Chapter Nineteen
NINETEEN
ASPETH
Despite our general helplessness, the evening isn’t as bad as I expect it to be. Gwenna makes a fire and we light a torch, only to find that the torch doesn’t burn for very long at all. Magpie then produces an oil lantern and lectures us. “When I say come prepared, I mean it.”
After the oil lantern is lit, we’re tied together. Kipp takes up the front, followed by Lark with the lantern. Gwenna follows behind her, then Mereden, then me in the back. We march up the slippery stream, and Magpie’s right—it’s only ankle-deep. It’s still incredibly treacherous, though, and we end up slogging with each step, our boots heavier with water every moment. I decide that I’m going to get myself a staff before anything else. A short one, so no one can gripe about my having it in close quarters. Maybe just to bosom height instead of past my shoulder. I like that idea—a staff to assist with walking, and to put a lantern atop because not being able to see is maddening. Right now, I can’t see anything except Mereden’s backside and the coiling puff of her dark hair.
We march up the stream.
Down the stream.
Up the stream again, this time in a different order with me at the front. This goes badly for all involved and Magpie barks things at me like “Are you blind?”
(I don’t point out that in fact I am quite night-blind without my spectacles.)
We march up and down the stream until all three moons in the sky have disappeared again and the night grows bitterly cold. Our teeth chatter and Kipp gets too cold to function, so we take turns carrying him.
“Enough,” Hawk finally declares. “You’ve shown them you know what you’re doing, Mags. Let them rest.”
“Oh, fine,” she says. “Though I know Hawk’s just griping because he wants time with his wife. I suppose you all get a break.” She claps her hands together. “Now we make camp and another fire.”
“What happened to the last bloody fire I made?” Gwenna demands.
“Were you tending it?”
“No! I’ve been marching upstream all night and scaring all the fish!”
“Then it’s out, isn’t it?” Magpie’s smile is evil in the shadows. “So make another fucking fire. You’re not going to have anyone to depend on in the tunnels to keep things lit for you. Don’t expect different out here. My job is to prepare you.”
Gwenna shoots me an agitated look, as if she’s blaming me for everything. I can’t fault her for that—it is my fault that we’re here, as fledglings. I suppose I deserve any and all blame. “I’ll make the fire.”
“I can make it,” Gwenna says. “I know how.”
“You all need to learn how to make fire,” Magpie corrects. She points at me. “You make the fire. The others can set up their sleeping packs. Tomorrow we practice sword work.”
We all groan, with Kipp’s hiss carrying above the rest. I’m not sure if he’s delighted or irked about the sword work. Probably a mixture of both, knowing Kipp. Sometimes I’m not sure if he likes us or is just tolerating us to get to his endgame, being in the guild. Come to think of it, there are no slitherskins in the guild at the moment but no one objected to his fledgling-ship. Meanwhile, anyone with a pair of breasts was deemed a problem.
I want to prove them wrong and make them regret their silly prejudices. I want them to have their eyes opened when we pass. I want them to be dumbstruck when they realize just how capable we are. It’s yet another reason why we need to try so very hard to pass this first time around. Magpie won’t get a second chance, and I suspect neither would we.
It takes a long while (and Magpie barking some terse instructions) before I manage to figure out how to make a fire, but when it’s finally going well, camp is set up. There are mini-tents, and we can sleep two to a tent, with Kipp preferring his round, cozy shell. Mereden and Gwenna will sleep in a tent together, and Lark will bunk with her aunt for tonight. When we’re in the tunnels of the Everbelow, I won’t be able to sleep with Hawk, of course. I blush just thinking about it.
But it’s not time to sleep just yet. Gwenna tosses a bunch of ingredients into a stewpot to start a meal and we all relax by the fire, waiting while it bubbles.
“So,” Magpie says.
Everyone’s quiet, regarding her. She seems awkward now that we’re relaxing and there are no orders to bark at us. I discreetly look around for Hawk, but he’s on the edge of camp, leaning up against a tree and just watching us from afar.
“I’m glad you’re with us,” Mereden says in her sweet voice. She clasps her hands over her knees, looking young and innocent, her dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. “You have such a reputation with the guild. I was so excited to meet the legend of so many stories.”
Instead of being flattered, Magpie looks embarrassed. She pats her pockets, grimaces, and, when Lark passes her a skin of water, takes a swig from it instead. “Stories are just that. Stories. Sometimes exaggerated, and sometimes they don’t matter at all. What matters is now.” She grimaces at the water and hands it back. “Speaking of the here and now, have you all thought about names that you’ll take? When you pass?”
