Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
W e head back upstairs and have a meal of leftover stew. The day is miserably cold, so I huddle under the blankets and nap while Nemeth pulls out one of his books and reads by the fire. It’s a lazy day, but it’s too cold to do much. I think of my sister back at Castle Lios and wonder if she’s enjoying the holiday, or if she misses me. Is she eating sweetcakes and drinking mulled wine? Is Balon eating peppercorns out of the apples of other ladies? Do I even care since he’s abandoned me? I didn’t expect him to wait seven years for me, but now that he’s the one that showed up to visit, I’m annoyed that he’s wandered away.
Seven years is a long time to miss out on celebrations and parties. Seven years in my prime, too. When I get out, I will be thirty-one, and will flirting and dancing seem frivolous and silly? Will everyone be expecting me to settle down? My thoughts take a depressing slant and so I fluff my pillow and go back to sleep.
A hand gently shakes me awake a short time later. “Candra.”
Nemeth.I inhale, stretching…and pause, because I smell onions? I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “What is it?”
He holds an onion out to me, the source of the smell. Studded into the surface with bits of wood serving as toothpicks? Peppercorns. He’s made me a feast apple, but since we have no apples, it’s a feast onion.
I giggle at the sight of it, feeling perilously close to crying with joy. “You made me an apple.”
“You were so sad at missing the holiday, I figured we could have one of our own without assigning it to a particular historical figure. Nothing says we cannot celebrate the end of winter, just the two of us.” His hard face is impassive, but his eyes gleam with amusement. “I will not celebrate that man, but I will celebrate at your side.”
I clutch the peppercorn-studded onion to my chest, utterly touched. “Thank you, Nemeth.”
“What would you like to do for your holiday? Since there is no one to flirt with but me, you cannot play your regular games.” His cloak sways, as if his wings are twitching nervously underneath.
“I can’t flirt with you?” I tease, hugging the onion as if it’s made of gold. I’m just so happy. “You wouldn’t eat a peppercorn for me?”
His wings move again, a sure sign that he’s nervous. It’s his way of blushing, I think. “If you want me to, I will.”
I beam at him and wink, holding out the onion. He takes it from my hand, his fingertips brushing over mine, and then he studies it as if trying to decide which peppercorn he’ll eat. Nemeth finally lifts the onion to his lips and plucks one of the peppercorns off it with his tongue, chewing.
“You did it,” I crow, delighted. I clap my hands. “Now the rules say we have to be lovers.”
He coughs, choking on the pepper in surprise, and I burst into a fit of laughter. Nemeth laughs, too, and the room feels full of happiness even if there’s no feast to celebrate. We don’t need one after all. We have each other for company, and full bellies. It’s enough for me.
Nemeth’s cloak practically shivers, and he sits down on the bed next to me, handing back the onion. “What else do you do on this holiday?”
I stroke the stupid onion with my fingers, knowing that we’re not going to eat it. Ever. I’m going to keep this onion forever just because it will remind me of this moment. Nemeth doesn’t realize how touched I am that he’s done this for me. Other than my sister, people tend to only do things for me because they have to, or because they want something from me. Nemeth just did it to make me smile. I touch the tiny splinters of wood, the peppercorns he somehow glued to the end of each one with a substance that looks like honey. It must have been a lot of fiddly work, and to think he did it all so quietly as I slept. “Some people give gifts, but it’s mostly parties and food for the feast. Oh, and party games.”
“What sorts of games?” he asks. “Perhaps we can do them here.”
With just two people? I don’t know how effective that will be, but it’s sweet of him to want to try. “Well, there’s a game where one of the king’s rings is hidden into a cake, and everyone gets a piece. If you get the ring in your piece, you get to rule court for a day. And then there is a dessert full of minced nuts and if you get a whole nut in your dessert, it’s supposed to be lucky. That you’re supposed to be exceptionally fertile in the next year.”
“Mmm. We can avoid that one, I think.”
I chuckle. “It’s pretty useless for one such as me anyhow.”
“Why is that?”
I wave his question aside. “Most of court likes drinking games, or flirting games. Things that involve kissing.”
There goes his cloak again, shaking with agitation as the wings underneath move. Is he even aware that he’s doing that? It’s such an obvious tell that I think perhaps he has no idea. “I doubt you would want to play such things with me.”
“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “I am up for any kind of game. And while I’m not a huge fan of kissing old men in a game, I’ve done so in the past, just because I like to win.” I give him a sly look. “Did I mention that I’m competitive?”
