10. Apples

10

Apples

Safira Chastain

I t took nearly a week for Celyn to take me up on my offer, but I didn't mind. He'd been alone for longer than I could imagine, and a week couldn't feel like a long time to a lake. I struggled to wrap my mind around the fact that nobody had spoken to him like a person for over a thousand years, but he'd said it like it was something ordinary. It still sometimes made my skin go cold to remember that he was deadly powerful, and interested in me—but what I'd told him about why I wasn't constantly afraid of him held true, even on examination. Strange didn't make him a monster, even if some of the things he did and said were very weird indeed.

I could give a little grace to someone ancient that nobody spoke to for his social awkwardness. He stared in a way that would have unsettled in a human man, but given his near-constant state of perplexment, I thought that he might only have no idea of how to read my expressions. When would he have ever learned, after all?

Celyn came to eat my weeds on one of those late-spring mornings where the bugs are at their worst and the humidity of the wet ground turns to steam. Suffice it to say, I was not at my prettiest: I had a bug-net over my heat, insect repellant slathered on my bare arms, and sweat soaking through my thin shirt and muddy trousers. Elbows-deep in a squash plant, yanking out unruly grass that had found its way through the thick leaves to the light, I didn't even notice the water-horse until he huffed a hot breath against my neck.

I jumped, he shied, and the squash plants narrowly avoided getting trampled. Celyn pranced like a restive horse, hooves kicking up wet soil and the whites showing around his blue eyes. I made myself relax, sitting down on my heels and smiling at him. The expression of ease seemed to work; the water-horse settled, though his nostrils still flared and his breathing came harder than it should have.

"Whicker or something next time," I told him with a grin. "You startled me."

He snorted and tossed his head, then lowered his head to the ground and lipped at one of the weeds I'd left to wilt on the ground.

Well, okay. I'd invited him to eat the weeds, and apparently that's what he was going to do. I resettled my bug-net so that there wasn't a gap around my neck, and turned back to the weeds.

Celyn stayed with me for several hours, munching away at the weeds while I nattered on about the garden. I knocked off as much dirt as I could off the roots, but he didn't seem to mind a little soil with his snacks. I wondered where it all went; surely it didn't simply vanish. Maybe it turned to water when he did, adding to the lake.

He started coming more often after that, and to keep things even, I went to him sometimes, too. Celyn even returned the rock I'd thrown, as I'd asked, and brought it back to me every time I summoned him by skipping it across the surface of the lake. He smiled at me each time, never less pleased to see me than the last time I'd asked for his attention. As the weeks wore on and spring turned towards summer, I started to lose even my startle response around him.

For all his power, Celyn never offered me any danger. He was always calm and curious, with an intensity of focus that slipped away from frightening towards heart-pounding. He watched me, often, and sometimes imitated the things I did, or touched his fingertips to his face or neck when I made an unusual expression. Having a handsome, naked man always observing me sometimes caught me off-guard, though I mostly got used to the nudity.

I did not successfully keep my eyes from ever looking at his groin. He had black curls and a short, vertical-sitting sheath, unsurprisingly looking like that a stallion might have. Knowing that I wouldn't catch a glimpse of his naked shaft eased a little bit of my awareness of his unclothed state, though it didn't help with the bare expanse of his chest, thighs, or well-muscled ass.

Eating with him was a lot more fun than eating in Barixeor. Marin didn't eat, and Bash wasn't much of a conversationalist when he was working his way through hay, so though I often spent time with Marin when taking a break from work or drinking tea, I soon got into the habit of taking dinner down to Celyn. He didn't have to eat, either, but he could, if he wanted to.

As usual, I skipped the same black stone across Tsirisma Lake. I was getting better with all the practice; it hopped five times before sinking beneath the waves. A few moments later, Celyn walked out of the water, smiling at me with warmth as the water slid down his body. He didn't seem to mind it when I ran my eyes down him, so I took a moment to get myself used to his naked self again, glancing down along his well-muscled body before I met his slot-pupiled gaze. I liked looking at him – who wouldn't? – and since it didn't bother him, it was easier to look him over when he came out of the lake rather than steal surreptitious glances afterwards.

I leaned back against the bench Bashen had placed on the rocky shore for me, and patted the seat next to me. He raised his brows, but sauntered over and draped himself across the sun-warm wood, his eyes never leaving me. I settled cross-legged, facing him with my dinner on my lap, and Celyn held out my stone between two fingers. The sunlight glinted off of it, limning the basalt with gold. I held out my hand below the stone, and Celyn released it with a slight smile, letting it tumble into my hand.

He never touched me. Every time he dropped the stone into my hand, I thought the same thing. A water-horse can command your body if you touch him, even his waters, and he never touched me. I didn't think he could. The thought had once been a great comfort to me. Now, after all these weeks of companionship and conversation, all I could think of when the wet stone hit my palm was how very lonely it must be to never be touched.

I paused for a moment, looking down at the stone in my hand, then set it on the bench to dry. "Do you like apples?" I asked, looked back up at him to find him watching me.

"I have never heard the word before," he said, tilting his head to the side. "And thus, I have never had the chance to learn whether I might like or dislike such a thing."

With a grin, I held up a slice of apple for him, a sweet variety I'd taken from the timeless storage. "Horses like them, and humans do, too. You're neither, of course, but I thought maybe you could try one and see." I held out the slice to him. "Want it?"

