27. Faylinn
Chapter 27
Faylinn
T he fire crackled merrily as I languidly stretched the ache of sleep and sex from my limbs. I opened my mouth in a large yawn as I sleepily plucked the lavender and eucalyptus from their drying rack and added them to the already bubbling liquid in my cast-iron cauldron. The heat of the fire and the steam from the liquid had goosebumps erupting over my still-naked flesh. I hummed idly as I added a few other ingredients to the cauldron and stirred, the relaxing scent of herbs and oil already infiltrating my cottage.
I pushed the pot back over the fire before stepping across the hard-packed earth floor toward my bed and the shelves that held my clothes. I selected a lightweight tunic and pants for today and quickly stepped into them after throwing on my undergarments.
My body ached in the most delicious way as I maneuvered my thighs into my underwear and pants, my mind reminiscing over the way Ben handled me so well.
“Legs up, Fay, let me see that pretty pink pussy,” Ben said as he spread my lips with his thumbs.
I groaned at the contact, the feeling of him staring a heady thing. He licked one large thumb and pressed it hard against my clit, causing my whole body to jolt.
“No more,” I panted. He’d already made me come on his fingers and tongue three times, and the pleasure started to take on a painful edge. Ben simply smiled at me, his face holding nothing but wicked promises.
He kept his thumb pressed against my clit as he notched the head of his cock against my entrance. My pussy was already spasming and he hadn’t even entered me yet.
Ben was lit by the low fire I kept burning at all times, the planes of his body—muscled and large from working in the fields all day—looked sharper in the low light. Sweat adorned his skin, falling in small rivulets down his chest and between the abs that were just peeking through a layer of winter fat.
He was like a bear, my Ben, and I loved the strength and comfort of him, even if I never told him that.
“Your rune is new?” he asked as he teased my entrance.
I nodded fervently. Sharol—the innkeeper and my mentor in Blood Magic—and I had just reinscribed the Conception Prevention Rune on my lower stomach last week. It would last at least through the end of this month, if not longer, depending on how much sex I had.
Though with the number of times Ben and I had already done it tonight, I would bet my cottage that I’d have to redo it sooner rather than later.
The fingers on his right hand absently traced the design on my lower stomach, causing me to suck in a sharp breath at the contact. His feather-light touches sent sparks of want and desire through me.
“Ben,” I whined, and he smiled again.
“I’ve got you, Fay. I’ve always got you. Eyes on me,” he said as he thrust hard into me, seating himself fully so his hips rested against my ass. No sooner was he inside than he began to move in earnest, pulling out until just his head rested inside me and pushing back in until he was fully seated again.
I moaned at the sensation and pulled my legs tighter to my shoulders. Ben groaned at the new angle I provided him, and his hips pistoned faster.
“Not going to last, Fay, when you moan like that. Not when you feel this good. It’s never felt this good before. You’re like my own personal drug, Fay,” he kept whispering as he pressed tighter on my clit, his ministrations matching his increasingly erratic thrusts.
“Come for me, Fay. I’m not finishing until you do.”
I panted, contracting my core muscles and focusing on the feeling of his cock hitting just that right spot inside me. I held my breath and pushed with my core, the orgasm hitting me fully, and I came apart beneath him .
“Oh, fuck, Fay. Fuck!” he groaned as he scooped me up from the bed and sat in the chair a few paces away. He held my hips roughly as I bonelessly lay against his chest, his hips thrusting straight into me at an almost impossible pace.
“Look at me, Fay. Look at me while I fill you with my cum.” I pulled my head from his shoulder and held his mud-brown eyes with my own, a few wayward curls falling from my bun as I bounced on his dick, my breasts moving in the same rhythm. Ben’s eyes focused on my face, never once breaking eye contact as he thrust hard once more and held me down, groaning his release.
His sweaty forehead fell into my own, our breaths coming in quick pants. I slowly moved my hands from his shoulders to his upper back and neck, caressing the skin against his spine. Ben closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation as he traced lazy kisses across my mouth and cheeks.
We stayed that way until he softened fully inside me and I felt his release begin to trickle out and down my inner thighs. He pushed me off gently and I cupped a hand beneath me to make sure that nothing fell on the floor. We quickly cleaned our bodies before collapsing naked in bed together. Our sweaty legs tangling as we basked in the afterglow.
“I think I might be in love with you, Fay,” Ben whispered against my neck, his fingers lightly tracing the dozens of runes that adorned my body. I sighed, relaxing further into him as his touches began to linger and halt completely, his breathing evening out.
“I think I might love you, too, Ben,” I whispered, not sure if he heard me or was asleep. He never answered, but his hand squeezed my side once before we both fell asleep like that, tangled together.
Ben woke and left before me this morning like he usually did during planting season, so we never got to have the conversation we probably needed to have about what we said last night.
