I can’t stop watching North eat. On the road, his appetite was fairly well squashed— by fear, by the pain of his injuries, by his experience with the povvy. Out at the feast, while I watched him from behind my screen, he didn’t eat at all. Now, though, faced with a selection of my favorites from the temple kitchens—and a promise that nothing he’s eating is meat—he’s not holding back.
He catches me watching him as he’s licking cheese from the fingers of one hand and trying to keep his flatbread from falling apart with the other. “What? Are my table manners not up to specifications?”
Every time I start to think he’s just like any young man from this world, he goes and says something like that. He doesn’t speak the way we do, though I can usually understand the idea behind what he’s saying. And while I’m no longer worried he might forget himself and accidentally touch me, and he never treats me with anything but respect—he also doesn’t look at me the way the people of my faith do.
His easy grin falters a little, and I realize I’ve been staring at him rather than answering him.
“You have lovely table manners,” I tell him, which for some reason makes him laugh. I had been trying to compliment him.
North raises an eyebrow at me. “So why is my eating so amusing?”
“Not amusing,” I protest. “You must understand, food is an important symbol among the people here. Food is often scarce, and so feeding a person is a gesture of …” I hesitate, for I’d been about to say “love.” I brush past that in my mind and say instead, “To watch someone enjoying a meal so much is … pleasing.”
North leans over to snag a spiced pastry as though he’s sneaking something past me. “I’m so glad I can treat you, then.”
I take advantage of his preoccupation with the pastry to try to gather my wits.
My mind has been ensnared by a particular preoccupation in the last few hours: if North is the Lightbringer, then he is divine as well.
There have never been two divine beings in the world at the same time, not since before the Exodus when the gods left us. There are no rules for it.
That the living divine cannot be touched by mortals without losing her divinity is a law that has been handed down through the centuries.
But what happens if she’s touched by someone carryinghis owndivinity?
My skin still tingles at the memory of his expression when he found me in the pool. His nearness when he was handing me my robe. I must fight to keep from visibly shivering whenever my thoughts go back to it.
“Are you cold?”
I blink and find North looking at me, eyebrows drawn together in faint concern. “What?”
“You’re shivering. Do you want my jacket?” He brushes the crumbs from his fingertips and curls his hands around the lapels of the borrowed jacket of black silk he wore to the feast.
Quickly, I shake my head. Techeki no doubt dressed him in fine clothes from the outer layers on down—I don’t think it’d be a good idea to see him in his undershirt alone. “I was only thinking. I am quite warm enough still from the waters.”
Hunger sated somewhat, North lowers his hands to the stone and leans back on them. “Tell me, what’s so important about the temple waters that they play such a big role in your ritual?”
I eye him askance, trying to detect any traces of that irritating air he gets when he asks about magic or faith. All I can see is curiosity.
“Water and magic have always been closely linked.” I push the boxes of food aside to make room for us both at the bathing pool’s edge. “Running water can act as a shield against magic, and still water can be used as a conduit for it. That is why the temple is built here, nestled in between two branches of the river, where it runs most swiftly.”
“So it works like the sky-steel?” North asks, watching me curiously. “Keeps you safe from mist-storms?”
I nod. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but for the most part, yes. That is also why many of my people—the riverstriders, to be specific—have made their homes on the water and rarely leave the byways of the forest-sea and the river itself.”
“So your rituals honor the water?” His voice is a little tentative, as if, for the first time, he’s considering the fact that his attitude toward my beliefs might actually affect my feelings.
I find myself smiling at that, if not what he’s actually said. “In a way. Water from the two rivers, from the place where they split, is diverted here.” I gesture toward the pool, where troughs for the two rivers feed into the pool, keeping it brimming. “When I bathe here it symbolizes the living divine uniting her people the way the waters mix here and become one river again.”
North glances at me for permission, then dips his fingers into the pool with a little smile. “Nice and warm.”
“They’re heated by a natural spring below the temple.” I reach for my cup, and the sweet wine it contains, so I can sip at it while watching North over its rim. “These rituals are some of my favorite parts of my calling.”
“Mine too,” North replies fervently, his attention on the steam rising from the pool—then, seeming to hear what he’s said, he stiffens and looks up apologetically. “I mean—” But the spice in the pastries must catch up with him, as he bursts into a fit of coughing.
Torn between alarm and amusement, I lean forward and hold out my cup, splaying my fingers over the rim so he can grasp its base. He nods his gratitude, the paroxysm slowing enough for him to take a drink. Once he’s gotten himself under control, he takes another sip, slower this time, eyes downcast at the cup.
My amusement fades as I watch him, for his face has grown serious, a few dark curls falling forward into his eyes as he traces his fingertips around the rim of the vessel, where my own lips rested not long before.
