Page 31 of A Gaze So Longing (The Fall of Livenza #1)

The next day, it rained.

Favian and Rodrigo were polishing saddles, careful not to let any of the equipment touch the muddy stable floor.

“Can I ask you something?”

Rodrigo looked up from his work, curious. “Go ahead.”

“Did you—did you know how you felt about Nia before she told you about herself?”

The boy didn’t hesitate. “I knew I liked her. I wasn’t sure if I was in love with her yet.”

“So she told you before she knew how you felt about her?”

Rodrigo narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure she suspected.”

Favian continued cleaning Azure’s everyday saddle, steady on the trestle before him. The curve of the cantle was smooth underneath his hands, rag running effortlessly over the sleek leather.

“What makes you ask?”

Favian bit his lip, unsure how to phrase what he really wanted to know. “And did…Does the way she perceives herself change anything about your feelings for her?”

Rodrigo was eyeing him now, not hiding any of the suspicion on his face. “Why? Do you think it should have?”

“No, I—” Favian swallowed and pushed a strand of hair out of his face with the back of his hand.

He was ringing for words to the sound of big drops hitting the barn’s roof, trying to come up with phrasing that would not reveal Leonardo’s identity but still make Rodrigo understand what he was getting at.

“I’m just wondering how—if…Was your attraction to her impacted by the knowledge in any way? ”

“Favian.” Rodrigo’s voice was hard. “Are you asking me about sex with your sister?”

He dropped the rag. It landed right in a puddle of mud, the brown sludge soaking into the fabric.

“No!” He breathed a frustrated sigh. “I just—”

Gods.

Favian knew words had never been his strength, but this was a new low point, even for him.

He tried to explain himself to Rodrigo, saying, “I used to think that my attraction depended on a person’s gender, and that this was the same as their body. It’s a new concept for me that someone’s self-image differs from how I perceive them.”

At this, Rodrigo’s expression softened a bit.

“It never mattered to me,” he explained.

“For as long as I can remember, I have always fallen in love with people regardless of who they perceive themselves to be. Or who I think they are in terms of gender, anyway. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to people I find pretty, but whether they are a man or a woman or something else really doesn’t factor into that. ”

“Something else?” Favian inquired, intrigued. Did Rodrigo know other people who were like Leonardo?

“Not every culture is so rigid about these boundaries,” the boy replied.

Contemplating, Favian picked the rag out of the mud and threw it onto a stack of dirty cleaning equipment. The sludge stuck to his fingers, cold to the touch.

He was about to ask Rodrigo about it when the boy continued, “And not that it concerns you, but I don’t care about sex. So it really doesn’t matter to me what anybody’s body looks like. I don’t like Nia for her body.”

“Alright,” Favian said.

He could still feel Rodrigo’s gaze on him, but he had nothing to say to this declaration. He had not expected to learn of Rodrigo’s sexual preferences today, though he should have anticipated that possibility. He had intended to ask about his relationship with Nia, after all.

Rodrigo remained a mystery to him. Sometimes the boy was an open book, and sometimes he was as secretive as if he were planning a coup. Favian wouldn’t be surprised if that actually were the case.

“If you’re curious about how Nia handles her relationships, you should ask her, you know?”

Favian did, indeed, know this. “I’m afraid I let her down.”

“How so?”

“I prioritized Leonardo, and it led to her being hurt. I was—I was gone for a night and His Majesty punished Nia for it.”

Rodrigo crossed his arms, intent eyes studying him.

“You know she would never blame you for that, right? Believe me, she is glad that you’re spending time with Leonardo.

She is happy for you. But you should talk to her about it.

Share with her. It’s good you’re speaking more now, and I’m glad you’re asking her how she is doing, but what use is that, really, if she still doesn’t know what is going on inside you ?

She can’t know what you’re feeling if you don’t tell her. ”

He knew Rodrigo was right. If theoretical understanding were to translate into practice automatically, so many aspects of Favian’s life would be much easier.

If knowing, if understanding things were the same as being able to emotionally access them, maintaining relationships would surely be less arduous for him.

“I’m trying,” he said quietly.

Rodrigo sighed. “Do you talk to someone about your emotions? Leonardo?”

This made him laugh, and it was answer enough.

