by Mya Lairis
Gavenas went rigid with panic, wondering if she had had a relapse, if some measure of her poisoning had not been addressed, or worse—his care of her had fallen short in some way. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, the action stimulating her whole body to wobble before she ceased. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, almost as if imparting a secret. “I was trying to make iron stew, a mountain staple. But I… The broth tastes funny.”
Gavenas hurried over to the broth and glared down into the pot with its contents simmering nicely. There were hunks of meat and vegetables floating within a thick, brown stock, herbs…and mushrooms. The fungi were what drew Gavenas’s attention right away with their white stems and pinkish tops. Blinking back his disbelief, he turned to face Shoraya’s narrowed gaze suspiciously directed at the pot. “You added these pink mushrooms?”
She gave one nod only before she rolled her head back as if the exertion of that sole movement was too exhausting for her.
It probably was, Gavenas realized as he discerned her inebriated state for what it was. He failed to keep the laughter from his voice. “These are pixie mushrooms, Shoraya. They are not for cooking.”
“I just wanted to make you dinner for a change, and they looked like pebble shrooms, and I thought they tasted really firm and meaty, and—are they poisonous?” she asked suddenly with a look of shock.
Gavenas moved to sit at her side, his sides aching from containing the full roar of laughter he didn’t release. Reaching into the folds of his robe, he found the stays that connected his flask and undid them. “They are not, but, well…have some water.” He offered the water skin to Shoraya.
She batted a hand weakly in his direction before snatching the skin from him. Instead of drinking, however, she laid the container upon her thigh. “I don’t want water. I wanted to make you a meal. You make me food all the time, and I sit like a pampered cave cat, getting fat and lazy on milk. Which is not bad, but I wasn’t raised that way,” she insisted vehemently. “I mean, I don’t mind having my belly rubbed, or my pussy—because you are such a masterful lover. I don’t think I’m bad in the sack either, but a woman should be able to take some care of her male’s belly, and I can do that too!”
The meaning of her words struck Gavenas with a sudden fever. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry tears of joy. While her words had to spring from the mushrooms’ capacity to lower inhibitions, the heat of pride was searing his emotions to ash. She thought of him as her male. She wanted to take care of him. Her confession was the mirror of his own, and her determination…it was all in the sincerity of her pout as she looked toward him.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her close. With her head upon his chest, she wouldn’t be able to see the war of emotions coursing through his features that he was certain that he could not hide. “Of course you can. You just need to be familiarized with my larder, with my stores, is all.”
She agreed before going silent.
Gavenas thought that she may have drifted off to sleep after several minutes passed with her lax against him, but then she stirred, pulling away from his embrace and swiftly springing up.
Shocked by the swiftness of her movements, Gavenas found himself staring up at a woman swaying upon her feet.
Shoraya waggled a finger at no one in particular before doing a slow scan of the den. “This is all a little weird. You know some of those vines are alive, I think. I tried to grab one vial, and this one vine slapped me. I got the point and left it alone.”
He wanted to reach up and bring her back down to the floor, skeptical of her equilibrium and missing her warmth in his arms already. “It was enchanted to protect something poisonous. It is my fault; I should have shown you, explained to you my various ingredients.”
She balled her hands into fists and placed them upon her hips. With a furrowed brow that failed to convey real anger, she replied, “You should have. I arranged your rocks from your gems from your minerals. I explained those to you. I even helped you with your salts… Hmph.” She leaned down and snatched the ladle off the floor, and to Gavenas’s surprise, she returned to the edge of the hearth.
Before he realized what she intended to do, Shoraya had dipped the spoon back into the stew. She raised a helping and sniffed at the steam rising from it. “Well, at least it’s seasoned nicely.”
He reached out, with the intention of taking the spoon away. “Shoraya, I don’t think—”
She blew upon the spoon to cool its contents and then devoured the helping before Gavenas’s eyes. She then dipped the spoon back in the pot and offered a serving to him. “It’s not a bad soup…stew. You wanna try some?”
