21. Riggs
RIGGS
Ready to put the awkward breakfast behind him, Riggs decided to show Esemeray around the property.
Descending the patio steps, his gaze trailed down her legs, landing on the shoes he’d made her.
He was no shoe wizard like Eddie, but he wasn’t going to let her walk outside barefoot.
Aldmoor had sharp pine needles scattered along the grounds.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” Riggs said, leading Esemeray toward his mother’s garden.
“Where are we going?” Esemeray asked.
“You will see.”
The strong scent of basil mingled with the many lavender bushes; the aroma overpowering the rest of the garden.
“This way, princess.” They weaved through hydrangea bushes of every color.
Riggs found the purple more appealing. During Riggs' studies, he found the soil pH caused the pigmentation difference. Something his genius of a mother must have done intentionally. His mother’s garden had every fruit and vegetable imaginable, even some herbs that had terrific effects on the body and mind.
One of which he smoked often—Valerian Root.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Esemeray said softly.
“It’s quite the view.” Riggs wasn’t talking about the luscious garden, or the river in the distance, or the pines surrounding them.
Somehow Esemeray outshone it all. The way her eyes glistened in such a comforting warmth, the way her milky skin glowed in the afternoon sun, begging to be touched.
Her hair—gods, even her hair he wanted to reach out and caress.
Esemeray looked at him and smiled, cocking her brow. “What caught your eye?”
“Oh, nothing, princess.” Riggs grinned, forcing his gaze forward. It took all effort not to drink in the sight of her—a sight he wanted to drown himself in.
Riggs placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her through a row of plum trees. And he was careful not to step on the fallen, rotting fruit.
“You have an orchard?”
“It’s how my mother made her wine,” Riggs said, grabbing a plum and plucking it off the branch. He twisted it between his fingers, extending it to Esemeray. “For you.”
She palmed the fruit, looking at it as if it were candy. “Plums are a delicacy in Kingdom Thrasher.” Birds chirped in harmony with her voice, a song he could listen to all day.
Riggs mused, “You know your facts, I’m impressed.
” If she had read more of Mystic and Magical Practices like she said she would, she would have learned about the villagers of Levaruin collecting plums and making healing tonics and ointments.
While the people of Starfall Canyon turned it into… fragrance.
And then there was his mother, who had turned it into wine.
Genius, indeed.
After clearing a few branches out of the way, he lifted the garden door leading downstairs to the cellar. “Watch your step,” he warned, offering his hand. She wrapped her hand around his, and they descended the creaky wooden steps one step at a time, a cold draft brushing his skin.
Riggs pulled out his flint lighter, lighting up the space. “Welcome to the Whitlock wine cellar.” He motioned to the hundred barrels of wine displayed along the tunnel, grinning.
“So, this is what a cellar looks like.”
Riggs walked deeper into the darkness, lighting more candles. “It was my mother’s, but my father takes care of it now.”
“Was?”
Riggs stopped and closed his eyes. “My mother passed away.”
There was a moment of heavy silence.
“What was she like?”
“I wouldn’t know.” He finally opened his eyes, and faced her. “She died during childbirth…with me.”
The wine cellar was where he felt the most connected with her. Between the garden and the wine, somehow in Riggs' world, she still existed. In a way—he hadn’t erased her entirely.
Since he was a child, his father had told him he had her smile, among other things. Riggs liked to think it was part of the reason why he smiled so much.
He noticed Esemeray’s eyes watering.
Shit.
“Princess…”
“I’m no stranger to loss.” Her voice was a wobbly whisper, her tone heavy with emotion. “It’s like a persistent hole in your chest.”
Riggs knew the feeling all too well.
“There are days when everything is okay, like the hole has finally filled, and there are days you wake up, and there it is, uncovered and raw. And everything hurts again, just as if it was carved out yesterday…”
“In a way…” Riggs' chest stung. “The grief you hold keeps them alive.” He tapped on his head. “In here.” He rubbed his hand over his heart. “And in here.” A half-smile. “It just means you still love them, and I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. If anything, it’s a beautiful thing.”
She nodded, her lips trembling.
His throat worked. “That pit in your stomach? That hollowness in your chest? Embrace it, because I’d be scared if it ever went away.”
A tear slid down her face. “I’m sorry…about your mother.”
He hadn’t been talking about his mother.
He had been talking about his best friend, Ryker.
“Don’t be sorry. I come down here to celebrate with her once a year.
