They hurried through the house; a low building generously lit by lanterns. Sergevni swept Adrienna into his arms and followed the farmer woman up a set of wide stairs and towards a small room furnished with a bed, a table and an empty hearth.
As Sergevni lay his shivering bride on the bed, the woman set about making a fire. Soon the comforting cracking of wood and flickering gold of firelight filled the room. Then the farmer’s wife fetched a bowl of water, towels, and a torn piece of flannel.
“Thank you,” Sergevni said sincerely. “We are grateful for your generosity.”
The woman smiled and left, and Sergevni immediately began seeing to the princess. Now that she was lying on the bed, she seemed perfectly content, her eyes fluttering closed. Her lips were pale blue, and she was mouthing words, though she did not speak. Sergevni pulled her coat open and carefully slid her arms free from the sleeves. She was stiff, and he could feel the cold of her skin even through her clothes.
He began to undo the lacings of her shirt. He would need to take her clothes off to rub her limbs. Bathing her in warm water would not help; she needed the blood to flow in her veins again. But Sergevni had tended to cold-sickness before. He was decisive and quick, pulling open the girl’s shirt and sliding it off her, unbuckling her belt and dragging the trousers from her limbs. Underneath she wore men’s undergarments, no doubt borrowed from one of the smallest squires.
Sergevni paused. He had done this many times before, seeing to sick soldiers in the absence of healers. It was a simple matter of stripping the body and rubbing the blood back into movement within the flesh. But there was something different this time. He could not explain why, but the sight of Adrienna’s nudity troubled him.
Her limbs were pale, marbled violet with the cold, but there was something poignantly delicate about her. Her collarbones and ribcage were slightly exposed beneath her translucent skin — she had lost weight recently, and fast. Her breasts were full, her nipples pink as tourmalines, her hips rounded and feminine. His thoughts and opinions of her had always been so remote and dispassionate; now she felt devastatingly real and unnervingly close.
Sergevni pulled off his gloves and began to run his palm along her limbs. Her skin was cold and smooth as ice. As he stroked her, there was a stirring deep within him he could not explain. Perhaps it was the knowledge that this woman would become his wife, that he would need to take her to his bed. Or perhaps it was the way she seemed so fragile when she had appeared so ferocious before. But the sensation of touching her was making Sergevni’s hands tremble slightly, and he realised that he was holding his breath.
He frowned. He needed to get a hold of himself. The girl had caught the cold-sickness because she was weak, unused to harsh weather — unused to most things, probably. She was sheltered and capricious, this little princess of Veritier. He could not allow her wiles to mislead him. He was a soldier, a commander, used to efficacy, to action. These perturbing emotions raging within him were probably a result of exhaustion and frustration, nothing more.
He rubbed her skin until warmth began to move through her again. Holding his palm over her chest, he waited. Her breathing was still too slow. He needed to revive her, or she would go to sleep and perhaps forget to wake up. And as much as Sergevni did not want to marry — he did not want his bride to die in front of his very eyes either.
A knock sounded at the door, and Sergevni pulled a blanket over Adrienna before answering.
“Come in.”
The farmer’s wife returned, bearing a tray of cups. Fragrant steam floated from the dark tisanes, and Sergevni immediately recognised the smell of blackcurrant leaves. A pot of dark jam sat amongst the cups, a spoon tucked into it. She lay the tray upon the small table by the bed and handed Sergevni a folded nightgown of pale wool.
“For your wife, armitza.”
“Thank you. I will not forget your kindness.”
She smiled and nodded.
“My husband has put a blanket on your horse and fed it. You should rest. In the morning we will bring you food.”
“Thank you. May the saints keep you.”
“And you.”
The woman left, closing the door behind her. Sergevni turned to the tray. Scooping up some jam with the spoon, he plopped it into the tea and stirred. Then he filled the spoon with the sweet tea, and moved it to Adrienna’s lips, pouring it into her mouth. Her eyes were closed, but she swallowed the mouthful. He gave her another, then another. Soon, her eyelids were fluttering open. He picked up the cup and raised it to her lips, letting her drink in small, slow sips.