Gavenas took only a moment to debate the positive and negative aspects of pixie mushrooms and ingesting them. There was most certainly the danger of him confessing how he had become so used to Shoraya’s company, how he adored waking up and going to sleep in her arms. The threat of him confessing his love was hovering like a warning in the back of his mind, and even still his fear about her leaving could surface. However, as Shoraya was not faeyanin, her memory of the time spent under the drug’s influence would be impaired. There was a great possibility even that should he confess to the suspicion that they were fated for each other, she would not recall it the next day.
“I suppose so,” he said, making his decision based on the risks. He leaned forward and parted his lips so that he could accept the spoon.
Chapter Eleven
Shoraya’s cheeks ached from grinning. The night before had been so surreal. She only remembered flashes of the event, but those bits were bright in her mind. Never had she been as intoxicated or felt as free as she did after sharing that wicked broth with Gavenas.
She might not have even stirred from the bed if Gavenas hadn’t been summoned by a family of rambunctious wood walkers. With no courtesy whatsoever, the tiny tree-dwelling humanoids, no taller than Shoraya’s waist, sprang into the den to loudly express the demand for Gavenas’s services. As he suffered the loss of the pallet’s warmth, she decided to as well, pushing the thick spread off her form.
Both of them groggy and aching, Gavenas had gone deep into the woods with his companions, and Shoraya had taken up her sword and hiked to the lake. Her intention was to study and practice. There was a breed of crustacean, the Grave Pincer, which bore four front claws much larger than its six locomotive limbs. It had a way of brandishing its weaponry high above its head whenever a predator was near. Like a shield protecting attacks from above, their weapons served dual purposes.
Shoraya longed to mimic the creature, place its natural defensive techniques into her own repertoire, and yet she found herself sitting on the bank of the lake and reliving the night before, trying to gain back pieces shrouded in darkness as well as savoring those that were embarrassingly clear.
Gavenas had taken an interest in her toes, suckling each one with leisurely attentiveness. He had painted the soles of her feet with lazy kisses that tickled whenever his tongue darted out to steal a lick. On occasion he had even looked up and smiled at her.
There was a lot of mirth to be had that night, but it dulled a bit when Shoraya placed the foot that he wasn’t worshipping into his crotch. Gently she pressed against the hard, hot root of him, giving him a massage of her own. She recalled him lifting his robe to guide her foot to the naked, pulsing flesh and little more than his groans afterward.
In another memory, Gavenas was lying facedown before her, and it was her turn to pay reverence, to the ivory-and-rose cheeks of his ass. With both of them lost to common sense, there were no boundaries as she played her lips across his taut globes and even less when she parted his cheeks and tasted him at the core.
Gavenas had taken her. She remembered being astride him, rocking with impaired strength but experiencing every one of Gavenas’s thrusts like a lightning strike.
Such memories caused her pussy to ache, craving him greedily, selfishly, as if she would never have him again. And yet, she knew that
there would come a time when she would leave. She had to. Gavenas had his life, and she had hers.
While the time between them had been the fodder of dreams, Shoraya was shamed by her desire to do the one thing she had never permitted anyone to do to her. She had allowed Gavenas access to her soul, the place that had been fortified with goals of mastery and aims of education. She had envisioned a future of sword dancing, composed of lessons from nature, not hearth and nurturing. Shoraya had been certain of those feelings growing within her that morning as Gavenas had stirred in her arms to the harping demands of a green-haired wood walker standing boldly and uninvited before their pallet.
If Shoraya had had her way, Gavenas would still be resting. She might have had the opportunity to make him breakfast before he gave her a proper tour of the den’s wares. Then later they could have even made a proper meal…like a loving couple.
Shaking her head of the ridiculous, idealistic notion, Shoraya stood up and drew her swords. Gavenas had not once confessed his desire for a companion, and there she was contemplating a future with him.