” Riggs reached for a bottle of wine and popped the cork.
When he was a boy, he’d spend hours in the cellar.
He’d tell her about his days. His school projects.
How many toads had he collected… As if somehow her spirit was swirling inside the barrels, listening to every word he spoke.
And now? He got drunk on her product. Same, same.
He cleared his thoughts and grabbed two glasses resting on a dusty shelf. “Do you drink?”
“I do.” She wiped the tears from her face with her sleeves.
Riggs poured the wine, handing her a glass, and raised his. “To my mother.” Heat claimed his cheeks. “For trading her life for mine twenty-three years ago.”
Recognition dawned across her face. “To your mother.” She raised her glass. “And to you.” Esemeray’s face softened. “Happy birthday, Riggs.”
“Thank you.”
The cold glass bit into his lips as he sipped the wine. Sweet hints of plums and honey, blooming across his tongue.
She sipped, huffing a small laugh, wine spilling down the glass.
“Careful,” Riggs' voice was a low rasp.
For a moment, he stared at her, surveying her lips between the edge of the glass, the way her eyes searched his while she drank—gods, those eyes—they haunted him.
Even her throat working as she swallowed had him in shambles. He shifted on his feet, running his hand through his hair. No mask to hide who he truly was—a fool—for her.
She gulped it down as if it were water. “This is the best wine I’ve tasted.”
“My mother’s wine still sells.”
“Where?” Esemeray asked, wrapping her hair around her finger.
“We are the number one supplier in Aldmoor, and trying to push for more locations. My father is in the works with Kohen, the Rhabari’s top merchant; they are in the process of negotiations.”
“Your family seems very successful,” Esemeray mused.
There goes that stare again, making his mind and heart race. He set his glass on a barrel. “Would you like me to take your glass?”
“May I have more?”
Riggs' lips tilted. “Of course.” He filled it halfway, then handed it back to her. “It seems to me that you like it.”
“I love it,” Esemeray said, draining her glass. “My mother—” She cleared her throat. “She never let me drink.”
The mention of her mother had his fists tightening. “You weren’t missing anything.” He still couldn’t get the shit wine taste out of his mouth. He added, “But I must warn you, my mother’s wine is strong. One glass will make you feel good in about ten minutes.”
A startled laugh escaped her.
Oh, gods, she’s already drunk.
She wrapped her hands around his bicep, his nerves spiking. “You are so funny… Probably the funniest person I’ve ever met.”
“Like this?” He made a goofy face.
Esemeray laughed, then smiled widely. “Happy birthday, goof.”
Her smile made him smile. “Thank you.”
A cold draft blew by, the same draft that greeted him every year.
Love you too, mom.
That was a close one.
After showing Esemeray the rest of the property, Riggs had decided to show her around the house.
Much safer. It was a blessing she hadn’t tumbled down the hill by the river.
She almost had, until Riggs had caught her just in time.
One glass of wine was plenty for a woman her size, and he had been stupid to give her two. His mistake.
If she had fallen, he was certain she would have shifted, but…there was no telling, especially the way she was swaying across the foyer, nearly tumbling into his father’s knight statue?—
Shit.
He lunged for the stone, keeping it upright, cracking a smile, and motioned for her to walk into the living room. “After you.”
Esemeray’s face lit up as she studied the showcase cabinet of weapons. “I didn’t know your father was a sword smith.”
Despite being drunk, Esemeray had quite the observant eye.
She must have figured out that the WSS embroidered on all the hilts were a family crest. Riggs grinned.
“He owns Whitlock’s Sword Smith in town, and he is one of the biggest weapon suppliers up north.
Every weapon in that cabinet has seen better days. ”
One of the swords in the case had been wielded by his father during the Dark War—it was how his father and his mother had met.
His mother was his nurse at the time. She had healed Rhidian back to health, then married him.
Riggs' eyes raked down the steel. His father’s prized possession.
One he had even named—Windslasher. The gladius sword had cut down more people than any other weapon in this house.
“Do you know how to use that?” Esemeray asked, pointing at the crossbow.
He stretched his arms over his head, fighting a yawn. Damn wine. “I know how to use everything inside that cabinet.”
Esemeray raised her eyebrows. “You are skilled.”
Riggs shrugged, his ears heating. “I had a skilled teacher.”
“Your father?”
Riggs shook his head. “No, Killian.” As a boy, his father had tried to teach him, but Riggs was more interested in collecting bugs than learning defense.
Until one day…