Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
M y candle sputters as I surge forward into Nemeth’s room. He looks crazed, eyeing the walls with what looks like anger or resentment.
I’m confused. “What’s going on?”
“They are attacking the tower,” he says, grabbing me by my shoulders and eyeing the walls. “I have never heard such a din. Do they mean to tear it apart and pull us from the rubble?”
Thunder crashes overhead again and he jerks, his wings flicking out and extending in what must be a reflexing action. He pulls me against him, his claws twisting in the voluminous folds of my chemise.
Is this big Fellian warrior…afraid of thunder? Surely I am misunderstanding him. “You do know that’s a storm, right?”
His wild gaze focuses on me. “What?”
I open my mouth to speak and it thunders again. His grip tightens on me, his gaze going to the ceiling. Aw. “It’s a storm,” I say gently. “A thunderstorm. A loud one, granted, but still a thunderstorm. We’re entering the season of storms. Do you not have that where you live?”
In the light of my candle, I see his thick gray throat work. “You…this is normal? We are not being attacked?”
“It’s a very loud storm but no, we are not being attacked.”
The rain pounds against the stone walls and he flinches. He doesn’t let go of me, either.
I’m acutely aware of my candle burning, and I know I have to save it, but I also don’t want to abandon Nemeth when he’s clearly feeling vulnerable and doing his best to hide it. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stay here as your hostage until it stops, all right?”
His gaze focuses on me. “You would…do that?”
“I have the time,” I tell him with a wry smile. I blow out my candle and then hold my hand out to him.
Absolute darkness falls once more, but his green eyes blink at me. “You want to sit in the dark?”
“I’m being conservative with my candles,” I lie. He doesn’t need to know that I’m down to two. “Where do you want to sit?”
He makes a sound in his throat and takes my hand in his larger one. A Fellian’s hands are massive, I realize. It’s like an enormous paw swallowing mine as he holds my fingers. Nemeth leads me forward a step or two, and then my leg bumps into a bed frame.
Oh. My face gets hot. I didn’t think about the implications of being in the dark and in his bed with him. “Sit on the edge?” I ask brightly. “Or do you have a chair?”
“A stool,” he says. “But not enough seating for both of us.”
I nod and feel my way down to the edge of the bed and sit, clasping my hands around my candle the moment he lets go of me. His large form sinks down next to me, and when thunder rumbles again, shaking the tower, something warm and leathery skims over my shoulders. A wing.
He jerks when thunder rumbles once more, shaking the bed with his movements. I set my candle to my side and offer my hand to him. “Are storms not like this where you live?”
Nemeth takes my hand in his again. “I live deep inside a mountain. I guess it is muffled where I am.” He pauses. “You are sure we have nothing to worry over?”
“I’m sure.” I pause, then add, “Now poor Balon might have a devil of a time returning to Lios, but we’re fine.”
That elicits a laugh from my companion, and I smile.
“I suppose you think me foolish,” he says after a time. “For thinking we were being attacked.”
“Not at all,” I lie, glad that I’m able to keep a straight face. “I imagine with all the training you received on how to handle living here, it didn’t cover everything. My maid forgot to tell me how to clean my laundry. She was in such a rush that we weren’t able to cover everything, but I think I’ve been managing fairly well. If you notice my gowns are excessively wrinkled, though, please do not point it out. Wrinkles were definitely not covered in my book.”
“A book?” he asks. “You have a book?”
“I do.” I pause for a moment, wondering how much he knows about Meryliese and her untimely death. “My sister was supposed to be the one to come to the tower. Meryliese was an acolyte at the Alabaster Citadel and had trained all her life in preparation for her time in the tower. But when she was on her way here, her ship sank and everyone died. I was told three days before that I was to be the one to come here. I’m not used to looking after myself so my maid made me a book with as much information as she could squeeze into it in such a short period of time.”
“I am sorry about your sister.”
“Me too. I barely knew her, but I’m sorry that I’m trapped here. I’m not supposed to be, and it’s hard to move past the resentment.”
“And you are sick.”
“Yes.” I don’t say more about that. He’s still the enemy, even if we’re holding hands in the darkness.
“The fop that visits you. He was your betrothed?”
I snort. “Balon was not my betrothed.”
“He is a fop, though.”