I inwardly preen at her assumption that we’ll pass. “Sparrow,” I say proudly. “You can call me Sparrow.”
Lark groans, rolling her eyes. “We know. We know .”
Mereden giggles, her sleeve masking her smile.
“There’s nothing wrong with anticipating success,” I point out, my back stiff. “Your name is Lark, after all, and you don’t see me harassing you about that.”
“That’s because my mother named me that at birth,” Lark points out. “It was her idea. When I pass maybe I’ll change it up. Be ‘Mudlark’ or something.”
Mereden just giggles louder. “?‘Mudlark’ is a terrible name.”
“Oh, shut up,” Lark says, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face. “Like you’ve picked out something better?”
“I haven’t,” Mereden admits. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. Maybe you can think of one for me.”
“?‘Tit.’?”
She scowls at Lark. “You know what? Forget I asked.”
“?‘Bushtit,’?” Gwenna says suddenly. Lark howls with delight.
Mereden frowns in her direction. “You’re not helping.”
“I don’t know. I thought ‘Bushtit’ was pretty good,” Gwenna says with a smile. “It beats ‘Chickadee,’ which is what Aspeth thought I should be at first. I think we settled on ‘Wren.’?”
“?‘Chickadee’ is a great name,” I protest. “They’re very industrious birds. Happy and busy. They make me think of you.” Perhaps I’m not very good at picking out names. “But if you don’t want to be ‘Chickadee,’ you don’t have to be. Mereden can be ‘Chickadee.’?”
“Or not,” Mereden says.
Magpie caps the waterskin and slings the strap over her shoulder. “?‘Wren’ is a nice, unassuming name. ‘Chickadee’ might be too feminine for all the cock-swinging you’ll have to endure with the guild itself. Luckily enough, these names aren’t taken. If I had a coin for every swaggering man who wanted to call himself ‘Raven’ I’d be rich.”
“Or ‘Hawk,’?” I blurt out immediately, thinking of him.
“What about Hawk?” Magpie asks, and all eyes turn to me.
“Yes, what about Hawk?” he says, chiming in, his gaze on me.
My face flushes hot. “I mean, it’s just a common name, you know? Very masculine. I’m sure a lot of men want that sort of name. Something with a lot of swagger and testosterone. Not that it doesn’t suit you. It does. You’re very masculine. Very suited for something that aggressively male.” I pause, realizing that my words might make it seem as if Hawk is the type to beat me in private if I keep using words like aggressive . “Not aggressively male in a bad way. I just mean—”
“Go on,” he continues, his mouth drawing up in an amused smile. “Please continue to extoll my masculinity.”
If my face got any hotter, it’d be aflame. “I mean, it’s just very lucky that you managed to get the name that’s perfect for you. You would think it wouldn’t be available.”
“So you think it’s perfect for him?” Mereden’s voice is so sweet. “That’s adorable.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You did.” Hawk is giving me the most hard-to-read look. I can’t tell if he’s choking on laughter or just wants the conversation to end. “As for the name, it was timing. I knew the old Hawk. When he passed, I put in for the name first. I could have just as easily been ‘Goose.’?”
“?‘Goose’?” I sputter, forgetting we have an audience. “Oh, you’re far too masculine for something like ‘Goose.’?”
“She sure keeps saying ‘masculine’ a lot,” Lark mock-whispers to Mereden.
Goddess, I’m just making things worse. “Kipp,” I blurt instead, trying to distract. “What about you? What name do you want?”
The slitherskin shrugs, touching the tip of his tongue to his eyeball, and then moves to Magpie’s side and pats a hand on her. The message is clear. She can pick it.
“Something clever and quick,” Magpie says. “?‘Swift,’ maybe.”
He nods, and I suspect he’s pleased.
Lark snaps her fingers. “I just thought of the perfect name for Mereden!”
The once-priestess perks up. “Oh?”
“?‘Swallow’!”
Mereden throws a stick at Lark while we all try desperately not to laugh.
Time around the fire is nice. It’s pleasant to laugh together and relax, to talk about our hopes and tease one another about names. We linger for an hour or two, until Magpie pushes us off to bed. “Enough gossiping. Tomorrow’s going to be a tiring day. You’ll need your strength. Get some sleep.”
We head off, and for the first time in hours, Hawk approaches me. He puts a hand to the small of my back, guiding me to the tent we’ll be sharing. My face scorches again, as I suspect everyone is staring at us. I bite my lip as I duck into our lodgings. “Your tent is bigger than the others.”
