Chapter Five

The stream was more of a river, too deep to ride across, and we had to ride downstream for some way before we came to a stone arch of a bridge, green with moss. I threw the last scone over the edge. “In case there’s a troll,” I explained to him when Rivyn protested.

“And if there’s not?” he wondered as he guided Coryfe across. He held the reins in one hand, his other wrapped around my middle. I was sure I was not imagining that he was riding closer to me, his chest now firmly pressed against my back and my legs resting against his. He had taken over the stirrups, too.

“Well, something will eat it, I’m sure.” Beyond the bridge, the grass began to show wear, gradually forming into a road. “We’re on a road now, so we’ll come upon somewhere eventually,” I was happy about that. I did not like being ignorant as to where we were, and hopefully, if there was a village or a town, we could find lodgings overnight. I hoped the mage would pay. I had the household coins in my purse, but I did not want to part with them, in case Rivyn stranded me somewhere along the way home, and I had to make the rest of the journey alone. “A village, or a town.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And we will need to resupply if you’re going to continue throwing good food at unoccupied bridges.”

“How do you know it’s unoccupied?” I asked him.

“I’m a mage,” he said as if that explained.

“I don’t know much about mages,” I admitted.

“Is that right?” He was amused.

“Why is that funny?”

“Well,” he considered his words. “You’re just a village girl... Mages don’t tend to frequent little villages.”

“You’re too important, and tend to frequent cities?”

“Yes. And so, it’s not exactly unexpected that you wouldn’t know anything about us.”

“Well, tell me something about mages, then.”

He was silent for a long moment as if trying to think of what to say. “Mortal magic users have a strain of brethren in them, somewhere along the line. Men do not possess magic in themselves. It is introduced via the brethren bloodlines, as it is natural to this world and mankind is not. You would think, the more recent the brethren connection, the stronger the power, but it is not necessarily so. The power is very... unique that way. Some very powerful sorcerers cannot trace their link, it’s so far in the past.”

I was fascinated. “So, you have Fae or Elvish, somewhere in you?” I asked him. I had suspected as such, from his ears.

He laughed. “Yes.”

“Is yours recent?” It explained why he was so fearless. The Fae were the most mighty beings in the world, and therefore feared no one. It would explain much about him.

“Very.” He was not going to elaborate the tone told me. His mother or father, I decided. “I grew up in the Fae Court,” he added, surprising me.

“Really?” I breathed it out. “What is it like?” All I knew of the Fae court was from stories and some depictions in the books in my father’s scant library, and that mostly impressed upon me their beauty and elegance, wealth, and power. And that time ran differently for mankind caught there, so that a person may age decades in a day or be gone for decades only to return and find all their loved ones gone.

“I don’t know, it’s just... home,” he replied quietly. He was homesick, I thought. “I did not choose to leave,” he added.

“What happened?” I asked him.

“I was betrayed,” his voice hardened. “My power stolen, and I was cast out.” The trees parted before us, and we could see a little village straddling the road. “Ah,” he was pleased. “A tavern. Excellent.”

A stable boy took Coryfe for us, and we entered the tavern. It was a small room with a low roof that meant that Rivyn had to duck beneath the lower beams. The hearth in this chamber was unlit due to the mild weather, though we had seen smoke rising from one of the other chimneys. There were chairs and tables around the room, mostly unoccupied except for one man, eating a bowl of stew with his tankard of beer, his face hidden in the hood of his cloak.

The bar had two men sitting at it, deep in conversation. The inn keeper evaluated us as we entered, eyeing up Rivyn’s impressive height and build, and his fine clothing. “We don’t want any trouble,” he said to him. “Respectfully.”

“We’re not after any,” Rivyn replied firmly. “Just a meal, something to drink, and perhaps a room for the night?”

“We can do that if you have the coin to pay,” the man replied, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

Rivyn placed a silver coin onto the bar. The head impressed upon the back was not Queen Clareath of Nerith. “Two if you throw in a bath.”

The innkeeper looked at the coin. “Where are you from, stranger?” He turned the coin in the light. “This is not a local coin.”

“Silver is silver,” Rivyn pointed out.

“That it is,” he took a coin from the apron he wore and balanced both in his hands. “And weighs about the same, so it’ll do.”