It’s terrible of me, but I giggle. “He’s young. Hopefully he will grow out of it. And no, definitely not my betrothed. He was just…a diversion.”
“I see.” His tone indicates that he doesn’t see at all.
“What about you?” I ask. “Were you always meant to come here? Or were you a last-moment replacement as well?”
Nemeth is silent for a span. When he finally answers, he says, “My king told me it was my duty to come here. I did not argue. I knew it was a possibility.”
“Because of the bloodline,” I agree. It was always something that had lurked in the corners of my mind, as well. I’d simply thought that since Meryliese was to be the one sent, I was safe.
Clearly I am a fool.
His hand warm in mine, I turn in the darkness towards those green eyes. I know he’s the enemy, but it’s so good to have someone to talk to. Someone that knows the frustrations that I’ve been going through. Yet I can’t say too much to him. He’s still the enemy. We’re not meant to be friendly. I should be looking for the best way to destroy him, not making friends. “Consider yourself lucky that you were prepared. I’m not having much fun learning of all the things that were missed.”
“Mm.” Nemeth is quiet for a moment. “You had someone to do things for you, back in the palace?”
“You didn’t?”
“I am a warrior,” he says, as if that answers everything.
“Yes, well, you can’t shame me for not knowing how to do laundry or make soup. We don’t know what we don’t know, and I only had three days to prepare. If I had prepared better, I should have learned how to read or to play a musical instrument to keep myself occupied.” I shake my head. “The days are so damned long and the darkness is maddening.”
“It bothers you?”
I know I’m saying too much. I just don’t care. This is the first real conversation I’ve had since I’ve been locked in the tower—other than the other run-ins I’ve had with Nemeth. But each of those occasions felt like we were trying to get the upper hand on each other. This feels like something more. So I allow myself to be vulnerable. “I hate it. It’s oppressive and just makes me feel more trapped.”
“Ah.”
I wonder if he’s mentally cataloging how to use this against me as he withdraws his hand from mine. Thunder rumbles again, and then I hear a tap tap.
The room fills with light.
I gasp, stunned. It’s a pale, gentle white light, and it seems to be emanating entirely from a rounded white stone set upon a pedestal. Nemeth lifts his large clawed hand from its surface and then moves farther down in the room and taps a claw upon another one of those stones, and the room grows even brighter.
The bastard isn’t even using candles.
My jaw hangs open in shock. I want to memorize everything in his room now that I can see, or gaze my fill on the craggy, unpleasant face of the Fellian in front of me, or eye his lack of clothing, but I can’t take my eyes off of the shining globes that seemingly produce their own brilliant light. One would be enough to see by. Two feels like decadence, and then the bastard goes and lights a third one.
Harsh thunder rumbles again, shaking the tower so hard that the bed quakes and the globes shiver. Nemeth turns back to me. “Better?”
I lift a finger, pointing at the globes. “You…how…how did you do that?”
“Magic,” he replies, as if this is the most obvious thing ever. “You do not have magic? At all?”
I shake my head, mystified. “I told you I didn’t.”
“You are my enemy. You could have lied.” But he runs his hand over one of the globes, caressing it. “It seemed a wise thing to bring a few with me. One must be prepared for all occasions.”
And he gives me a pointed look that tells me he doesn’t think me very prepared at all.
I suspect he knows I’m low on candles, too. It seems like something Nemeth would be aware of. That, and he’s probably guessed from my fumbling about in the darkness. If I had one of those globes, it would save me from having to light a candle every time I needed a hint of light. It’d save me tinder, too. I could keep it for my fires. “How does that work?” I ask. “Do you say a spell over it?”
“You tap it twice and it lights up. That’s all.”
“Can you make me one?” I try to keep the eagerness out of my voice, but it’s impossible. The hunger is written all over my face, I imagine. I have never needed anything as much as I need one of these magic globes of light.
Nemeth hesitates and then shakes his head. “I do not have the supplies here.”
Disappointment crashes over me, but only for a moment. A new idea takes place. “Can I bargain with you for one?”
“A bargain?” he looks skeptical. “What is it you think you have that I could want?”
