Chapter 22 Wren
When I wake the next morning, there’s a tub of cream on the spot by the table that has become mine.
“What’s this?” I ask.
Cassiel rises groggily from the bed. “You are going to have to be more specific.”
I lift the lid. It’s a golden, buttery colour and smells of roses. “It’s a tub of cream.”
“Ah, yes. That’s for you. Hand cream. If you’re going to be touching me, you ought to at least have soft skin…”
“I…!” I want to be more annoyed than I am, but the truth of the matter is that this stuff smells amazing and I want to bathe in it. “I’m not going to be touching you!”
“All right. Give it back.”
“...No.”
Cassiel laughs, lifting himself from the bed and sitting down at the table. He smirks to himself.
“How did you get this so quickly, anyway?”
“Prince perks,” he says.
Regardless of what he said about not wanting me to touch him with rough skin, I know he’s gifting me this for my benefit alone.
I think about his appointment tomorrow with Lady Lunarta, and how I tried to get Dain to teach me how to tie a cravat.
There’s probably dozens of people here who could help him with that, but I feel this sudden urge to make sure that it’s me.
Befriend him, comes my grandmother’s voice.
“Might I be permitted to seek out Ser Hollowbrook this morning?” I ask him. “I promise you it’s related to my duties.”
Cassiel purses his lips for a moment. “By all means,” he says. His words are cordial, but his tone is not.
I decide not to press it. “Should I have someone sit here with you whilst I’m away—”
“I can manage being by myself, Thornvale. No assassin is going to reach me here.”
The irony stings in a way that it shouldn’t.
We take a silent breakfast together after Anne arrives with the tray.
I write a note for her to take to the Queen, informing her that I’ll be away from my post momentarily, just in case.
I figure she’ll be more forgiving than Fellwood, and if needs be, I don’t mind explaining to her that I was learning how to tie her son’s cravat.
She’ll probably think that’s a nice idea.
Dain is where I expect him to be: at the practice yard, overseeing a group of young squires as they run through their drills. He catches sight of me almost immediately, though he doesn’t break his stance, arms crossed as he surveys the training.
“Thornvale,” he greets. “Come to cross swords with me?”
“I’d rather not embarrass you in front of your recruits.”
He chuckles, stepping away from the group and motioning for them to continue. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I really need to learn how to tie a cravat properly.” I pull out one of Cassiel’s out of my sleeve that I’ve borrowed for the lesson. “Please?”
Dain smiles. “Sure.”
He tells the squires to run a few laps of the yard, and we move to a shaded alcove at the edge of the yard. I hand over the cravat. Dain takes it, inspecting the fabric with mock solemnity before looping it around his own neck. “Pay close attention, Thornvale. This is an art.”
He makes a slow, deliberate knot, exaggerating the movements as he narrates each step. When he finishes, he undoes it and hands the cravat back to me. “Now you try.”
I mimic his motions, though the fabric twists awkwardly in my hands. Dain watches with barely concealed amusement. “You’re overthinking it. Here—” He steps closer, his fingers brushing against mine as he adjusts my grip. “Looser here. Don’t strangle the poor man.”
I scoff. “He’d deserve it.”
Dain chuckles. “Would he now?”
He lets me try again, correcting my movements with a light touch at my wrist or a nudge at my fingers. Eventually, I manage something that looks passable.
“Not bad,” he concedes. “Though I hope he isn’t expecting anything too elaborate. I wouldn’t trust you with a waterfall knot just yet.”
I give him a flat look. “He’s lucky to have me at all.”
“That he is.” Dain tilts his head, studying me. “I take it this means you’ll be dressing him tomorrow?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He grins. “Oh, but it is. You should see the way he looks at you.”
“He doesn’t ‘look’ at anything,” I remind him.
Dain only smirks. “Talks about you, then. When you’re away. How he looks whenever you cross his mind.”
It’s foolish to care what Cassiel’s said about me—and even more foolish to ask. I refuse to give into the impulse. Instead, I fold the cravat and tuck it back into my pocket. “Thank you, Ser Hollowbrook. You’ve been... adequate.”
“A glowing review,” he says dryly. “Anytime, Ser Thornvale.”
I shake my head and turn away, but I don’t miss the way his grin lingers as I walk off.
Cassiel is still sitting at the window when I return. He’s fiddling with the book of poetry he had me read to him last night.
“Did you have fun with Ser Hollowbrook?” he asks.