“Taurians are bigger than humans.”
So they are. I’ve noticed Hawk has distinctly…nonhuman proportions on certain parts of his anatomy. His thighs are absolutely enormous and nothing but rock-hard muscle. His biceps are as thick around as my thigh, and I’m not a small woman. Of course he’d need a larger tent.
I lie down on the pallet—a guild-issue pad to make sleeping on rock a little more bearable and a matching scratchy wool blanket—and Hawk settles his big body next to mine, dominating the narrow space. I’m intensely aware of how big he is now that we’re pressed close together, and the sheer size of his head and horns. His shoulders are huge, too, and he turns on his side, getting comfortable.
He leans in, his muzzle near my ear, and his breath steams my skin. “How’s this?”
“H-how’s what?”
“Are you comfortable?”
I clasp my hands over my blouse, because I’m not sure where else to put them as I lie on my back. “I mean, I don’t have a pillow,” I whisper. “But I’m certain I’ll get used to it.”
“Sit up,” he says, and when I do, he adjusts his large form and then indicates I should lie back down again. I do, and I’m cradled at the curve of his shoulder, resting against him.
Oh. That was…kind.
“Better?” he asks.
My skin prickles with awareness, my nipples tightening against my clothing as I think about last night. About licking . Somehow when I’d imagined our marriage of convenience, I hadn’t factored in pleasure. I thought we’d have sex, of course, but I hadn’t thought beyond that. Now I can’t stop thinking about Hawk touching me again. Hawk and his delightfully strange—and thick—tongue.
A tongue that went all over me. Everywhere.
Mercy, it’s warm in this tent. I tug at my blouse, trying to air my cleavage.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, voice low and secretive.
“No.” I undo the top button on my blouse and pretend that was all I was up to. “Just getting comfortable.” I pull my hair down from its bun as well, tugging free tightly bound strands and fussing with it until my hair spills loose over his arm. “There. See? All comfy now.”
He grunts.
His grunt reminds me that he’s been rather stony all night. Ever since Magpie took charge, Hawk’s demeanor has been downright sour. Does he feel as if he’s been passed over as a teacher? That we don’t need him anymore? I turn and glance up at him, and his mouth is pulled down in what can only be a Taurian frown. “You’ve been acting strange tonight.”
That gets his attention. “Strange?”
“Yes. Dare I say it, disapproving. Like you don’t appreciate that Magpie has returned. That she’s taken charge. Why is that?”
He rears back slightly, studying me. “I’m not disapproving. It’s just…well, I’ve seen her like this before.”
“Like what?”
“Like her old self. Smart. Capable. Attentive.” Hawk shakes his head. “I’ve seen it happen before, when she comes out of the bottle. She’s great for a few days, and then something pisses her off or is difficult, and she reaches for the drink again. Then she’s worse than before. I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”
I gaze up at him, sympathetic. He sounds so glum, and I want to fix this for him, somehow. I wish I could. Sadly, I know he’s right. There was a stable hand back at Honori Hold who drank too much. He’d get fired, only to come crawling back, swearing he’d changed his ways. The “new” changes would last only a few days before he’d turn into a drunk again, and he’d get fired once more. The only reason he got another chance was because his wife was one of the cooks. I remember her crying constantly, her face buried in fistfuls of her apron. How she swore he was a good man when he wasn’t drinking.
It’s just that he was always drinking. I think of Magpie, and it makes me ache with sadness to see my childhood hero like this. That today is likely just a fluke and she’ll go back to being the puking, miserable drunk she was before. “Why do you stay with her if she’s this bad, Hawk? It’s clear everyone in the guild respects you. You could work for the guild masters directly. Work with the archivists. You could substitute in until you found a permanent Five. Anyone would take you. Why are you wasting your time with Magpie? If she’s a lost cause?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, thinking over my question. Then, when he speaks, his voice is soft. “I owe her my life.”
“Go on.” Hawk’s so private that I wonder if he’ll actually tell me.
To my surprise, he doesn’t hesitate. “I grew up in a very poor family. Many Taurians who live outside of the city are impoverished. They farm and grow crops, and that doesn’t exactly bring the wealth the holders have.”
I say nothing. I know all too well that holders have a great deal of coin. Well, usually. The venom in Hawk’s voice makes me pause, though. Such vitriol has a history behind it, and I’m afraid to ask.
