Chapter 54
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
AUDREY
“Should a suitor be found worthy of such, he may, with the blessing of your father, commence courting your family. This will involve spending time with your father and brothers, where you have them, as well as your suitor taking you to visit public attractions, such as gardens. If you attend a ball, attend with your father and brother, and visit with your suitor there.” ~ Etiquette in Arcanloc
I drifted in and out of sleep, first because I was too uncomfortable, and then because my brain kept popping strange thoughts into my head, or my dreams did, or because I was worried. I knew I slept, because I didn’t remember when he’d put his arm around me.
The stone had been our last hope. Or my last hope. Mayhap there was hope for others.
Lying on my side made the points of my body in contact with the thin mattress hurt so much, I wondered if I mightn’t have broken something. I’d probably make it back to La’Angi, but it was just a matter of time now.
I’d often thought about how much Chay must regret swearing that oath. Now I wondered if he felt like he chose the right option, between my father and I.
I wasn’t going to ask. I’d never trust his answer. He told me off for being polite, but he didn’t always say what he was thinking. None of us did.
Anyway, I wasn’t sure that I really wanted to know if time with me and death might be better, or worse, than time with my father and life.
Selfishly, I was glad he’d chosen as he had. But I’d never tell him that. I wanted him to be back in Raider’s Ban with that sandy-haired man who told me the enemy of my enemy was my friend, who had made Chay smile and come to his aid.
But he was good and fair. He was easy to be with. He was trustworthy. He heard me. And he asked good questions.
I wanted to keep him.
The way his heart had drummed, and his breath had rasped in and out of his lungs as I sank into the void would stick with me forever. That heartbeat, and the heat of him, had held it back.
The fire popped, and he sighed in his sleep, tugging me closer to his chest and nestling his face into my hair.
The sweetness was so complete it made me ache in a different way to the plague, like I was too full, and it had to escape.
I was probably going to die in the next week. I probably needed to see to Isolde. She wouldn’t make it, if I wasn’t able to bank the fires. I couldn’t ask anyone else to.
Chay would. Thomas would. But I didn’t want that for them.
I’d known I would need to address the issue once I’d realized I was sick. But I’d selfishly postponed that conversation for just a little while longer.
I must’ve dozed again because when I woke, the fire was low, and the coals were scattered amongst ash. The wood wasn’t good enough to create a lot of coals or burn for long, but it kept the cold at bay.
Outside of the blankets, I wondered if mayhap it wasn’t Chay who did that, because the cabin felt icy. Quickly I banked it again and went to return, only to see I’d woken my personal furnace.
He lifted the blanket, and it was the most natural thing in the world to ease back into that spot. But though he settled the covers over us, he didn’t put his arm over me, and even stayed a small distance away.
I was confident that he didn’t despise my presence. I felt too horrible to worry too much. So I asked, “Where’s your arm?” I realized that wasn’t all the information, so I added, “Before, it was around me. I just wanted to know if you didn’t want to do that anymore, or if it wasn’t comfortable, or what other considerations I may have overlooked.” All the other things I probably should’ve explained spun through my head, but I didn’t say them because I already had enough regret.
“Do you want my hug?” he asked, and the question stirred the hair over my ear. Heat rolled through me. It would’ve been a lot less awkward if it was because his breath was hot.
I tried to sift through the possible directions this conversation could go, depending on answers. There were no good options, of course. Because I’d opened my mouth without knowing what was happening.
“When you’re offered something, is yes or no harder to say?” he asked me.
“It depends on the situation,” I said, relieved there was an easy answer, finally.
“Someone’s offering you affection,” he said.
My head ached. “It still depends. Will I be punished for saying no, overtly or covertly?”
He sounded sad when he said, “No.”
I didn’t believe him, and wasn’t that a strange thing to realize?
Partly to ease the ache in my hip and partly so he stopped breathing into my ear, I turned onto my back, but then I had to figure out what to do with my hands. “What of you?” I asked him, deciding to clasp them on my belly. They sat there awkwardly.
