"So what will you do?" Seddrill asked gently.
Serwren sighed, but the rush of air from her lungs did not relieve the heavy feeling in her chest. "Keep reminding him that I love him, when he'll listen to me. I'll make more of an effort to spend more time with him, to show him what I can of this world."
"And for yourself?"
Serwren didn't understand Seddrill's quietly spoken question. "What do you mean?"
"What do you intend to do for yourself, to look after yourself. For example, do you intend to eat tonight? You need to keep your strength up."
"I'm not hungry." Serwren gave a small shake of her head.
"Regardless," Seddrill murmured, and disappeared back into the house.
He returned, carrying a cloak for Serwren, to guard against the rapidly cooling night air. He was followed by two servants who busied themselves setting out a folding table and two chairs, and setting the table with bowls of what smelt like a hearty lamb stew and small loaves of fresh baked bread.
Seddrill took his seat at the table and lifted his spoon as if to eat. Serwren hadn't moved from her place by the terrace wall. She watched him with confusion; this was not the routine that they'd fallen into.
Seddrill glanced up at her. "You should eat, Serwren."
"I will. It smells delicious." Her stomach grumbled in audible and embarrassing appreciation, which made Seddrill smile. "But don't you want to..." she tailed off, waving her upturned wrist in front of her in place of words.
Seddrill grinned at her meaning. "Perhaps, afterwards. Eat first. I wasn't being facetious about the issue of your vitality."
No less confused by Seddrill's self-deprecating behaviour, Serwren took a seat and began to eat. The stew was thick, spicy and delicious. She felt better for having wholesome food in her stomach, although she was still sick at heart.
The servants refreshed their glasses with wine, and replaced their empty bowls with plates bearing slices of cake. Although Serwren did not have any kind of sweet tooth, even she had to admit that the cake was light and delicious. Even the buttercream was not as cloying on her tongue as she had expected that it would be.
In all, Serwren enjoyed the meal and was thankful that Seddrill had coerced her into eating. Their conversation whilst eating had been humorous and pleasant, concentrating on inconsequential matters. However, the wine and the rigours of the day had made her sleepy, and it was not long before she rose to take her leave.
Seddrill stood when Serwren did so. "Serwren, before you go..."
Serwren had forgotten about the blood toast. It had become their habit for Seddrill to sip her blood before every evening meal, although of course, never when Ulli might chance to see. Seddrill had never taken her blood after their meal, though.
"Now?"
"Now."
Serwren could have been imagining the predatory glint in Seddrill's eyes. It could have been a trick of the moonlight and the wine. She hoped she was imagining it. She hoped it was only her blood that excited him so.
Serwren allowed Seddrill to approach her. She offered only polite assistance as he unfastened the cuff from her chosen wrist. It was Seddrill who snagged the blade from the chain at her hip. He made the cut in her skin with practised precision, and placed the blade next to the discarded bracelet on the table before starting to lick at her wrist.
As he did occasionally, Seddrill slipped the hand not holding Serwren's wrist around her waist, under the woollen folds of her cloak. It seemed awkward not to step closer to him, and yet she felt awkward and conflicted when he drew her closer to his body.
When Seddrill had taken his fill of Serwren's blood, he did not release her. He made no other move than to continue to hold her in that half embrace. His cool fingers still circled her wrist. Seddrill dipped his head, and Serwren knew for a certainty that he was about to attempt to kiss her. His lips hovered over hers, closer, almost brushing the tender skin. For one moment, Serwren wanted to close that brief distance, as much as she wanted to run into the night.
"No." The words were little more than a breath. Serwren's voice was so quiet even she wasn't sure that she'd spoken aloud. When she tried to take a step back, Seddrill let his arm slip from around her. That he hadn't tried to restrain her, to trap her, was the only reason that she wasn't currently running screaming to Ulli's room to drag him from the house.
Seddrill inclined his head in a bow. "My apologies, lady Serwren. I overstepped the bounds of our agreement."
Serwren felt the urge to apologise, too. A part of her felt that she had wronged him by interrupting the kiss that she had been sure was about to happen. Seddrill had been nothing but patient and respectful, so much so that he was one of the few people walking the earth who could touch her, even unexpectedly, and not shock her into jumping a foot into the air. He was the only male, other than Ulli, who could claim that privilege.
The thing that stopped Serwren from closing the distance between her and Seddrill, from allowing him the use of her body as a gesture of thanks, was her uncertainty as to whether she had true feelings for the tall Vuthroan, or whether she was simply so starved for human touch that almost any close proximity could trigger a strong response in her.
"I..."
"No, Serwren, please." Seddrill held up his hand. "Say no more. Retire to your room as you planned. This night never happened."
Serwren felt like a coward for accepting the reprieve, for turning and hastening to her room, but that did not stay her feet. She had been gifted the opportunity to escape, and she would not refuse that gift.
