Chapter Nine
A ll meekness vanished, Jem barged right into the cottage. Who did he think he was? Although Cador had to admit he preferred the show of spirit and purpose over Jem’s sad huddle in the ship’s belly during that endless fucking voyage.
It had gnawed at him, although even Delen had said he should leave Jem be. But Jem hadn’t been a prisoner yet, and it’d been maddening that he’d acted like one. It had scraped at Cador like rusty nails, his guilt festering.
Besides, what if Jem had taken ill and died because he couldn’t be bothered to get fresh air? Cador couldn’t have that. They needed him alive. At least until the time came. But even then… If everyone cooperated, there would be no need for Jem to die.
Pushing all of that aside and locking it away, Cador strode after Jem now, torn between going to the goats bleating at the fence of their pen and finding out what Jem was going to do with those suffering birds. Curiosity won.
On the stone hearth by the wide fireplace, Jem crouched, holding a log from the stack. He placed it on the iron grate, then gazed around the hearth. “How do you light it?”
“You’ve never sparked your own fire, little prince?” He should have guessed.
“It’s not usually cold enough for a fire.
Only once in a while, and yes, a servant lit them for me.
” The bundled nest sat at Jem’s side, and he peered in seriously, a faint screeching coming from within.
Eyes on the birds, he asked, “Can you please light a fire for me? It feels just as cold in here as outside.”
Cador gritted his teeth. Of course it fucking did—he’d been gone for weeks. It wasn’t some failing on his part or Ergh’s. Who did this spoiled brat think he was to criticize? This was Cador’s home, and Jem would end up sleeping in the stable if he didn’t watch it.
The birds cried pitifully.
Muttering under his breath, Cador stomped to the fireplace.
“Move!” he ordered, bending to build the fire.
He set the logs, added kindling from a box tucked against the chimney’s base, then grabbed his flint stone, childishly satisfied when Jem gasped at the shower of sparks and scurried out of the way, cradling the nest.
Kneeling, Cador blew steadily on the tinder, flames soon licking at the logs stacked in just the right way for a fire to burn steadily for hours once it took hold.
He couldn’t remember not knowing how to build a fire.
Not knowing how to ride or fuck or even create warmth—what a strange existence Jem had.
He likely couldn’t cook either. What was he capable of?
Did he really know how to nurse the birds?
“Thank you,” Jem said.
Cador grunted, teasing and prodding the kindling. “Why do you care about these doomed creatures?”
“Because no one else will.”
Cador thought of the rocking ship, Jem pressing on his wrist, easing his suffering when others only mocked it.
“Are there worms in the earth?” Jem asked.
“Worms? Yes.” What the fuck did worms have to do with anything?
“Can you fetch me some, please?”
Jem bent over the nest on the hearth at Cador’s side, fussing and murmuring. Fetch him some worms? Since when did Cador take orders? He surely didn’t from this little prince.
Yet the trembling askells cried, and Cador soon found himself outside the cottage, eyeing the mud. He hadn’t dug up worms since he was a boy. He clawed at the thawing ground until he had a writhing fistful.
By the flickering fire, Jem knelt with the nest. Cador stalked over and dropped the worms on the hearth.
He stood back, waiting to see how Jem would get these birds to eat worms twice their size when they hadn’t even opened their eyes and were clearly doomed.
Cador should have done the merciful thing when he’d had the chance. He should have—
He had to choke down a startled shout when Jem plucked a wriggling worm from the stone floor, wiped dirt from it, and popped it straight into his mouth.
“What the fuck!” Cador gawked as Jem chewed patiently, then spat the mushed remains of the worm into his palm. He pinched a small portion between his fingers and dropped it into the gaping beaks of the birds one after the other.
Gaze glued to the shaking, crying babies, Jem merely said, “They must eat. If these askells are anything like dillywigs on the mainland, this is the way.”
“You just ate a live worm.” He’d have thought this prim boy would shy away from touching a dirty, wriggling worm, let alone putting it in his mouth. But to save the birds, it was apparently needed, and Jem had done it efficiently and calmly, focused solely on the welfare of the orphaned creatures.
He thought again of the patient press of Jem’s fingers against his wrist on the ship. That trick had somehow worked to calm Cador’s heaving stomach. Perhaps the worms would work miracles too.
“I masticated a live worm into a pulp. I didn’t swallow it.” Jem gave him a curious look. “I wouldn’t have thought you squeamish.”