Colour was returning to her flesh, for she was losing her deathly pallor. But her movements were feeble and her skin icy to the touch. She needed more warmth. Removing his coat and boots, Sergevni left both next to the fire and returned to stretch on the bed alongside the princess.
She seemed slightly bewildered when he pulled the blanket over himself and pulled her close, but she said nothing. Instead, to his surprise, she nestled into him, tucking her head against his shoulder. He froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She needed something that would pour warmth back into her limbs, and his body would produce steady heat. It made sense to lie alongside her.
And yet as he lay stiffly at her side, her little head against his shoulder, he could not help a strange feeling of impropriety. He shook his head. He need not feel ashamed — he was not debauching the girl. Yet her nakedness, the glowing pallor of her skin in the faint firelight, her mouth and nose pressed against his chest… they suggested intimacy. And Sergevni had expected many things from his marriage — but not intimacy.
A heavy sigh shook the girl’s shoulders, and he gazed down at her, frowning. She had fallen back into sleep, lying curled against him. He observed her for a moment: she was really quite a soft thing. Her eyelashes fanned darkly over her pale cheeks, and her lips were as lush as the petals of a tea-rose. Her brown hair fell in gleaming strands against her cheeks and neck, incongruously short. In Sevalensk, women wore their hair long and intricately coiffed. But hers was chin-length, like that of a page or valet — not a princess.
And for a reason he could not fathom, he rather liked it.
5. Skin
Adrienna dreamt.
She had arrived back in her bedchamber after a ball. Encouraged by young courtiers, she had indulged in more wine than was wise, and she swayed on her feet by her bed. At her side, Aster was propping her up with one arm and pulling aside the blankets with the other. She lowered Adrienna onto the mattress and gently removed the satin slippers from her feet.
Adrienna giggled and hugged a pillow to her chest, burying her face into it. Aster was unpicking each pin from her elaborate hairdo, laying them into the seashell tray by the bed. When Adrienna’s long tresses were uncoiled, Aster drew the blanket over her shoulder.
“Thank you,” Adrienna sighed. “You always look after me.”
But when she opened her eyes sometime later, she was no longer in her bedchamber in Hawksmoor. Instead, she was in a small room with a low ceiling and a narrow fireplace inside which lingered weak flames over a glowering log. The room was cold, but she was warm, her limbs wrapped under a woollen blanket that smelled of smoke and sage. Her head was not nestled into a pillow as it had in her dream but into the muscles of a powerful chest.
Moving her head back, Adrienna blinked up. Her heartbeat faltered, and a tremor traversed her as she stared at the young man at her side. Sergevni lay asleep on the edge of the bed, one hand resting over his chest, one leg hanging off the side, foot propped on the floor. He wore no coat or armour, but a clean white tunic, dark trousers fastened at his narrow hips with laces and buckles. He looked younger, out of his armour, and strangely elegant.
His face, when asleep, had lost all its gravity and misery. As though a faerie’s spell had been placed upon him, all the solemnity and severity had vanished. Instead, exquisitely carved features were revealed, making him look like a marble saint adorning a cathedral. Sleep had softened h
is features, making him appear almost boyish. His golden curls surrounded his face like a halo, and his lips were slightly agape, as though he were about to speak or sigh.
Adrienna’s mind was fogged by sleep and cobwebbed by scraps of dreams and memories. Yet in that moment she realised that Sergevni was movingly beautiful. And as the sense of his beauty descended upon her, so too did the sense of her own nudity. She was naked beneath the woollen blanket, one thigh pressed against Sergevni, one arm thrown across his chest.
She felt no urge to move away from him. Perhaps it was because the room was so chill, or because she was too tired to move. But no force in the world could have compelled her to leave Sergevni’s side at that moment. So she leaned her cheek against his chest once more, careful not to wake him, and sank back into sleep.
