57. Madness

Once at the keep, he carried both boxes to the second level on our stairwell and then handed the crate to me, taking the small lavender from the top.

“I will return this to the room.

You can take the powder to your friends.”

“I hope you have time still for your card game,” I said.

He looked at me over his shoulder, having turned away with the box.

“I am no dedicated gambler.

I am glad you came to me.

Please ask again if you need me.”

And then he walked into our room.

I walked down to the second level dormitory and delivered the crate to a weepy River, sitting up in her bed next to a distressed Quinn, who had been leaning against the wall, seated next to her.

“I found it as soon as you left,”

she said, her large eyes wet.

“I am so embarrassed.”

“Do not be!”

I assured her.

“Now you have as much as you can.

And when you run out of this, we can get more.

Alric said he would pay.

He told the apothecary to notify him when there was restocking of it.”

“There is three seasons’ worth in here,”

Quinn said, prying open the crate with a comb.

“Are relations between you and the captain now uneasy because of this?”

asked River.

I shrugged.

“No more so than two people who were forced to marry can be uneasy.”

“Thank him for us,”

said Quinn.

“We can never repay— just thank him, Edie.”

I left them and went to our room, taking a moment to open the wooden box to find a dozen vials of the lavender oil nestled on straw inside.

Why had he done that? I heard faint laughter from across the hall and sighed.

I doubted I would ever know this man.

Later on, when he came to bed, I, in a fit of feeling, reached my left hand across myself and found his left hand resting on his naked chest.

I squeezed it.

“Alric, thank you again.

I cannot thank you—”

“You have thanked me enough,”

he said and pulled his hand away.

Embarrassed at my palm spread across his bare skin, I removed my hand.

My discomfort continued the next day when I saw my husband, in one of the corridors that intersected with the dining hall, standing next to the Lady Vinia.

My stupid heart sunk and it occurred to me that I was developing an unwise interest in this quiet, unreadable man.

Depressed with my own pathetic feelings, I spent a grumpy day in the antechamber up to my neck in taxation papers, listening to an irate orchardist who insisted he did not owe taxes, resisting the urge to look out of that one low window.

At the end of the day, I caved and looked outward to see Alric, shirtless, wiping his face with his tunic and sitting on the low wall surrounding the training yard.

Thatcher was next to him, gesticulating wildly and laughing his brash laugh.

Alric was shaking his head.

Other Procurers were fighting with some of the contenders with wooden swords, coaching their partners on their form and swing.

I drank in the sight of his torso and the tilt of his head.

Finally admitting to myself that I physically desired him, I turned away.

This way lay madness.

I had to put that out of my head.

As Isabeau had said, a part of me never let myself fully fall.

I knew his heart would always belong to that woman.

Thinking of Isabeau also made me think of her saying, I have never been with a man who wanted to be touched so much.

And yet he had pulled his hand away last night.

I could never have his heart and he did not want to share his body with me.

The thought of this made me want to cry and that thought made me angry with myself all over again.

After all of this time, all of this strengthening of myself, I had been girlish and unchecked and just like with Thrush, I had chosen to carve my heart out of my own chest and present it to a man who could never return my gift with his own heart.

But no, this time I had caught it early.

I would resolve to only view Alric as a partner and companion.

“Edie?”

came Cian’s voice, cutting through my ruminations.

I jumped and put a hand over my chest.

“Good evening, Cian.”

“I am sorry.

You looked deep in thought, but I needed to speak with you,”

he said, holding out a gentlemanly hand to pull me out of the chair I had sat in.

I took his hand and stood. “Yes?”

I looked around, the antechamber emptying for the day, farmers leaving the keep and temple staff leaving for the dining hall.

He tucked my right hand inside his left arm, a rather familiar gesture for an unmarried man to take with a married woman, but as I liked Cian, I did not mind.

Perhaps, I needed his attention that night.

He was a good-looking man and my age and I could tell he found me attractive.

He had never said or done anything, but I knew.

“I know tomorrow is a day of rest,”

he began and we made our way to the dining hall.

“But, before we give up and you lead the life of a temple scribe instead of a priestess, I have one more farm I would like us to see.”

“I am sorry to have disappointed you,”

I said humbly.

“You could never disappoint, Edie,”

he reassured me.

“You have contributed wonderfully to our administrative duties.

Hazel and the others are relieved to have someone so efficient and experienced with that.

Should you never show a penchant, you are of much value to Mother Earth.”

I did not reply, my pride soothed by Cian’s words.

“However,”

he continued, “there is a farm an hour’s ride from here that could only see us tomorrow.

It is them doing us the favor.

It should only take half of the day.

Would you care to lose your day of rest?”

“I had nothing planned for my day of rest,”

I lied, leaving out the fact that we had, as we often did, planned to visit Bronwyn and Eefa.

But I wanted to be around someone, and yes, a desirable man my age, who saw me as desirable in some capacity.

We entered the dining hall, my hand still curled around his arm, agreeing to meet at the stables after breaking our fast.

As I made my way to my friends, I saw Alric, dirty from the training yard, watching me from his seat at the head of the Procurer table.

I did not return his gaze long.

In the room that night, I read a little more of Gareth’s journal, massaged my fingers, stiff from writing, and changed into my nightgown.

I unbraided my hair, combed it out and climbed into the bed, leaving one candle aflame for Alric to see.

Soon he entered, changed and blew out the candle.

When he climbed into the bed, he lay there a moment and then said to my back, “Are you awake?”

I opened my eyes and stared at the wall. “I am.”

“Is River well?”

“She is.

And she and Quinn thank you.

Profusely.”

There was a pause and then he said, “What were you and Cian speaking of?”

“Before dinner?”

“Yes.

You looked deep in conversation.”

“He is taking me to a farm tomorrow.

It is a last effort to identify my penchant.”

I felt him turn on his side to face me.

“Edith, tomorrow is a day of rest.”

I rolled onto my back and looked at him, only bits of his outline visible in the nearly starless dark.

“What am I to say to my archpriest? I am trying to be a good new believer.”

“I do not like it.

He works you too hard.”

“Says a man who never rests.”

He leaned a little towards me.

“Are we still thinking before we speak and you show me actual concern or do you just want to be a difficult woman tonight?”

His reproach both rankled me and sparked something in my belly.

I sighed.

“My courses are due and I am in a poor mood.

I thank you for caring.”

It took him another moment to reply.

“All the more reason he should not tax you so.

Does a woman not need to rest during that part of a moon?”

Please do not be kind to me, I thought.

“I need to know if I have magic,”

I replied.

“I have, in a way, unexpectedly fallen in love with Mother Earth.

I like worshipping her and praying to her.

She makes sense to me.

In a way no other faith has.

I need to know if I can serve her even more.

And if I cannot, I can set aside that wish and serve her as a scribe.”

I spoke in a rush and ended my words with an exhale, feeling foolish.

He was silent for a long while.

Then he said, “Yes, I understand what you speak of.

I never had any draw to Father Fire like my brothers and father.

Earth makes sense to me as well.

It did to my mother.

My father claimed my mother had the smallest bit of earth magic because she could always calm a horse.

I think she just liked horses.”

“Your father told me she was difficult but compassionate,”

I said without thinking.

“He is correct.

She was,”

he replied, something tender in his tone.

“I will go with you tomorrow.

When do you leave?”

“To the farm?”

“Yes.

We can ride Maggie.

It is easier on you than guiding a horse yourself.

I do not want you to wear yourself out before you even try your hand at magic.”

I could think of no way to counter this argument and my traitorous body thrilled at the idea of riding Maggie with him, whether I sat in front or behind.