I have no way of knowing how welcome this letter will be, as I know my prior letter has not arrived. Nonetheless I hope it finds you in good health and good spirits, as both will be necessary for you to conceive the heir you will doubtless seek in my place. I did not obtain a scholarship, so patronage will be placing me a great distance from my love, but I do not regret I do not recant I could not marry another and so I stand by my forfeiture of my inheritance.
“I would like to praise all of you for your efforts,” Mother Superior Honoria did the students the rare honor of addressing them as a congregation. She looked out of white eyes at them, and yet it was the gift of her intense spirituality that every one of them felt seen. Or at least, I feel seen, Vaterin thought. “The College has replenished its emergency fund, bought seed crops for the next season, and as our patrons will no doubt be glad to hear, we can afford to put on our All Saviors’ Day feast. Praise be to Ariel, patron of the arts in all their forms, created that mortal woman might represent His Creation pleasingly to Him.” My angel was created that mortal woman might represent His Creation. Clearly, I pleased, even if I did fail to get a scholarship. At least by ‘Loon route it will only be four days to get a letter to Marble, and then only one day to get her reply. It’s unfair to her to make her wait so long, but it was the best we could do with the nobles who were interested in patronizing us. “Let us pray. Oh Holy One and Only God, you are our Lord, to whom we make obeisance and offer praise for all our blessings and curses. Blessings, which we in virtue do not lack, but also curses which we know are meant to leaven our souls.” Easy for you to say, you had your husband in your cloister with you and know he awaits you on the other side of the veil. Vaterin shook her head. I’m sorry, Lord, for my unkind thoughts. I am bitter over my curses, my curse I suppose, singular. Thank you for leavening my soul, Vaterin slid into echoing the words of the Mother Superior, “that I might develop perseverance, and through perseverance character, and through character hope.” I had hope, but it was crushed. What new hope I might enjoy… clearly has not ripened. The One God answers all prayers, but the answer is not always “yes.” …I suppose the answer is not always “no” either, sometimes it is merely “not yet.” Perhaps Marble will gain in renown such that she has her pick of patrons once more. Sarx, I might develop enough as an artist that I can have my pick of patrons. I’d be surprised, but it’s possible. But I’m going out of order. I need to develop my character before I develop my hope. But I am developing in character, I have grown in ways which frustrate Marble less and less, and I have grown as an artist. Vaterin shook herself to join in the recitation of Scripture, the Word of the Savior as read by the Mother Superior. She did not hold Marble’s deep-seated devotion to the Church—especially in light of the failing of my Muse of Painting… but that’s not fair, I could have traded my life to paint more paintings, but I chose love instead—but she felt a strong pull towards the Reverend Mother and desired to do the service the honor of giving it her undivided attention. It is, at least, trains of thought which are inspired by the sermon.
Art class was a mere formality, the students wrapping up personal projects before they shipped off to return home, go on to a formal patron, or in a few rare cases remain as students. It’s unfortunate that Tourmaline Isle is so far off the ‘Loon route, or Marble could have stayed here and continued painting what her heart desired. I am not the only one making sacrifices in the name of love. I would do well to remember that. Vaterin watched with pangs of overextended empathy as Slate flirted with Clay over a statue in progress, knowing it made Clay uncomfortable but still letting her lovesick heart extend understanding to Slate’s unrequited infatuation. Which is worse, I wonder; the doomed one-sided romance, or the star-crossed love of two who cannot be together. Vaterin looked over at Marble, who was making a better effort than Vaterin to pay attention to her canvas. She had felt at home painting a landscape and was painting one more while her time was still her own. She caught Vaterin’s eye and smiled a wan smile, “We’ll figure it out.” Clearly, Marble has persevered through more than I. And yet, isn’t that what has been at the root of all of our conflicts? She has persevered through more, and from that derived more character, and been frustrated by my own shortcomings which I have matured enough to admit I have.
