Chapter 14 #3
It’s strange. I’ve eaten more than normal today and done way less exercise, but I’m ravenous.
Maybe I really have been pushing my body beyond its limits for the last six months. Maybe I became so accustomed to being hungry that I stopped noticing it.
“Do you like spicy food?” Talarin asks.
“I had a bad experience with the peppers.”
“The ones near the western wall?”
I look at him. “I’m surprised you knew about those. It’s a small patch.”
“I know these grounds.”
“They were spicier than I expected. They look exactly like the sweet ones farther south, and, well...”
“I will use less tonight.”
“Maybe you can put some of them in Arrek’s dinner.”
Talarin gives another small snort.
Apparently, that’s the extent of a laugh I’m going to get out of him.
With the final section of ribs seared and resting on the tray, Talarin comes to the table. He studies my work, his gaze passing over the even pieces of glassroot, celery and onion before settling upon the finely minced garlic. He gives one small nod.
Then he lifts the entire cutting board in one hand and carries it to the stove.
He tips the onions, celery and glassroot into the rendered fat, using the flat of the knife to guide them into the pot.
They hiss as he stirs them across the bottom, adding the garlic only after the onions begin to soften.
He selects one small red pepper and sets it upon the empty corner of the cutting board. His knife rises and falls in a series of quick, precise strokes, reducing it to a fine dice within seconds. He adds it to the pot, then pours in a dark stock that sends a cloud of steam rolling upwards.
Finally, he lowers the browned ribs back inside, fits the heavy lid into place and turns the flame down low.
“And now,” he says, “you get to spend the next few hours being tortured by the scent of what you crave.”
I glance at him, but his expression is inscrutable.
My work is finished. I stand awkwardly, looking at the empty cutting board, then back towards the cage.
“Do I need to go back inside now?”
“No. Wash your hands, and then you can sit in my chair.” Talarin indicates the empty cushioned chair beside the hearth. “It is that one.”
I know.
I go to the bathroom and wash up, taking the opportunity to use it while I am there. I do not want to have to ask again.
When I return to the dining hall, Talarin is waiting beside the table with the bright-pink collar in one hand.
Of course.
I walk to him and present my neck without being asked.
He brings the collar around my throat without once brushing my skin. The clasp closes with one precise movement, and the silver bell settles into the hollow between my collarbones.
I cross to his chair. It is the narrowest of the three, although it is still built for a body well over seven feet tall. Dark leather covers deep cushioning, with a high back and broad arms made for Talarin’s long frame.
Four books rest upon one broad arm. They were not there a minute ago.
The bell chimes as I climb into the chair and draw my legs beneath me. His scent clings faintly to the leather, stronger here than anywhere else in the room.
I look towards him. His grey eyes are already upon me. I no longer know whether I have permission to speak, so I shape the words silently with my lips.
Thank you.
The severe line of Talarin’s mouth softens and curves. The faint lines beside his grey eyes deepen.
It is the first time I have seen him smile.
I turn back to the books.
The first is a mystery novel about a death in a bakery of a village cut off by a blizzard. The second is filled with carefully drawn Aurelian calligraphy alongside what looks like a human language I do not recognize either. It might be useful if I had paper and a pen to copy it.
The third is a thick guide to the birds of Colossus.
And the final book?
I have to read the title twice and scan through the pages, flicking past several diagrams, before I realize it appears to be about fluid dynamics.
It is a complete crapshoot, but a methodical one. A story. A skill. Something from the natural world. Something technical. Talarin has no idea what I might enjoy, so he has attempted to account for every possibility.
I choose the guide to Colossian birds and open it across my lap.
The thought that I will not spend the next ninety-nine days trapped inside that stupid little cage, bored out of my mind, fills me with relief. These hundred days might be far less unbearable than I thought.
That said, I’m not sure I want this place to become bearable.
Outside, the strikes of the Orb-Blades continue for several more minutes before finally falling silent.
Mero and Arrek enter through the archway barefoot, their light cream battle robes damp with sweat. Mero’s hair clings to his forehead, while moisture gleams across Arrek’s neck and the massive slabs of muscle rising into his shoulders.
Arrek sees me immediately.
I wait for his wolfish grin. For some mocking comment about the pink shorts, the tight shirt or the matching collar around my throat.