He rubbed sleep out of his eyes. “Yes is harder,” he said around a yawn. “Not by much nowadays.”
“Why?” I asked as he shifted to prop his head up on his elbow. I’d had Isolde in my ear since the start telling me I was allowed to say no. “Why is yes hard?”
“Lots of reasons,” he replied around a half-muffled yawn. “Enjoying affection is giving someone leverage over you. It can be taken away as punishment or quoted as a favor they’ve done you. It can be held up like a cube of sugar.” My heart ached, and he just yawned again, blinking. “Then there’s the back-of-your-brain worry you don’t really deserve it, that they’ll flee once they understand who you are or what you’re doing.”
I struggled to draw in breath. He’d summarized it so easily.
“Haven’t felt that way myself for a long time,” he said, settling in. “But I understand why some might.” And he looked at me, not waiting for confirmation or denial, just simply stating facts. “Kadan was probably the first safe person I met.”
“And I took you from him.” The words were out before I could snatch them back.
He let out a breath. “I chose hope,” he said quietly. “Over doom or death, I chose hope. I chose you.” Tears sprang into my eyes, and I looked away, my full heart aching in my chest. The reality was he’d ended up with death and doom. “This isn’t how any of it was supposed to go,” he said quietly. “But I’m glad this beekeeper built his home here, and I’m glad you’re here with me. I like this bed the best of any I’ve slept in since I arrived here.”
Desperately, I grabbed for the offered distraction in his words, knuckling away tears and trying not to unsettle the blankets in the process. “We haven’t slept enough. I ought to let you rest.”
“Quality, Embers, not quantity.” He shifted a little more. “Can I put my arm around you?” I nodded and then lay still as he did exactly that, no more or less. Exhausted, sick, and far too vulnerable, I shut my eyes to give myself some time to sort through the messy whirlwind inside myself.
“I’m going to point out that if there is something you want from me, tonight’s probably an excellent time to ask for it,” Chay said, the words soft in the darkness.
I’d already reasoned my way to that conclusion, but I’d also circled back to the thought that once he’d been a little boy who’d been made to feel like kindness was a danger. I wanted to lean into him and not entirely for warmth. He didn’t seem to mind, so I closed the tiny gap between us, my heart aching.
I knew that child. I tucked my head in beneath his, surrounded by his warmth. “I’m glad you found Kadan.”
“I’m glad you found Isolde,” he said without hesitation, and there went any shred of doubt that he knew exactly how relevant all his comments were. “I haven’t seen much kindness from her, but she’s always got your back.”
The thought of kindness didn’t match well with Isolde. The kindness she showed wasn’t what the Wife had taught us it ought to be. She’d sacrifice, but not without limitations. She’d encourage, but not without pointing out flaws, sometimes at length. Her softness was a limited resource.
And perhaps that was why it felt authentic. Because I could trust her to never follow unthinkingly.
“It might’ve been Luca,” I said into the quiet. “For me.” I shook my head, though, because he wasn’t safe. Not properly. “When I was eleven, I went to Raa’shi to marry him. Obviously that didn’t happen, but I still attended a number of parties and feasts.” I looked above me and saw the line of his jaw, his eyes on the fire, his expression intent. “I had to dance with him at one of them, and I didn’t know the dance. They’d cleared the floor. It was in front of everyone.” I felt the echoes of that shame years later. I’d stood there, holding his hand, and felt like someone else steered my skin while I screamed inside. “He told me to stand on his feet. It was the first kind thing I can remember. That sounds ungrateful, and it isn’t supposed to.”
“It sounds like what it is, which is sad,” he told me. “I’m glad he did that.”
“For years,” I said on a bit of a laugh, “I thought it was the most romantic thing in the world. He’d saved me, in that moment. But then, when I was about his age, we had a delegation from the Citadel attend, including a young cousin of the prince they’d been flaunting under my father’s nose. I thought of that child, standing up in front of all the adults, being humiliated, and I would’ve done the same thing. For a child I didn’t know and probably wouldn’t even like, I would’ve done the same.”
