CHAPTER 39 MAX
W hen Cory comes back into the living chamber, his hair is askew and his clothes are rumpled. His lips are red and a little swollen –and he smells like sex.
I glance at Port to see him already looking at me, wide-eyed. Bedding Mili in our host’s cottage seems ... bold. Still, I understand the compulsion. It’s hard for any of us to have self-control around Milica. I know that painfully well; my anxieties around hurting her or upsetting her are reaching a fever pitch, and my desire to sleep with her is getting hard to suppress.
Before I realize it, my face is flushed from the thought, and Port raises an amused eyebrow as he stares at me. I blush harder under his scrutiny –nobody can read me like Port can.
“Er ... how is Mili?” I ask Cory, praying for anything to distract me from my carnal thoughts.
Cory’s eyes soften, almost imperceptibly, and he shrugs. “I think she’s alright. She still seemed a little worried when I left her. She was twitching in her sleep as if she’s having vivid dreams.”
“We’ll make her a poultice,” Chrysthinia interjects.
I almost jump –for all my assassin’s instincts, I didn’t detect them entering. Port seems equally shocked; this wizard must be very stealthy. I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so concerned they were able to slip into the living chamber undetected.
Port coughs awkwardly and asks, “What poultice do you recommend?”
Chrysthinia rolls their eyes. “A calming one, of course.”
Despite myself, I smirk at their little snark. A person after my own heart , I think.
“Max,” Chrysthinia barks, interrupting my thoughts. “You’ll help me.”
I arch an eyebrow. “I’m not experienced in magick, you know.”
Chrysthinia smirks, as though they expected as much. “Well, clearly not – but you’re the support of the group, are you not?”
“What?” I ask. How are they so perceptive?
“In combat,” they deadpan. “I’m sure you prefer to hold back and assist your team. You’re probably an archer, aren’t you?” I nod, somewhat speechless. “Well, don’t you think you ought to know some basic healing, hm?”
Again, I nod, and Chrysthinia nods back, expressionless. Then they turn around and hustle into the small kitchen. I close my jaw, which has fallen open in disbelief, and turn to Port and Cory.
“Read you like a book,” Cory shrugs.
I snarl halfheartedly at him and storm off into the kitchen, hearing Port laugh brightly behind me. I’m not used to being noticed in this way, so I’m thrown completely off-kilter. Who is this wizard to tell me who I am, anyway? A spark of defiance lights up in my chest, and I frown as I follow them. I’ll help with the poultice, but they don’t get to order me around.
When I enter the kitchen, I have to stoop to avoid the low ceiling. Chrysthinia slides a tiny stool over to me, and I sit gingerly on it, praying it won’t splinter beneath me.
“It’s a good stool, don’t be so gentle,” Chrysthinia barks out.
I nod, despite my previous decision not to let them boss me around, and settle myself more comfortably on the seat. Chrysthinia nods, unsmiling, and turns to a massive armoire. When they open it, I see it’s been repurposed as a magick cupboard; there are shelves upon shelves of boxes, jars, and sachets filled with herbs, strange brews, and stones.
My eyes land on a decanter of dark amber glass, and my head falls to the side as a strange sensation comes over me – like being called to. I glance over at Chrysthinia as they size me up, smirking approvingly at me.
“Grab it, then,” they order.
I roll my eyes, but walk to the shelf and take the decanter off. Chrysthinia hums, apparently satisfied with my selection, and turns again to me with an unreadable expression on their face. It unsettles me – I’m a perceptive person, it’s how I survive. Meeting someone who turns that on its head is disarming, to say the least.
“What are you thinking?” I blurt out, annoyance coloring my words.
Chrysthinia smiles knowingly. “You’ve got a little magick. Strange you committed to combat – forgive me if I’m mistaken – when you’ve got a knack for this sort of thing.”
“I don’t have a knack for anything magickal, I just got lucky.”
They humph and wave my words away. “What else do we need, hm?”
They’re apparently content to ignore what I’ve said, so I have no choice but to see if I can figure out what else we need for the poultice. My lips purse as I take in the massive armoire of materials, and I wait for something to call out to me.
Nothing does, and I grunt in frustration. “I don’t know what else we need,” I sigh.
“Oh, yes. We only need this,” Chrysthinia winks, motioning to the decanter.