We sat before the cold hearth with our tankards. Rivyn sighed heavily as he sat. “It’ll do for a night,” he muttered under his breath.

“It’s better than the forest,” I pointed out and took a sip of my beer, grimacing at the bitter taste.

He laughed. “Have you never drunk beer?”

“No. It looks as if it should taste better.” It had a milky looking foam on top, but it did not taste like milk. I was not sure if I liked it and took a second sip cautiously. By the fourth mouthful, it was growing on me.

“I prefer wine,” he agreed. “But I suspect anything served here would be more vinegar. I’d also hesitate to drink their water.”

“But you’ll bathe in it.”

He met my eyes over his tankard. “We’ll bathe in it,” he corrected.

The inn keeper’s wife brought us two bowls of stew, interrupting the conversation. The stew was heavier on vegetables than meat but smelt reasonable and my stomach was uneasy with hunger.

“Ah,” Rivyn said to her. “What is the name of this village?”

“Nedin, my lord,” she replied flushing and sending him an inviting smile. She was a pretty woman, much younger than her husband.

“Thank you,” he did not seem to notice her attention. As she left, he inspected the stew with a weary sigh. “Do you have any idea where Nedin is?” he asked me.

“I am not bathing with you,” I whispered across the table, giving the other occupant of the tables the side eye. He did not seem overly curious, withdrawing further into his hood and angling away from us slightly. “And no, I have never heard of Nedin.”

“It’ll be a tight squeeze,” he replied, lifting the spoon to his lips and sampling. “Tastes better than it looks. I’m not sharing a bed with you unless you’ve washed the travel from yourself.”

“I am not sharing a bed with you,” I was outraged.

“There’s probably only one bed in a tavern this size,” he pointed out. “But you can sleep on the floor if you insist. Stop hissing at me and eat your stew.”

He was right. The stew did taste better than it looked. I smuggled a sample to my fairy man. Rivyn watched me, with a slight frown on his face, as if I were a puzzle that he could not quite work out.

I was growing to like the beer, and the level in my tankard was dropping. “So, what is the next thing you need to get and where is it?”

“Ah,” he watched me drink my beer speculatively. “Well, I need to obtain some spell components as Nedin is inconvenient for us, and then we’ll see if we can get ourselves somewhere more civilised.”

“What sort of spell components?” I wondered.

“Nothing too esoteric. Our bath is ready,” he observed, his eyes on the inn keeper’s wife who had re-entered the room, red cheeked and sweating from her efforts. He chuckled when I stood and swayed. He had been, I realised, waiting for exactly that. “Beer has a kick, hm?” he observed, steering me to the door where she waited.

She led us to a room tucked away behind the tavern. A rudimentary bed pressed its head against the bricks of the wall, big enough for two, I thought with a flush. The sheets and bedding looked clean, at least. Opposite to the bed, a fireplace burnt with cheerful flame, freshly lit, and only just beginning to warm the chamber. They had set a large wooden tub before the fire, freshly filled with hot water as steam still rose from its surface. Soap and a cup sat on a small wooden table, and cloths for drying were rolled and set to the side.

“Will you be needing help?” The innkeeper’s wife asked Rivyn, her interest blatant.

“My wife has it handled,” he replied firmly. “Thank you.”

“Your wife?” I demanded as the door shut.

“Well, it sounds more respectable than the wench I picked up off the road yesterday,” he divested me of my cloak and bag. “Boots off, Siorin.” He sat on the bed to remove his and dropped his cloak and bag onto the bed. “Don’t be shy,” he pulled off his shirt, and my mouth went dry. I turned my back to him firmly, but the image of him shirtless was seared into my mind’s eye.

I heard the water as he stepped into the tub with a sigh. “Don’t make me get out and fetch you,” he said. “Water will get everywhere.”

I swallowed and blew out a breath. It would be nice to be clean, and bathing with a man made in the way of Rivyn certainly would not be unpleasant, even if it were utterly scandalous to do. I was a long way from my village, however, I decided, and when travelling, propriety sometimes had to be set aside in favour of practicality.

I took off my trousers, still covered to mid-thigh by my tunic, and walked over to the tub. He closed his eyes politely as I got in, but I suspected him of peeking, so I pulled my tunic off at the last second, casting it to the side as I sunk into the water between his feet, my knees against my chest.