Chay let out a long breath. “Yeah. It does sound like he gave you some basic decency.”
My heart twisted at his tone. I couldn’t figure out what it meant, but it wasn’t the easy give and take from before. “My apologies. I know he’s your friend.”
“Acquaintance,” Chay said without hesitation. “Ally, certainly. But friend?” He lifted his hand, wavering it back and forth. “I did hear about that time, though, that you went to Raa’shi. He caused quite the stir at court. Apparently, the basic decency of not marrying an eleven-year-old was shocking.”
I hated to recall my own disappointment. My life might’ve been better, had Luca been around. But I didn’t want to be shackled to him. “I owe him.”
Chay let out a small, hard laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far. For someone who’s sworn you a Blood Oath, I haven’t seen much of him.”
Shock rippled through me. I shifted away. “He told you that?” I asked, which was ridiculous because obviously he had. “He told you about treason, and you’re his acquaintance ?”
“He and Kadan are close,” Chay told me, a little uncomfortable. “Luca thinks they’re very close. If you know what I mean.”
“Oh.” My head ached. Isolde was right about Luca, but it was what it was. “You and Isolde should compare notes someday.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. He looked down at me, humor sparking in his eyes. “I expect I’d agree with many of her observations.” Then, “What does she say about me?”
He was a brave man to ask such a question. I dug through my mind but couldn’t recall very much. “That you’re not a total liability,” I said slowly. It might’ve been the highest praise she’d given any man.
He looked pleasantly surprised. “I’d take that to the merchant’s guild.”
That wasn’t the response I’d expected, but for some reason it made affection sweep through me. She would’ve been amused for a moment to hear him say such, then gone about her day. It was just lovely to feel like he saw us.
I had to unclasp my hands and unsettle the covers to reach up and run the pads of my fingers over the short hairs on his jaw. He shut his eyes. I was so close I could feel the slight change in his heartbeat.
He could say no. He’d told me so. It was yes that was hard, right?
Beneath my hand, he remained unmoving. He hadn’t been this still when I’d had a knife to his throat all those moons ago.
Whether the stubble on his jaw was classified as a beard yet or not, I was unsure, but the roughness of it made shivers climb up my spine. It rasped against my skin in a soft but spiky way when I smoothed my fingers one way, and gave way entirely when I ran them back the other. It made me feel like my insides were liquid. His jaw had been shadowed when we’d met in the orchard, too. But I hadn’t felt it then.
“I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d run into each other and become friends,” I said, thinking out loud.
Before I could explain what I meant, his lips curved. “This, I expect.” His eyes had opened, a fact that made my thoughts scatter. His hand had tightened over my waist. As his weight shifted, I brought my knee up and was gripping his shirt before I realized what I was doing.
He’d frozen, his expression one of worry. “Are you okay?” he asked, paused at an awkward angle, leaning somewhat over me, vulnerable to however I wished to ragdoll him.
“My apologies.” I released him, my fingers groaning from the tension I’d put them under.
He shook his head a little. “Should I not kiss you? Just to be clear, you understand.”
My head spun. I looked up at him, aware of the skewed blankets between us at the same time as I was feeling the heat from his body and thinking about how that beard might feel against my face. He hated politeness and valued honesty. Unsure how my face ought to be arranged, I studied the way his gambeson was tied closed and the way it felt brushing against my belly where it hung ever so slightly away from his. How had he worn his hair before? I could barely picture it now. It was longer. Floppy, against his forehead and the collar of his shirt. Waves of it had picked up in the breeze and drank in the sun.
“You probably shouldn’t,” I said, trying to breathe. “But I’d be glad if you did.” It’d be much faster and more sensible to go up and under his gambeson to feel if his skin elsewhere was as soft as it was on his cheek. Even as a thrill went through me at this idea, my belly twisted with fear. “Wait.” I put a hand between us out of reflex again, and he stopped.
