Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ARKEN
There was a chance I had lied to Kieran this morning as I left his bed.
Just a little white lie. Mostly harmless.
I’d told him my lecture started at eleven, when really, it didn’t start until noon. There was just…something I needed to sort out first.
Just a little white lie.
Be that as it may, my gut still churned with something oily and odious as I made my way toward the destination at hand. Because I needed to see a cleric.
For…reasons.
You see, the Irrosi Arboretum was simultaneously one of my favorite places in Sophrosyne and also my own private Hel.
That ethereal, wondrous space full of rare creatures and towering mushrooms from the forests overseas was perfect in every single way but one: It was so fucking humid in there, it made me want to die.
In order to have any hope of paying attention today and retaining what would surely be brilliant and fascinating information, I’d needed to dress in light and loose layers, lest that hot and sticky skin-clinging film of moisture drive me absolutely insane.
This was one of the reasons why I had stopped home yesterday—I’d had this outfit prepared for myself weeks in advance, planning it out as soon as I’d received the invitation.
The scarf I was wearing, however, was not part of the intended ensemble.
The trouble was that in addition to wearing layers and cool fabrics, I would need to wear my hair up.
There were few things in life more grating to me than having damp, warm curls sticking to the back of my neck.
I preferred to wear the lengthy brown waves down most days, but I always wore my hair up when I trained with Kieran and in the Arboretum.
Maybe it’s not that obvious…?
Pausing in front of my reflection in a shopkeeper’s window, I tugged the patterned silk down a bit, examining my throat. Fucking Hel. Yeah, no. Nope. Definitely not.
The bruises and bitemarks Kieran had left on me last night were bordering on profane. I was going to give High Scholar Larkin a heart attack if I showed up like this.
A perverse side of me didn’t want to give them up, Scholar Larkin’s delicate sensibilities and my chance at a highly sought-after research position be damned.
That darker creature within hissed with displeasure once the decision had been made, because even in the daylight, I could not deny that I loved the way that man marked me.
I loved letting him desecrate my skin whenever and wherever he so chose.
I loved both receiving and observing these little reminders left on my body—each one an ephemeral memento of those perfect moments in time where Kieran had made me come between his teeth and his silver tongue.
Even looking at them now, I was transfixed.
Marking up someone’s neck like this was largely seen as vulgar and gauche amongst most of the student body—a crude and immature display by lovers expected to keep that shit in the bedroom.
And while I hardly gave a damn about decorum amongst the privileged noblesse, I could understand why some of them might find the sight disturbing or debasing.
It was, quite literally, a wound. Most people had an adverse reaction to the sight of such contusions.
I didn’t, though.
I thought they were beautiful.
It wasn’t just because Kieran had left them on me—I had always thought bruises were pretty. When your skin is paler than milk and you’ve got a habit of bumping into every stray corner in a room for lack of spatial awareness, you’ve got to learn how to love being a little banged-up.
To me, bruises had always looked like blossoming petals, or tiny cosmic galaxies beneath my skin, pulsing with shades of pinks and purples, blue and yellow.
“Morbid little thing,” Amaretta would always cluck when she caught me prodding at them, fascinated by watching them fade with time.
That said, I couldn’t exactly pin this internal conflict on aesthetics.
I didn’t entirely understand what had fueled this newfound kink of mine.
Sure, my neck had always been one of my most sensitive erogenous zones—I’d discovered rather early on that I had a thing for breath play, in part due to the intense pleasure I felt with any manner of pressure against my throat.
And yes, I was a masochist—I enjoyed pain, I craved it, it got me off.
Kieran was hardly the first person to leave marks on my neck…
But there was something different about his love bites.
Something that transformed me from woman to beast. It awakened something within me that I couldn’t name.
Sighing, I tucked my scarf back into place. These particular bitemarks were so egregious that I had to wonder if it had been intentional on his part. If it was, Kieran would not be all too pleased with what I was about to do.
I rounded the corner and stepped through the door to Fen’s infirmary.
“Oh, hello there, Miss Asher,” Fen said, glancing up behind her spectacles and a pile of parchment. “It’s good to see you. Would I be correct in assuming that no news is good news and you’ve been recovering well?”
The ghost of a wry smile on Fen’s lips suggested she knew just how well I’d been recovering, actually. I still wasn’t sure how her clerics had known to send my things to Kieran’s townhouse in lieu of my apartment…It’s not like the captain was one to kiss and tell.
“Quite well, actually. I must thank you again, your team saved my life,” I said genuinely. “And those tinctures worked wonders.”
“I’m very glad to hear that, Miss Asher. And you don’t need to thank us—it’s all in a day’s work. Now, what can I help you with today?”
I was pretty sure I started blushing before I even opened my mouth.
“Erm, what are the odds your clerics have room for a quick hematomatic healing session before noon?” I asked, my voice sounding a bit squeaky as I failed to look her in the eye, glancing literally anywhere else.
This was a common enough procedure. It was largely cosmetic—because as I mentioned, the noblesse around here did not take well to bruises.
Or any minor wounds that might make one look ever-so-briefly less desirable, really.
Even the most entry-level clerics could accomplish the spellwork, clearing away evidence of a wound with the healing powers of Water arcana.
“Let me check,” the High Scholar said. “Hmm. It looks like most, if not all, of my clerics will be occupied past one. It’s been a busy morning, I’m afraid. But come here, if you would.”
I stepped closer to her desk, and her slender fingers reached out to tilt my chin up.
“I take it these are the contusions in question?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I murmured, still blushing furiously.
It really didn’t help that this woman knew Kieran personally, but with a casual curl of her fingertips, I felt a flutter of arcana, warm and soothing against my throat. It felt like gentle waves lapping across my skin, like the white-sand shorelines of Lake Eidrytch.
“Free of charge,” she said, with only the hint of a knowing smile peeking out from behind her professional persona.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly accept—” I began.
“Alternatively, I could just add it to the Captain’s tab,” Fen teased gently.
“NO,” I shouted. “I mean. N-no, thank you,” I stammered apologetically as I pulled a few Lyra from my pocket and pressed them against the counter. Likely more than the service was worth—Kieran seemed to be rubbing off on me in that regard—but I was also far too mortified to check.
“I appreciate the service!” I squeaked, stuffing my scarf back into my book bag on the way out.
My cheeks remained hot as I made my way over to the Arboretum, pulling my heavy curls up and tying them into a messy bun at the crown of my head.
My skin felt absent now. Bare. Too bare for my liking. Perhaps I should have just found a way to suck it up, worn the scarf during the lecture, and dealt with the sticky-hot sensations to the best of my ability.
Ah, well. Nothing to be done about it now, I suppose.
If anything, it just gave Kieran a fresh canvas to play with later.
Which gave me something to look forward to.