Chapter Eight
Vonetta
We make our start early, rising before the sun.
The tension between the three of us is calm today, less awkward, I think.
I do feel more at ease and in command of myself than I have these last weeks.
The expectations of trials are there, but peripheral right now.
I’m more focused on our current destination, Lora.
Lora is a small village just outside of Nanburrow Forest, and when we break from the trees, the scent of farmland and smoke-filled chimneys is comforting.
My aching limbs remain, but the trek through the rugged forest occupied me from my occasional worries about the trial.
I was also busy watching my companions, my husbands move through the obstacles of fallen trees and rocky terrain.
Wren is lean and lithe for a man who spends most of his time in a library, and would be more so if he weren’t so focused on his map. Not that his focus was misplaced, he guides us well, and we make good time.
Chiron’s strength and understanding of the land were well used and complementary to Wren’s planning, knowing where to avoid certain paths and always ready to steady us over tricky elements. I do my best to keep pace with them and mostly succeed. If I held them back at all, they didn’t show it.
When we reach Lora, we stop at the first home we meet and are directed to a barn just east of there by a well-wishing farmer. It is small, more cabin than a barn, really. There is a large straw bed in the center and a small washroom off the back.
A worn but inviting armchair sits next to the modest fireplace.
A tall stack of wood sits beside it, and a pantry stocked with a few goods next to that.
We can easily make a stew for our meal this afternoon.
Overall, this place is a welcome respite from the cave from our first night and camping on the forest floor this past night.
We eat our lunch in quiet companionship, and Wren helps me clean up afterwards.
Chiron suggests we take to the tavern in the evening, and he receives no disagreement from Wren or me. I’ve never been to a tavern, but I have read about them.
We arrive at our destination quickly, and one thing is clear to us all—this may be a small village, but they know who we are exactly.
Chiron takes on his charming demeanor again, as if his circlet rests on his head, the moment someone else addresses him.
He is stately but jovial, the ideal image of a prince.
We are seated at the back of the pub, at a thick wooden table with a bench across the back and a small stool at the front.
I move to sit at the bench, and Chiron takes my cloak, draping it over the bench next to me.
“Oh, thank you. I can manage, though,” I say, uneasy from all of the attention on us. He directs that pleasing smile at me now, and my cheeks heat under its glow.
“It is no trouble, Vonetta. Wren, sit, please. I will get us all an ale and order supper.”
He walks back to the long bar and speaks to the proprietor.
Wren is quiet; this is his natural state, I think. But his unease here doesn’t seem much different than my own. I’ve never been in a building bursting with this many people. I’ve only had this many eyes on me once, and I wasn’t really in a position to feel them then.
The room is large but still very packed in. The tables are close together, and the room is warm from all of the bodies. People are crammed into every corner, conversing and eating together.
When Chiron returns with mugs of amber liquid, we both thank him and take a small drink. I am used to the rich taste of wine, but this is tangy and dark and sends heat down my throat and into my belly. It’s not unpleasant, but it is unfamiliar. They both look at me with amusement now.
“What?” I ask them, wiping at my face and inspecting my tunic for spills. Chiron laughs a little, breathy and rich. Wren uses his hand to hide his smile, but he fails, and it’s a lovely thing.
“You clearly didn’t agree with that. Have you never had ale before?” Chiron asks me, taking a long drink of his own mug. I am amused too, so I respond in kind.
“I haven’t, we don’t exactly have a wealth of distilleries around the Isle, do we?” He nods back at me, and I know he understood that. I turn to Wren and his soft smiles.
“Surely, you haven’t either?” I ask him. Wren squints his eyes up, like he’s deciding on something before he speaks.
“Actually, I have. I have only been on the Isle of Men for about ten years, and I am thirty now.”
I restrain my jaw now, else it drops open in surprise.
I never knew; I hadn’t asked. I inspect Wren’s face closely now, but he doesn’t hide from my scrutiny.
He has the faintest creases next to his eyes and a few barely there lines on his forehead that I have seen when he concentrates, but for the most part, his skin is clear and free of sun spots.
Wren appears no older than I. The scruff at his neck and chin that shadows his jaw is light and still just as sandy as his hair.
“I just assumed you were closer in age to Chiron and me. I’m twenty-five years old, to the best of my knowledge. A child of autumn, birthed near the last harvest.” Wren’s gone shy under my gaze now and shakes his head. Chiron takes this moment to chime in, pulling my eyes back to him.
“I’m twenty-seven, my name day just passed with the equinox of Spring. Netta, you’re the baby of us all then. Green as a girl, they say?” His tone is mischievous, most like that first morning than it has been since, and it doesn’t fail to amuse. I scoff at him.
“Likely as green as you are, Prince.” Taking another drink from my mug, using great restraint to not make a face as I stare him down.
I can tell Chiron appreciated the saccharin drawl I say Prince with because his smile is wide, and he rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger.
His eyes are dark, amused, and something else…
I cannot name it, but I can feel the shift between us.
His eyes remain on me for a long time, and I do not dislike the attention. Wren remains quiet, taking in the room and Chiron and I.
We eat a rich stew with crusty, warm bread; it’s the best meal I’ve had, maybe ever. On the Isle, I keep my fare light, drinking mostly water from the mirror and eating fruits, vegetables, and the occasional grain. It’s the diet of most of the sisters, to aid the sight and to preserve our animals.
