41. Archer
Archer
“Ileft some hot water for you in the bathing chamber,” Saige tells me as she readies herself for bed. “It’ll be lukewarm at best by now, and there’s no way you’ll fit properly in the tub, but—”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I appreciate the thought.”
Untying her apron and placing it on a hook, she gives me one last glance. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
The bathing chamber is small and simple, but incredibly clean.
Three pails of water are lined up against the wall, and my heart warms at the thought of Saige exerting herself to retrieve them from the well and heating them for me.
She’s left me a clean towel as well. A lump forms in my throat.
I don’t remember the last time someone cared for me like this.
In a lifespan as long as mine, they’re such small touches, but Triad save me, they mean more than I can say.
Peeling off my clothes with a groan, I step into the wooden tub.
Saige was right—I won’t be able to sit down, but pouring the water over myself will do the job.
I tip the first pail over my head slowly, another moan slipping from my lips as the warm water washes over me.
I haven’t bathed in anything other than freezing rivers for several lifetimes, so this feels like the luxury of a hot spring even though the temperature is only tepid.
When I’m soaked, I use the bar of soap Saige has placed beside the basin and the scent of lilacs fills the room.
I’m going to smell like her all day. The thought makes my stomach flip, and my blood rushes south.
Gods, the mortal bookbinder has awakened things in me I thought long dead.
The want is a constant ache now, throbbing thick and hard between my legs.
Lathered in her soap, I take my cock in my fist and squeeze, in the hopes of relieving some of the pent-up tension there.
Triad save me, I’m so tempted to stroke myself, to find some semblance of release.
I’m that on edge it’d be over in five pumps of my hand.
But something stops me. Perhaps I’m sick enough to enjoy the torturous punishment of it.
“Fuck.” My arousal strains against my stomach, but I ignore it, washing the rest of myself with military efficiency, trying to push images of Saige from my mind.
Only when I’ve toweled myself dry, do I realize I’ve left my pack with my clean clothes in the shop.
I can hear the floorboards creaking as Saige moves about upstairs, so I loop the towel around my waist and head out into the main part of the bindery. As I crouch to rifle through my pack though, I spy a title on a nearby shelf that piques my interest—Rare they’d do anything for her,” Yevna says.
But Saige’s gaze maps the new scars on Yevna’s weathered face. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me. Tell them to stay out of it, please?”
“Not a chance, girl. You need all the help you can get. And we all know you won’t ask for it.”
She has a point there, Saige is stubborn like that so I’ve learned.
The bookbinder glances down at the dead rodent on the floor. “Grim, we’ve talked about this.”
“Without my son, you’d have a rat problem as big as everyone else’s in this damn city,” Yevna retorts. But she scratches the mongrel behind the ears. “Come on my love, can’t you tell we’re not wanted here?”
Though the crone and her mutt drive me up the wall, there’s a part of me that enjoys these interactions between the unlikely family unit.
Ten years ago, I watched them from the alley across the street, envious of their closeness, their ease with one another, as they all gathered around the fire to make a toast. The Azkari are gifted immortal lives and yet so many of us fail to achieve that same sense of belonging.
As Saige smiles fondly at Yevna, it punches me in the chest. I want that too.
As they amble towards the door, the older woman calls over her shoulder. “Raven said she’ll be over later. In the meantime, don’t do anything foolish at that damn market.”
Saige laughs. “If that’s not the pot calling the—”
“There’s only one color for a kettle and you know it’s not black,” Yevna counters, the door swinging closed behind her and Grim.
When I turn back to Saige, she’s looking at me strangely. “What?”
“You’re smiling,” she declares.
“No, I’m not.”
“Are too, General. Keep that up and people might actually think you want to talk to them.”
“I assure you, I don’t. Now, are we leaving or what?”