On my part, I meant what I said. I didn’t say those words often, or really ever, so admitting those feelings to Ben was both a complete truth and entirely terrifying.
I shook myself from my thoughts, quickly piling my curly hair on top of my head before pushing my way outside. It was going to be hot later today, but I needed to get a head start on my little garden if I was going to grow any herbs this year. I sighed and picked up the hoe that was leaning against the house.
Best to get on with it, then .
I hacked at the hard earth that surrounded my home with a hoe that I borrowed from the farmer on the opposite side of town. The wooden handle was well-worn and smooth, which was the only positive thing about this whole ordeal. I drew my arms back, the hoe passing my shoulder, and slammed it back down into the earth with as much force as my body could muster.
All of that and only a small chunk of dirt moved .
I groaned and leaned against the hoe, which was now well and truly stuck in the dry earth. I could feel the droplets of sweat beading on my brow and cascading down my back until they rested at the top of the waistband of my rough-sewn trousers. The seasons were shifting, and the air was slowly warming, though it felt stifling hot today. I supposed that was the curse for living in Isrun—as a small border territory between the North and the South, we had a fairly temperate climate all year, but late spring and early summer were definitely warm. I shifted, trying to separate my shirt from the sweat on my back, but to no avail. The muscles in my arms shook, and I could already feel a crick in my back that would certainly be on fire later today.
Fuck getting older .
I was only thirty-four, but there were days that I felt as ancient as Peti, the town’s resident cranky old woman. Peti had to be pushing eighty at this point. She’d been around forever, some even said she predated our little town, and knew quite a bit about quite a bit. She lived on the outskirts of town and shooed all the children out of her garden, while demanding to know why they weren’t in school. Peti was harmless—ornery, but harmless.
I wouldn’t mind growing up to be Peti .
I smiled to myself, a stray lock of my unruly, curly brown hair sticking uncomfortably to my forehead. I brushed it off with the back of my hand, undoubtedly leaving a streak of dirt behind. I stretched my back a bit before picking the hoe up and leaning it against the side of my house. I’d return it to the farmer later tomorrow, but maybe I’d find Ben first, have him build me a nice garden so I could grow all the herbs and flowers I needed to heal.
The thought of Ben made me smile as I recalled our visit last night, both of us tangled and sweaty for reasons that were much more enjoyable than digging in the packed earth. He was my first friend years ago, and we grew up together in more ways than one.
I moved here years ago when I was just a girl, barely a teenager, with nothing but the clothes on my back and no memories other than my name. The town took me in—clothed me, fed me, housed me—but expected everyone to contribute in whatever capacity they could, magically or otherwise. Unluckily for me, I could never occupy a trade or job that required the use of magic as mine never manifested, never Awakened. I was a dud for all intents and purposes, and no one knew why, no amount of coaxing or trauma could force my magic to Awaken, and I had to function in society as if I were a magic-less child. I tried a dozen different things in my desire to contribute positively in any way—tanning, teaching, farming, even crystal mining in the relatively bare caves outside the town limits—before I found a niche in healing. The last Healer, Peti’s daughter, Sharol, taught me everything she could from her knowledge of healing and runes, and I’d been expanding on that base ever since.
The runes spoke to me, and I listened.
I brushed lingering dust and dirt from my hands and pants before entering my home. It was more of a room than a home, but it was cozy and all mine, which was important to me. Growing up with no memories, no magic, and no family in a small, backwater town meant that I was sequestered to a home for orphaned children, which really wasn’t all that bad, it just meant that resources and space were incredibly sparse. Everything was shared and there was more than one fight that broke out between girls and boys over a bar of soap or an extra blanket in the winter.
A smile played on my lips as I entered my home—I built it myself, with the help of a few others, and it was sturdy, if small. The house was made of wooden planks stacked on top of each other with mud and straw paste used to fuse the boards together and keep the wind and weather out. The floor was just hard-packed earth with a few soft rugs thrown over it. I liked being able to feel the earth beneath my feet, even if it was inside. It’s why I never wore shoes.
To my left was a crackling fireplace, the black iron pot bubbling contentedly. No matter the weather or the season, I kept a fire lit. There was something so welcoming about a fire. In front of the fire was my singular chair and a small table where I did everything from eating my meals and darning my pants to reading or drawing by the firelight. My bed was shoved against the wall on the right side of the room and matched the rather austere nature of the cottage.
I inhaled deeply and the smell of lavender and eucalyptus mixed with the earthy undertones of my home coated the inside of my nose. I was making a new batch of a calming oil to sell in town and, by the bubbles in the pot and smell permeating the air, it was just about done and ready to be bottled. I grabbed my chair and pushed it up against the wall, climbing atop to reach the shelves that took up every inch of upper wall space in my home, the lower portion was filled with cabinets and storage. Many of my shelves contained a variety of healing ingredients, especially those that needed to germinate or cure for a while before use—all carefully labeled, of course.