We share more drinks, and Chiron regales us with tales of the Kingdom. He is a natural storyteller, and onlookers smile upon us and take heed of his contagiously good humor.
When we finally leave the tavern, it is very late in the night.
I am warm, and everything is a little fuzzy at the edges.
But I feel well…I feel lighter. I walk between them now and appreciate the support we give because we all stumble down the dirt path in the dark.
When we make it back to the cabin, we are laughing and silly, because we must be a sight to behold.
“The bumbling royals, their first night out,” Wren says, good humored and far, far less gracefully than he normally speaks. It is sweet to see him like this, both of them.
We take turns using the washroom, and I take this rare opportunity to let my tresses out of their pinned braids.
They fall down the middle of my back and the tension at the back of my neck, I didn’t even notice, releases.
Chiron has built up a fire when I finish grooming, and Wren is perched in the armchair, his ever-present journal in hand.
I smile at that, you can take the scholar out of the library, but…
Chiron watches me now from the doorway, his eyes are full of something again, and yes…
yes. He is admiring me in truth. I return his gaze equally, allowing him to look his fill and taking my own time to really look at him.
He is leaning in the doorway, arms across his chest, the ties loose, and his shoulders and neck well defined.
His hands are sculpted with shadowy veins, and his arms are dusted with dark hair. He is…very pleasing to look at.
I turn and fall back onto the bed, and the softness is magnificent.
Chiron joins me, and we continue to chat lightly into the night.
Sometimes, Wren chimes in, and we are all very agreeable.
The feeling of the ale has worn off, but the comfort and levity of the night remains.
Chiron and I are turned towards each other now, and a question is poised on his face; I can see it clearly—the slight hesitation there. I am just brave enough to answer it.
“You have something you’d like to ask me, Sir?” I add at the end of it, letting amusement hum in the invitation.
It’s well met, and Chiron’s face softens to me, leaning forward onto his elbow and much closer to me.
“I was just thinking about the Rite. You….” He ends on a whisper, once again unsure of continuing his words. I am intrigued, because I, too, have been thinking about the Rite, after it— in the cave. So I lean forward too, mirroring his position and whisper,
“What of it?” We are close now, I can feel his warm breath on my cheeks. The heat of it simmers on my skin pleasantly.
“When they bound us together that night, something changed…for you. Didn’t it?
You enjoyed it?” His voice is so soft now; there is no judgment in his question, but there is something else.
Something I still cannot name, so I don’t try to.
I think back to that night, this part of it is blurry and fragmented, like a vision on the surface of the pool.
But I answer honestly because I know he knows the answer to his question.
“Yes. I enjoyed it. It felt like floating.” I realize something now, the way he is looking at me, the tender expression is not just amusement or interest. His eyes are filled with fascination, heat.
“And after…” He begins, moving perceptibly closer now. I do not flinch or move away from his advance.
“When we touched, in the cave. I wanted…I wanted…more.” His admittance comes out breathless, pulled from his mouth by a force unseen.
He does not take it back; he is not surprised.
He is asking me something. I shudder in a breath when I respond, confirming for myself the feeling that has simmered in me this night.
After the ritual, things were still foggy; the mist shrouding my conscious mind was thick, but it did not influence me in a way I did not want. I wanted. I want now.
“I did as well. I do.” That is all the confirmation Chiron required. When his lips press to mine, they are still gentle, asking for permission from me. I give it, pressing closer and parting them for his admittance as my eyes close.
His mouth is hot and searching, the tingling zapping through my entire body and into my toes. Chiron leans forward into me, our chests grazing. His hand presses to my shoulder, and slides down the length of my arm as his tongue tastes the seam of my lips.
He rests his hand at the supple curve of my waist, giving it a light squeeze that sends a soft moan from his lips. It vibrates in my own mouth, and the heat in my belly turns to a fire.
I was taught to honor the desire in me as I see fit, so when Chiron’s lips leave mine and trail tender and hungry kisses down my neck, I consider this.
I’m facing toward the fire, and Wren is there.
No longer writing in his book, but watching our kiss with restrained interest. He is hungry too, but he is too reserved to ask for it.
His eyes on me, on us, feeds the fire in me.
I could let this take over, but I am too much in my mind to give over to my body right now.
This, us. We are not a night of companionship; we are bound.
This moment means more to the realm than what I feel right now.
Chiron’s lips fade away from my skin as he, too, realizes what I have seen and turns toward him. Wren doesn’t look away; he doesn’t show embarrassment, just his quiet interest. I smile at him. I suspect Chiron is smiling too, because Wren nods at us both and goes back to the book.
“We should sleep,” I say, looking at Chiron, whose heat has banked as well. Not gone, just not quite ready, I think.
He nods his agreement and presses a light kiss to my cheek, a promise of something more than friendship here. I roll onto my side, away from Chiron, as we have slept these last two nights. He lies behind me, skin hot, his hand moves over my waist, and I cannot suppress the smile I feel.
When I close my eyes, I can see Wren watching Chiron and me explore each other’s mouths. His hunger was breathtaking. Both of these men are so breathtaking. The ale must still be in my blood, because even the events of this night cannot stop sleep when it takes me.