Was he doing this out of duty?
He couldn’t refuse me.
The thought made me feel sick. He’d said he was most comfortable saying no, but could he say no to me, regardless of his comfort level?
“What’s wrong?” he asked me.
I tried to figure out whether he’d be breaching his oath or not. It was entirely possible he’d know that rejecting my advances, however clumsy, would have hurt. “It’ll hurt me a lot more if you kiss me out of duty than if you tell me you’d rather not. In case your oath is guiding your decision-making.”
His lips curved in a smile, and his weight settled over me like my favorite combination of blankets. The warmth of his breath stirred the air beside my ear, and my body lit up from toe to brow.
“Noted.” I closed my eyes, better to feel the gentle brush of the tip of his nose against the outside of my ear, frozen so as not to end the sensations. “You want to know what’s guiding my decision-making?”
A thrill raced up my spine. Without moving my head, I felt his lips brush against my lobe. His cheek skimmed gently against my jaw, and I couldn’t help but turn into him, just a little, and rub myself against him. “Yes.” That was the right answer. The responsible answer.
He rubbed back, pressing his lips to my temple, quick kisses that dipped once more to my ear. The blankets were far too hot. Why had I banked the fire so high? Could I escape the covers without making him move? If not, I’d just die of heat and be glad of it. His lips closed over my earlobe, and my attention focused almost entirely on that small part of my body as I drank in the sensation.
“I want you to burn for me, Embers.” The words were cold against the dampness of my skin and coiled in the valleys of my ear, seeping slowly into my brain.
I had to swallow before I could manage, “I think I’m on the way.”
His laughter was silent, but I could feel him shaking, the curve of his lips, the quick exhales. “We’ll see.” His nose brushed against the point where my jaw met my neck, and I didn’t know what to do. I’d thought he’d kiss me, and mayhap we’d shed clothes and?—
His fingers skimmed my cheek. I breathed deeply, and he cradled my jaw as his lips skimmed inexorably toward mine. The brush of his thumb distracted me from the occasional rasp of his beard against me. I stayed frozen, waiting for more.
His lips were warm on mine, surprisingly soft. I reached up and fanned my fingers over his cheeks, running the pads of my fingers and palms against the short hairs. The combination of soft lips and biting stubble was almost the perfect balance of sensation, and I struggled to breathe, drunk on the feelings coursing through me. The heat was there, still, and the hunger, but that exquisite balance of just so was what consumed my will to move ever again.
When he eased away, the tip of his nose touching the side of mine and his breaths quick, I felt like an arrow drooping away from its notch and the unskilled fingers that might otherwise hold it. I tugged him back down, and he came gladly, his hand between us tugging away the blankets, sending them tumbling to the side.
The rush of cold air against me wasn’t enough. The bite of his teeth on my bottom lip was jarring. I held him tighter to me, the balance broken, hungry, and wanting to know all of the sensations now so I could better choose the right ones, in the right combination.
His hand tangled in my skirts. He hadn’t known formal skirts from everyday ones. I suspected he’d know how to get into them under normal circumstances, but I’d layered cautiously. He wasn’t getting in without an axe and a map.
His teeth scraped against my neck, and the world felt blurry and far away. I wanted it to go even further away. If it never returned, that would be fine.
I need to move. But I didn’t want to move. I felt his hand searching through my skirts, and it made me think of myself, my whole life, searching to make it work. And still he kissed, nibbled, and breathed, and I ached the sweetest ache. I need to move. His hand coiled around my thigh, right above my knee. It filled his hand, but he gripped me as best he could, breathing like we’d been sparring forever. Breathing like we could continue sparring forever. I parted my legs, and he notched between them, pressed in as close as he could get. Did he feel the way I burned for him?
Was it his lips that begged entry, or mine that begged to be explored? I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. The world went quiet as his tongue dove deep into my mouth and his body pressed against mine. Sparks flew up my limbs and set fires in my body.
