Chapter Eleven #2
“You’d think so. You’re so big, and…” Jem’s eyes flicked down over Cador’s body. “What I mean is, you—I would have thought you’d make more noise.” Clearing his throat, he motioned to the forest. “I heard some birds, but I can’t spot them.”
“Just go closer.”
Jem glanced between Cador and the trees. “It’s so dark in there. Even in daylight. Granted, it’s cloudy again, but…” He peered into the gloom.
Cador laughed and opened his mouth to ask why Jem was so skittish, but bit off his words. He’d grown up in these woods, but he looked into the shadows now, putting himself in Jem’s boots. Perhaps this forest would seem dark and daunting.
Instead of his jest, he said, “There’s no danger.”
Jem shot him a skeptical glance. “I’m not sure our definition of ‘danger’ is the same.”
“Perhaps not.” He chuckled. “Let’s say there’s little danger. Provided you stay well clear of the boars and don’t lose your way and—all right, there’s some danger.”
“That is precisely why I’ll stay on this side.”
Cador almost said that Jem shouldn’t worry—that he’d protect him. That he had nothing to fear in the forest’s depths or anywhere else if Cador was with him. Yet that was a lie, and that growing, vexing shame held his tongue.
Jem squinted up into the trees from the safety of the clearing, moving around the circle as Cador rubbed down Massen. Cador asked, “Shall I teach you to ride? I’m sure I’ll do a better job than Austol.”
After giving him a quizzical look, Jem shook his head. “Massen is far too big. I’d rather go back to Nessa if I can.” He turned to peer into the trees once more.
Clearly his fear of the forest was why Jem had ventured no farther and hadn’t returned to Rusk for more lessons. Cador opened his mouth to offer to take him, but snapped it shut as he thought of Austol and Jem sprawled together on the barn floor.
Not that he gave a shit. But if Jem wanted inferior lessons from Austol, he could walk into Rusk himself. Cador was far too busy. Jem could do as he pleased.
Soon enough, Jem won’t be able to do as he pleases at all. For how long? Until the end of the war? What if it drags on? What if it all goes horribly wrong?
Boxing up that growing concern and slamming down the lid, Cador went inside and stripped off his tunic. A strange little noise reached his ears, and he stilled, glancing around the room. Nothing moved in the flickering firelight.
Squeak !
Ah, of course it was coming from the nest. He shouldn’t touch the delicate bird. Jem would be furious if he hurt it. More than that, he’d be heartbroken. No, Cador should just let it be.
Yet he tiptoed closer, his mud-caked boots squelching.
When he peered into the bundle of Jem’s red cloak, now with the addition of twigs and moss, Cador exclaimed aloud.
The bird was already bigger, its gray blob of a body sprouting a few feeble yellow feathers.
It trembled and squeaked again. Was it hungry?
Thirsty? Ill? In pain? If Cador picked it up, he’d surely crush it without meaning to.
Squeak!
The sparse feathers shook as the tiny creature whimpered. Its eyes were closed. What had Jem named it? That’s right—Derwa. Ridiculous name for a bird that wouldn’t even survive. Beak agape, she cried for food.
Well, if he didn’t feed her, she’d never shut up, would she? Jem had dug up fresh worms, so Cador plucked one from a box and wiped away any clinging dirt. The worm wriggled, and he forced aside his hesitation. If Jem could eat them, so could he. He’d never get any peace otherwise.
Holding his breath, he shoved the worm into his mouth and chewed. Don’t swallow! Don’t swallow! The squirming sensation in his mouth almost had him gagging, and he spat the crushed worm into his palm with a loud curse. He only tasted dirt and sludgy flesh, but it was disgusting.
Why did he even care if the hatchling went hungry? If Jem was so keen on saving her, he shouldn’t be neglectful—although to be fair, he’d spent countless hours tending her. Another cry filled the air, and Cador sighed. He’d already chewed the worm, so he might as well feed it to her.
His fingers were huge in comparison to the mouth of the hatchling, but he managed to drop the mush into that ravenous maw. “That’s it,” he murmured.
It was only the current of chilled air on his bare torso that alerted Cador he was no longer alone.
Now it was his turn to be surprised, feeling oddly embarrassed as he turned to find Jem in the doorway watching him.
Cador jumped to his feet as if he’d been caught smothering the creature rather than feeding her.
“She was making too much noise.”
“It’s what they do, really.” Jem smiled softly.
“I fed her not an hour ago, but she’ll beg for it all day.
She’ll be ready to perch soon enough if askells are like dillywigs.