“Alright, so not Leonardo. What about your mother? You haven’t seen her in a while, have you?”

Favian pushed through the tingle in his stomach at the idea. He had put off visiting his mother for long enough, and after that conversation at The Moonlit Sunflower the other day, he had to admit to himself that seeing her was probably going to be exactly what he needed.

Emboldened by the relative peace at the palace, Favian decided to visit his mother that night after serving dinner to the majesties.

Favian finished polishing his saddle before Rodrigo, and when he made to help the boy with his task, Rodrigo held up a hand. “You can take a break,” he said.

Unsure what to make of Rodrigo’s offer, Favian lay his head to the side. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Rodrigo nodded without looking up from his task.

Fighting the urge to insist, Favian hesitated. “Rodrigo?”

The boy’s eyes found him then. “What?”

“Will you look after Nia tonight?” Favian asked. “If I am to visit my mother, I want her to be in good hands.”

Once more, he watched the crease on Rodrigo’s forehead smooth into a softer expression. “Of course. When are you going to leave?”

“I will change right after dinner, I think.”

“I’ll be there,” Rodrigo acknowledged, a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth, unmistakable despite his sternness. Few things seemed to bring the boy joy, and Nia was certainly one of them.

Perhaps this evening would not only be good for Favian, but for Nia and Rodrigo as well. Favian thanked him and left the barn to make use of the break he had been offered.

Immediately, he was hit with thick drops of rain. Normally, he would have rushed through them, but he had gotten an idea that led him further into the wet instead of away from it.

He walked past the pasture to the flower patches bordering the forest and knelt down among the greens and reds and purples.

His fingers found the stems of poppies, cape fig blossoms, and bluebells.

Their blossoms were soaked through—he would have to lay them out on his bed if he wanted them to be at least somewhat presentable when he made his way to the weaver’s hut later.

Regarding the flowers he had picked, he noticed that the tingle in his stomach was mingling with warmth at the idea of finally seeing his mother again.

It had been months, and if Nia’s tangents were any indication, their mother frequently asked her about Favian. She never pressured him to come, but it was evident that she missed him as much as he missed her, and he was ready to make amends.

Twisting one particularly pretty bluebell between his thumb and index finger, wet hair sticking to his forehead, Favian scanned the field for lilies of the valley, but they seemed to have run their course for this season.

It was already too late in the year, the small bell-shaped petals a sign of spring rather than summer.

They were sturdy despite their inconspicuousness, and so occasionally, some of them would survive well into the heat of summer.

Just when he was about to give up, in the process of rising back onto his feet, wet pants sticking to his legs, did Favian spot the unmistakable white nestled right next to one of the pasture’s wooden posts.

Unable to suppress the beam of elation on his face, he picked the lily, too.

He brought the wet petals to his face, smelled the pendant blossoms, and took in all the sweetness the rain had not yet washed away.

He would get to gift his mother his favorite flower, after all.

Nia was delighted that Favian was finally going to pay a visit to their mother.

“It’s about time!” she exclaimed when he told her after supper. “And I won’t say no to time with Rodrigo.” The final words turned into nothing short of a giggle, assuring Favian that his decision to ask the boy to keep an eye on her had been the right one.

When she hugged him, he told her, “I’ll be back before midnight.”

“Say hi to Ma for me!”

Favian put on his best tunic—the sole one of three that he refused to wear to work—and the only doublet he owned, bound the flowers together with a piece of twine, and made his way through the southern wing, into the courtyard, past the gates, and down the path that lead to the building in which his mother and her fellow textile workers lived and worked.

It was still drizzling, so he shielded the flowers underneath his vest, hoping they would look decent when he reached the cottage at the far eastern edge of the palace grounds.

It wasn’t his mother who opened the door, but the woman in her stead—Penelope, if Favian recalled correctly—still greeted him with a wide smile.

“Favian!” she exclaimed and immediately turned to yell into the house. “Marietta, your son is here!”

“Which one?” came his mother’s voice. The lightness in her tone told Favian that she expected it would be Nia, the idea that Favian might visit worth joking about. He couldn’t blame her.

He kindly thanked Penelope, took off his shoes and doublet, and made his way to his mother’s room. It had been a while, but she had a securely assigned chamber on the bottom floor, whereas the other textile workers slept upstairs. He knew where to find her.