He got my skirts up. I could feel the coolness of the air filtering through my many-layered, stockinged legs and it was like bliss. But his hasty, hungry fingers couldn’t find how I’d tucked them into cautious layers.
I wasn’t ready to die. But I was quite content to live.
A slight turn was all I needed for him to break away and lean back. My eyes popped open. I tracked him because he was all that was real. Chay, his movements, his touches, the hungry heat in my blood.
There weren’t extra words to explain, but I didn’t need to. He got out of the way while I wrestled with my clothing, his eyes on me as he stripped off his own layers. The quick movements of his body were like some sort of dance I didn’t know the steps to, but I didn’t need to follow. I could lie back, untangling myself absently, my attention on the slide and ripple of muscle in his shoulders, and the way the light played over his skin.
He took off his boots. It was real, then.
I didn’t stop, though. No one would ever know because we’d never tell them.
Chay knelt before the tangle of clothes I was slowly working through, his expression one of intense focus.
There were many words I could use to describe Chay. Untrustworthy wasn’t one of them.
I took in the sight of him before me. An old, faded scar went from the base of his neck across his chest. One of his biceps was puckered at two points where he’d taken arrows. One of his thighs bore a fresher mark, not yet silvered, both wide and puckered. The spots on either side of it showed where his skin had been sewn up.
I wanted to know every story behind every mark.
As I watched, he started rolling up his shirt in a bundle, then layered his gambeson on, too. One of my nails caught on a thread of my stocking and I carefully removed it, but returned my attention to his quick, sure hands as he tightened his belt around the round bundle.
I didn't ask. It was a good size for a pillow, I supposed, though the density of it didn't appeal to me. It was set aside, anyway, as he helped ease one of the freed layers of hose from my body, stopping down near my knees.
I liked the look he cast my boots, full of frustration yet resigned to their necessity. I liked it, but I disagreed with it. Using one toe, I set to work on removing a boot, and he was right there helping me, easing them away from my feet that ached at the protective leather exposing them to the cold.
He'd warm me. I knew he would.
Strong hands coached cloth down my legs, trailing his fingers over my calves and dipping into the valley at the back of my knee and again at the base of my feet.I saw his cock in the shadow between his thighs, hard and ready for me.
What texture would it be? How would it feel in my hand or against my skin? The questions weren’t new, but knowing I could have answers momentarily made my head spin, and my fingers hurried to separate the ties of my clothing.
And when the layers grew thinner, his hands lingered longer, his eyes tracking the movement of my hands closely. Tension coiled in my limbs, tightening with every moment of waiting.
The idea of him pouncing on me the moment he saw skin made sparks flurry along my limbs, but he held himself still, poised to assist.
Words clamored in my head, but my tongue wouldn't work. Suddenly, the sound of the wind outside was loud in the boughs of the apple trees, and all I could smell was dust and smoke.
His fingers were on my bare skin, finally, but the sudden unease didn't settle until the last item was removed, leaving me bare from the waist down bar the laces that dangled.
When he came close enough, I slid my hands up his arms. He was cold to the touch and let me pull him into me, arranging the covers over us.
I wanted to warn him against the chill, but when his lips met mine again, slow and lingering, they were warm. And if his thighs were cold, I couldn't tell.
"Do you have a pregnancy charm?" he asked me.
I nodded. It was at the keep, because why would I have brought such an item? But it would work fine even in a number of days.
He went to ask me something else. Something serious. I could see it coming from the darkness in his gaze and the depression between his brows.But I didn’t want serious. I had serious baked into my existence, howling at the door, and pumping through my veins. I could feel its aching claws in my skin.
Making sure he had time to withdraw, I took his face again and tugged him back to me, wrapping my legs around his waist. His breath caught, and I traced his lips the way he’d done to mine.
He rumbled something that wasn’t quite words and flexed against me. I closed my eyes and soaked in the sensations again, the feel of the fine hairs on his thighs and the weight of him holding me securely, the rasp of his stubble, and the warmth of his kisses. But I couldn’t feel his cock.