“It’s not uncommon for a young Taurian man to leave home the moment he’s old enough to earn coin on his own. I was twelve when I left home.”
“Twelve!” I’m shocked. It’s so very young.
“Aye. I had three brothers and four sisters and there was never enough food to go around. So when I hit the ripe old age of twelve, I set out for Vastwarren to make my fortune. I was young and arrogant and full of myself. It went about as well as you’d expect.”
There’s a hint of amusement in his voice but I can’t even laugh. I just ache, thinking of a twelve-year-old forced to leave his family behind because he wanted to have a full belly. Then there was me, still living at home at thirty and fretting because I didn’t have enough coins for finery. For parties. Meanwhile Hawk was just trying to survive to the next week. I’m a little ashamed of how disparate the fortunes of holders are in comparison to the poor. I know all too well that holders have a ridiculous amount of wealth, and tax their landowners heavily so they can continue to acquire more artifacts to protect what they already have. It’s a vicious cycle, and the moment you fall behind, everything collapses.
Just as my father has had everything collapse around our family.
A knot rises in my throat as Hawk continues. “I showed up at the guild hall and declared myself to be as capable as any students they had here already, and that even though it wasn’t Swansday, I should be allowed to apprentice. They laughed in my face, and when I didn’t give up, they told me if I could beat Osprey at the obstacle course, I would be allowed to join. He beat me handily and all I got for my pride was a public shaming and the realization that I didn’t know what I was going to do for a living. I slept two nights in the gutters before Magpie offered to buy me a drink. Said she felt sorry for me. I followed her home and showed up on her doorstep the next day, asking for work. Any work, no matter how difficult. At first she declined, but I kept showing up, and she started to give me errands. Running things to the guild hall. Grabbing supplies from merchants. Making sure the practice swords stayed sharp. I made a nuisance of myself but I also made sure she saw that I could do the tasks she set for me. She gave me a place to stay, but I wasn’t considered part of the guild. When I was eighteen, I was allowed to join as a fledgling. Her fledgling. I passed my very first testing. Excavated for two years, and then I lost my hand.”
“Lost your hand?” I squint into the darkness, not sure I’ve heard him correctly.
“Yes. I was in the tunnels with my Five. They were idiots, looking back, but I was just happy to have work. Our navigator took us down a wrong turn and a tunnel collapsed over us. My arm was pinned and our healer buried under the rock. The others left us for dead.”
I gasp. “They left you?”
“It was self-preservation,” he says, voice bland. “If they’d have stayed, they’d likely have run out of air or encountered ratlings. They swarm after a tunnel collapse, looking for carrion. But aye, they left us behind. I was there when the healer died, crying out for help until the end. I thought I was a goner, too, that it was just a matter of time. Don’t know how long I was down there, pinned. Two days? Maybe? But then Magpie showed up. She’d heard they’d left me and brought her students down to come and save my arse. Rescued me and carried me out of the tunnels. My hand was crushed, so there was no choice but to amputate it. And just when I thought I couldn’t owe her more, Magpie used her connections to acquire me a hand.” He lifts an arm and flexes it. “A magical limb from Old Prell, grafted to my stump with words of magic.”
I’m shocked. “I didn’t realize you had a false hand.”
“Most don’t. It changes its appearance to match my skin and moves just like a real hand.” He rotates his hand in the air, flexing his fingers, and I can barely make out their outlines in the shadows. “There’s naught but a small line on my lower arm to show where it’s connected, but if you run your fingers over my wrist, you can feel the glyphs carved there.”
It’s a siren call if there ever was one. “May I?”
“Of course.” He extends his arm toward me, his palm open.
Hesitant, I brush my fingers over his hand, wondering what it’ll feel like. I’m not entirely surprised to find that it’s warm, his skin like normal Taurian skin under my touch. Magic, like he said. I trace each finger and then run my hand over his palm. I move lower, encircling his wrist, and sure enough, I can feel the etchings of glyphs as if they’ve been carved into his skin. “That’s incredible.”
“It is. It feels like a real arm, a real hand.” He makes a fist, as if proving to himself that it’s possible. “But because it’s an artifact, it’s expensive. The guild agreed to sell it to me rather than to one of the holders. I suspect it would have been a different story if one of the holders was in need of a right hand, but since I was the only one, it came to me.” He flexes his fingers again. “Now I must pay the guild back for its largess, and to do so, I need students that tithe to Magpie’s nest.”