He opened his eyes and regarded me with amusement. “It’s going to be hard to wash your hair like that. Come here,” he reached out and dragged me towards him, so that I sat between his knees with my back to him. “Work a lather into that,” he handed me the bar of soap, and tilted my chin back before pouring a cup of water over my hair.

When my hair was wet through, he took the soap from me, and lathered my hair with it, before rinsing it off. I washed my face, neck and chest with a square of cloth the inn keeper’s wife had placed for our use. “Alright,” he took me casually by the waist and lifted me over his knees so that he could turn, presenting me with his back. I knelt in the water and washed his hair for him whilst he scrubbed himself.

His hair was as beautiful as the man, I thought, black as coal, thick and heavy. I took longer washing it then I needed to, but he did not complain. When I was done, he rose from the bath without any modesty, so I caught a flashing glimpse of skin running with water before I looked away, flushing, and flustered. He caught up one of the rolled drying cloths and wrapped it around his waist.

“Come on then, I won’t peek,” he said with laughter, holding a second out and closing his eyes again. I got out quickly, almost slipping on the wet floor, and wrapped myself in the cloth so that it covered me from shoulder to knee.

“Well, then, isn’t that better?” He asked me, cheerfully, and went to the door, leaning out to call: “Madam!”

I heard the inn keeper’s wife respond, and after a moment, she and two young girls entered with buckets. I sat on the bed and worked my fingers through my hair as they emptied the water from the tub with buckets, and then pushed it onto its side so that it could be rolled the room.

“I don’t suppose,” Rivyn held out our clothing and exchanged them for another coin. “Clean clothes,” he added, pleased, closing the door behind them.

“Excuse me,” I lifted the fairy man to the side so I could pull my spare tunic from my bag and put it on, removing the cloth once I was covered so I could use it to dry my hair.

Rivyn raised his eyebrows. “Someone’s prepared,” he observed. “I was not granted the opportunity to pack with as much foresight, unfortunately.” He sat against the bedhead, arranging the pillows behind him, and picked up the book, happy to sit around with only a cloth tied around his waist. I slid looks at him from under my eyelashes. It was the most exposed I had ever seen a man, and Rivyn was not an average man in any way.

This is what it would be like to have a husband, I thought, sitting in bed together, comfortably, with him mostly naked. Except that most husbands would not look like Rivyn, I amended. It would not be such a pleasing view to spend time with Tilef half dressed. Or spend time with Tilef at all, I amended with a sigh and hoped again that my father would not accept the man’s proposal on my behalf. I had already turned him down, but that meant little if my father accepted. These things were often worked out between men to the detriment of women, and the ways things had been in my home when I had left it, I would not be surprised if my father wanted to be done with it.

His relationship with Gretha had already survived the scandal of the baby’s birth, and exposure of their affair to my mother. The villagers might talk about him behind his back, but they would not do so to his face, and his businesses would not suffer. There were different rules for men than women. If it had been my mother who had the affair, she would be ostracised to her face and utterly.

Would I be considered ruined now? I wondered. Stolen from the road by a strange man, spending days and nights unsupervised in his company… Yes, I imagined my reputation would not survive this adventure. Tilef may not wish to marry me upon my return, and as much a relief it would be to have that out of the question, a future as a spinster with a tattered reputation was not a pleasant one, either.

“I have a comb in my bag,” Rivyn set the book aside and swung himself off the bed, to fetch it. “Perhaps you would comb out my hair once you’ve done your own?” He held it out to me and returned to his book once I accepted it. I turned it over in my hands. It was elaborately and ornately carved out of some type of smooth, cool stone. A Fae comb. I wondered what it had been like to grow up a member of their court.

I combed and braided my hair, tying it off with the string Anre had used to bind the scones and dried fruit. My fairy man was working his way through the fruit, there were fewer pieces then there had been. I turned to Rivyn when I was done.

“Do you want it braided?” I asked him. “I only have the one piece of string.”

“Combed through will be fine,” he turned on the bed, so his back was towards me. I knelt on the bed and began working the comb through his hair. It was beginning to dry and was warm from his body. He was heavily muscled for a mage. I had always thought of mages as quiet, studious types who locked themselves into towers and read incessantly between midnight walks through graveyards.

“You don’t look like a mage,” I said, before thinking it through, and blushed immediately.

“And what do mages look like?” he sent me a look over his shoulder.

