Chapter Eleven Kian
Adela asks me to take her home, and I do not hesitate.
She looks so fragile, so defeated, so different from the confident, bold woman who joyously rode a unicorn across unseasonably wintery fields, took her pleasure from me, and then the very next day led the most successful matching ceremony in recent history.
I put my shoulder under her arm and hold her tight, making her lean on me. We cross the village in the direction she points out.
I breathe in Adela’s soft floral scent and murmur calming nothingness into her hair. The phoenix skull wants to nurture her, to protect and comfort her. And while I am no sort of caregiver, I find myself wanting the same.
There is a sort of buzzing sensation where her body connects to mine, and I can’t tell where my own pull to her stops and where the phoenix’s begins. I wish I disliked it more than I do.
But she is fiery and vigorous and more enticing than anyone ought to be. I have no space for depth or constancy, but part of me wants to keep her close. Forever.
Surely that compulsion is the phoenix.
I shiver and scour my mind for something, anything, else to think about.
In the distance, there are snow-dusted fields waiting for spring thaw. And beyond them, the forest where my aunt, Ivo, and whoever is with them, wait.
Right.
Perhaps that’s where I should be focused—on the whole reason I’m in this valley to begin with. I need to make my way to my aunt. It’s been two days, and she’s surely growing impatient, but there hasn’t been a chance yet.
The phoenix throws images of Adela and me fucking in the pantry.
Okay, there’s been a chance or two and I let myself be distracted. But I’ll make my way to my family. Later tonight. I’ll get back on track.
We crunch across the frozen grass, and I consider how unjust it is that the valley has all of the magical creatures and none of the advantages of magic.
“In Insborough, there are gardens that grow fruit and vegetables all year round, regardless of the weather. There are lemon trees and blueberry bushes thriving while snow accumulates along the gardens’ fences.”
“Oh.” It’s a simple sound, but full of awe, with a touch of sadness. “How lovely it sounds. I wish I could see it.”
Of course she can’t. Keepers are kept inside their magical, dying valley just like the rest of us are kept out. They don’t know the path through the wards, and trying to leave would mean death or dismemberment, just like it does for those trying to enter.
The phoenix sends a certainty that he will stay with his mate. Perhaps he’s right. Now that she wears a phoenix skull, her future might be different. Moments like the one in the pantry could happen again, and again, and again.
The phoenix flares with joy, but I shove the sensations away sharply. Whether she stays in the valley or leaves, whether she stays matcher or pursues some other future now that she wears a creature skull, she is not mine to want.
Nor would she consent to be, if she knew who I truly am. How I desire to destroy the valley’s skulls and rob her friends and family of their security. She would loathe me.
After just a few minutes, we’re at her door. I release her. I should go. I think of my aunt and whoever she has with her, waiting in the cold forest.
She sways. I cannot leave. “May I help you into bed?”
She gives a small, exhausted nod.
Inside, I help her remove her cloak, hanging it on the hook beside the door, and have her lean on me up the steep, narrow stairs.
“Bath or bed?” I ask. She’s clearly exhausted, but she’s also filthy, covered in dirt and oil and blood.
She hesitates.
“I can help or give you space,” I offer. “With either.”
“Help. Bath,” she says softly, and points down the hall.
A large copper tub with running water and supplies to heat it sits in the middle of a bathroom. She leans against the wall while I lather soap under the running water to create bubbles. Once it’s finished heating, I gesture to it.
In one quick movement, too fast for me to even turn away and provide her a modicum of privacy, she reaches down, grabs the hem of her shirt, and strips it off.
I’m a lecher for wishing she were fully naked, but a thin chemise still covers her. Not that I need to see her skin to marvel at her beauty.
“Help,” she says, her voice small and pathetic, and I snap my eyes away from ogling the poor, exhausted woman’s tits to find her stuck with her shirt around her head. Or, more specifically, around the phoenix skull.
I half cough, half guffaw in surprise, then spring to action, trying to unhook her newly attached beak and ease it and the rest of her head through the shirt’s neckline.
It’s too big, and after a few minutes of trying it this way and that, I finally rip the shirt down the back seam and get her free. Then I help her with the rest.
I manage to ignore my loud, base instincts to soak in the lushness of her body and focus on assisting as she climbs into the bath.
I kneel behind her on the floor and begin to gently undo her braids. I should hurry. Go to the forest. But I move slowly, enjoying the way her silken hair feels in my fingers.
“Do you have cousins?” I ask, thinking of Ivo.
“No. My parents were both only children.” Her voice is a little wistful when she says, “I always wanted a big family.”
“I have twenty-seven cousins on my mom’s side.”
She gasps. “I didn’t think families came that big. Were you close?”
“Still are.” I find a comb and brush through her wavy strands, finding any snarls. “They live in Insborough, so I’m able to see them frequently.”
More frequently than is smart sometimes, sneaking away to provide information on where the order leaders will be and when, or targets for stealing precious objects.
She sinks a little deeper into the water.
“I’ll wash your hair for you.” I take the soap, lathering it in my hands and scrub her scalp, especially along the edge of the phoenix skull, then rinse. I repeat the steps twice to get the blood and dirt out.
“What do you do together?” she asks in a sleepy voice as I help her rinse the second time. She says it as if she’s asked me to tell her a bedtime story, and so I do. Half to distract myself from the intimacy of it all. And how much I like it.
“One of our favorite things to do as a family is play games. A family favorite is Dupe the Dud. Do you know it?”
She shakes her head.
“It’s a vicious game. Most of the players are on the same team and blindfolded. The others are working to put a ball in a goal. The blindfolded players aren’t allowed to move from their designated spots, but they have sticks that they can use to hit the ball.”
“Sounds fairly straightforward. What makes it vicious?”