Serwren shed her clothes, and tried to shed the confusion and uneasiness of the day along with the thick cloak and the embroidered layers of pink tulle that formed her dress. She slipped between the covers of her bed, scented with lemon from the water that they'd been laundered in, and tried to sleep. But she could not settle; her blood was singing. The restlessness, the burning, indefinable ache, reminded her of the times, so many years before, when Jorrell had clambered through her window and they'd spent the hours of darkness bringing each other mutual pleasure.
Serwren hadn't been able to think of those heated moments for years without acute discomfort, both emotional and physical. She made a half-hearted effort to relieve the persistent feeling with her own fingers, but it was a paltry touch compared to her memories, and the insipidness of her own response brought to mind other touches that had been hateful. Serwren gave up trying to bring herself any sort of relief and resigned herself to tossing and turning in a fitful sleep, tormented by memories.
Given the state of fear and confusion that she existed in on daily basis, Serwren had no idea how she would act, how she would be able to respond, when Jorrell returned home. Her love for him still smouldered, the embers were guarded carefully in a corner of her heart, but much had happened in her life since his departure. She did not feel like she had grown into the woman that the child he had known had been destined to become. Serwren supposed that she would discover the answers to her unasked questions soon enough. The army was expected to make port in Thrissia any day now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The endless war in Litt had been relegated to a distant memory for Jorrell the moment that the ship pulled away from its berth. They had used the allotted span of one moon to do as much work as possible to ensure that the country would be able to stand by itself when they left, and he felt that they had achieved some success. Litt would struggle for some time; its riches were not now its own reserves to spend as it would. There was a new war to fund, and the precious commodities that its earth yielded would be required for other uses than to reinstate the homes and infrastructure destroyed by years of fighting.
Jorrell paced the deck of the ship. The sound of the oars had been a constant feature of the voyage and was almost as much of a nature to him now as the sound of his own breathing. The ship, in the absence of any favourable tides or winds, was powered by prisoners of war captured in Litt. Any ordinary soldiers detained as such had been rele
ased. The ones manning the oars in the bowels of the boat were those with political intelligence, or charismatic temper, the ones most likely to cause trouble and uprising if left behind unchecked. The beat of the drum which urged the rowers to keep their rhythm was a heavy, insistent heart beat in the dance of salt spray, blood and sweat.
The call for land sounded. Jorrell turned swiftly and stalked to the prow of the ship. As the mass emerged from the haze of the horizon and became distinct, Jorrell was able to make out the coastline of Dassrin. As they drew closer, he was able to discern the multi-hued trees, displaying every shade of green, gold, rust and amber in accordance with the season of the third moon of Thyar. Their vibrant richness contrasted with the forbidding, jagged grey cliffs below the canopy.
Various calls and shouts rang out, and the ship became a hive of activity. As they rounded the coast, the commands were issued to prepare for navigation past the Neldinean Pool. The great whirlpool, which spanned a third of the straight between Dassrin and Veltharesh was treacherously difficult to avoid. The hull pitched and swayed as first the port then the starboard oars were alternated to ensure that the correct course was adhered to.
The thundering waters that swirled down into the endless oubliette of the ocean drowned out any attempt at speech above decks. Jorrell remembered bitterly the concentration that was required to man the oars with finesse, using torn and bleeding palms that were almost numb with pain, whilst watching the arm movements of the steersman. It seemed that the whole ship, timber as well as men, breathed a sigh of relief once the danger was past.
Jorrell remained in the prow throughout. The Pool was an intimidating and absorbing sight, but his eyes were only for the coast. Once they were past the Pool and into the sea of Thleen, the coast of Dassrin receded until its colours were muted by distance. As the ship ploughed ever forward, the coast curved again, and the cliffs became more distinct. The sharp, almost uniformly grey rock gave way to the banded shades of the coast of Felthiss. The change was commanded by the Heranuc mountains, which were denoted by a long break in the verdancy of the foliage that encompassed Dassrin. The dryer climate of Felthiss allowed no such lush vegetation atop the sloping ridges.
As they passed the natural demarcation between countries, the En Dek detached and headed for the Isle of Gryphons. The muscular beasts were visibly exhausted from the mammoth journey. They had set out from Litt at the same time as the ship, but as gryphons were unable to sleep on the wing, or to swim, they had been forced to take a much longer and more circuitous route home to allow for periods of rest on land. Kai, the fickle bitch, was making a valiant effort to maintain her altitude. She was being ridden by En Balamon. Although Jorrell couldn’t have wished for a better rider for her, he had been glad of the opportunity to take a turn on her back before they had left Litt. They had soared and wheeled through the air for a blissful hour, and shrouded by the clouds, Jorrell had whooped and yelled with childish enthusiasm.
But now home was drawing closer.