A trick question. Godsdamnit, are they trying to drive me crazy? I restrain myself from rolling my eyes and force out a small laugh, which makes Chrysthinia roll their eyes with a grin. They hold a hand out and I give them the amber bottle.
“You’re very tense, you know,” they announce to nobody in particular. “You must not spend much time with strangers.”
“Most of my interactions with ‘strangers’ are kill-or-be-killed,” I grumble. The words slip out before I can stop myself, and I silently curse myself for it. What am I doing telling this random person my life story? I’m truly an idiot.
Chrysthinia doesn’t look at me, though; they don’t seem particularly bothered by my admission. They uncork the decanter and pull a large mortar and pestle to their small counter, presumably their magick workstation. Then they motion me over, and I take the decanter from their hands as they hold it out to me.
“Pour this into the mortar. You’ll crush it with the pestle, and I’ll add oil. It will make a paste. You see?” I nod and sigh, setting to work. No getting out of this now, I suppose. Chrysthinia continues after a moment, quietly, “Where are you from?”
My shoulders tense. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Chrysthinia scoffs loudly. “Fine, stay haunted if you wish. I know that path –but I rejected it.”
“Right, I’m sure your agonizing upbringing in Ethelinda showed you real hardship,” I bark out. I know Mili won’t appreciate me antagonizing her friend, but godsdamnit, they’re infuriating.
“Slower,” Chrysthinia orders. I realize I’m nearly shaking the counter, I’m stirring so aggressively. I slow down, embarrassed like a dismissed child, and frown angrily. “Now, where do you really think I’m from?”
The question catches me off guard. I suppose Chrysthinia can’t really be from Ethelinda, if I really think about it. They’re too gruff, and perhaps too removed. They didn’t come out to see Mili –they waited to be met here.
It’s all a little ... familiar.
After I don’t respond, my mind whirling with questions, Chrysthinia says, “I’m from the East. Land of sand, serpents, magick –much evil is there. I fled.”
The East. Images of what I once called ‘home’ flood my mind. I see myself throwing daggers at dolls made of brush and twigs, propped up to make targets across a sandy field. I recall walking on hot ground, the parched earth heating my feet even through my leather boots, chewing on desert chia as I tried to escape my raging parents.
“You’re from there, too,” Chrysthinia says before I can form any sort of response. It’s an observation, not a question, and one I can’t deny.
I nod, avoiding their gaze, and keep mixing the poultice. Without thinking, I grab a bottle of lavender oil and pour a drop into the mortar. I frown at myself –my mother’s magick is running through my hands. I don’t like it; I ran from it for a reason.
I sigh shakily and mutter, “I ran, too. From the East.”
“Anyone worth a damn does,” Chrysthinia smiles.
I smirk, despite myself, and shrug. “Maybe so.”
The poultice is done, but I’m hesitant to leave. As much as I’m skeptical of Chrysthinia, they feel familiar, somehow. Almost, almost I feel myself wanting to tell them everything, to bare my soul. They would understand, wouldn’t they? They’re from home, too; they know the danger, the wicked magick, the dry and brutal land. For once in my life, I feel like I might have met someone who would understand.
Then Chrysthinia says, “Go bring it to her.”
I feel my walls cement themselves in place once more. I nod, not even trying to fake a smile, and turn to go. Chrysthinia’s hand lands on my elbow, though, and I turn to see them frowning at me.
“I’ve never met someone from back home,” they say.
I shrug. “Neither have I.”
Chrysthinia nods knowingly. “It’s hard that way. It’s impossible to explain that place –the way it strips you of everything good, tries to punish you for being honest. The people, too. You understand.”
“I do,” I reply –and I mean it.
–––
I enter Mili’s room –alone – with the poultice and the intention of soothing her as she sleeps, then leaving quietly. I walked past Cory and Port, whisper-begging one of them to help Mili instead of me (Realm’s Mother knows I’ll probably be terrible at it, fool that I am). Both of them refused. As such, I steadied myself before entering, trying to muffle the sound of her quiet heartbeat in my ears, and decided to be as peaceful and calm as possible.
All that goes out the window when I see her.
Her arms are flung wildly about her head, as though she fell back and immediately passed out. Knowing that she and Cory had a moment together, it doesn’t seem unlikely that that’s exactly what happened.
