In retrospect, Oralia should have seized Sascha by the hand and whisked him away to somewhere more private the moment she laid eyes on him. There was always someone looking for her these days and no amount of bribery kept her pursuers away for long. Alas, her hesitation cost her. The rear kitchen door opened and shut with a clatter behind them.
Still held in Sascha’s arms, Oralia refused to turn and face the interloper, hopeful perhaps that they would realize their error and quietly slink away. She held her breath and listened as a set of confident footsteps skirted down the stone steps and approached absolutely undeterred.
“Ha! Knew I’d find you out here.”
She flinched at the nasally voice. “Lingon?”
The harsh clack of boot heels against cobblestone stopped just shy of her. Lingon’s reply dripped with sticky-sweet insincerity. “Yes, Moonflower?”
“Do you recall the talk we had about not interrupting?” Oralia rested her forehead against Sascha’s broad chest, ignoring the impulse to slam her skull repeatedly against a much harder surface in a futile effort to rid herself of her sudden headache.
“Of course. But here’s the thing, you didn’t like it any better when I stood off to the side and politely waited for you to finish last time, either.”
Sascha lurched forward and buried his face into Oralia’s shoulder to muffle his snorts of laughter. His upper body shuddered against her as he failed to contain his mirth. With an exasperated huff, Oralia said, “No, you are correct. That was substantially worse.” Reluctantly, she untangled her arms from around Sascha’s neck and turned about to face the intruder. “My point is, can this wait? With you somewhere else, preferably?”
Lingon stood with his arms crossed and feet firmly set a shoulder width apart. It might have been intimidating had the human been more substantial in size. Alas, barely surpassing five and a half feet, with long, feathered hair, little muscle tone, and a face that would have been attractive if it were not for the unruly mouth to which it was attached, Lingon was more visually confusing than he was terrifying.
“Well, I suppose it could wait,” he said with a shrug. “Although it might get awkward for everyone involved, considering there’s about to be a supply wagon and gaggle of soldiers rounding the corner here any minute now. Just got word that the main force has reached the gate. Thought it’d be polite to give you a heads up, seein’ as there’s gonna be people looking for you soon. But hey, you two do you. Or, you know, each other. Don’t mind the unsuspecting soldiers. I’m sure the horrors of war have dulled them past the point of caring anyway.”
Sascha’s face lit at the news, his laughter already forgotten. “We have supplies coming?”
“Damn right. That’s what happens when you send the super secret infiltration team ahead of the main force,” Lingon said with a proud puff of his scrawny chest. A harsh croak cut through the air as a raven circling overhead suddenly dipped lower. Lingon ignored the bird, continuing his recount of the raid. “We reached the storeroom before those fleeing fuckers got a chance to set the whole place aflame. They had enough supplies squirreled away to keep an army for nearly a year! And I mean good stuff too, not just beets an’ those slabs of rock you all mistakenly refer to as biscuits.”
“Hardtack,” Oralia clarified, her gaze still fixed on the circling bird.
With its cries gone unanswered, the raven abandoned trying to gain Lingon’s attention from afar and settled on a more blatant strategy. In a flutter of dark wings, it landed on the cobblestone beside him, gargling its disapproval as it pecked at his boot.
Lingon shuffled his feet to avoid its frenzied pecking. “Yeah, hardtack. That shit.”
“Thanks gods,” Sascha murmured. “If I had to stretch that cabbage stew any thinner, they’d have thrown me in it.”
Lingon offered a cavalier shrug. “Meh, I’d still try it.”
He and Oralia traded cutting glances for several uncomfortable seconds. “Is that all?” she asked, finally. When he retained his vacant-eyed silence, she was forced to gesture to the bird hopping little circles around his feet. “Because it seems like you may have business elsewhere.”
He peered down at the raven for only a split second, as if noticing it for the first time, before snapping his gaze back to her. “Nah, that’s nothing.”
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“It does not sound like nothing.”
The raven agreed with a ruffle of its feathers and another peck to the Lingon’s foot.
“Not now,” Lingon murmured out the corner of his mouth as he encouraged the bird away with a gentle nudge of his boot.
“Are we done here?” Oralia asked, forcing an unfriendly smile.
“Don’t you give me that look. You were in such a hurry for a dicking that you neglected to collect your spoils of war. I took it upon myself to track you down and deliver it in person. So yeah, you’re welcome.” Lingon swung his pack around to his front and rooted through it, explaining to Sascha, “Bossy britches here had me fetch a present for you while I was raiding the kitchen. She said to get a sample of every spice I didn’t recognize.”