“Gods help us both,” he mutters. Nemeth gestures at me, his big hand motioning where I’m nestled in bed. “You pick the game. I will play.”
I consider, turning the onion over carefully in my hands. “Do your people have games they play?”
“Ours are mostly ones of skill. Flight games.” He shrugs. “I do not think you would be able to play.”
No, I suppose not. I consider the games I know that can be played without additional props or people. I can’t think of anything that doesn’t involve rather lascivious sorts of things or court frivolity, so I decide to make one up. “I suppose we could play…Secrets.”
“Secrets?”
“Yes. I give you a challenge. Something small, like ‘Go across the room and touch the wall’ or whatever. If you decide not to perform my challenge, you must tell me a secret instead.”
Nemeth frowns at me, moving to sit on the stool beside the bed. “This sounds like a foolish game.”
“Highly foolish,” I agree. “But did you have another way you were planning on spending the afternoon?” I give him a challenging look. “Is your day full of meetings? You have many things to discuss with your advisors?”I lift a corner of the blanket and peer under. “Are your advisors hiding under here?”
He chuckles. “Fine. Fine. You win. We shall play your secrets game. All right?” When I beam approval at him, he says, “Who goes first?”
“Me, because I’m the lady.” When he raises a brow, I nod. “Those are the rules. I swear. All right. For my first challenge I…” I look around the room, trying to decide. Then, the idea hits me and I hold out my onion. “I want you to eat another one of these peppercorns.”
Making a face, Nemeth takes the onion from me and pulls another peppercorn free with his lips. They lock around the kernel in a rather impressive sort of way that fascinates me, and then he pulls the toothpick free and crunches down on the peppercorn. A moment later, he grimaces and gives his head a shake, but he doesn’t sneeze once.
“Very nice,” I tell him. “Now you’re doubly my suitor, aren’t you?” I give him a sly wink. “I suppose it’s a good thing we don’t have the minced nut cakes for fertility.”
His cloak shakes violently even as he narrows his eyes at me. “You are trying to embarrass me.”
“I am,” I agree. “I find your embarrassment utterly charming.”
There’s a pained expression on his face, but his cloak gives another vigorous flutter.
“I told you I’m a flirt,” I warn him.
“You did.”
“Should I stop? I can tone myself down if you feel uncomfortable.”
Nemeth shakes his head and runs one hand over his cluster of horns. “I would rather you be yourself. Pay no mind to me. I am just a blushing, bookish sort and not the type to go toe to toe with a court lady.”
“So you are blushing,” I tease. “Excellent.” I shift in the bed, curling my legs underneath me as he hands the onion back once more. “Now it’s my turn. Dare me something or force me to tell a secret.”
He scratches at the base of one horn. “A dare, eh? Let me think.”
“Don’t vex yourself,” I tease. Oh, I’m having so much fun.
Nemeth gives me a quelling look. He rubs his chin, thinking, and glances around the room for inspiration. “I should dare you to…”
“Something wicked,” I encourage, practically bouncing with anticipation. “Something naughty. Make me do something naughty!”
His nostrils flare and the cape flutters again. He looks everywhere but me, and then says, “I dare you to put a finger up your nose.”
I groan. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”
“It’s not very ladylike,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height, shoulders stiffening. “Are you going to do it?”
I roll my eyes and jam a finger up my nose, making a face at him as I do. “You need to get better at this game, friend. Allow me to show you the way.” I crack my knuckles (also not very ladylike) and pretend to consider. “All right. My dare for you is that you take off your kilt.”
Nemeth recoils in surprise. “What!?”
“You can keep your cloak on for modesty,” I say, flicking my fingers at him. “But that’s my dare. I dare you to give me your kilt.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then you have to tell me a secret.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Make it a juicy one, please.”
He puts a hand on the belt of his kilt, as if determined to protect his modesty from me, and narrows his gaze in my direction. “What sort of secret would you like?”
Is he letting me choose? Well that’s just delightful. “Tell me a secret about a past lover.”
He rubs his ear. He truly is the twitchiest man when he’s nervous. “There are no past lovers.”
I suspected as much, and I can’t help but smile. “Is that part a secret? That there wasn’t anyone?”
Nemeth shrugs. “I suppose it depends on who you ask. The monks back at the Alabaster Citadel might have known the truth of it. It was a secret to you, so that counts, does it not?”
