Aiden walked confidently down the residence hallway, eager to see Frasie. He received several compliments on his gray vest. He’d splurged a bit in having it custom made, but he wanted to look good. He stopped in front of her door and took a deep breath before knocking.
Frasie peeked around the door with a nervous smile. She had on her everyday white peasant dress and her curly red hair was a mess. She gave him a quick, awkward smile, then turned her gaze to his feet. He looked at his shoes and was relived to find he’d polished them.
He broke the silence. “Are you ready?”
She quickly nodded. “Not quite yet.”
“It’s alright. We’re in no hurry.”
She darted back inside her room, put her hands on her hips, and stared at several dresses lying across the foot of her bed.
“May I come in?”
She was clearly in a state. “Yes, of course. You don’t have to ask.”
He stood next to her. “They’re all beautiful.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “Maybe. On Nivvy. Or Shareis. Oh, and Olivia.” She pointed to a black one. “That one would look fantastic on her. But they’re women. And… I’m a tomboy.”
“Frasie, you are very much a woman.”
“Tomboy.”
“Even if you are, what’s wrong with that?”
She raised her hands in frustration. “I don’t know the first thing about going on a date.”
He shrugged. “Neither do I.”
“Then what the heck are we doing, Aiden?”
He laughed. “I don’t know. Just wanting to have fun, I suppose.”
She pointed to the dresses. “I’d be wearing these for you, so you tell me which you’d like to see on me and I’ll go put it on.”
He took a careful look at each of them. “This green one is nice.” He looked at her. “It reminds me your eyes. And this black one… it’s gorgeous. It would really accentuate your figure well. This purple one—I’ve seen it before. It compliments your hair.”
She folded her arms. “Then which one?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled. “What you’re wearing is fine.”
She tilted her head in confusion. “But Aiden, it isn’t sexy. It isn’t flattering at all. It’s—”
“It’s you,” he interrupted. “And that makes it beautiful.”
She unfolded her arms. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She put her hands on her head. “I suppose I could brush this mop, though.”
He grinned, then ran his fingers through her hair. At first, it was difficult. He didn’t want to hurt her, but there were some serious tangles that needed sorting. Gradually, they eased. He adored the texture of her hair. He’d long wanted to touch it. He pulled his hands away and noticed her eyes were almost closed.
She smiled. “It makes me sleepy for someone to play with my hair. Nivvy refused to brush it unless I was in bed or in a comfy chair.”
The two stood together and stared into each other’s eyes. He wanted to kiss her, but he was afraid. While he fretted, he couldn’t help but to wonder if she felt the same way.
“Are you ready?” he said.
She nodded without breaking eye contact. “Yes.”
He flirted again with the idea of kissing her but couldn’t muster the nerve. “Then let’s go to dinner.”
The two held hands as they left the temple and walked through the upper city. The sun was setting, leaving behind enough of its flame in the sky to light their way. They stopped at the fountain and admired the view.
“We’ve been so busy working with Niv to help this city that we haven’t taken much time to enjoy it,” he said.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I…” The two spoke at once. “No, Frasie, you go ahead.”
“I was just going to say that…”
She didn’t need to finish the thought. He knew what was on her mind. “You miss home.”
“How did you know?”
“I see it in your eyes.” He sighed. “Or maybe I’m preoccupied with it. Selandis is beautiful, but it’s not the woods.”
“It’s such a long ride. And Nivvy needs us.”
He thought of his father, and the tavern where his grand adventure started. The walk from his house to town—the road covered in leaves with mist hugging the ground—was his road, his path to home.
“Yes” Homesickness laced his words. “Niv definitely needs us.”
“Maybe someday.”
Their mood sank, despite the beautiful display in the sky. He was determined their evening wouldn’t be spoiled.
“Let’s not think about that tonight.”
“Agreed. I’m hungry. Want to find a tavern?”
He shook his head. “No taverns for us this evening. We’re going there.” He pointed across the street to one of Selandis’s finest restaurants.
“There? Oh, Aiden, I don’t think they’d take me looking like this. No, you have to wear one of those dresses I had in my room to get a seat in there.”
“You look lovely. They wouldn’t dare turn you away.”
She reluctantly agreed, so the two went inside and asked for a table. The maître d’ informed them that a reservation was normally required but they could be accommodated. A small squeal of delight escaped from Frasie, and they were seated.
Frasie’s eyes grew wide as she scoured the menu. “I don’t even know what some of these things are.” Her face scrunched. “Eww. Gross. I didn’t know you could do that with a stomach.”
A couple from the table across from them looked at her with distain.
“Maybe it’s best we stick with—”
“Excuse me, ma’am.” A waiter held a large bottle of wine out for them.
“Oh, we didn’t order that,” Frasie replied.
“No, ma’am, the gentleman in the corner sent it to you.”
Aiden immediately scanned for the perpetrator. He wasn’t hard to find. Kytis sat in a table across the room sporting a nauseating grin on his face as he was trying to catch Frasie’s attention.
Frasie pointed to him. “Oh, there he is.” She waved enthusiastically. “Hi!”