Vaterin reflected on the past few months as she dabbed at her canvas with a brush. She had been lax in cleaning them, and her green was streaked with brown, giving her fern a look of decay. If it were intentional, it would be appropriate. She worked without recourse to her Muse, and thought, if only I had started doing that ten years ago, I would be a skilled painter now without divine intervention. But the decaying fern. Vaterin frowned at her canvas and let the muddy colors continue to take the form of the fern in the center of the room. It wilts with the time we have left. There’s some tale from some rainy sphere or other about a rose doing much the same thing. Except instead of the expiration of love, it wilts in wait for love. She shrugged. If poetry were my bent, I’m sure I could find the correct expression, the correct parallel. But if poetry were my bent, I’d be at some college of the Power of Assiskal or something, and I never would have met Marble. I think there’s poetry about that too.
Vaterin considered her options. None of them were palatable. Many, many times in the last few days she had considered pleading her case before her parents. Please, patronize Marble; I will take up the family business, I will cipher until my left hand is stained with ink, I will give you the marriage and the heir—and there here musings stopped, time and again. There was no likely scenario where her parents would allow her out of her arranged marriage—to a perfectly nice woman, I’m sure—and she was too devout a Wholist—let’s be fair, I’m too much a romantic and an idealist—to marry one woman while sincerely, wholeheartedly loving another. I could take up a trade… except I know no trades. I traded in goods, I have surface knowledge of many crafts, but at best I could take up an apprenticeship, and I have little doubt it would be arduous. Besides, what blacksmith’s apprentice takes up space in a noblewoman’s court? I would have no time, I would be out of place if I found time…Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Her mind wandered over to Marble’s title. She could go home. I could… I couldn’t go with her. She’s here, she said, to take just a little burden off her parents. She attends on scholarship—which she got, again, this year—because her titled parents are unable to summon the funds because of the tantrum of a dragon. Vaterin sighed. I wish I were a theologian. I should talk to Father Sauer and ask if he can make sense of it. Except I did, I have, in our conversations while he posed for his portrait. Dragons demand the terms of their agreements be kept, as a throwback to the compact between the First Humans and Gotorjod, the first dragon. She would teach them, patronize them, in exchange for the pick of their arts and flocks. She gave her wings and they would give her sacrifices, a system extended to merchants and nobles alike in addition to the tithes of the Church. To whom does our labor belong, then? To dragonkind, to the One God, and then to ourselves. Honor dragons, fear the Lord, and thereby please the Wholist Church. The Church has done well enough for itself under that system, but to hear it told dragons have done still better, exacting tribute from both laity and clergy.
Marble asked. It was her idea and she asked before even running it past me, but we can’t join the clergy of the College. They have a full staff, and we as students… well, Marble could instruct in painting, and they said they might keep her on in that capacity, but once again my lack of practical skills and painting ability mean that I would be a hanger-on, a dead weight. She loves me, but I have to support myself not only because I love her and would not be a burden, but because that is the way of this world.
We could join the wider Church, but that runs into the same problems as seeking artistic patrons. We would be subject to the orders of our superiors, and while we could wed we could be separated. Not to mention… Vaterin shuddered. Marble had been unflinchingly direct in asking Vaterin if she could join the Wholist Church. Even if they joined the spiritual body of the Church, and married, Vaterin knew she was ill-suited to a life of devotion and contemplation. I believe I said that my parents would die if I wrote them stating my intention to become a nun, but I wouldn’t thrive either. While I honor my Muse and the One God for granting me her, I am too inconstant, too uncertain. “Vaterin, do you honestly think you could spend a day cleaning bells in a bell tower? You can’t even deal with the switchbacks.” That had been one of the less stinging rebuttals of that idea. “You’ve made a lot of progress. But you take the easy way out. And I’m afraid that joining the Church would be the easy way out. You wouldn’t be joining out of a desire for closeness to the One God, you would be joining for closeness to me and thereby dishonor your vows and the body of the Church itself. It would be no different that my formerly-betrothed joining and taking his vow of chastity when it had no hold over him. He would either dishonor the sacrifice, or he would have an unconsummated marriage bed and either is an offense to the Church.” Vaterin had tried to protest, tried to argue something she couldn’t remember clearly about the Church and dragons and their ties and the unfairness of it all, but Marble had unswervingly stood by moral precepts that Vaterin knew were valid. And as she said, it would just be rolling the dice one last time. Once you’re sworn in, it’s hard to swear out without condemning your soul. We’re better off taking the offers of patronage we were given and hoping that we can acquire some measure of renown as artists. With her sour thoughts, Vaterin had begun painting the entire fern brown, and if the one in the practice room was still in the green of health, Vaterin’s own fern was on her canvas, a few vestiges of green doubtless representing the hope that she would grow into when her perseverance had produced character.