“My family.” I laugh. “Especially when the littlest ones play. They don’t have any regard for how much power they’re capable of yet, so they don’t hold back when they swing their sticks, even if they’re more likely to connect with your shins than the ball.”
“Sounds treacherous.” Her tone is teasing.
“I have actual scars from this game. It’s brutal.” I stand and move around the tub, lifting my robes. I like the way her eyes, even while clearly exhausted, take in my legs. I flex my calves as I bend down and point to a couple of white scars.
She inhales deeply, clearly enjoying my obvious display. I like the way she watches. The way I clearly affect her. As she affects me.
Even her freckled shoulders sticking out of the sudsy water turn me on.
I focus on the scars.
“This one is from Cousin Ava, and this one from another cousin, Jaxa. She was only six when she did that. I swear it bled for a week.”
“If it did, you needed sutures.”
“I had them!”
Her smile is like a shooting star, a brilliant, delightful brightness, and I move back to my place behind her so I don’t stand gaping at the beauty of her.
“The tenderhearted girl cried for about a week,” I say as I lightly oil the ends of her hair, to prevent future snarls. “Because she hurt me.”
“It sounds perfect.” Her voice is thick with sleepiness, so I don’t respond with words. I take a cloth and wash her face, trying to be gentle with the self-inflicted wounds.
I think of how gently Ulric washed my back, which oddly doesn’t hurt at the moment.
But I push Ulric from my mind. I cannot face thoughts of him right now.
Of how I failed to reciprocate his kindness when we were together, of the ways I might have to use him in order to obtain the dragon fire I need to destroy the skulls.
Or perhaps he won’t come into play at all, if I can figure out the magic of the phoenix in time. If it is anywhere near as powerful as I suspect it might be.
When Adela’s fully clean and fairly prune-like from soaking in the water, I stand her up and dry her off, wrapping her in a large towel.
The intimacy of it all leaves me feeling raw, exposed, but she needs help and I’m not a monster.
I comb through her hair once again and then put it in a simple braid so it’s out of her way as she sleeps.
She directs me to her room, which is tiny, with a simple, narrow bed.
There’s a trunk at its foot covered in various pieces of gilded bone jewelry and a small table with a pitcher, basin, and wavy mirror.
In the corner sits an armoire so old and rickety that it looks as if it’s barely able to hold up Adela as she leans against it, her eyes closed, either in pain or exhaustion.
“Why’s your room so sad?” I tease. All I can focus on is her narrow bed. All I want is to climb in with her and hold her. Teasing is safer. “My guest space is bigger and nicer than this, and I thought that was rather pathetic when I first arrived.”
“We live simpler lives than those in the Huntress’s service.” A wry smile curves her lips below the phoenix skull’s edge. “And have fewer bed partners to entertain than your lot typically does during your visits.”
I like seeing her smile, the way it erases a tiny bit of the pain from her eyes. I plop down on the bed and bounce. It releases a loud squeak, then another when I jump again. “How do you entertain any bed partners with that racket?”
“I do alright.”
“Of course you do.” My voice is huskier than I expect, thick with want. I look her up and down. She’s beautiful and kind and powerful. Who wouldn’t want her attentions? “With a bit of lubrication, you might eliminate the wrong squeaks and increase the right kind.”
She blushes, as if she can read my carnal thoughts.
I can see the flush roll down her neck and onto her chest. I’ve embarrassed her with my interest, but she doesn’t turn away.
She’s considering. But then she gives her head a little shake.
Her voice is playful but distant when she says, “Lubricant. Got it. Tip top of my priority list. As soon as I sleep.”
With an unbothered shrug, I get her dressed in warm clothes and rub an ointment that smells of lemon verbena into the tender skin of her face around the edge of the phoenix skull. She flinches and sucks her teeth, and I feel a sharp pang of worry from my phoenix.
When she is rested and feeling up to it, we’ll have to discuss all of this.
Our matching skulls. The emotions they send through us.
The draw to each other. What it means, and most important, how we get rid of it.
I cannot mortally wound a religious order if I get a jolt of concern every time Adela stubs her toe.
But that’s a conversation for another day.
She crawls up to the head of her bed, where she collapses on the pillow and does not move. I wrestle the covers from under her, then pull them up to her chin, like I used to wish my parents could do for me after they died.
I was too old to be tucked in, but I still wanted the comfort of being put to bed.
“Thank you,” she mumbles.
If only I could do more. I hate that she has to sleep with the hard shell of the phoenix’s skull attached to her face. It can’t be comfortable. Mine is currently resting too hard on the bridge of my nose, and a handful of hairs have gotten caught in the tie, pulling whenever I turn my head.
“Stay.”
There’s no question at the end of that one, simple word and yet it is not a command.
It’s a request. And I find myself longing to meet it.
Maybe because the phoenix is elated to be so close to his mate.
He wants to touch her, to reassure himself that they are both here after their long, silent sleep.
Maybe for my own reasons that I can’t quite define.
Either way, I can’t. Of course I can’t. I need to go traipse through the dragon-infested woods to find my family. Make sure everyone is safe. Figure out a new plan to destroy the skulls that avoids harming Ulric.
But she reaches out a hand from under the covers and takes hold of me. Her eyes are still closed, in the twilight between wakefulness and sleep. I wait a moment then try to disentangle myself, causing her to whimper.
With something between resignation and elation, I carefully remove the skull and shift to push it up atop the small table, propped against the pitcher and basin.
I lie down beside her, on top of the covers, my ass half-hanging off the narrow bed, and hold absolutely still so I don’t disturb her.
I intend to stay only long enough to see her firmly cross the threshold of sleep and then leave.
Her breathing grows heavy and steady. Before I know what’s happening, I follow her into sweet oblivion.