He hadn’t shaved off the beard, though he’d obviously done his best to neaten it up, and he’d made an attempt at combing his hair. He was still pale, though, and his eyes were bloodshot. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a cart,” he said.
“So, would that be an improvement?” said Flell, setting Thrain down so she could wander off as she chose.
“A bit, yeah. Look, I’m sorry about last night. You didn’t deserve to see me like that.”
Flell put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, I understand. But you need to look after yourself, Arren. I care about what happens to you, and so do the others. You’re not alone.”
He reached up and put his hand on hers. “I know,” he said. “I know. I just—I just miss her so much, Flell. I couldn’t stand it. I mean—I thought there was something wrong with me. The whole way back here from Rivermeet I just . . . didn’t feel anything. Like nothing was really real. And then when I got back home, it was like—like it all just hit me at once. I kept turning around and expecting to see her there, and when she wasn’t, I felt lost. I still feel lost. Like there’s something that used to be inside me and now it’s gone, but I can still feel where it used to be.”
“You should have come to see me,” said Flell. “Or Bran, or Gern. We were worried about you.”
“How could I?” said Arren, looking up at last. “I couldn’t face you any more, not like this. The whole city knows I’m in disgrace. I kept expecting someone to come and arrest me, and then when no-one did I realised it was because no-one even cared. I’m not a griffiner any more, Flell. I’m nobody.”
Flell laughed softly. “Oh, Arren, listen to yourself. Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t care about whether you’re a griffiner or not; we care about you. You’re our friend, aren’t you? And to me—” She lifted his chin with her other hand so that their eyes met. “I love you, Arren. You do know that, don’t you? And I’ll go on loving you no matter what you do or what happens to you.”
His face softened. “I know. I’ve always known. But what can I do now, Flell? Where can I go? I’ve looked for other jobs, but no-one will give me one. I’m too skinny to be a guard or a lift-loader, and I don’t know anything about carpentry or metal or making bread. I mean, I know how to make boots, but what good does that do me? There’s already five bootmakers working in the marketplace and none of them needs an assistant. I’m not good enough to do it on my own, and besides, I wouldn’t have the money to pay for my own stall.”
“Don’t be silly; there has to be a job for you somewhere,” said Flell. “You can read and write, can’t you? There must be dozens of people out there who’d give anything to employ someone with your education.”
“Oh yes?” said Arren. He slumped. “Flell, look at me. What do you see?”
She paused. “I see Arren Cardockson, who’s grown a beard and looks miserable. Why, what did you expect me to see?”
Arren ran his fingers through his hair. “You can see this, can’t you? And these?” He pointed at his eyes. “And these.” He flexed his long fingers. “Well, so can everyone else, Flell. They see a Northerner.”
“Well, you’re not one,” Flell snapped. “You’re as Southern as I am.”
He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t be a Southerner by pretending. My father keeps telling me that. Maybe I don’t wear a robe or have spirals on my face, and maybe I’m not a slave, but I’m still a blackrobe, and everyone knows it as soon as they see me. I’m not just Arren Cardockson. I’m Arren Cardockson, the Northerner. And nothing can change that.”
“So what?” said Flell. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You didn’t have any choice about what you were born as, any more than I did. Why should anyone care? You’re still human.”
“You’re sheltered,” Arren said bluntly. “I’m sorry, but you are. You don’t live among ordinary people like I do. And I’m telling you, it matters. It’s always mattered. Ever since I first came here people have said things. Treated me differently. They didn’t dare make it too obvious, not while Eluna was there. But I could tell that nearly