eyebrow beseechingly, “Help me meet my toh to you, then we can take on this strange land as friend. It’ll be like old times. What do you say?”

"I have toh." His admission was soft, barely above a whisper, and though his gaze was sheepish, he did not hide from his obligation by staring at the carpets instead. Bitterness still smoldered within her, but he had done his part - she would be dishonoring him if she did not allow him to pay his debt. Rhiale bit her lip and her nostrils flared with a deep exhalation; something about Terric had always been abominably infuriating. It only makes it worse that he is so oblivious, she realized, her green eyes staring at him like daggers. “Look, we’re both far from home," he continued, in that same low voice, "We should be watching each other’s back, not at each other’s throat. If there’s anybody here I know won’t stab me in the back it’s you.”

A pale scar, slashed across his throat, stood in harsh relief against his tanned skin - the irony of it all was enough to make her snort aloud. "I've stabbed you before," she said in a tight voice, "You're very confident that I won't do it again." It was a jest, of course, even if she felt like her indignation was hanging above her in a dark cloud. Wise Ones could not touch weapons - but that did not mean that she would not choke the life out of him if she was provoked.

“My offer still stands," he said smoothly, ignoring her veiled threat, "I’ll teach you how to read. You won’t have to worry about these Wetlander teachers.” His expression softened and he leaned closer towards her. “Help me meet my toh to you, then we can take on this strange land as friend. It’ll be like old times. What do you say?”

Rhiale opened her mouth to respond with a sharp retort, but was superseded as something emerged from the depths of her subconscious: of all the lifetimes she could live, of all the people she would meet and know, of all the choices that she would make, she remembered that Terric was vital. Rhuidean had shown her her fate - it had shown her that Terric might be important, given the correct sequence of choices, the correct path - and she realized with a start that he was important on this path. Her mouth ran dry. Of all the possibilities - they might bed each other, they might Bond, they might even wed - but she could not turn him away.

"Of course," she said finally, in a clipped voice. "I'd much rather learn to read from you. I'm not interested in Wetlander romances." She forced a smile, attempting to keep her revelation hidden from him. "I'm interested in history. Shall we start with with the Treekillers?"