As they approached the western headland of the bay of Thrissia, the air became ripe with the aroma of the fishing fleet. The caw of the gulls reached a shrieking fever pitch, and as they rounded the western point, the city of Thrissia was revealed before them in all its glory. The houses, still startlingly white against the cliffs, tumbled down the steep slopes of the bay, until it seemed that some dwellings might tip into the very water. To Jorrell's eye, the city had expanded around the bay. Here and there, the blanket of the city was dotted with the sky blue minarets and domes that Jorrell remembered so well. The largest and most majestic ones of all belonged to the palace.
As they slid ever closer through the calm waters, more details became apparent. The perfect purity of the city became broken up with vivid details; laundry that had been hung out to dry, goods that had been laid out for sale, and the people and animals that were moving through the streets.
The ship that Jorrell was aboard was leading the fleet that carried all the armies of Felthiss. Half a battalion had been needed to undertake the task of ensuring that the multitude of boats required to carry the army home were in good repair. The ship slowed, becoming almost sluggish, as it manoeuvred carefully into the harbour, navigating along the quay to leave room for those that followed. There would not be room to moor every ship in the safety of the harbour; they would have to empty themselves of their human cargo and weigh anchor out at sea to make space for the fleet. Before the days was done, the waters between Felthiss and the horizon would be almost completely obscured by the long boats.
With a final jarring jerk, as the oars were planted hard into the water, the ship came to a halt alongside the quay. There were calls and shouts between the men on the quayside and the men on the ship as lines were tossed out and secured. As the gangplank was extended and hit the stones of Thrissia, Cael reappeared at Jorrell’s side.
Cael had left him alone for the better part of the day. Jorrell knew he’d been miserable company; he was too eager to see his home and too anxious about what he would find there to be able to hold conversation. Cael had not been offended, but he hadn’t been as affected by the prospect of the end of the journey; he didn’t feel he had so much to return for. Cael felt love for his native country, but he had no intention of attempting to rejoin his family.
The harbour was bustling. The traders, pimps, whores and beggars were almost tripping over themselves in excitement. The return of the army was a great event, and heralded the arrival of thousands of potential customers.
The scents, the sounds, even the taste of the air was all as he remembered it. Jorrell had thought that it was unlikely that he would ever see Thrissia again, that he would die in some remote corner of some forsaken foreign country. And now he was home. Tears of relief and joy that he hadn’t been expecting pricked the backs of his eyes like needles.
The temperatures were cooling with the season, but Jorrell was warmer than he’d been in years. He turned his face upwards to better receive the caressing rays of the sun. He was not ready to relinquish his heavy furred cloak just yet, though. His bones needed to thaw a little; they were imbued with years of permafrost.
“Are you going to stand here like the village idiot all day, or are we going to get moving?” The impatience in Cael’s tone was tempered by his mirth. “There’s a boat load of men waiting for you to disembark, General.”
That last address held none of the deference that other men used when they addressed him by his title, quite the opposite, but that was one of the things Jorrell liked most about Cael. It was impossible to get a swelled head with such a level, and impish, friend by his side.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from the ladies.” Jorrell smiled and nodded his head at a particularly ugly gaggle of prostitutes who had come down to the harbour to try their luck. Given the sheer volume of men looking for somewhere to dip their cocks at the earliest available opportunity, they would probably earn a year’s worth of coin in the next few hours.
Cael blew a kiss at the simpering women. “I have my eye on the one with the fat belly and the hint of a beard, dressed in the red silks, but I think she’ll wait for me while I see you safely to the barracks.”
“I’m not convinced that’s not a man, and either way, I think you’ll find your target occupied by the time you return.”
“Then you’ll have to make it worth my while, that I’m missing out on such a delightful fuck.” Cael laughed loudly at Jorrell’s questioning look. “You best purchase several flagons of wine on our way.”
“Friend,” Jorrell clapped his hand on Cael’s shoulder, “I will buy you all the wine, as long as you don’t fuck that... whatever it is.”
“Then get me drunk or find me a better prospect. Either way, get your fucking arse off this fucking boat.”
Cael gave him a less than gentle shove in the direction of the quayside. There was true impatience in Cael’s tone now, so Jorrell did the thing he’d been almost too afraid to do, and took his first step down the gang plank.
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Jorrell’s rank was evident in the fact that he was first from the ship, and in the style of his armour and in his bearing, but that only held the ravening hoard of commerce back a little way, a pace or two, no more. The crowds still surged forward. Jorrell ignored them and began to take the path he had not forgotten, up through the streets to the palace, and beyond to the barracks. He could have hired a horse or a litter, but he wanted to walk, to feel the life of the city heave around him. Still, he walked with one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other on the hilt of his dagger; he wasn’t a fool.
Cael followed him, matching him step for step up the steep, winding pathways. As they gained the upper reaches of the city, where the consular dwellings were arrayed, Cael nudged Jorrell with his elbow. “Which one did you grow up in?”
Jorrell paused for a moment. They were a several steps ahead of the rest of the soldiers that had followed them up through the city.
Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1) Page 25