I fiddle with my chemise, thinking. He’s right that I don’t have a lot in the way of supplies that would entice him. I have less food, so I can’t offer him that. I have no books, and judging from the looks of his quarters, he is a great reader. One wall is filled entirely with massive tomes. I can’t even offer my knife— not that I would. I have little in the way of wood to burn, or candles, or anything…unless he wants a dress. “Fabric?” I ask. “I could take apart one of my dresses and you could use the material for…something?”
He snorts and gestures down at the short leather kilt he wears that barely covers his massive thighs. Right. He doesn’t wear human clothing. In fact, he wears very little clothing at all, it seems. “Blankets? A cloak?”
Nemeth shakes his head again, those strange horns of his making the action seem exaggerated. “You have nothing.”
Despair curls through me. “Please,” I say, reaching out and touching his hand. “I need one desperately.”
He stares down at my hand on his arm, and then his wings twitch.
I don’t move.
Neither does he.
Oh.
Oh . I look down at my hand on his arm. I suppose I do have something to bargain with. He’d stared for a very long time at my breasts, after all, when I was in my bath. How much will I be willing to do for one of those globes? To have light constantly and easily?
I’d be willing to do quite a lot.
I look up at him and carefully put my hand on his thigh. Even as I do, I use my other hand to tug down the neckline of my chemise, revealing my cleavage. “There’s nothing I have that you want?”
Nemeth jumps up so suddenly that the bed shakes. “I do not want that. ”
Oh.
Gods, I’m horrified and full of shame. I can’t believe I just offered myself—a princess —for a magical light source. Worse than that, I’ve offered myself to the enemy . My face burns and I jerk away, grabbing my neckline and hauling it up high. I snatch my candle off the bed and race out of his quarters, humiliated.
I don’t know what embarrasses me more. That I offered myself to a Fellian so cheaply or that he refused.
Or that I’m disappointed.
I retreat to my quarters—now a familiar path in the oppressive darkness—and slam the door shut.
The next day, I kick a trunk set in front of my door. I grab my toe, wincing at the pain, and wondering what new humiliation is awaiting me today. Is Nemeth going to throw it in my face that I practically flung myself upon his beastly cock? He’s a hideous-looking creature, and not one that I would ever consider touching otherwise. He’s not attractive. He’s not even pleasant.
Is this an apology? If so, I’m not interested.
But I’m also curious to see what he’s offered. If it’s food, I’d be foolish to turn it away. I kneel down before the box, searching in the darkness for a latch of some kind. My fingers locate it and I flip the lid open, hesitantly feeling around inside.
It’s something rounded. And cool.
Holding my breath, I tap it twice, like Nemeth did last night. The box floods with light, nearly blinding me, and I lift the globe out of its case. He’s…giving one to me?
My heart squeezes and I smile, clutching the rounded, glowing stone to my chest. It’s the most generous thing anyone has ever done for me. He’s apologizing for last night. I know he is. And this is the best way to do it. Beaming, I pull the stand out of the box. It’s a lot like a candlestick, but with claws on the end that the orb can fit into and be carried around. I snap it into place on the end of the candlestick and smile at the light that pours through my doorway.
No more sitting in the darkness for me.
I should go down and talk to Nemeth. Thank him for his thoughtful gift and apologize for flinging myself at him last night. Clearly my advances weren’t welcome, but he wants us to remain friends anyhow. I’m fine with that.
I’m just about to close the box when I notice there’s a small, cloth-wrapped bundle at the bottom.
I pick it up, and the moment I do, my blood goes cold.
I don’t even have to unwrap it to know what it is. That comfortable heft has been my companion ever since I entered this tower. I know the shape of my knife without even looking at it. I pull it from the wrappings, scarcely daring to breathe, and stare down at the small blade, still in its sheath.
The bastard lied to me. He claimed he didn’t steal it, and yet he’s had it all this time.
All of my goodwill disappears in a flash. Eyes narrowing, I tuck the blade into the front of my gown in its old familiar spot. “Did he steal you away from me?” I ask the blade.
Yes.
That prick.
I’ve changed my mind. We can’t be friends. I’ll take his glowing orb, but he can go straight to the Gray God’s death pits and stay there. He’s made it clear that he’s got the upper hand, and that he’s not afraid to lie to me. Carefully, I carry my new globe inside my quarters, pleased at the light that shines over everything. I shut the door once more and crawl back into bed.
A short time later, there’s a low tap at the door. “Candra?”
I don’t answer.