Which, knowing Lingon’s aptitude for meal preparation, meant all of them.
Oralia caught Sascha staring at her. His eyes were big and his lower lip looked to be on the verge of quivering. She had heard a saying once, detailing that the quickest way to someone’s heart was through their stomach. And while she initially misunderstood the implications of the sentiment–horrifically–the intended meaning was surprisingly accurate. Except, in this case, the quickest way to Sascha’s heart was not a meal, but through a well stocked spice cabinet.
“Ta-da!” Lingon produced a glass jar from his pack with unnecessary flare.
“Oh.” Some of the smile slipped from Sascha’s broad face. “You combined every spice in the same container.”
“Easier to transport. Much more practical than scrambling to find a little baggie for each sample like someone wanted me to do.”
Oralia planted her face in her hands with a groan, forced to watch Sascha’s soul slowly die between the gaps in her fingers.
Sascha accepted the gift and forced a smile. His words were spoken with care, as if to remove every ounce of disappointment from his voice. “That was very…thoughtful of you, Lingon. Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, save the mushiness for bossy britches. That counts as my good deed for the week. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m in need of a stiff drink, a hot bath, and a lover with questionable judgment.” He trotted away, hailing over his shoulder, “Don’t wait up!”
The raven took to the air, fluttering after him in a flurry of feathers and harsh croaks.
Sascha waited until the Lingon’s lithe shape disappeared back through the kitchen door before allowing his stoic shoulders to slump. “Remind me again why he and the other one haven’t returned home yet?”
“They do not know where home is.” No one had expected to survive the previous battle on Mount Hook. As such, the Stoneclaw brothers, Lingon and Mul, never bothered to ask where their clan was evacuating. Lacking direction in both the physical and authoritative sense, the pair had simply hung around until Oralia had no other choice but to grudgingly accept them into her ranks. It wasn’t all bad. With Ellisar and Snag gone, the brothers had helped makeup for the sudden drop in manpower.
Oralia’s gaze shifted to the jar of mixed spices and her frown deepened. “I am sorry about your gift. I mistakenly assumed it was a task even he could handle.” While merciless fighters, Mul and Lingon’s royal upbringing meant their ability to perform any other form of vital life skill was severely lacking. Unless it involved killing, fucking, or lighting things on fire, the brothers were largely helpless.
“I appreciate the gesture.”
“I must admit, a small part of me feared he would find a way to blunder it.” Oralia unfastened the pocket along the front of her jerkin and withdrew a small, carefully packed vial. “I took the liberty of passing through the kitchens on my way out just in case.”
He held the prize up to his face, wide eyed and unable to tear his gaze from the collection of thin, red twig-like structures that nestled together on the inside. “Saffron?”
She didn’t know why she felt suddenly vulnerable. She had never actively sought anyone’s approval before and yet, the thought of disappointing him was a hit she was not prepared to bear. Personal relationships were strange that way. Having only been in a dedicated partnership for several months, Oralia still struggled with putting words to the racing thoughts that rampaged across her mind each time he was near.
If she were more composed, she might have said: ‘Is it enough? Does it communicate to you the feelings that I am yet incapable of finding the words to convey?’ In the end, past the flowery language, at the very heart of the matter, perhaps it boiled down to a simple: ‘Am I as good to you as you have been to me?’
She was trying her damnedest to be worthy of his love. But it was difficult. Things had changed since the mountain. How was she expected to share herself with another person when she no longer knew who she was? For two hundred years it had been simple. She was Oralia Dawnsight, Protector of the Realm. Straightforward, no nonsense, easy to define. Now, her title fluctuated between traitor and rebel based on her present company.
Sascha threw himself forward and held her to his chest. “Gods, I love you.” He leaned into her ear, whispering, “No one else has seen us yet. There’s still time for us to duck around the corner before that wagon gets here. Nuri can hold down the fort until I get back.”
A flicker of excitement pushed some of the dread from her mind. That was one thing that hadn’t changed. Her loving, endearing, positively fuckable fuckmate was still the same tender soul as before. And, judging from his mischievous smile, he was more than ready to indulge her regardless of whatever her current status happened to be. Swallowing the little squeak that caught in her throat, Oralia seized his hand and hurried around the corner of the building with Sascha in tow.