“I don’t know. Skinny and pale? You look more like a knight,” I decided.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he returned to his book. Over his shoulder, I could see the writing, but I could not read it. It was uncomfortable to look at it too long. The writing looked as if I should know what it said, and yet, my eyes could not make it out, and that contradiction made my eyes lose focus. “It’s rude to read over someone’s shoulder,” he commented.

“I can’t read it.”

“You can see the writing?” he looked at me again.

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

I finished his hair and returned the comb to his bag with a sigh. “Now what?”

“I’m reading,” he replied mildly.

“Yes, but I am not. I cannot go out as I do not have any trousers. It’s too early to go to bed.”

There was a knock at the door. “Yes,” Rivyn called out.

The inn keeper’s wife opened the door slightly and looked in, running her eye over him with interest. “Would you like anything to eat or drink, my lord?” she asked.

“Yes. Do you have any fruit and nuts? Or meat and cheese. Something like that. And a jug of beer, unless you have a decent wine?” he said. “That should help alleviate your boredom,” he told me. 

“Yes, my lord,” she lingered, and then withdrew reluctantly.

“She’s hoping you’ll take her to bed,” I observed.

“Yes. But I have you.”

“I am not...”

“No,” he was amused. “But it would be hardly polite to take her to bed with you in the room, would it?”

“No, I guess not,” I flushed.

“Besides, I don’t find her appealing.”

After a time, the inn keeper knocked at the door, and carried in two chairs and a table from the tavern. His wife and daughters followed with a platter of food, a bottle of wine and two glasses, which they set upon the table. Rivyn, completely unconcerned about being seen wearing a slightly damp cloth wound around his waist and nothing else, gave them three coins before moving to take a seat.

The fairy man popped out of my bag, interested in the new selection of food. I held out my hand and he sat upon my palm so I could transfer him over to the table. “I wish I had a thimble or something for him,” I commented taking the other seat as Rivyn poured the wine.

“He’d get too drunk off men’s wine. Your concern and care for him is... odd. He is not a pet.”

“Of course, he is not a pet,” I replied defensively. “But he is injured and needs care. If his wing mends and he can fly off, he is free to do so at any time. If he wishes to leave, I will not prevent him. But I won’t just abandon him.”

Rivyn met my eyes and raised his eyebrows. “Men do not normally show care for fairy-kind.” His eyes were blue. I had not noticed previously, or perhaps it was because most of our time together had been either in the dark, or with him behind me on Coryfe. I had not had the opportunity to really look at him, closely enough to note his eye colour.

“All creatures deserve kindness,” I replied, blushing and took a sip of wine. I could believe he had Fae in him, I decided. There was a beauty to his features that was not of mankind. I could understand the inn keeper’s wife’s interest. With his attention focussed on me, I could easily forget that he was a rude mage who had stolen me from my journey.

“Mmm,” Rivyn ate a grape and picked up the book again. “You would not survive at the Fae Court.”

“Why not?” I wondered.

“It is... difficult to describe,” he frowned at his book, irritated that I was distracting him.

“My mother wanted me to go to the standing stones on the Graceplains and offer myself in exchange for my brother.”

He looked at me in surprise. “Your mother sounds like a very caring woman,” he said sharply.

“She was not always like that. She is not well,” I replied. “My father has wanted an heir since before I was born, and except for me, all the other babies died. Until my brother. My father has a mistress, and she has also delivered him a girl child.”

“The failing lies in your father,” he muttered, focusing back on his book. “The male determines the baby’s gender.”

“How do you know that?” I was intrigued.

He sighed. “Our healers are better than yours. I really need to read this, Siorin. I have a little under three weeks, and far to go before I am ready to claim back what is mine.”

             

At least I had a time frame for how long until he returned me to my home and family. Did they miss me at home? I wondered. Or just think I was late in returning? Had my father borrowed a neighbour’s horse and ridden to Benal to seek me? Or had he decided I was not worth the effort? The little fairy man touched my hand and indicated he was ready to return to his bag. I carried him back and laid down in the bed, not wanting to disturb Rivyn further with my restlessness.

I woke when Rivyn lay upon the bed beside me. The room was dark; he had read well into the night. He sighed heavily and then lay still. Reassured he was not going to behave indecorously, I let myself slip back into sleep.