Reassurances crowded my throat and buzzed through my brain like angry bees. Don’t worry about me, I wanted to tell him, around his sweet and salty kisses. I could choke you in five different ways with less than that many moves. I could break either of your elbows before you knew you were in danger. I didn’t know if that would set him at ease. I won’t ask you to lie for me. But he might need to, at least by omission, if we somehow lived long enough for it to matter.
Breathing quickly, he rested his forehead against mine, his hand skimming down my throat, stroking at the skin above the neck of my overdress.
By way of answer, I ran my hands down his chest, over the firm muscles and smooth skin interspersed with the occasional patch of hair. I wanted to linger and explore the length of it, the texture and density, but I could feel his questions bubbling, and I didn’t want to identify the right words.
He went very still against me as my hands bypassed his hips, following the vee of muscle without lingering overly long. I’m sure it was all nice, and I’d enjoy it all soon. But I needed to know.
The first thing I noticed was the resilience of the shaft and the way it sat in my palm, like a well-balanced knife. But his skin was softer than the most buttery leather grip, and the shape of it didn’t match a hilt. The way the skin moved over the top of his flesh was strange. And when I ran my fingers over the wonderfully soft, round tip he sucked in a breath.
A quick glance told me that he wasn’t in pain, so I settled back and continued with my perusal, keeping my touch feather light as I explored the curve of him, the strange ridge at the base, the little lip around the tip, then the weight of his balls.
I kept returning to the soft glide of that skin, though. The way it shifted and slid given the firmness of his cock was the strangest contrast, and it surprised me how much I enjoyed it.
“Can I return the favor?” he asked me, the words low.
There was no way his hand would comfortably fit between us. I grasped his hips instead, settling him between my thighs.
He made a noise of amusement or something similar, kissing the corner of my mouth and twisting away. My belly ached. “I didn’t mean you had to stop,” he said, but his thigh pressed firmly into the apex of my thighs, and the words stopped making sense.
I knew he talked to me, and vague impressions came through. Amusement, joy, and sweetness. But it was the sensations that filled me up. The bite of his stubble against my cheek, the still-quick pants of warm air against my ear, the tickle of his hair against my forehead. His hand seared my skin as it skimmed down my body, brushing against my breast. I’d’ve sworn to the One I could feel the back of his knuckles through half a dozen layers. I arched up, but his teeth just scraped against my lobe, making the air thick and entirely unnecessary. But it was his hand closing over my cunt that shut down my mind.
The weight of him. The warmth. The teasing of his finger and the grind of his palm. If I’d moved, I would’ve fallen apart. So I stayed stock-still, his hips still held firmly in my hands, struggling to suck in air. Brief, deep pressure, then he was stroking me from the inside and pressing down on my clit all at once.
“Breathe, Embers,” he said, and the words clawed up my legs and nestled into my cunt. “Good fires need air.”
I drew it in deeply, the heat soaking deep into my bones. The world was quiet, though I could hear us both breathing quickly. I wanted to cut off my remaining clothes and feel his touch on my breasts. I wanted to throw my legs wide and drag him to me. Instead, I stayed still, dazed by the sensations rushing through me.
He nudged in a little closer, and I felt added pressure inside me. I flexed around his finger, and he breathed in quickly, turning his face toward mine.
There was nothing quite so well-timed as his tongue thrusting into my mouth as his hand thrust into me. It was the gasp of his breath over my wet lips and the hungry way he dived back in for more that finally sent me tumbling over the edge, clinging to him as the sensations overtook me, ripping through me in waves that drowned everything out.
And when I could see again, when I could breathe, he was still right there above me, his hand still inside me.
Very much real.
Gently, like I was made of freshly blown glass, he eased his hand from inside me. “There you go,” he murmured, and as I gazed up at him, the world was still quiet. His smile was soft and full of shared joy as he pressed a kiss to my cheek, lingering there and making my breath catch. “Now you’re ready to burn.”