Page 13 of Bought By the Revenant
“You know,” I say, looking up with a half-smile, “if you’re going to watch me stuffing my face, I might have to return the favor at dinner.”
His face changes. The white skin around his eyes darkens with what I realize must be a blush. It’s such an unexpectedly human reaction that I nearly laugh out loud.
“I apologize,” he says. “I find your... enjoyment of food refreshing.”
“Food is one of life’s simple pleasures. My mother always said a good meal feeds the soul as well as the body.”
His expression softens at the mention of my mother again, and I realize how little I know about him. Does he have a family? Does he remember them? The questions hover on my tongue, but something tells me it’s too soon to ask.
“I have something to show you after breakfast,” he says.
***
The shed sits at the edge of the overgrown herb garden with its wooden door warped from age and weather. It looks so rundownthat I didn’t think to check it and see what’s inside. Now Riven and I are standing before it, and I glance up at him, curious as to why he brought me here. He steps forward and pulls the door open, and its hinges creak as if in pain.
Inside, morning light streams through small windows and illuminates new tools arranged in neat rows: pruning shears, trowels, spades, and rakes of various sizes. Shelves along one wall hold dozens of seed packets with colorful pictures on their fronts, and clay pots of every size are stacked in corners, waiting to be filled with soil.
“Tomas went to the market this morning,” Riven says. “I told him to buy everything you might need.”
I step inside, feeling overwhelmed. My fingers hover inches from the shelves. There are more supplies in here than I’ve ever had access to in my entire life. Varieties of medicinal herbs I’ve only read about in old books, never grown with my own hands. Joy bubbles up inside me, and I nearly throw my arms around him like I did the day before. I stop myself at the last moment, when I remember his reaction. I turn to face him with my hands clasped tightly behind my back to prevent them from reaching for him.
“This is incredible,” I say. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
For a heartbeat, I consider pressing a kiss to his cheek. But I hesitate, uncertain whether such a gesture would be welcome or cruel. Would it give him hope for something I’m not sure I can offer?
“Your happiness is thanks enough,” he says.
I bite the inside of my lip and bounce on the balls of my feet, my body buzzing with the urge to do something, to show him how much I appreciate all that he’s done for me in the past twenty-four hours. I push it all down. It’s too soon, things are happening too fast. I can’t throw myself at him every time he’s nice, and kind, and considerate… and… and…
By all the gods! I’ve never met someone like him! Sure, he’s wealthy and he can afford it, but I’ve met a few wealthy people in my life, and generosity wasn’t a trait they had.
“Thank you,” I say again.
I look into his white orbs, willing him to see how much this means to me. He smiles, the long stitch at the corner of his mouth pulling slightly. Then he nods, and I nod as well. Hopefully, we’ll grow accustomed to each other eventually, and our interactions won’t be so awkward anymore.
***
The days that follow settle into a pleasant rhythm. Each morning, I work in the garden, clearing overgrown beds and planting new seeds. Riven shows up and offers his help even though he’s clumsy and inexperienced with his long, thick fingers. His large, mismatched hands don’t know how to handle the delicate seedlings, but I show him how to hold them and how to pack the soil gently around their tender roots. He watches my movements with intense concentration before he mimics them with painstaking care.
“Your father never taught you to garden?” I ask one morning as we kneel side by side in the herb bed.
“I never had a father,” he says simply.
I swallow heavily. Something in his tone tells me I shouldn’t press further, so I don’t. I’m trying to find ways to get to know him, but I don’t know how to ask the questions, or if I should ask them at all.
In the afternoons, I work in the kitchen with Nell and learn where everything is kept and how the massive stone oven operates. Riven often sits at the kitchen table, supposedly reading but clearly listening to our conversation. He never interrupts but sometimes smiles at a joke or nods at a comment.
“The master never spent this much time in the kitchen before you came,” Nell whispers one day when Riven steps out.
“Does it bother you?”
“Not at all. It’s good to see him interested in something besides his workshop.”
I find myself growing comfortable with Riven’s constant presence as the days pass. He never touches me, but he’s always nearby – a shadow that keeps a careful distance. At first, I was aware of every stitch on his face and every mismatched part of him. Now I notice other things instead: the way he tilts his head when listening intently, how his voice softens when he’s pleased, and the careful way he handles books with their fragile pages. In fact, everything he handles, he handles with care, as if afraid he might break it. I wonder if he’s even aware of the grace he moves with. He thinks of himself as a monster, I can tell. The only mirror that’s not covered with a white sheet is the one in my room. But compared to the human men I’ve met… gods, he’s a true lord. Clean, well-dressed, his hair neatly combed at all times. His manners are impeccable.
Each evening, we dine together, and little by little, the awkwardness fades away. He still eats carefully, but he no longer seems self-conscious when I glance his way. We talk about small things – the progress of the garden, books we’ve read, and the changing weather that promises an early autumn.
One evening, I realize I no longer see his stitched-together form as ugly or frightening. The black threads, the mismatched skin tones, and the glowing eyes are simply Riven now. Not a monster, not my savior, just a person I’m coming to know better every day.