Still, my breath catches in my throat at the sight of her. Her hair is strewn over the fluffy pillows, dark locks spiraling out from her beautiful face. Her eyelashes flutter softly, betraying her dreaming mind.
I wonder what she’s dreaming about. Is she afraid of what she’s seeing, at war with her mind? Does she have nightmares like me? I push the thought out of my mind and walk over to her.
I kneel beside the bed, setting the thick fabric holding the poultice on the small stool that Chrysthinia must use as a bedside table. Mili sighs in her sleep and my heart turns in my chest. What I’d give to kiss her, hold her, wrap her up and bring her to bed with me –but now’s not the time for that.
As much as I crave intimacy with her, I’m still afraid to hurt her. She’s told me she’s stronger than I think, and I believe her ... but she doesn’t know my past, where I came from, the vile things I’ve done for freedom.
My head drops to the bed, and I suppress a groan from my frustration with myself. I’m here to help Mili, not pine over her. Without another thought, I inhale a sharp breath and spread a heaping amount of poultice on my fingers.
Chrysthinia told me to spread it over her heart, so I gingerly lower the thin sheet from where it’s covering Milica’s chest. The sight of her breasts rising and falling slowly with her breath knocks the wind out of me, and my hand freezes over her.
I shake my hair out, letting some of it fall over my eyes –some silly attempt at self-preservation, I suppose –and reach my hand until it lands gently on Mili’s sternum. She winces in her sleep, probably from the cool of the damp herbs, and I pause before slowly rubbing it into her chest in a circle.
As my hand moves slowly, my eyes fall back to Mili’s breasts, then her arms, then her slightly-parted lips. I grit my teeth as an erection strains against my pants, cursing my lack of self-control. Focus on the poultice , I think to myself.
Focusing on the smooth motion of my hand helps for a moment, then I feel a strange pounding radiating from Mili’s chest. Her heartbeat starts racing wildly, and my eyes fly to hers, prepared to apologize for waking her (and, no doubt, for terrifying her).
To my surprise, her eyes are closed, although her eyelashes aren’t fluttering anymore. I’m sure she’s awake, but she’s pretending not to be. Interesting .
In some strange way, it’s easy like this –with her awake, so I know she’s not upset with me, but her eyes closed. She must know it’s me, since my scent is close enough for her to pick up, but she’s not angry. I feel a rush of excitement at the realization that she feels safe enough with me to stay resting, stay peaceful.
I think I might be able to enjoy myself a little bit here.
“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” I whisper, nearly silent.
Mili doesn’t respond, but her heart races faster and I know she’s heard me. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nods. I smile, trying to calm my throbbing cock in my trousers, and lay my palm flat on her chest. She shivers under my hand, and I slowly spread the poultice all the way from her sternum to the top of her left collarbone, then to the right.
As I run my hand over her chest, my eyes fall to her hardening nipples. I lean forward and kiss one softly. Mili breathes heavily, a long exhale escaping her, and I let my tongue move in a torturously slow circle.
“Max,” she breathes out.
I don’t respond, instead pulling my head back and letting my herb-covered fingers softly pinch her nipple. She arches back gently, gasping lightly, and I twist my fingers slightly. A hazy smile flickers across her face, and I find myself smiling back.
Still, she doesn’t open her eyes. I move my hand higher again, rubbing the rest of the poultice in slowly. As I do, I feel her heart slow again, and I know the herbs are working to soothe her.
Minutes pass like this, just Mili and me together in the late-afternoon light filtering through Chrysthinia’s small window. I continue with the poultice, relishing the look of Mili as she continues to relax into the bed. Mili rests. I breathe in her warm scent, her beautiful spiced chocolate air, and feel something like peace.
Something inside me, long forgotten, is slowly thawing. I know it is, though I can’t bear to think about it now –it’s too frightening, the prospect of finding myself again after all this time. Port hasn’t helped either, kind and brave soul he is. Even Cory, with his brash protectiveness and older-brother bossiness makes me feel safe.
Eventually, Mili falls back asleep, and I wipe the poultice off her chest with a damp cloth. She sighs contentedly and I smile at her, imagining for a moment what it would be like to tell her everything, open my heart to her and let her accept or deny me for who I am.
Perhaps another day.