Chapter Sixteen – Korr
Chapter Sixteen
Korr
Sorina is asleep on my chest.
Her golden hair fans across my upper body, and the blanket is pulled up around her shoulders where I tucked it last night. She weighs almost nothing. I can feel each breath she takes, the way her ribs expand a fraction, then the puff of air brushing my skin.
I don’t move. I lie still and listen to her breathe.
My body feels strong, loose, and alive. I flex my fingers under the blanket, over and over, to remind myself that this is real.
She is my soulmate, the one I’ve been looking for all this time, and she saved me.
The calcification process is completely reversed, and I feel like nothing can stop me now. Nothing can bring me down.
When the sun is fully up in the sky, I ease myself out from under her, shifting her head from my chest to the pillow.
She stirs, her lips part, and she lets out a soft moan but doesn’t wake up.
I pull the duvet up to her chin and stand there watching her for a few seconds before I turn away and walk into the bathing room.
I wash at the basin, splash water on my face, scrub my arms, and run wet hands over my head. I move fast and make as little noise as possible because I have a plan. I want to bring her breakfast in bed.
I pull on trousers and a shirt, lace my boots, and head for the door. I take the lift down to the Corehalls, still grinning.
The Stone Table is already open, the waiter wiping down the counter when I walk in.
I order too much food: a cast-iron platter of thick-cut smoked pork belly with cracked pepper and honey glaze, a bowl of roasted root vegetables with garlic and rosemary, a basket of dark sourdough bread warm from the oven, a pot of salted butter, a crock of spiced apple compote, a wedge of white cheese, and a jug of cold milk.
The waiter raises an eyebrow at the size of the order, and I tell him I’m feeding my wife. He grins and loads everything onto a wooden tray.
I carry the tray through the Corehalls and into the lift, up to the Highhalls. It feels amazing to be able to do this so easily, like it’s nothing, and do it fast, too, moving like I haven’t been ill and dying just days before.
I set the tray on the bedside table. The clatter of dishes and the smell of smoked pork and warm bread fill the room, and Sorina stirs. Her eyes open slowly, blink at the tray, blink at me, and then go wide at the amount of food I brought.
I lean down and kiss her on the lips. She makes a low sound against my mouth, her hand coming up to rest on my jaw.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Starving,” she says, her voice still thick with sleep.
I kneel on the floor, bringing myself level with her. I tear off a piece of sourdough, spread butter on it, and hold it to her mouth. She takes it from my fingers, her lips brushing my thumb, and giggles.
“You’re feeding me,” she says.
“I am.”
“Like a baby bird.”
“You’re prettier than a baby bird.”
She laughs and opens her mouth for another piece, and I give her one with a thick layer of butter and a spoonful of spiced apple compote on top.
She chews with her eyes half closed and moans.
I feed her pieces of pork belly, slices of cheese, more bread.
She takes each one from my hand, and crumbs land on the sheets, but neither of us cares.
She grabs my shirt and pulls me down to kiss me. She tastes like honey and butter, and I brace my hands on the mattress to keep from crushing her. She tugs harder and pulls me onto the bed, and I let her.
It doesn’t take long for her to push me onto my back and climb on top of me, her thighs spread wide across my hips, her hands flat on my chest. She’s naked already, and we make quick work of my clothes.
I reach for the bottle of oil, but she takes it from me, slicks me herself with both hands wrapped around my cock, and I grip the sheets until my knuckles ache.
She guides me inside her, and we both go still.
When she starts moving, I’m once again convinced I’m the luckiest man alive.
I keep my hands on her waist, steadying her, careful with my grip.
I’m big enough to crush her with one careless pull, one wrong movement, and I won’t risk it.
She sets her own pace and takes what she wants.
She rides me with her head tipped back and her hands braced on my chest, the morning light from the window illuminating her hair and making the diamond earrings sparkle.
I revel in her bouncing breasts, the arch of her back, the line of her throat, and I hold her gently and let her use me until she comes apart with my name on her lips.
I finish after she does, my hands tight on her hips, my face buried in her neck.
Sorina curls against my side afterward. I wrap my arm around her and play with her hair, winding a golden strand around my finger, unwinding it, winding it again.
She came to me. I didn’t have to ask. She crossed the dark living room last night, barefoot and wearing only a bathrobe, knocked on my door, and kissed me because she wanted to. She gave herself to me.
I’m not doomed to the Stillhalls anymore.
Sorina saved me from that fate, and she doesn’t even know it.
I want to tell her, but I hold back. Our relationship is days old.
If I tell her that I was dying and her body is what’s keeping me alive, she’ll feel pressured to give me more of herself, maybe too quickly.
She’ll sleep with me out of duty, touch me to keep me from turning to unmoving stone, and the warmth between us will turn into obligation.
I don’t want her in my bed because she’s afraid of losing me.
I want her here because she wants to be here.
So, I play with her hair and say nothing.
“I need to wash up.” She rolls onto her back and stretches.
“I’ll run you a bath.”
We go to my bathing room together. The tub is massive, carved from a single block of stone, deep and wide enough for two golems. I fill it with hot water, the pipes groaning as the mountain’s spring water pushes through, and steam fills the room.
We climb in together. Sorina sits between my thighs, her back against my chest, the water up to her collarbone and halfway up my ribs. I take a cloth and run it over her shoulders, down her arms, across her collarbones. She leans into my touch with a satisfied groan.
“I’ve realized I haven’t told you anything about myself,” she says.
“I can be patient.”
“I think it’s time. We’re married, and we’ve also made it official.” Her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink.
“I’ll take whatever you want to tell me.”
So, she tells me about Tessana, a port town far away from here.
She was born there, grew up there, and never thought she’d leave.
Her parents and her grandmother still live in Tessana.
Her grandmother taught her everything she knows about plants and herbs, knowledge passed down through the women in her family.
She has two older brothers who left years ago to make their future in a bigger city.
“I had a garden,” she says. “I grew herbs and prepared medicine to sell at the market. Produce too. It didn’t make much, but it kept me busy.”
I wash her back while she talks, running the cloth in slow circles between her shoulder blades, down the line of her spine.
“I was married before,” she says.
My hands stop. The cloth drips warm water down her arm. I didn’t expect that. I never considered that Sorina might have had another husband before me.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He died. I was a widow before I decided to go to the bride market.”
I’m quiet for a few seconds, turning the cloth over in my hands under the water. Then I ask the question I’ve wanted to ask since I met her.
“Is he the one who left those marks on you?”
“He used to hurt me, but fate took him away and freed me of him.” She pauses. “The bruises you saw on me at the bride market were left by his father. He never liked me.”
My jaw tightens and my fingers close around the cloth until water runs out between my knuckles.
“I’ll make him pay,” I say. “Just tell me where Tessana is.”
Sorina turns to face me. She’s smiling.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I don’t care anymore. The past is in the past. I’m here now, with you, and I feel safe.”
I cup her face, my palm wider than her cheek, and lean down to kiss her.
“I’ll always protect you,” I tell her. “I’ll never harm you. You’re more precious than all the diamonds in the mine to me.”
“Thank you,” she whispers before leaning back against my chest.
Later in the afternoon, I sit in my armchair reading a book while Sorina is at the table, writing a letter to her parents. She bends close to the parchment, her pen moving in quick strokes, and every couple of lines, she pushes her hair back when it falls forward.
My body is nimble and my heart is full. The stone moves the way it used to, my breath comes easy, and my fingers turn the pages without catching.
She probably believes I saved her, that I’m the reason she’s here instead of back in Tessana with a dead husband and a father-in-law who’d take his rage out on her.
She doesn’t know that she’s the one who saved me.