But my favorite part of my home were the books that lined nearly every available shelf. They were even stacked on my floor, under my bed, and on top of my blankets. I had an insatiable thirst for knowledge and learning—it was probably a defense mechanism rooted deep in the fact that I lost all my memories and knowledge up until I was thirteen, but I figured there were worse things to horde and consume.
I could be like Old Jack and spend all my time—literally—at the tavern, in a bottle or mug of Jenna’s finest ale.
Balancing on my tiptoes on top of my chair, I stretched and reached for a box of empty bottles.
I really need to start keeping these in the cabinets! Just a . . . little . . . farther. I stretched my fingers as far as they would go. There!
I was able to grasp the edge of the box and pull the vials toward me, but not before I lost my balance and fell with an oomph.
“MEOW!” My cat, or one of my cats, spoke their concern loudly from their perch on my mantel. My house was like a halfway house for wayward cats—all animals, really, but cats seemed to prefer it the most. Maybe because of all the mice that found a home in the corners of my room. While many cats chose to come for a bit and then leave again, this particular grey floof had chosen to stay for a few winters now. I even named him, since he chose to stick around.
“I know, Cotton, I know. I need to move those vials down lower! We had this same discussion when I fell two days ago. I just keep forgetting to do it!” I said .
“Meow.” If a cat could scoff, I’m certain that’s what Cotton did.
“Well, no need to be rude about it! I know you have to suffer through my antics, but it’s really not a big deal. I’ll pick up a new box of empty bottles today while in town and we’ll put them in . . . this cabinet!” I opened one of the doors and slid a few wayward books out of the way, which created just enough space for a new box of vials. “Tada!”
Cotton did not look amused.
“No need to get overly excited, Cotton,” I said as I climbed back on the chair and grabbed the box of vials. I set them on my chair before walking back to the fireplace and giving Cotton a scratch behind his ears. He purred in response, his coat smelling vaguely like the lavender and eucalyptus from the pot below. “Have you been sitting in the pretty-smelling steam all day, sir?”
“Meow.”
“Hmm. Well at least you’ll smell decent for the next few days!” Cotton flicked his tail at me before jumping off the mantel and scampering to his spot on my bed. I shook my head in humor before swinging the arm of the potholder so that the pot with my newest concoction was no longer over the fire. I made quick work of filling each vial, careful not to burn myself on either the boiling liquid or the hot pot. I had made that mistake one too many times and had wasted way too much product, both from spilling it and from having to use a burn balm on my hands and arms. While the burn balm took care of the redness and pain, it did nothing to take away the scars left behind.
Consequently, I had a spattering of burn scars across my forearms that matched other, thinner scars along my body. Sometimes I woke to a sharp pain in some of those marks and a vague sense of remembering that I could never fully grasp. It was maddening, knowing that something traumatic happened to me, but not being able to recall it.
I’d heard myths and tales of Keepers who could access memories, and I had always wanted to meet one and see if they could access mine. But the war between the Last Keeper and the Warlord was only growing more volatile, forcing any remaining Keeper into hiding. They were stuck in the middle, and most just wanted to live their lives in peace.
Or at least, that’s what I think they want. Otherwise, wouldn’t they all be flocking to the Last Keeper’s forces in the South?
The Last Keeper’s agents and sympathizers had been through Isrun on more than one occasion, trying to drum up support both physically and financially. This, in turn, caused an uptick in Mage presence from the Warlord’s army. It was a constant back and forth between the two, causing tensions to rise, not just between the two groups. Just last week, Holt, the shopkeeper and man who raised me, physically threw a Mage out of his shop for entering and using his Water Magic to soak all the grain. Apparently, Holt was suspected of giving grain stores to the rebels. There was constant tension, and I avoided town whenever possible.
Alas, today was not one of those days where it was possible.
I sighed heavily as I continued filling my vials, the sweat on my back and brow had dried and my skin felt tight and crusty. My small metal washbasin in the corner of the room was starkly empty, and I made a note to pick up soap while I was out today.
And get Ben to haul some water for me. I should’ve asked him to do that before he left this morning . My rain barrels were getting low. We had an abnormally dry winter and there wasn’t rain left to use for washing or preparing my tonics.
I capped the last of my vials, storing them back in the wooden box before stretching my hands above my head to work out the crick in my back. My shoulders relaxed after I felt a satisfying pop from my upper back, and I sighed in relief.
“Okay, Cotton. I’m going into town. Wish me luck!” He just stared at me with his unnerving yellow eyes before turning around and staring at the wall.
Fucking rude .
I laughed to myself before gathering the box in my arms. I gave Cotton one last head scratch before turning for the door.
“I’ll get us a new book while I’m out!” With that, I opened my door and shut it with my foot before starting down the worn dirt path that would lead me into town.