Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
It’s larger than I thought, the furnishings nice enough if not sparse—faded rugs overlapping on the cave floor, a low dresser along the wall with candles and a small stack of books, a small couch and a rocking chair piled with blankets facing a hearth that Ellestra is currently lighting with her torch. At the other end is a round table with a couple of chairs and a stool; a small nook for a kitchen with a cistern and woodstove, the pipes leading somewhere out of the cave ceiling; and what looks to be a mound of hay covered with a blanket on the ground. I’m curious about it for a moment until Lemi goes straight to it and flops down—his dog bed.
“I’m sure we live like peasants compared to you,” Ellestra says to me as she replaces her torch outside and shuts the door. “But it’s home.”
“It looks lovely,” I say to her, trying to come across as genuine as possible. I have a feeling she’ll be quick to hold a dagger to my throat if given the slightest provocation.
Ellestra rolls her eyes and looks over at Brynla. “I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. That Norlander slang.”
“Does ‘lovely’ not mean the same here?” I ask, but both of them seem to ignore me as they go to the kitchen. Brynla takes a torch off the wall and lights the woodstove while Ellestra fills up a kettle from the basin. They maneuver past each other with ease, movements matching each other, and I feel like I’m getting a glimpse into Brynla’s everyday life, a peek at her past.
“Tell your boy to sit down,” Ellestra says to her.
“He’s not my boy,” Brynla says, looking slightly embarrassed. Good to know I still bring a flush to her cheeks.
“He’s your something, that’s for sure,” Ellestra mumbles under her breath.
I take a dutiful seat at the table, unable to take my eyes off Brynla as she rummages through a threadbare pantry, wondering what’s to come and wishing we were alone.
“Do we have any of that mint tea?” Brynla asks her aunt.
“Right there.” She nods at a small linen bag.
Brynla sniffs it. “This isn’t the good stuff. I’m talking about the one from Farmer Vale. The one for guests.”
Ellestra sighs as if Brynla’s asked for the moon. She stands beside her and pulls out a small paper bag, shoving it in Brynla’s hands.
“I don’t need anything fancy,” I say, splaying my hands. “Don’t waste the good tea on me.”
Ellestra gives me a tired look while Brynla sprinkles the tea leaves into the kettle’s sieve.
“It’s customary for Freelanders to offer water in two forms when a guest comes to stay or visit,” Ellestra says to me. “In a tea, and in a bath or basin.”
“I don’t need a bath,” I tell her, though I quickly smell myself to make sure that I’m right. So far so good. “I took one in the ocean yesterday. Brynla did too.” At least I assume she did—she went off the bow and out of sight while the rest of the crew had a dip off the stern. Salt water doesn’t clean as well as fresh, but with the right soap it works in a pinch.
“As I said, it’s customary,” Ellestra says sternly. “Water is in short supply in the Banished Land. This offering is the highest honor. And one you shouldn’t refuse, unless you want to be cast into a slug web. I’ll get a bath going for you.”
At that she grabs a torch and walks off down the hallway that leads out from the room.
“You saw me take a bath yesterday,” I tell Brynla. “At least, I saw you avert your eyes once I took my pants off.”
“Take the bath,” she advises me, that flush still on her skin. “You never know when it could be your last. Take whatever my aunt is giving you, to be honest.”
“She doesn’t like me much,” I tell her. “She might have poisoned the water.”
She laughs, causing the dried black salve to crack on her cheeks. She still looks impossibly beautiful. “If she wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.”
She puts a small teacup on the table in front of me and I impulsively reach out, placing my hand on top of hers, holding it down as I stare into her eyes. I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just know I want to touch her, feel her, and I want her to know that I want that.
I want her.
Brynla holds my gaze, her dark eyes swimming with emotions I find hard to read—lust, shame, sadness, affection? All of the above?
It doesn’t matter. I’m about to get to my feet to march over there and kiss her, the need becoming unbearable, when Ellestra comes bustling back into the room. Brynla swipes her hand away and turns to the stove, but her aunt stops and looks between the two of us with a cocked brow.