“I’ve got at least another hour in me.”
Kori threw back the last of her ale and banged the empty stein on the table. “You’d be a better liar if you weren’t so tired.”
“Maybe Halfrida will let me nap upstairs—”
“No, no, it’s way too loud. Let me take you home.”
Ima’riel grinned a little wider with her sleepy eyes fixed on the table and then set her face serenely again. “All right, but one more thing.” She reached for Reeve’s arm and placed slender fingers on his bandage. A stab of jealousy flared in Celeste, and then she rent it right back out—the elf was only healing him like she had done for her own wound. The spell made her eyelids flutter, and Kori clicked her tongue, insisting the elf wish the two of them goodnight and hustled her outside.
When they were left alone in the busyness of the tavern, Celeste turned swiftly to Reeve and pouted. “I’m sorry I kicked you.”
“Oh, I hardly felt it.” He grinned from the side of his mouth, that dimple creasing his cheek adorably, and she noticed a blotch of pink on his neck that might have been new.
Over his shoulder, the villagers were carrying on in the Dew Drop. The tavern was exceptionally warm and noisy, but their table was pushed up against the stairwell, hemming them into a cozy corner. Through the windows, it was clear night had fallen, the firelight on the hearth glinting orange over everything. Gaspard’s lute and his velvety voice wove its way through the crowded room, and the smell of spiced boar meat was heavy in the air.
“Kori has probably told Ima’riel…things, but they don’t know about Syphon, so thank you for not saying anything. I know that was difficult.” Since she had dressed his wound, her hands hadn’t cooled down, fingers still hot and itching to touch him again. It was stupid, dangerous, and would lead to even more wounding, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from scooting a little closer to him. “If you get in trouble with Valcord for lying, I’ll make it up to you.”
Reeve’s grin fell off, his amber eyes warm in the candlelight. “How would you do that?”
Celeste’s throat went thick with every indecent act she knew, and a few she made up on the spot just for him. He was genuinely asking, surely, not hinting at any of the things that suddenly filled her mind, chiefly her on her knees and not in prayer.
“I need the privy,” she said, shooting to her feet.
She hurried to the back of the tavern, but the door didn’t give when she pushed, though she did hear retching behind it. Flustered, she just needed to be out of the overly warm tavern and went for the door beside it.
The little room beyond was cool, but it wasn’t a privy, though there was a hole in the ground, one that had a ladder sticking out but boards laid over top. Celeste’s hand on the doorknob tightened, her muscles tensing without her permission. She squeezed the locket about her neck, and it thumped back.
Wind blew past her ear like a whisper, curling around the back of her head and returning to speak into the other.Come to discuss your reward?
“Celeste, dear, be careful, you’ll topple into nowhere.” Halfrida bustled behind her, clusters of empty ale steins in both of her fists.
“Is there…is there someone down there?” Celeste heard herself asking, her own voice sounding far away as she stared into the darkness peering back up from between the boards on the ground.
“Goodness, no, the basement’s been off limits since that great flood we had decades ago. Most of ‘em in the town are completely useless now, it seems only Baylen’s has survived mold-free, but nobody’s ever not had the heebie jeebies down in mine, so we just boarded her up.” She gestured with her overly full hands. “Come on, now, out you come.”
“Sorry,” Celeste mumbled, stepping backward against the pull that was keeping her there. “Someone’s in the privy.”
“Oh, that’d be Carson. He’s had about seven too many ales, and the plumbing’s already been giving me enough difficulty down here. Geezer needs to turn back up and set the arcana in the pipes right.” Halfrida rolled her eyes, then pointed for the stairs. “There’s another loo up there, dear, just to the right.”
With one more distressed look as she shut the basement door, Celeste scurried off, passing Reeve engaged in conversation with Willow and Charlie, who had taken Ima’riel and Kori’s seats. Ascending to the tavern’s second floor was like being lifted away from the fray, the quiet of the narrow hall and many empty rooms flushing away that overheated, overwhelmed, over-everything feeling she’d had under Reeve’s eyes.
Tending to his wound had reminded Celeste that Reeve was just a man who was capable of being injured, and while it was exciting, it was equally terrifying. The thought of Reeve being run through by that infernal beast filled her with a sense of loss she couldn’t fathom being entitled to. But when she wiped down his arm and applied ointment to it, there was the other part of being a man that presented itself, palpable beneath her fingers, all taut skin and hardness.
Reeve had older scars too when she’d inspected his muscled arm. She wanted to run her hands along each one and then up to his chest to examine the marks she’d glimpsed before, to feel if he was similarly damaged everywhere. He certainly didn’t act like a damaged man, but his body told her otherwise.
She knew for sure, though, that he was just as solid all over because he had dragged her up against him back in the forest, calloused fingers digging in and holding her close, but the moment was so brief and bewildering it had practically fallen right out of her head. And that was a good thing because none of those thoughts were appropriate when he was hurt, for goodness’s sake. The blood helped, and the split skin too, but thank the dark gods and the light gods and all manner of cricket that he’d not agreed to her other offer. What was she thinking?Do you need help taking a bath?Her whole body flashed with heated embarrassment all over again.
I mean, I would have done it, she thought ruefully as she left the bathing chamber in the lightless upstairs of the tavern and inn,and I would have gone straight to the Abyss for taking advantage of him.
Celeste’s experience with men was fraught, only meeting them through her sister. Delphine had a rotating retinue of minions willing to do the dirtiest of work, but rarely would they look at Celeste as she skulked in the shadows, especially when Delphine was so beautiful and commanding. There was one, however, who possessed a nice enough face and an even nicer voice that said some complimentary things at opportune times.
Tarquin would playfully creep up on Celeste and make her heart race by grabbing her about the waist and pinning her to a wall. She wasn’t sure she liked that, but she did like the attention. He, however, didn’t like when she grew comfortable with his touches and asked to be treated less like a secret. Celeste often didn’t know they were in an argument until after her eye was blackened, but the worst of it had resulted in the breaking of her arm.
Delphine dismissed Tarquin after that—didn’t kill him, it was important to note, though her sister slit throats for much less. It just wouldn’t do to have a minion around who was distracted by her sister regardless of if he were bedding or beating her.
Celeste did better when she could buy companionship. It was too mortifying to admit to Delphine, but the men who worked at Yvlcon were discreet, and there were a lot to choose from: men who could act like Tarquin, dominant and good at inflicting pain, and some that even encouraged Celeste to try to play that role herself, though she was awful at it. Eventually she discovered what she liked, and it wasn’t all that exciting, it was just someone who was kind, or at least, someone who was pretending to be kind because she paid them to be.
She felt hollow afterwards, but less hollow than before. Mostly.