Celyn regarded me with what looked like surprise, his brows pulled together and mouth parted. "I have no need of such sustenance—"

I shook my head. "It's not for need," I told him. "I thought maybe you might like it. It's a gift. Friends give each other gifts."

His eyes snapped away from the apple slice to mine again, with sharp focus behind them. "You consider us friends?"

My cheeks warmed at the tone he used, bordering incredulous. "We don't have to be," I said, worried I'd overstepped. "But that's usually what people call each other when they enjoy spending time together, and do it often."

He blinked, expression softening again, and looked back down at the apple. "I have never been called a friend before," Celyn said, his voice serious. "Yet I enjoy your companionship, and we spend time together often, so it must be so. I would like to taste the apple." He lifted his hand, reaching for the apple. He hesitated for a moment, then flicked his tail and took it, his fingers not quite brushing mine.

I dropped my hand, trying not to blush from the near-contact, and watched as he examined the slice. Celyn sniffed it once, then bit off half. His eyebrows shot up, and then he crunched his way through it with the same glee as a child trying candy for the first time. Without asking, he reached over and plucked another slice off my plate, making me laugh .

Celyn smiled at me, halfway to a smirk, and ate the second slice. "I like the apple," he said, sounding very pleased indeed. "I like also that you thought to bring me something for no other reason than my enjoyment. Such a gift is a new thing for me, but I think I will not flee from this one."

"Want more?" I asked, holding out another slice to him.

He leaned forward and took it with his mouth.

I tried very hard not to think about how very close those lips were to my fingertips. Celyn didn't mean anything by it. Someone who didn't know about friends and apples certainly didn't know about flirtation and lovers.

The water-horse must have noticed my discomfort, though, because he didn't do it again, taking apple slices from my plate by hand while he told me about a pair of muskrats building a new den on the southern slope. I found his company easy to fall into. The strangeness of his mannerisms were disarming in a way that felt comfortable instead of frightening, and despite the nudity, Celyn didn't bring sexuality to the table. He never looked at my body the way men so often did, and if he ever stumbled into something that woke fear in me, he never did it again.

He didn't want me to be afraid of him, but not so that he could harm me later. I knew, now, how to tell when men were hiding fangs and claws behind kind facades. Like his lake, Celyn was clear-hearted. He wanted my willing companionship, and so he didn't want me to fear. Any time the old wariness roused its head, I reminded myself of that. Celyn wasn't like that. He wasn't human.

I drained my glass of tisane faster than I'd intended, given the saltiness of the food, and stared mournfully down at the bottom of it, then up at the long walk upslope to the Spire. Damn.

"Do you need more to drink?" Celyn asked, tilting his head in the way he did. His tail swished.

"Oh, um." I looked up at him, then down into my glass again. "Are you... offering?"

One of his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. "I have always allowed all those who come to slake their thirst with my waters, man and animal alike. If you would like my water to drink, you only need to ask."

"Oh," I said again, turning to look at the still water of the lake, the setting sun gleaming orange off the blue surface. "Aren't there... lake... bits? In the water? Little, um, creatures?"

Celyn huffed out a small breath. "I would not give you bits or creatures," he said, sounding amused. "You are a woman, not a doe."

"Well, okay," I said after a moment, looking back over at him. "Can I have some water?"

His mouth turned up into a soft smile, looking as if I'd given a far better gift than an apple. Celyn gestured at the lake. "Take what you like from me, Safira."

The offer felt intimate, no matter that I knew that a thousand and more creatures drank at his shores. But with that look of quiet happiness on his face, and with the gentle tone of his voice, it seemed as if Celyn invited far more than a drink. But a drink was what I'd asked for, and what he'd offered. I wasn't going to refuse him now that I'd gotten this far.

So, intimate feelings or no, I got up and walked the short distance down the shore, and stepped onto a rock jutting into the lapping wavelets. Feeling silly and self-conscious, I crouched and dipped my glass into the water, not trying to avoid touching it, which I thought might be rude. The water of the lake felt cool against my fingers, no different from any other water.

Behind me, Celyn made a sharp noise. I whipped my head around and found him staring at me with one hand gripping the bench and the other touching his throat. He wore an expression of almost panic, his mouth parted and tension around his eyes as he panted.

"I'm sorry," I said, almost dropping the glass of water. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean—"

He shook his head, a sharp motion, emotion flickering across his face. "It has been a very long time," he said, each word spoken with care. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then relaxed with what looked like a force of will. Celyn breathed like that for a few more moments, water dripping off my fingers while I stared at him in worry, then opened his eyes again, looking more contained. "Do not fear, Safira." His words fell quiet between us, gentle in their concern. "I have offered you my waters, and you may quench your thirst with them, whether you use a glass or the palm of your hand." He paused, then added, "It will be easier for me, next time."

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I stood. "Next time?"

Celyn smiled at me as I walked over, his shoulders relaxing down as I took a seat on the bench next to him. "As you have given me your open invitation to come to you, so you have my open invitation to come to me." He bent one leg and draped his arm over his knee, resting his face on his arm as he looked at me with that same soft smile on his face. "I believe that I have missed the trust of humans. Rest assured that I will not squander it."

How odd it was that I believed him.

The water was sweeter than that from any spring.