Of course. Because that’s how guild brokering works. Teachers don’t go into the tunnels, so they’re paid via tithe from graduating students. If no students graduate, there’s no money coming in. No wonder Hawk is so very stressed. Magpie is at risk of losing her job and becoming homeless, and Hawk…well, Hawk could lose his entire hand. “So it’s more important than ever that we get things right. Not just for Magpie, but for you, too.”
“Indeed.”
I reach up and play with his fingers, thinking. There has to be something I can do. Some sort of string I can pull. As a holder’s heir, I’m used to being the one with all the power. People listen to Lady Aspeth Honori. People fear getting on her bad side. But here, I’m just Aspeth who wants to be Sparrow. I’m just another student, and if I interfere, it’ll cause more problems.
Money would solve things. Money would solve things for both of us, but it’s the one thing I don’t have, even with all the power of my family name. I think of my father…and then I think how he would react if he knew I married a Taurian just so I could apprentice. He’d be horrified at both the Taurian and the apprenticing. My father is a holder who believes firmly that grunt work should be left to, well, grunts. Lessers.
I don’t think of Hawk as my lesser, though. If I’m being honest, he’s better than me—and most humans—at absolutely everything he puts his mind to. I don’t think of Magpie, Lark, and the others as lesser, either. Or Gwenna, despite the fact that she was my servant for years prior to coming here. We’ve bonded over the last several days of exercises, helping one another with the ropes that tie us together, or laughing when someone makes a mistake. We share our successes and pick one another up when we fail.
They’re my companions.
My…friends.
I don’t think I’ve had friends before now, and the thought is a sobering one. I know of every family in society, of course. I know which holder’s son is married to which daughter and who lives where and their crests and who tithes to them. I know about them all, and yet I don’t know them. The thought of telling any of them of my guild adventures is utterly terrifying. They wouldn’t understand.
I grew up with the nobility, and yet I’m a stranger to all. Sad.
I continue to toy with Hawk’s large fingers, marveling at the magic that makes it feel as real as flesh and blood. It’s strange. His hand is so warm and so big and yet I wouldn’t know it was magical if he hadn’t told me. It’s fascinating to think of how much he’s overcome. There are sides to him I’m unaware of, pieces I haven’t yet learned. That’s rather exciting. He’s an interesting person, my strange new husband. I tug on one fingertip, wondering how it must have felt to lose a hand and then regain it. “Tell me more about this. What does it feel like? Does it feel different or does it feel like your hand? How does the magic work? Can you do fine movements with the artifact? Is there loss of motion?”
His chest rumbles, and I realize after a moment that he’s laughing quietly, the chuckles vibrating his big body.
“What’s so funny?” I turn and frown up at his form in the darkness. “It’s a legitimate question, and we’re in this business because of artifacts, yes? Why wouldn’t I want to learn more about one that’s attached to you?”
Hawk strokes his magic hand over my belly, his fingers teasing at my blouse. “Do you truly want to know how it feels?”
“Isn’t that what I asked?” I sound breathless and uncertain as he toys with the waistband of my clothing. Is he…?
My breath completely escapes me as his hand slides under my clothes and cups my pussy. One thick finger strokes in the cleft of my sex and I’m shocked to realize I’m already incredibly wet. He circles my clit, teasing it, and whispers in my ear. “Tell me if you think I have good control over my hand, hmm?”
Lips parted, I make a choked sound as he continues to toy with the sensitive flesh. His finger feels scorching hot against my skin, and he moves slowly and maddeningly, each languid circle driving me more and more insane. I look up at him, at his big, strange face, his eyes gleaming in the dark. My hands curl against his chest and I have no words to speak. I can only feel, and feel, and feel.
He adds another finger, and then he’s rubbing back and forth, caressing my clit from both sides. I make a whimpery noise and he leans in closer. “Shhh. You’re supposed to be sleeping, naughty thing.”
I grab double handfuls of his shirt, twisting the fabric as his fingers slip over my slick heat. Gods, I’m so wet. His strokes are just gliding over my skin, and every so often I can hear the wet sound of my pussy, just loud enough for it to fill the tent. I should be horrified, but instead I’m so aroused that it only turns me on more. Panting, I cling to him, trying to keep quiet. The climax builds, and I lean forward, grabbing a mouthful of his shirt and biting down on it to stifle the scream in my throat as my legs jerk and I come, soaking his hand with my release. He keeps rubbing me, whispering my name, until he wrings a second orgasm out of me in quick succession.
“Does that answer your question?” he murmurs in my ear.
I can’t even remember the question.