She had an objective—a journey to make and lessons to learn. She was not like the other females or males. She had a calling.
Beginning her warm-ups, Shoraya took solace in working her wrists in circles, twirling her blades round and round in wide arcs to loosen the muscles of her arms. She let go of dreams involving bathing Gavenas by the light of the moon, accompanying him on his journeys through the forest, and preparing him supper in the evenings.
They would be good visions to carry with her on her journey and were already more than she could have hoped to ever have. Now her true loves lay in her hands, and as she seamlessly converted the oscillation of her swords into mock thrusts and parries to imaginary enemies, her heart felt light. The weight of wanting lifted from her chest, making each breath easier and every thought clearer.
She practiced for hours until her arms were sore and hands—already callused—ached, but she felt invigorated nonetheless, having come to a decision. Like a succulent butter and berry cake, her time with Gavenas was not one to be exploited, to be gorged upon, but one to be sampled and savored. She had had a good portion, but to attempt to stuff herself would only end in an upset stomach.
She sheathed her swords before going down to the water’s edge. She had left her flask in her pack but was no stranger to drinking from the cup of her hands. Crouching down at the calm edge of the water, she dipped her palms into the cool lake and drank.
She had decided. She would thank Gavenas, tell him that she would be leaving soon. That hurdle would be solidified and clear. She could begin preparations and learn to exist on her own again. It would be an ailment the same as her poisoning and the recovery would have to be done on her own, but she was certain that she could do it—that she would!
A subtle movement off to her left caught her attention, and she turned to witness a disturbance in the muddy bank. Emerging onto the shore was the mottled purple carapace of a Grave Pincer. With its four intimidating claws raised high, it scuttled away from its burrow, making its way toward a rotted log. Several other of its kind began to pop forth from the mud, all of them drawn toward the hollow wood.
Shoraya was riveted to her spot as crabs rushed past her to join their kind in a mutual journey.
It wasn’t until the log jostled fitfully that a pale-gray giant of a crab, nearly three times the size of the largest purple one, peeked from its hiding place. It was a female, Shoraya was sure of it as the spectacle began with the smaller crabs, dancing, warring, showing off their strength and skills against their brothers. Everywhere she looked there were displays of beauty, of horror, of courage and pride…
There was so much to learn, too much as she sat down and stared. At the setting of the sun, a winner was presented…and although she had committed a few movements to memory, Shoraya lamented when the crabs began to dig back into the loamy mud.
She still told herself that she had to leave, that she could not allow herself to become attached to a man she barely knew and who barely knew her, but she could not lie to herself about the need to travel far and wide. There were countless lessons in the forest that she was ignorant of…in the same way that she was ignorant of Gavenas’s heart, and she was overwhelmed by all of them.
Chapter Twelve
Gavenas knew that there was something different about Shoraya the moment that she drew back the den’s panel and stepped inside. If he had to be honest with himself, he had suspected something when she chose to linger just past nightfall. Fear, however, kept him riveted to the hearth.
He had occupied himself with the preparation of the night’s meal, an ample-sized shimmer trout stuffed with mashed quari root paste and nuts, a simple salad, and wine. It was a meal fit for royalty and one that would show off his cooking skills. Not that Shoraya had ever professed any of his meals to be anything less than extraordinary, but he relished the opportunity to please her, had become accustomed to it, and yet he could see it in her eyes, the very moment that he had dreaded.
As Shoraya moved to the pallet and placed her sheathed swords beneath the bed, Gavenas pretended to be overly concerned with tending the grilling fish, which was wrapped tightly in leaves and smoking nicely without his meddling fingers.
He heard the pallet creak as she sat down and swore he could detect the exhaustion in her bones as she settled. He wanted to believe that he was just paranoid. That rather than coming to the conclusion that she was well enough to be on her way, that she had realized her need for him. It was an absurd hope that he had aptly displayed his capacity to care for, feed, provide for, and love her. Surely a woman such as Shoraya could attain any male she wished for.