“I’m not!” Although as Jem calmly popped another wriggling worm into his mouth, Cador had to admit he was more comfortable with blood and guts than that.
He strode off to see to Massen and greet the other animals before Jem could ask him to help with the worm-chewing. Massen grazed lazily. A fresh chorus of bleats from the goats made Cador smile, the chickens squawking excitedly.
Cador opened the gate to the large pen that took up most of his clearing. The goats butted him, the chickens racing in circles. He petted the goats and laughed as Massen neared. “Getting jealous?” Cador asked.
His closest neighbor, who was still some distance away, had cared for the animals in Cador’s absence. They all looked well, but Cador stayed, scratching and petting the goats and clucking to the chickens.
After a time, his skin prickled with the sensation of being watched. He looked back to find Jem in the cottage doorway, his arms crossed over his thin blue shirt. When he said nothing, Cador asked, “Do you need more worms?”
Jem shook his head.
“Then what?”
“Oh, I just…” He seemed to struggle for words. “I was going to ask you for some water.”
The youngest goat nudged Cador’s hand, and Cador absently scratched its ears. “Then don’t just stand there.”
But Jem didn’t move, instead nodding at the animals. “They like you.”
He scoffed. “They like the food I give them.” He looked down at the ugly goats.
They baaed contentedly, sticking near to him.
Because he killed boars to eat didn’t mean he had to be cruel to other animals.
The chickens laid eggs that filled his belly, and the goats’ milk quenched his thirst. Why should these beasts not be happy?
He felt oddly as if he’d been caught out. Bryok had often sneered that he was too soft to be a hunter. But he loved the thrill of it and was grateful to the boars that were Ergh’s lifeblood. Although now they knew the boars weren’t enough…
“I’ve no experience with farm animals. They seem friendly.”
“They are. As long as you know how to handle them. Goats will happily bite if you surprise them.”
Jem nodded, and after a few moments of peering curiously at the animals asked, “Would you show me?”
He couldn’t see the harm in it. “All right.”
“Thank you.” Jem shivered, rubbing his arms through the thin shirt.
Cador grumbled. “You’ll need warmer clothes. Those Southern fabrics are useless here except during the height of summer. They’ll deliver your trunk in the morning, but I’m sure that won’t do any good.”
Jem shrugged glumly. “My books are gone. There’s not much else in there.”
An uncomfortable twist of shame squeezed Cador’s insides. Jem was still mourning the loss of his books? That trunk was far too heavy! Why should Cador feel guilty for putting the good of the horses and the traveling party ahead of a spoiled prince used to getting his way? He shouldn’t.
But perhaps someone had collected the books and brought them to Neuvella? Jem might have them again one day.
If he survives.
That nagging thought stalked Cador’s mind. There was no reason for Jem to die. Tas said he’d be returned safely. Eventually. Minus his hand.
Cador shifted restlessly. It’d been easier to doom the Neuvellan prince to kidnapping and maiming when he’d been a faceless stranger who only existed to play his unwitting role in sparking war.
“How will I pay for new clothes?” Jem frowned. “I have no coin.”
“How do you get things in Neuvella?”
Jem shifted, his gaze on his boots. “Ask for them.”
“Naturally.” Cador shook his head, reaching for the familiar resentment for mainlanders he’d been taught all of his days. “Well, don’t worry. We share and trade here. I’ll take care of it.”
Jem looked up from under his thick lashes, quietly saying, “Thank you.” His eyes really were striking.
“I’m stuck with you, so I can’t have you freezing. Your teeth chattering will drive me mad. Get back inside!” He forced the reminders through his head.
Lazy little prince! Useless! He doesn’t matter! Only Ergh matters.
After settling Massen in the small stable beyond the chicken coop, Cador went about his chores, welcoming the distraction.
He’d built his cottage from stone and the trees he’d felled to create the circular clearing.
Bryok hadn’t understood why Cador didn’t want a bigger house in Rusk, in a place of honor as befitting a child of the chieftain.
Both Bryok and Delen had built homes with multiple rooms, but Cador was satisfied with his one-room cottage for now. It was far enough from others for peace, but close enough not to be lonely. If he did marry one day and have children, he’d build on and carve out more of his clearing.
Standing at the well’s pump filling his bucket, Cador faltered, splashing icy liquid over his hands.
He was married. Which he knew—of course he did.
He had a foolish bird burned into his palm, didn’t he?
He’d never cared to marry and knew love was a fool’s game.
So why should he care now? Why should an odd hollowness haunt him?