It’s remarkable how quickly they go from trembling lumps to scruffy feathers to being ready to fly.
I’m not sure how to keep her safe without an aviary though. ”
“What is that exactly?” Cador pulled on a clean tunic and removed his boots.
“A large outdoor room, I suppose you could say. Big enough for the birds to take little flights as they gather strength, but secure enough to keep them protected from predators. I can walk ten paces in mine back home.”
“Hmm. What is it made of?”
“Iron and wood.” He chuckled. “Like a little prison, I suppose. But it’s for their safety.” Jem turned that pretty smile on Cador. “Thank you for feeding Derwa.”
“It was nothing,” he said, then quickly added, “It was only so she’d shut up.” He needed to rinse the worm from his mouth and strode to the pantry, a nook built into the cottage wall.
He poured ale into his tankard and gulped before setting about baking flatbread from the hardy grain farmed on Ergh. He often traded boar for goats’ butter that he couldn’t be bothered churning himself, but he couldn’t traipse into Rusk daily for his food.
The bread was easy to make, and Cador enjoyed kneading the dark flour with an egg and butter into dough. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Jem’s attention had wandered from the nest.
In fact, his gaze was trained on Cador’s hands as Cador kneaded the dough on the battered tabletop, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. The marriage brand on his left hand had healed, the small bird’s wings spreading from the base of his thumb in a diagonal flight across his palm.
“Haven’t you seen someone make bread before?” Cador asked.
Jem whipped his head down to the nest. His voice was thin. “No, actually. Especially not a mighty hunter.”
Cador shrugged and kept kneading. After a long day of pursuit and being on guard, he enjoyed the simple movements of forming the bread, spreading his fingers and working the cubes of butter until it was even. When he was satisfied, he rolled the dough into a ball.
He kept the baking stones on the side of the hearth, and Jem scurried out of the way as he approached. Cador didn’t know what had spooked him—he thought they were growing accustomed to each other. What the fuck was the problem now?
Suddenly vexed, he barked, “What is it?”
“Nothing!” Jem fidgeted, cradling the nest and avoiding Cador’s gaze.
Cador positioned the stones and stoked the fire, tossing on more logs and jabbing at the smoldering ashes with an iron rod. He wasn’t sure why he was so on edge. But they had to live together for months, and he wasn’t going to tiptoe around his own home.
Perhaps he should offer to find a place for him in Rusk after all.
It would be easier for both of them. If Jem was lonely, that was his problem—Cador wasn’t his damn nursemaid.
He didn’t have to worry about him not knowing how to ride or sleeping on the hearth when there was a perfectly good bed not ten steps away.
Yet no words reached his stubborn tongue.
Soon, the scent of baking bread filled the cottage, and Jem tentatively said, “That smells incredible.”
It shouldn’t have pleased Cador so much, but he couldn’t hide a smile before shrugging. “It’s nothing. Everyone in Ergh can make this bread.”
“Would you… Will you show me how?”
Cador hid his surprise with another shrug. “If you want.” He could easily eat a loaf on his own, so making more wouldn’t go to waste.
He used the same wooden bowl, measuring out the flour by rote and adding salt. “Roll up your sleeves,” he told Jem. Jem did as he was told, exposing his lean forearms, dark hair scattered over his brown skin.
Again, Jem was a good student, creating a well in the flour and adding the egg, cubing the butter with a knife, then kneading it all together.
Jem asked, “Is this right?” after Cador had fallen into silence, watching Jem’s hands work the dough. The branded tusks on his right palm curved up toward the base of his fingers. They disappeared into the dough and then reappeared.
“Don’t be afraid to be rough with it.” Cador stepped close behind, reaching around him to guide his hands. He spread Jem’s fingers, working his own between them, pushing the butter evenly through the dough.
Jem nodded, his curls bouncing. Cador was struck by the mad urge to dip his head and rub his cheek against that glossy hair. Jem’s slim hands felt soft compared to Cador’s calluses and scars, yet were surprisingly strong.
Although he was far too small, there was something pleasing about the way he tucked against Cador’s body. In fact, Jem seemed just the right height to bend over the table, his feet flat on the floor so he could relax his torso over the wood.
He could turn his head and rest his cheek on the worn pine, pliable as he let Cador open him with fingers and tongue.
He’d be comfortable as he gave himself, as Cador offered him hard thrusts and sweet pleasure, the stoked fire building as he tangled his fingers in Jem’s hair and buried himself in that lithe body, coaxing cries from his sweet mouth—