When she next awoke, dazzling white daylight filled the room, and Sergevni was no longer by her side. The place he had previously occupied was now cold, though he had covered her with blankets. An unnerving disappointment pulled on her heart, but she ignored it. Doubtless, she merely missed the warmth of a body at her side.
She sat up and stared around her. She was in a tiny room, furnished with the narrow bed she lay in, a small table and a chair by the fireside. The window was small, the glass pane frosted white. Looking down at herself, Adrienna realised that she was no longer naked as she had been earlier that night.
She wondered if she had dreamt her bare limbs pressed against Sergevni. Now she wore a thick woollen nightgown, the fabric smooth against her aching limbs, the sleeves so long that they covered her knuckles. It was not an elegant garment, but it was the best garment she had ever worn: warm, soft, comforting.
The sound of brisk footsteps interrupted her thoughts, and Adrienna looked up as the door opened. Now that he was awake, the severity was firmly back upon Sergevni’s face, hardening every feature. His coat, boots and gloves were back on, black and embroidered with loops of gold, his curls swept back from his face.
He carried a tray which he laid down at Adrienna’s side before facing her.
“How do you fare?” he asked.
The question was courteous, though the tone was blunt.
“I slept very well and I’m feeling quite fine,” Adrienna replied. Then she added: “Thank you.”
“Good. The kind people who own this farmstead have offered us some supplies and clothing. Once you are dressed we shall resume our journey to Sevalensk.”
Adrienna nodded.
“For now, please eat. You will need all your strength, for the storm has passed but the wind is bitter and we have a long ride ahead of us. Without a tent, we will journey until we find an inn, or else journey through the night.”
“I’m sorry,” Adrienna blurted.
He raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
“I know I held you back. You think I worry too much about my guards, and that I make foolish decisions. You lost your garrison in the storm because you came back to fetch me.”
“Yes. But my garrison is well-trained and know their orders. Your Althius is a powerful soldier who knows his duty. You and I are capable of continuing our journey alone. No harm has been done. Let us not dwell on it.”
With these pragmatic words, Sergevni poured her a cup of dark tea. The wild, sweet fragrance of it filled Adrienna’s senses, and she closed her eyes, breathing in its perfume. Alongside the tea were potato dumplings, slices of cake stuffed with dried apricots, and a little cracked bowl of sugar cubes. Adrienna dropped some sugar into the tea and drank it gratefully, the sweet, hot liquid warming her insides.
She ate as Sergevni busied himself boiling some water over the hot flames and pouring it into a bowl. When she finished eating, he said:
“Here’s some water for washing. Your clothes are dry; you should dress.”
She nodded, abandoning the comfort of the blankets to tiptoe over to the bowl of water. As she washed, Sergevni placed the clothes she had worn the previous day upon the bed. Leaving her to ready herself, he poured himself a cup of tea and sat down to drink it.
After she had washed her face and combed her hair, Adrienna walked back to the bed and picked up the clothes. They were the trousers and shirt she had worn the day before; she did not remember removing them. Frowning, she looked over her shoulder at Sergevni, who was sipping tea with his customary impassivity.
“Was it you who undressed me?”
“Yes,” he replied brazenly. “You had the cold-sickness,” he added by way of an explanation.
She looked away. No man had ever seen her naked before. Sergevni was her betrothed, and they would eventually need to share a bed. She knew this and yet she was troubled. Not because he had removed the clothes from her body and seen her bare limbs — but because he seemed so indifferent and apathetic to it.
“Well. I should dress,” she said, suppressing the misery in her voice.
He gave a terse nod. When he continued to drink his tea she frowned, looking pointedly at him.
“I should dress now,” she repeated.
He shrugged.
“Do not concern yourself on my account. I have already seen you unclothed, and we shall soon be married. Seeing you dress is of no consequence.”
Adrienna’s cheeks flooded with heat. No consequence? The man must be half-machine, to be so thoughtless and callous. Turning her back on him, she grabbed the clothes and pulled them on angrily. She yanked the woollen nightdress over her head and resisted the urge to throw it at him. Instead, she lay it aside and pulled on the shirt, fastening the laces.