Was it truly, though? As skittish as he is, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, especially if he grew up at the Citadel with my sister and surrounded by monks, priests, and prophets. It’s not exactly a setting conducive to sensuality. But he’s clearly disconcerted at confessing such a thing to me. He looks uneasy, and those brilliant green eyes won’t look at me directly. Does he think I’m going to judge him?
I sit up, reaching out toward him, and touch my fingertips to his chin. “Look at me, Nemeth.”
He does, and his eyes are shuttered, as if he’s afraid to show emotion.
“This is just a game,” I say gently. “A game between friends. Whatever you tell me here in this tower remains with me and only me. I make you that promise, all right? I would never tease you about your experience or lack thereof.”
Nemeth just grunts. I suppose that’s some sort of agreement.
I hold my hand up. “Want to swear it in blood? I’m happy to slash my palm in dramatic fashion and mingle my blood with yours.”
That makes him roll his eyes. He snags my wrist and turns it face up, towards me. “Here is a hint from a warrior to a princess,” he says, and his claw brushes over the middle of my palm. “You never cut down the middle. A vow in blood doesn’t mean you have to slice your hand open. If you do so, not only can you not hold your sword, but you run the risk of destroying the tendons in your hand. If you truly wish to make a blood pact, use a fingertip.” His claw moves to the tip of my finger and he rubs it, his callused hands warm over mine. “Fingers bleed. And no blood pact says that great amounts of blood must be used.”
“Such an expert,” I say coyly, amused that he’s educating me. As if I’d ever hold a sword. “Does this mean you don’t want to do a blood pact, then?”
“Oh, we can do it, little princess. You make it sound like a challenge, and I won’t back down from a challenge from you.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and then nicks my finger on one of his teeth.
I gasp in surprise. Unexpected…as was the answering pulse between my thighs.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, lowering my hand. There’s a look of concern on his face.
“No, I’m fine.” Strangely aroused, but fine. I watch as the blood wells up on my fingertip and he nips his own finger, then holds it to mine.
Our blood mingles, and his eyes meet mine from across our joined hands.
“Our secrets remain ours,” he says. “Nothing leaves this tower when we do.”
I nod, and when he releases my hand, I automatically put my finger into my mouth to lick off the blood. Here I started a silly game simply because I wanted to tease him and have some fun, and it’s turned into a strange sort of vow that feels rather weighty. Like we’ve just made a soul-pact of some kind.
Nemeth’s gaze is on my mouth as I suck on my finger. He licks his, and I watch as his tongue slithers over his skin. “Do you still want to play?”
“I always want to play,” I whisper, and I wonder if we’re talking about the same thing.
The game dies a quick death after the deep moment of blood-letting and finger-sucking. It’s hard to find the fun mood after that, and Nemeth, clearly out of his element, returns to tending the fire. Instead of teasing him about it more, I let him retreat. If he was Balon or one of my suitors, I’d keep hounding him until I got the response I wanted—either an angry, passionate kiss, or a heartfelt confession—but I’m not going to push too far with the Fellian. He’s my friend, and I don’t like the idea of making him so uncomfortable that he wants to retreat from my presence. Something tells me that if I kept needling Nemeth, it wouldn’t break his resolve and turn into a passionate kiss. He doesn’t know how the game is played. He’d probably storm out of the room and not speak to me for a week, thinking I was teasing him out of cruelty.
I’d much rather us be friends. So I cradle my pepper-studded onion in my hands, and we talk of nothing at all for the rest of the night, until it’s time for bed.
All in all, not so terrible a holiday. When we go to bed, I’m happy, even if my hands do smell like onions and pepper despite washing them.
I wake up in the middle of the night to a strange, jarringly loud clattering noise. It’s dark in the room, the fire having gone out, and so cold it feels like my entire body is made of ice. It takes a moment for me to realize that the constant clicking sound is my teeth. I shiver wildly in the bed despite the layers of blankets and the thick dress I’m wearing.
“Candra?” A large hand grips my arm. Nemeth, in bed next to me. “Are you all right?”
“C-cold,” I manage, my teeth chattering. “Why is it so c-cold?”
He shifts in the bed and I see green eyes blink to life in the darkness. “The fire is out. I could light another, but we should conserve our fuel. Do you need another blanket?”
“H-have them all,” I manage, my jaw trembling. “How is it so cold?”
“One last storm before the end of winter, perhaps? Maybe the Green Goddess isn’t ready to return from the Gray God’s realm just yet.” He rubs my arm. “Do you want to get under the blankets with me? Share warmth?”
Do I?
I thought he’d never ask.