That night, Marble’s candlelight study sold—and at quite the price!—they spent the time they would be awake anyway embracing on Vaterin’s narrow cot. Vaterin thought back to the first time they had—chastely!—shared a bed, during the storm that had spelled the demise of their togetherness. If only I had known that that beginning was also an end. If I had started painting ten years ago, I wouldn’t have needed the Muse of Painting. If I hadn’t needed the Muse of Painting, the College wouldn’t have incurred the wrath of the dragon Tourmaline. But then, if I hadn’t been relying upon faith to paint, would I have stirred from the reluctant religiosity of my parents to go to a monastic College of the Art of the Divine? For that matter, what else would be different, if I had started painting ten years ago? Would I even have met Marble? I wouldn’t be the person I am, because I would have learned perseverance much earlier. Marble murmured from her spot in Vaterin’s arms, “You’re thinking.”
Vaterin sighed. “I am. I imagine you are as well.” She felt, rather than saw, Marble’s nod of the head. They both sighed again. I wish I could be stronger. Bear this stoically somehow without minimizing the pain. Let her know that she’s loved without denying reality. Say—“What did you think of, Vaterin?” Of course she’d notice. My breath hitched, my arms moved, something. It was characteristic of their talks now. More communication by touch than by words.
“What if we got married?”
“Marry and then separate? That… might be a sin, but I’m not certain.”
“I know I can’t marry someone other than you. If I could, I would beg my parents’ forgiveness and carry on their dynasty as long as they patronized you.” She felt Marble shake her head at the very notion. She had posed it before, and she wasn’t sure whether Marble found more repugnant the adultery of the heart or the concession of her love to another. It doesn’t matter. “And I know you feel the same. So what if we’re separated by a few-hundred miles? We’d write letters. You’d scent yours with attar of tulips, I would put, oh I don’t know, something peppery on mine. If the island had any decent spices I’d pick one you could start associating with me now. But anyway.”
“Vaterin, you’re talking foolishness. And yes, I know, I shouldn’t call anyone a fool. But if we’re going to marry, we should only do it after we can be together. It smacks… it smacks of those who wed only to be able to consummate their marriage. Either we’ll remain devoted to one another… or we won’t. And if we can’t, then it’s best not to indulge in the folly that is sinning in the eyes of the One God.”
Vaterin sighed. She’s right. I don’t have to tell her that. She can tell, probably because I tense and then relax, or because I sighed, or because… because she knows me better than I know myself. If we played poker she would always win because she can read my every expression and gesture. There isn’t a point to making vows we could never consummate, unless circumstances change and we can. I hate the idea of falling out of love with her, but it’s only been five and a half months. She’s entirely correct that we could fall out of love. I’ve never known passion like this, felt such bone-deep satisfaction kissing the back of someone’s head—Vaterin proceeded to do so, just for good measure—but there’s no way of knowing whether we can sustain that at a distance, and to invite sin is to damn ourselves.
When Marble had returned to her own bunk, Vaterin lay awake for a long while, her hand tracing the warm depression where her love had laid.