Her voice carried to the other end of the room. Several other diners looked her way, bringing an extra layer of red to her complexion. She held the bottle up and pointed to it while mouthing, “Thank you, Kytis,”
“If we weren’t on a date, I’d invite him to eat with us.”
Thank the stars.
Frasie wavered. “Maybe I should. It was very nice of him to buy us some wine.”
He applied butter to a roll. “I don’t think we—”
His knife froze mid-air as she gestured to him to join them.
“I want to thank him in person, you know?”
Kytis approached.
“Thanks for the wine,” Frasie said.
“My pleasure. A gift to you. To both of you.”
She looked at the label. “From Masola. Wait… this is over fifty years old.” She set the bottle on the table. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but this isn’t good anymore.”
Kytis chuckled. “It is excellent, my dear. Fine Masola wine, like a woman, gets better with age.”
Aiden rolled his eyes and further attacked the bread.
“I didn’t know that,” she replied.
Kytis raised an eyebrow. “About women, or wine?”
Frasie grinned. “Both, I guess. Did you know that, Aiden?”
Aiden applied a thicker coat of butter to his roll. “Yes.”
“Interesting,” she replied. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier how sorry I am about your mother.”
Kytis dropped his gaze to the floor. “I hope my mother didn’t suffer.”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I wasn’t there. I mean, I was at the battle. But I was at the front line. Narelle was with Nivvy, Olivia, and Farius.”
“I didn’t know my father was with them.” Kytis paused. “No matter. I have taken up enough
of your time.”
“No, not at all,” she replied. “I hope we see you soon.”
“You will.”
“Thank you again for the wine.”
“No problem. Have a good evening, Frasie. Aiden.”
After Kytis left, Frasie tried to open the bottle. Instead, all she managed was to destroy the beautiful gold foil seal.
“There’s a tool for that,” Aiden said.
He motioned to a waiter and asked for a corkscrew. He took the device and worked the coiled metal into the top, then used it to gently lift the cork from the bottle. It opened with a satisfying hollow pop. She giggled and emulated the noise with her mouth.
He poured them both a glass, then put the neck near his nose and took a whiff. “It smells…” he took another sniff. “Like a long-forgotten grape.”
She took a sip. “It’s… not bad. Not much different than any other wine.”
He sampled the beverage. “I agree. Hardly worth the price.”
“Kytis seems nice, doesn’t he?”
He took a bigger sip of wine.
“You don’t like him, do you?”
“Eh…”
“He’s Nivvy’s brother. How could anyone who was raised by Farius be a bad person?”
“Niv wasn’t raised by Farius.”
She swirled her glass. “Well… no. Cherin and Ren are responsible for her I suppose.”
“I’m skeptical of everyone when I first meet them,” Aiden said.
“You weren’t with Nivvy and I.”
“That was different. From the moment I saw you I knew you would be an important person in my life.”
She grinned. “You just fell for three damsels in distress.”
“Two damsels. One powerful sorceress.”
She set her glass on the table. “I was joking. I don’t really see myself as a damsel. In fact, I’m not sure what one is. That’s a strange word, isn’t it?” She repeated it. “Damsel.”
He laughed. “I thought Niv was an average girl until she shot fire from her fingertips. But I saw the fire in you right away. I was incredibly impressed with your skill in archery. You might have been damsels, but not a one of you was helpless.”
“Mae was, at least against Vorea.”
Aiden took her hand. “Farius will find a way to free her.”
She squeezed it. “I like how confidently you say that.”
They enjoyed a fantastic meal, and afterward returned to their slow walk through the streets of the upper city. Few words interrupted their admiring glances until they reached the bridge over the retaining pond. They stopped at the observation point midway and stared out into the water.
“I’m having a really good time,” she said.
“Me too.”
She wrung her hands and tried to wipe them on her dress. “I’m so awkward,” she admitted. “I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
He smiled. “You’re having a nice time with a friend.”
She breathed deeply. “You’re more than a friend. You know that.”
“I know. If it helps, I feel just as awkward.”
She chuckled. “Really?”
“Probably more so.”
She shook her head. “I doubt that.”
“Let’s make this easier,” he said. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
“Oh, I… I don’t know. Well, that’s not true. I know. Part of it I already admitted. I’m afraid to be awkward. When we’re eating, tromping through the woods, or hunting, I know exactly what to do. No thinking, just doing. But when we’re quiet, and you’re standing there looking at me with those soulful eyes I don’t know what to say or do. There. How about you?”
“I feel the same,” he said. “But now, even in the dim light from the torches on the bridge, I can still see those big green eyes. Those freckles drive me insane, Frasie. And that way you scrunch your nose. When I think of that, I don’t think of having fun with you in the woods.” He moved closer. “I think of holding you. Playing with those fiery-red curls.”
He paused, then pulled her head so close that their noses touched. He tilted his head and kissed her.
He stopped, looked at her, and smiled. “I’m not nervous anymore. Are you?”