“‘Fun’ wasn’t the point,” I tell him.
“Are you going to explain what you were doing with him?”
“I will not.” Mostly because I’m embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know how to tie a cravat.
“What if I order you to?”
“Then I will lose respect for you.”
“You respect me? Colour me surprised.”
My attention turns to the book in his hands. “Are you reading?”
“Don’t be stupid,” he says, and then flings the book in my direction. “I want you to read to me. Have to improve your provincial education.”
“Please, Wren,” I mimic, “won’t you be so kind as to read to me? I would dearly love for you to use our time together to improve upon your education, which was doubtless not as varied or substantial as mine, due to no fault of your own—”
“Yes, yes, everything you said,” Cassiel murmurs.
“Say it.”
“Say what—”
“You know what.”
He purses his lips. “Please, Wren. I should like you to read to me.”
I grin at him, flouncing into position. “Very well. What should I read?”
“Start at the beginning,” he instructs. “And don’t rush.”
I crack open the first page.
“Be gentle with the spines!”
“How do you even—it’s a book!”
“Yes, and I can hear it screaming out in agony. Be gentle with it, Thornvale.”
I sigh, and adjust my hold. I read the first poem deliberately slowly.
Cassiel kicks me under the table, only my legs are crossed underneath me, and he only catches the chair. “Do it properly.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, my liege. See, I only have a provincial education, and—”
“I’m sorry, all right?” he says. “I’ll never insult your education again.”
I believe that he means it, but I also believe he’ll probably forget at some point and insult me again.
Still, I give him the benefit of the doubt.
I re-read the poem at a steady pace. When it’s done, he offers no commentary, no criticism.
I move onto the next one. It’s a sentimental piece about lost love that makes me want to vomit.
Cassiel seems enraptured. The third poem is more my style—a slightly mocking poem called Ode to a Hedgehog.
I’m halfway through the book before Cassiel speaks again.
“I liked reading,” he admits, face still turned towards the window.
“I gathered that.”
“I… nearly threw them out after I lost my sight. Even now, holding them… I hate that it’s just paper in my hands. I know what’s inside them, but I can’t access it. It’s like banging at the walls of a dungeon, not expecting to be released.”
I suddenly feel bad for my deliberately poor reading. “I’ll read better in future.”
“You read well.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“I’m merely inspired by the literature. I could probably summon another if you keep reading.”
I smile at him, not adverse to the idea of more compliments, even though I probably should be. “All right.”
By the time the day ends, I’ve finished the book.
Cassiel has me reread a few of the choice poems, committing them to memory.
He seems to half know most of them already.
There’s a particular way he likes them to be spoken, with the emphasis on certain words or phrases.
Someone has read them aloud to him before.
I think I know who, but I don’t really want to ask.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asks me abruptly.
“Umm, come again?”
“You asked me earlier. I realised I didn’t ask you back. So, have you ever—”
“No,” I say quickly.
“Oh.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Well, I know I like to tease you, Thornvale, but…” His cheeks pinken.
“Go on.”
“I always… well, I rather thought… Now, this is entirely based on other people’s reports but…” He swallows. “I rather had the opinion that you were considered rather attractive, and your personality is not entirely unpleasant.”
A coy smile slides across my cheeks, unbidden but not unwanted. “You think I’m desirable.”
“I think other people think you’re attractive and other people have lower standards than me.”
I kick his chair. “Yes,” I tell him, “I am attractive, and yes, I’ve had… dalliances. But nothing of note.”
I can count the number of lovers I’ve had on one hand, but I can’t remember all of their names. I’ve never had anything I’d wanted to be anything other than temporary.
“I see.”
Dain knocks on the door to inform us he’s taking over.
Ordinarily, Dain’s arrival heralds my departure if I’m not already safely installed in my room by then, though it’s been weeks since I’ve spent much time in there outside of night time.
Cassiel’s room is nicer, and his presence isn’t as repugnant as it once was.
My fingers tremble in recollection of smearing ointment on his chest yesterday. Sadly, I don’t think I can describe any part of Cassiel as repugnant, however much I might wish to.
“Well,” I say to Cassiel, “good night, then.”
I turn towards my door. The ghost of a touch appears at my elbow, then vanishes. Cassiel stays in his seat. He doesn’t go to bed ridiculously early anymore, nor does he linger for hours in bed.
“Are you tired?” he asks.
“No, not remotely.”
“You… you can stay here, if you wish.”