Page 40 of A Serpent in the Garden

I started as Serich’s hand found my shoulder. “Pardon?”

I must be a very annoying person to talk to most days, always staring into space, trailing off into long silences that might very well be uncomfortable to suffer through, yet Serich never complained. Never irritably snapped my name or his fingers in my face.

Saint Fucking Serich, It grumped. Please spare me the litany of his finer qualities.

Serich handed me my waterskin, full to the brim with icy river water, his eyes the warmest thing in this callous place. “I said we ought to start looking for shelter. It’ll be a long night if we can’t find anywhere warmer.”

Birds shrilled their funereal songs through black lace leaves as dusk descended. Shadows played at the edges of my vision but whenever I whirled to get a better look, nothing was there.

Am I paranoid? I asked It, stopped in the icy heart of the wood, my ears pricked for a noise that wouldn’t come in this silent, soulless place. Or is this still the light playing tricks?

It took him so long to answer that I felt he was about to lie. I don’t know, It finally said. I don’t sense anything. It could be the light; it could be something else. But your time is better spent worrying about bedding down for the night.

Serich and I sought refuge in the belly of a hollow tree we’d been fortunate to find in a slightly warmer section of wood, and though the rocks he’d piled at the entrance helped, a chill still bled through the cracks.

Dinner was carrots and stale bread, some of the leftovers Blathilde had seen us off with, and it was second nature to eat huddled against Serich’s heat. I was lucky he was so tall; there was more of his body to keep me warm. The alcerin had leached away an hour or so before, and I was beginning to feel the strain all that extra movement had left in my body. Muscles I didn’t even know I possessed ached. My back pulled and smarted as I shifted against Serich.

“Blathilde wasn’t wrong about the side effects of alcerin.” My voice rebounded against the darkening interior of the tree trunk. A few shafts of gray light seeped through the fissures between boulders, but it would be gone soon, leaving us blind and groping. “Are you as tender as I am?”

“A little. Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere. Mostly my legs.”

He dug his hand into the meat of my lower thigh, just above my knee.

Mother save me. It blew out a sigh as my heart gave a lurching flutter.

Go away if you don’t like it. My pulse quickened behind the hollow of my throat as Serich’s keen fingers dug into my aches. A total lack of hesitation, the way he’d reached for me, as if it were only natural. I would have been a fool not to notice how much more familiar he had grown lately. Because of his bloodrose, or something else? You know exactly where the door is. You spent enough time pouting in your hidey hole when I first came into the wood.

I’m interested in how far he’ll take it. It tilted back on a chair at the helm of my mind. How much higher up he’s willing to go until God tells him to knock it off. Will he abandon mission halfway through? Will he make it all the way to the top before he remembers he plans to take vows? Maybe he’ll surprise me and run a finger all the way up your inner thigh until he hits gold.

You’re awful.

Serich’s hand roamed to the stiff tissue behind my knee, his breath warming the back of my neck. “Your muscles are tight.”

Oh, so very, very tight, It said grandly, in a voice sparkling with jest.

Stop. I fought back an unwilling smile. He’s being nice.

I bet, It said conspiratorially, with enough appreciative moaning he’ll make it all the way up. I’m assuming he’s not sure what he’s doing, being celibate, but with some proper encouragement our priest will go far. That’s all any man needs, right?

I wouldn’t know.

If you’re so ready to have him inside you it’s something you should consider. I didn’t even have a moment to splutter an outraged retort before he cut across my thoughts. Ah—getting there. It almost sounded delighted as Serich’s hand wandered a few inches higher up my leg. What’s the betting he’ll get midthigh before claiming a hand cramp if he doesn’t get at least one groan out of you?

I pressed my lips together and closed my eyes, trying to focus on Serich, Serich and his nomadic hands, exploring the uncharted terrain of my legs. The first and only man who would ever travel this territory, and the smirking voice in my head was doing his damndest to overwhelm it. I have nothing to bet you.

You have plenty, It said, in a hair-raising tenor thick with suggestion. But this is just for bragging rights.

I knew I should simply ignore him, turn my thoughts into a wall of impenetrable gray stone that bounced back all his pithy comments, but It had always been difficult to shut out. You sound like a gambler.

I come from a family of them. Losing confidence if he’s going back down to the knee. And then a moment later: I stand corrected. Keeping us on our toes, this one. It paused, parsing my thoughts. You want it firmer, don’t you? He’s being too soft on you. Tell him. He definitely needs instruction.

Enough. I don’t need a narration. You’re going to make me laugh.

Well don’t do that, that’ll make him stop.

Your entire aim is to distract me or make me laugh so he’ll stop and you won’t have to be uncomfortable for a few minutes.