Instead, his gaze moves slowly over me and remains there.
“You look very good in pink.”
He bends over the chair and gently strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers. I force myself not to recoil, not to flinch. This one is not going to get a single reaction out of me. I could retch, he smells so strongly of musky sweat.
I look up at him over the edge of the book.
“I’d love to kiss you right now.”
I draw back from his hand, his words so unexpected that they break my composure.
Then I take two quick, pointed sniffs.
Arrek grins, that wolflike smile of his, and I instantly regret it, but I couldn’t resist.
He straightens and disappears into another passage. A few moments later, a second shower begins farther inside the estate.
I turn the page. The paper is thick and weighty beneath my fingers, each sheet settling flat with a soft whisper. The illustrations are detailed and ever so slightly stylized, as though the artist was trying to capture the spirit of each bird rather than only its exact appearance.
The next illustration shows one of the broad-billed birds that gather in the estate ponds.
It is a particularly fatty breed, and the kind we had last night.
I continue turning the pages carefully, seeing which species I recognize and which ones make their homes on the estate.
I resist the urge to flick through the rest. I only have four books, and I do not want to finish the two that are even remotely interesting and find myself stuck learning fluid dynamics.
In the background, Talarin restores the kitchen to its former immaculate order. A cupboard closes. The knife slides back into its block, followed by the muted clink of dishes being returned to their places. Everything feels so strangely quotidian.
I know he has finished when the kitchen falls silent. Then I hear the soft tread of his sandals approaching the chair and look up at him.
“I need to inspect your feet.”
It is not exactly a command, but I uncurl one leg and raise my foot towards him. His fingers close around my heel, lifting until the sole catches the firelight. The faint pressure tickles against my newly softened skin. My toes curl, but I suppress the sensation.
He angles my foot slightly, examining it from heel to toe.
“Very good. There is no damage, but they are tender from the healthy new skin.”
He releases me and disappears into the passage. When he returns, he carries a small jar. To my shock, he lowers himself onto one knee rather than making me climb down and move to accommodate him. His white robes spread around his bent knee as his hand cups my ankle.
He opens the jar and gathers a dollop of cream upon the pad of one enormous thumb. He presses it slowly against the sole of my foot.
The ticklish sensation strikes without warning. My leg jerks before I can stop it. Talarin’s head moves backwards and to the side by barely an inch. My foot misses his nose and almost grazes his cheek. He moves exactly far enough to avoid it, and not a millimetre more.
“Shit, I’m sorry. They’re really ticklish.”
“Shh.”
He shushes me gently. My mouth closes as I realize I was not given permission to speak.
Talarin resumes as though nothing happened, holding my ankle a little more securely this time. I bite the inside of my cheek and fight down the laughter. The shower has stopped, and I can already picture Arrek’s mocking, wolfish grin if he returns and finds me giggling while Talarin rubs my feet.
If he realizes I am newly ticklish, he is exactly the kind of bastard who would offer to take over under the pretence of helping, then use it as another way to torment me.
When Talarin finishes, he lowers my foot. Before he can say anything, I extend the other one.
He takes it without comment and begins rubbing in the cream. His touch still tickles, but I am getting used to it. It becomes easier to remain still, and soon I find myself enjoying the slow movement of his thumbs as they soothe the slight soreness.
When he finishes, he lowers my foot and closes the jar.
“I’m going to inspect the southern hives. Mero and Arrek are within earshot.”
Can I come with you?
The question forms so naturally that my lips part.
Talarin has already risen and turned away. I close my mouth before any sound escapes. He did not invite me, and I was not given permission to speak.
Then he stops.
Hope spikes as he turns back towards me.
“Do you want your third walk before or after dinner?”
Oh.
Mero and Arrek are both occupied elsewhere, and Talarin is leaving the grounds. There will be no one following me around with a leash.
“I’ll go now.”
Talarin nods and continues through the passage. I follow him into the courtyard, the bell chiming with every step.
He crosses towards the southern gate. I watch it open, then seal behind him after he passes through. I remain inside the walls, alone and unleashed.
I begin walking.
For the first few laps, I simply enjoy being able to move. No leash pulls against my collar. No enormous body follows a few steps behind me.