She had always considered herself rather lovely. She had a pleasing shape: a narrow waist, round hips, soft breasts. Did her form not please Sergevni? Perhaps ice ran through his veins instead of blood, and he was incapable of desire. Adrienna knew not why it affected her so much. She made a silent promise to herself to never let his opinion matter to her.
Soon they were ready to leave and Adrienna was saved from her thoughts. The farmers had given her a thick shawl to wrap underneath her coat. They had packed a blanket, a basket of bread, dried fish, apples and some cider, and some carrots for the horse. Adrienna watched curiously as Sergevni expressed short but sincere thanks and handed the farmers a handful of coins from a pouch he kept at his belt. The farmers stared at him in shock, but he nodded and walked away, joining Adrienna by the little stables.
They mounted the horse, Adrienna sat in front of Sergevni, and rode out. The snowstorm had laid a great white blanket upon the world, and the sky was white with distant clouds, a single ribbon of blue revealed low over the horizon. Behind them rose the low swells of the mountains they had passed on their way from Veritier. Ahead of them was the pale desert, and beyond it, Sevalensk.
They rode hard that day, and though it was brutally cold, the wind’s wrath had abated. An icy breeze blew instead from time to time, lifting the powdered snow that sparkled in the bright daylight. Adrienna watched the dazzling landscape around her, hypnotised by the endlessness of it. Sergevni’s arms were wrapped firmly around her, and after a while, she relaxed her head against his shoulder. If it bothered him, he did not voice it.
They journeyed on and the light grew dimmer; the sky darkening beyond hazy clouds. They paused only to relieve themselves and eat. By the time the sun fell behind the dusty blue horizon, they had not passed a single building. The light had all but faded from the sky when they finally chanced to find a road, deep cart-tracks dug into the snow. Following it finally lead them to a tall, narrow tavern balanced in the corner of a crossroad.
Adrienna was thankful when they finally dismounted. Her thighs and buttocks were sore, her skin raw, and she had been fighting off sleep for the last few hours. She slid from the saddle with a wince, and when she stretched her cramped limbs, her muscles burned with pain.
They entered the tavern and the smell of smoke, roasting meat, freshly baked bread and cider greeted them. Finding a table by the fireplace, they ate hungrily, for they had done their best to ration the food the farmer
s had given them. Adrienna was so hungry she did not even have time to observe her usual decorum, and she bit straight into the bread, slurping her hot stew loudly, too hungry to wait for it to cool. Sergevni raised an eyebrow but made no comment.
After they had eaten, Sergevni paid for a room and they were lead up a narrow set of stairs and down a poorly lit corridor. The room itself was welcoming: the fire was well stocked and blazing healthily, the bed had a feather mattress and clean white bedding, and a basin of warm water lay by a mirror, with a razor, soap and some towels by its side.
Adrienna looked around and turned back to Sergevni, frowning slightly.
“There is only one bed.”
“Yes,” he said. He was removing his coat, placing it on a hook by the door. “There is.”
“We’re not married yet,” she pointed out.
He paused, lifting an eyebrow.
“We were not married yesterday, yet we still shared a bed then.”
“Yes, but it isn’t proper…”
He sighed.
“We are to be married, Adrienna, and soon we will need to share a bed. If you slept in a room of your own, I would have no guard to keep watch over it. This is the most practical solution.”
Adrienna’s anger flared. Why must he be so stony and pragmatic at all times? How could he not understand that sharing a bed with him was not a matter of practicality for her? She had been raised all her life to await marriage, to hold herself to a moral standard of chastity. Now he expected her to throw it all aside? To climb brazenly into bed with him?
He watched her and seemed to think he read her thoughts, for he continued, “Do not fear that I shall be untoward in my conduct. I am hardly likely to ravish you.”
She laughed derisively.
“No, I am under no illusion that my might become a prisoner to lust.”
He paused and sighed.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not intend to imply that you are not attractive to me. You are an exquisitely beautiful woman, Adrienna.”
Rubies and Roses Page 4
