Page 77 of Heart of Winter
“Aye,” Askr said, gaze narrowing in shrewd evaluation. “The one come to bring his pretty cousin to marry the prince, eh?”
Oliver swallowed with difficulty. “I expect a formal betrothal will be announced shortly.”
“For her, or for you?” someone else quipped, and the men chuckled darkly.
From farther back, someone muttered, “King’s pet,” like a curse.
Askr continued to scrutinize him, and the glint in his eyes was no longer amused, but something else entirely. “He speaks highly of you – does Erik. I think many wonder why.”
Magnus grasped the front of Oliver’s gown, his grip tight, but his voice breezy when he said, “Oh, he’s a head for negotiation, our Oliver. He can turn anyone into an ally. For now, though, we’ve a pool waiting. If you’ll excuse us, my lord.” He bowed, quickly, and tugged Oliver along in his wake.
Oliver went gladly. He heard the murmur of gossip behind them, and hurried to keep up, face burning.
Magnus led them between pools that grew less and less densely populated with bathers, until, finally, they slipped between two towering stalagmites, around a corner, and into a cozy, secluded nook where a large, deep blue pool steamed. Empty and inviting.
Oliver felt faintly dizzy, and not just from the heat. He dropped down onto a bench carved into the stone wall, and rubbed at his face with his hand, trying to scrub the blush from his cheeks. “This isn’t good, Magnus.”
“This pool? Oh, no, it’s the best. Nice and quiet. You can’t even hear that braying donkey from here.”
“No.” Oliver dropped his hand and sent him a pleading look. “You heard them. To them, I’m a bastard, a Southerner, and” – he had to gulp down a swell of sick anxiety – “theking’s pet.”
Magnus shrugged, and shucked his robe, unbothered by his own nudity. “People talk. Human nature.” He stepped down into the water with a glad sigh and got settled on one of the benches below the surface, stretching luxuriantly. “You can’t please everyone. All that matters is that the people who matter like you, and they do.”
He patted the water beside him so that it splashed. “Come and have a soak. You’ll feel better.”
Oliver huffed a sigh. But he shed his gown and slipped down into the water, leaving a wide space between them. The water was a deep, dark indigo like the night sky without stars, but he would just as soon not take the chance of being examined too closely. He was even thinner now than he’d been before, still recovering: his ribs and hipbones and clavicles sharp points beneath too-pale skin, his belly flat, nearly concave, but soft. Both his arms together couldn’t hope to make one burly Northman arm.
Magnus leaned out of the water just far enough to snag the handle of his basket with one finger and drag it closer. “All right, let’s see what we have here – nothing fancy, mind, only some cheese, and grapes, and a bit of that good, dark bread, and wine…”
Oliver wasn’t listening. He’d sunk up to his chin in the warm water, and it wasdelightful. He could properly appreciate it this time, not being sick, and his worry and doubt faded to the periphery as he enjoyed the warm caress against every inch of his skin.
Magnus poured him a cup of wine and leaned forward to place it closer to him along the edge of the pool.
“Thank you,” Oliver said, dreamy and half-garbled because his lips were so close to the water.
Magnus chuckled. “See? All that bein’ reluctant, and now I won’t be able to drag you out.”
“Hm. Perhaps not.”
“Brother.” Lars appeared around the corner, already undressed, his robe carried over one arm. “You have snacks.”
“I have plenty. Get in.”
He joined them, and Oliver finally roused himself enough to eat some grapes and cheese, and to drink his wine.
“These are the last grapes we’ll get until spring,” Magnus lamented, examining one wistfully before he popped it in his mouth.
“There’s the dried ones,” Lars said. “And the apricots, too.”
“Nah. They taste like barrels.”
“’Cause they’re shipped in barrels, you git.”
Oliver snorted to himself and reached for another bunch for himself. “Do you not grow any fruits up here, then? All of it’s bought?”
“We’re lucky if we’ve a tomato crop in summer,” Magnus said. “Not enough sunlight for these.” He held a grape up so that the light from the cressets glinted off its smooth, purple skin.
“Rarity must make them even sweeter,” Oliver reasoned.
