Page 35 of The Storm
“The bread is far, far sweeter,” she said with a laugh.
He leaned back and looked at her. “What is that expression? I don’t think I recognize it.”
“I’m… happy.”
“Are you?” He played with her hair.
“Don’t tease.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He settled back beside her. “I could become accustomed to Happy Renata.”
Midwinter was the next day, but though the wind had picked up, she was feeling light. She was letting herself imagine a future with Max, and she liked her imagination. For the first time in two hundred years, she wasn’t faced with an endless dark night on Midwinter. She felt hope.
“Is it your mother’s honey bread recipe that you’re baking?”
She nodded.
“She’d be pleased you remember it after so many years.”
“I baked it with her every year. How could I forget?”
The memory that had marked Renata as an archivist from the time she was a child became a curse after the Rending. She could remember every moment and every horror just as she remembered every joy and every verse of Irina songs and histories. If she was stronger, she would have composed a lament and let their history be sung and shared with those who also endured grief.
She hadn’t done that. She’d locked the memories away.
“What are you thinking?” Max said.
“My mother would not be proud of me,” she whispered.
“How can you say that?”
She closed her eyes. “It was my duty to remember and sing the songs. That is what she did. What her grandmother did. Her great-aunt. All the women of our family who are gone now. I was the only one left, and it was my duty to write the songs of the Rending for those who were there and those who weren’t. I was an archivist. To have healing, our people need a lament.”
“Others have written laments.”
“But not mine,” she whispered. “Not mine.”
“You couldn’t forget what happened here if you tried.” Max kissed her temple. “When you’re ready, you’ll write your lament, and I will listen to every note. I’ll hold you while you sing it if you need me to. Others will listen and hear and remember. But to sing it properly, you have to sing the joy as well as the sorrow. I think you’ve remembered the sorrow but not the joy that preceded it. Centuries of joy and learning and life, Renata. I felt it in the library. Don’t forget to sing that too.”
She glanced at the table under the window where the seven-branched candelabra should sit. She’d hidden it back in the caves once Max had come, unwilling to face any reminders of the Midwinter holiday when her defenses were so low.
Renata stood and wrapped a woolen throw around herself.
“What are you doing?”
“I put the joy away,” she said. “Can you come help me get it out of storage?”
Max stood with a smile. “Absolutely.”
They walked back to the library, leaving the heavy iron door open. A gust of cool air brushed Renata’s face as she entered the reading room, and she was reminded of the pictures in the classroom.
“We’ll need to close off the back tunnels,” she said. “I’m sure whoever was here doesn’t mean any harm, but it’s really not safe to be exploring back in the caverns unless you know where you’re going.”
“After the storm,” Max said. “Whoever is breaking in hasn’t harmed anything, and the last thing they need to deal with is finding another shelter in weather like this.”
She walked to the cabinets where she’d stored the silver as Max walked toward the back hallway. She didn’t love the idea of anyone trespassing on her family history, but she knew Max was right. Nothing good could come of taking away shelter in a storm. What disturbed her more was the artist who’d drawn the pictures.
“Whoever has been visiting brought a child with them,” she said. “These caverns are not safe for a child.”