There was nothing truly special he had done, and yet Gavenas wanted to believe. He cursed himself for ever uttering that what he had done for her was the equivalent of how he might have tended to a wounded bird, even as he sat back and left the meal to cook on its own.
“There is a chill in the air.”
“Yes, there is. Winter is not far off,” Gavenas said as matter-of-factly as he could.
A measure of silence passed between them, where Gavenas stared into the flame, praying silently. Then Shoraya spoke.
“I should be getting on my way soon, before the snow begins to fall, I think.”
A horrible pressure settled into Gavenas’s chest as the desire to change her mind, to beg her to stay, raged within him. There was so much that he had planned to show her, things he wished to teach her about the forest and about herself. He felt sure that somehow he could incorporate not only magic but himself into her life. More importantly he felt she was his mate and that she simply didn’t realize it. Instead of prayers, Gavenas looked to the shimmering flames for emotional support, as each breath hurt to take.
“Does the forest get much? Snow?”
Gavenas heard the wavering hesitation in her voice and knew the decision had not been an easy one for her. Yet as she seemed strong enough to endure it, so would he be. He stood up from the hearth and drew his robes tightly about him, as if the warmth being provided by the cook fires wasn’t sufficient enough to keep the chill out of his bones. “It does. Several feet. But as you move toward the desert, the climate will warm to a furious heat. The nights, however, carry a harsher cold than you might expect. You should be properly prepared.”
He had several chests along the far side of the den but knew which one he wanted and moved toward it. Inside there were several items of fabric, clothing, furs, and blankets. He knelt down and searched through stacks of cloth until he found what he was looking for. The item he required was at the bottom. It was a soft, broad length of a pelt from a rare creature indigenous to the very lands that Shoraya was headed to.
He brought the pelt over and handed it to Shoraya. “You will need this for your journey.”
Shoraya gazed up at him with wide, curious eyes, but she took the offering into her hands. “What…”
“It looks flimsy, but I assure you
the pelt of the sun seeker is a wondrous thing. Even in the starkest cold, it will keep you warm with the sun it receives. If you wear it during the day, it will cool you as it stores the sun’s rays. At night it will release its energy.”
“Gavenas. You…you don’t need to—”
He waved a hand to discourage any issue with her pride. “I do as I please, warrior. Just as you. Anyway, I have no need of it. It was a gift from the guardian of a desert much like the Pusharak. We do occasionally mingle, my kin and I.”
“Oh, really?”
He chuckled at her attempt at jealousy, although it did burn for he wished more of it, yearned for her ownership. With a sigh he returned to the fire, which would undoubtedly be his only lover once again.
“What do you do in the winter months?”
“Plenty. While many of the animals sleep, all do not. It is not much different from when the creatures of mountains sleep, I suspect. Even when the snows reach the peaks, some slumber but not all.”
“Aye, that is true.”
It was the tone of sadness, her forlorn sigh, that caused Gavenas to break from his moment of self-pity and recall that the decision was no easier for her than it was for him. Still, she had made her choice, and despite the opportunity to sway her presenting itself, Gavenas could not bring himself to such a low.
As he returned his gaze to her, Gavenas noted she clutched the pelt, smoothing her hands across its length. She looked exhausted, weary…in no condition for a journey. Suddenly he was struck with worry for her safety, and one gift didn’t seem adequate enough. He fetched a box from one of the enclaves built into the wall of his den and set it upon the table. From inside, he drew forth a set of bells and a jar, which he rushed to present to Shoraya.
In his haste, he forgot himself and sat down beside her, close enough to be teased by her warmth. Yet when she looked toward him, flight was not an option. He showed her the wares he held, hoping to direct her brown eyes away from his own deceitful ones, so ready to beg.