Page 50 of Aubade Rising
I gulp, still processing wearing his clothes and that I think he likes it.
“Absolutely not.” I make a show of being interested in the books on his nightstand.
He coughs, sounding uncomfortable for once. “I’m going to need you not to be sitting on my bed while I change. In fact, I need you far away from it.”
I lean back on one arm and half turn towards the sound of his voice. His eyes travel up and down my body before he shakes himself.
“Sage,” he grits out, jaw tense. He drags his hand through his hair in irritation and the towel slips lower on his hips, “Go and get some breakfast or something.” I frown. There’s no need to be so rude.
Frustrated, I storm to the bedroom the housekeeper assigned to me, tossing his oversized clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Chapter 50
My relief at our escape is regrettably short-lived. Cathair may be far from Tanwen, but the rebels have contacts everywhere. Every servant in Eskar’s family townhouse could be working against us, plotting to stop us returning or to take back the rucksack full of serpentine stashed in my room. We have to get back to Pentargon as quickly as possible, to tell the Concord what we’ve learnt. I try to convince the housekeeper to send a message to Pentargon and to book our passage home but she resists. She makes it clear that only Eskar’s approval matters and I should wait for his instruction. It rankles. Particularly since I can’t find him.
After I’ve meandered through the house, unable to sit and still full of restless energy, the housekeeper sends me to the greenhouse for herbs for dinner. She’s a stern old woman and not one to take no for an answer.
Flowers bloom at every turn. The grounds are beautiful. I can’t miss the greenhouse, a monstrously large wrought iron structure nestled deep in the garden. It towers over me, the size of a marquee and when the gardens are in full season, then that is nothing compared to the lush green foliage pressed to the glass surface roaring to break free.
The humidity punches me in the face. Breathing is a challenge and my body braces against the increase in temperature. I stroll further into this tropical oasis, lifting the huge, variegated leaves out of the way, noticing hoarse croaking of tree frogs and the gentle hum of insects. Sweat forms at the back of my neck, across my collarbones and down my spine.
Cursing as I trip on an exposed root, no herbs are going tothrive in this heat. I turn to leave and spy Eskar through the dense leaves. I falter, tilting back and forth between leaving him in peace or investigating what he’s up to. Curiosity wins and I creep closer.
There’s a stream bubbling through the centre of the greenhouse that I hadn’t seen before. What wealth his family must have if they have this private sanctuary to ensure they are always able to channel. No need to share the rivers or canals like common Mordros.
The stream explains the humidity. Eskar reclines in it, channelling, a pile of clothes discarded on the bank next to him. I blink twice, taking in the view.
His broad shoulders and back muscles are relaxed and my eyes can’t help tracing the pattern of bruises downwards until the water obscures his body. He leans back on his hands, head tilted back to the foggy glass panes above, eyes closed. I’m jealous of his state of relaxation, my mind still jumbled and processing our escape, heart racing and palms sweaty. Instead, I settle for admiring each individual muscle from his neck downwards – there’s plenty to appreciate.
After a while, my sanity returns and I realise how creepy I’m being. I go to leave but as I turn, he calls out.
“Finally finished staring then, Sage.” His caramel eyes are mischievous and the creases living round their edges have been erased by the damp air. I’m struck by how much younger he looks without the dirt from the Haag coating him. We’re so similar in age but have had such different lives.
After all we’ve been through together, I recognise the pull towards him, the desire to climb into the stream with him and smooth away the bruises lingering on his skin. But after the mixed messages this morning, I’m uncertain whether he feels it too.
“You made it clear touching wasn’t allowed. You didn’t sayanything about looking.” To make my point, I strut over to a smooth rock nearby and sit facing him.
He rises to my challenge and leans back in the water.
I gulp – obviously, he is definitely very naked.Fidgeting, I can’t get comfortable, nor can I ignore that the sight of him has made my mouth incredibly dry. He’s clean-shaven again and he looks like he did when we were in his apartment in Cathair, after we changed our appearance to go into hiding.I wrap my fingers self-consciously around my dark hair, the dye still lingering.
Eskar blatantly stares at me, tempting me to push back, to ask why he kicked me out of his room earlier. To finally address what’s been simmering between us now for months.
“Well, I hope you enjoy the view then,” he drawls, languidly tilting back and closing his eyes. He shifts down to his elbows, allowing his hands to move. They remain submerged, drawing slow circles as he channels to replenish his magic.
I test my magic while sitting on the rock, ruminating over my confusing companion’s behaviour. I’m unable to wield through the glass. It must be specially made then, a safety precaution. Unusual though – normally Aubade magic is overlooked.
I notice his eyes are staring at me hungrily.
“Now who’s enjoying the view?”
A drop of perspiration leaves my face, trailing down my neck. I freeze when it pauses between my collarbones and changes path, creeping towards my breast.
Eskar is smiling lightly, hands now static. If he’s stopped channelling then he must be working on something else. I narrow my eyes and the bead of water continues its journey south, feeling pleasantly cool against my overheated skin. More droplets join, condensing from the air around me. My nipples respond. If I’m reading the new tension in his shoulders correctly, it’s something Eskar has also noticed.
“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice is low,gravelly and full of something I can’t identify.
I’m struggling to process words, let alone full sentences, my concentration focusing on urging on the delicious tickle of the water droplet.
