Page 75 of Ember and Eclipse
“See how his colors alternate? He’s venomous,veryvenomous. If he bites you, well, knowing you, you’ll survive. As for me, I’d be dead after unfathomable pain.” The snake’s red and black were like a banner amongst the green and browns of the swamp, at least making them easy to avoid.
She showed him what was safe to eat and what was decidedly a death wish. When she handed him some of the notes from the witch before her that had her own records scribbled in the margins and filled in the empty pages, he poured over them. Often he would make remarks such as ‘I can’t believe you figured this out all by yourself’ and ‘you clever little witch.’ The simple praise often had pride thrumming through her and her cheeks burning when she could never remember being someone who blushed before.
They cooked a lot. He showed her how to make the mushroom soup and flour out of some of the nuts that grew farther out. And she showed him everything else.
“Take a bite.”
Devdan bit into the grood reed and immediately pulled a face. “Did you just poison me again?”
“You’re being dramatic. But that is why they’re best seared, soaked in broth, or marinated.”
“Show me.”
And she did. They made so much grood reed that night, she thought she may never want to eat it again.
He patched up the leaky parts of the house and fixed the stream of water so that the bath filled up faster. He’d tried explaining to her the duct system but gave up once her eyes glossed over.
Rel made him two more pairs of pants and two tunics. Her skill with needle and thread wasn’t great, but the man needed more than one pair of trousers and Tabion’s tunic, and the one that fit just a little too tight against his back muscles.
They’d eventually have to go to the Mark to get him more. Especially with the swamp’s humidity and…
She caught herself. Was he even staying? And she couldn’t tell which thought was making her sick to her stomach—him leaving or him never leaving.
But her heart knew.
She could feel that he wanted more from her. And she wasn’t sure whatmoreentailed, just that he longed for it so deeply that sometimes the feeling overwhelmed her. But he never pushed her. She’d catch him looking at her sometimes, and when she would turn to address him, he would ask her something, deflecting the situation.
But even more perplexing, she loved to studyhim. Often. It was abundantly clear that he hadn’t spent much time relaxing and being domestic in his lifetime. In fact, he rarely settled. He was always doingsomething,even if it was just learning a new skill or exploring parts of the swamp.
She watched how he delicately handled her plants as he moved them to patch up parts of the house and then moved them back, grumbling at them under his breath as if they were children. “Stop putting holes in the walls and intertwining with the others across the room. Are you trying to kill us?” he asked, exasperated.
They fought. Small arguments, usually, though some were like sparks that threatened to set the whole place ablaze. But she never once told him to leave, no matter how many times the words crossed her mind.
He usually left the house afterward, though. To give both of them space, she suspected, but he always came back before bed. No matter what. He’d enter the room, take off his tunic, and if she didn’t move over for him or make any move to lift the covers, he would lift her up himself, his grip feeling like amends and demands. They didn’t exchange apologies, but he would always rub her back until she drifted off to sleep.
In fact, Rel found that their nights were her favorite. They slept the same way every time, with her on top, her head against his chest, his arms around her. But it was the quietness. The simpleness of just existing together in that moment. Of touching without it needing to lead to something more physical. It was an intimacy all its own. There was a feeling that she hadn’t felt since she could remember—security. But more importantly, she had the blossoming awareness of what she wanted.
And sometimes, they would talk, the silence broken by a fact or a question always in a hushed tone, as if this was their temple and they were the gods who oversaw it. He gave her at least one fact about himself every night and let her decide if she wanted to do the same, which she always did.
After four weeks of sleeping so intimately together, and him always massaging her back, she offered to do the same for him.
“No need. Besides, the bed isn’t ideal for such things.” But she wasn’t having it. And she didn’t know how to say that shewantedthis. She wanted to touch him. More than just her cheek pressed against his chest and her arms against his ribs. So she sat on the bed, placing a cushion behind her to lean against the wall.
“You can lay here,” she murmured, patting the tops of her thighs with her hands.
He arched a brow but pulled his tunic over his head in one swift motion before laying it over the chair. Then he approached her slowly, giving her time to change her mind. As if this was somehow crossing some boundary they hadn’t crossed before. But was it any different than him touching her?
“Come on,” she said, patting her legs again.
He lowered himself, moving his muscled body until he was comfortable, and found a place for his head across her lap. His cheek was against one of her plush thighs, his arms up, framing her hips and sides. She studied the image for a long moment. It was intimate. More intimate somehow than anything else they had done. And yet, she found that she liked the vision. He sighed, his chest expanding against her legs that were alongside him.
She cleared her throat, wiggled her fingers, and then set to work. She started with his shoulders and the back of his neck, pressing her thumbs deep and guiding them down. He made a thick sound against her thighs, and she took it as encouragement to continue.
After her hands had slowed sometime later, he rolled over without comment, only to settle against her again. Rel didn’t touch him for a long moment. Instead, she let herself look. His eyes were closed, and she studied his dark lashes, which were longer than she expected. Her gaze traveled down the line of his nose, catching on the scar that sat against his cheek. She brushed her fingertips over it, and he shivered beneath her.
“Where did this come from?”
“The scar?” His voice was huskier than usual.