Chapter 6
Kytis rented a suite in a nice hotel in the upper city. It had all the amenities: running warm water from the fire pit in the basement, lavish furnishings, and a staff available day or night at the pull of a chain. It provided similar comforts to home yet was situated remarkably close to his target. The temple was only a block away.
After getting settled, he loosened his clothing and lay on his bed. He closed his eyes, attained a calm, meditative state, then turned his focus to Olivia. After a few moments of searching the ethers, he saw her dress swoosh by his field of vision. A whiff of her perfume confirmed he had made contact.
He needed a better view, so he employed an ancient Druidic technique to extend his consciousness around her and search for other living beings. He found several, the most sentient of which being a mouse. Using a modified charm spell and his innate Skilla power, he took control of the small creature and acquired its vision.
The mouse huddled in the corner with an excellent view of Olivia. She removed her chamise and sat naked on the edge of a tub while she drew a bath. Despite his loathing for her, he couldn’t help but admire the view. She had a lovely figure. Her long legs, shapely torso, and gorgeous hair were quite alluring. It was a pity such a rotten, useless soul inhabited an exquisitely beautiful body.
Focus.
Steam rose from the water, and Olivia tested it with the tip of her toe. She gasped, presumably from the heat, and went to another room for a moment. When she returned, she carried a book and a glass of wine. She eased into the water, let her hair dangle over the back edge of the tub, then absorbed herself into her novel.
He directed the mouse to adjust his view so that he could see her face. For him to truly delight in her misery, he must view her pretty face. Her poised demeanor, even while alone, made it difficult for him to imagine the callous act of killing his mother. Yet somehow this delightful wench did just that.
After she finished reading, she set the book on the floor, drank the rest of her wine, and remained in the tub, soaking in her disgustingly opulent relaxation. She closed her eyes and submerged her head, reducing her voluminous wavy hair to thick, heavy strands that clung to her face.
Somehow, with wet hair, she seemed less the polished portrait of beauty and now the image of a more realistic woman in her thirties. The more he stared, the more he saw her slight imperfections. The sudsy waters washed more than her hair. It removed a bit of the glamor he had painted over her with his perception.
It was easy to hate the woman who killed your mother. Even easier when she seemed too perfect. And now, as vulnerable as she was, she looked more and more like any other woman. In her contemplative stare he could see her mind pouring over the problems anyone might have surrounded in a stressful, self-absorbed bureaucracy. She was no longer Olivia, the magnificent, powerful Skilla—she was an adult female who had committed a terrible evil and almost seemed sorry for it.
There were many ways to skin a Skilla, but perhaps the cruelest was to deny the emotion so critical to the fabric of their being—pleasure. Their flair for the dramatic and hedonistic philosophy demanded they seek new experiences and extract the most enjoyment out of their activities, their relationships, and their own bodies.
In denying his mother the chance to go on living, she cut short her passionate embrace of life and all its charming diversions. But a far more effective punishment, and thus his revenge, would be to ensure the Skilla continued to live but to deny it pleasure. Her existence would become hollow, and life unbearable. Perhaps she might jump from that window of her own volition.
He took a final look at his target, the lovely, yet real Olivia, and withdrew from the mouse. He bolted from bed and went to his desk to draw what he had seen. With a quick sketch, followed
by later detail work, he filled in the image of an abjectly depressed woman leaning her head in exasperation over the side of the tub and her arm draped over the adjoining side in miserable agony.
To have dominion over another Skilla is to be the gatekeeper of her desire, her passion, and ultimately her pleasure. He would own her completely, and relish in extracting a fraction of the pain she had caused him and his mother. For her, there would be no redemption. Nothing would get in his way.
Nothing.
***
The words in Olivia’s novel started to run together, so she closed the book and set it on the floor, careful not to get it wet. She finished the last of her wine and reclined in the tub, soaking in the lingering warmth of the water. She washed her hair, finished scrubbing her body, then remained still as she contemplated meeting the son of her departed best friend.
Thoughts of Narelle frequently filled her mind. Her now busy days distracted her, but when she was alone, not even the powers of a good novel could keep them at bay. There were plenty of good memories, but the look on Narelle’s face as her body burst into flames overrode them all. She could faintly remember her perfume for the stink of her burning flesh, or the sound of her voce for her shrieks of agony.
Nothing would remove those, and perhaps that’s how it ought to be. She did kill her best friend, after all. Reasons aside, Narelle would no longer live. Kytis would be without his mother. There was no redemption for her.
She dried off, slipped on her robe, then picked up her novel. Perhaps a hopeful scene would rip her from her anguish. When she picked up the book, she noticed a mouse on the floor.
“Eww.”
She shooed it away, but it didn’t move. She took a closer look and observed a trail of blood emanating from its nose. She leaned down and nudged it with the corner of her book.
Nothing.
Chapter 7
Shareis awoke shortly before dawn. Niv was faced away from her. The covers were mangled, exposing most of Niv’s back. She had curled up into a ball to try to stay warm. Shareis cuddled up to her, nestled them both with ample covers, and rested her hand on her love’s stomach.
Olivia Page 2
