She blushed, holding her pouch close and bringing it to him. He stared at it, and for a moment she thought he would reject her offer again with another reminder that it was hers, but he accepted with a nod after a glance at her injured hand. She could have managed if she truly had to, but she likely would have spilled quite a lot in the process.
“I do not wish to fight with you, Bendan,” Olivar said tiredly. “And I admit that I have missed your company.”
Master Bendan’s shoulders lost some of their tension, and he gave a more genuine smile than she had ever seen. “And I, yours. Linnie was ready to banish me, I think, since I have been spending all my extra time with her instead.”
Olivar gave him an incredulous look. “From what I hear, she did banish you.”
Ness looked between them, a bit of good humour returning to their eyes, and she began to relax in turn. Perhaps it would not be so horrible to have to share some of Olivar’s time if it made him happy. It was the fighting she did not like.
Mostly.
The secret, selfish parts of her didn’t like sharing him at all, but she shoved those thoughts away firmly and tried to pretend they had never been.
Neither of them seemed to be paying her much mind, and she again wondered if it would be better to drift off and leave them be. But at her first step backward, Olivar’s attention focused on her. “My apologies, Ness. It is wrong to speak without context. Alindra is Bendan’s...” he struggled for the word. “They have not yet wed, but they are...” he glanced at his brother. “It would be easier if you did marry her. Then I would know what to say.”
Master Bendan looked rather embarrassed, but she noted that his ears didn’t turn green like his brother’s. Perhaps that was something unique to Olivar. She wouldn’t mind if it was.
“We are in negotiation,” Master Bendan grumbled out.
Olivar laughed at that, a rich, full sound that made her happy to hear it. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to have Master Bendan here after all. He had certainly never laughed like that because of her.
That troubled her more than it should.
Her purpose wasn’t to bring joy to a master, merely to satisfy them. But why did that feel so insufficient for Olivar?
“What does that mean?” he asked, still chuckling. “Does she wish to marry you or not?”
Master Bendan stood a little straighter, beginning to look indignant. Ness grew nervous, shrinking back just a little, just in case this took a turn for the worse.
“I do not see you with a woman even willing to begin such talks,” he retorted hotly.
Oliver looked distinctly uncomfortable. “True.”
His eyes met hers, staring at her briefly, and she wondered what she’d missed. There was a sadness there, but he was quick to clear it away.
Yet Master Bendan had noticed it as well, and he suddenly looked stricken. “Olivar, I am sorry. I... of course you cannot... not with...” he shook his head as he pressed his lips together.
Ness eyed both masters, trying to work it out, the realisation slow in coming.
She frowned. It was because of her?
She swallowed, hoping she had misunderstood but fearing that she hadn’t. Olivar smiled at her, an apologetic thing that lacked its usual cheerfulness, and there was no mistaking that yes, she was the reason. She returned her attention to the ground, where it belonged, feeling every bit the burden she always knew herself to be.
It was one thing for him to buy her clothes, to take her to a doctor when she was hurt. It was another for him to forego a mistress, because her presence was undesirable.
Perhaps she had been wrong all along. Perhaps her old masters had taken the time to speak of her failings before her arrival, and he knew that she hadn’t earned her place as a household thrall. She had no business tending to a mistress, and even now, she barely had anything to offer a master.
“Ness,” Olivar murmured, stepping forward and touching her chin gently. Too gently. She wasn’t crying—she wasn’t—but there was a horrible lump in her throat. “That is not... that was not going to happen regardless of your presence here,” Olivar tried to assure her. “It has nothing to do with you, not at all.” He huffed out a breath, shaking his head tiredly. “Bendan has long teased me that he has a woman and I do not.”
“That is a truth, Ness,” Master Bendan confirmed. “Your presence here might make that a little more... challenging,” Olivar gave him a fearsome glare, but Master Bendan ignored him. “There is no point lying to her, Olivar, so you needn’t look at me that way.” She supposed she appreciated his honesty, but it did little to make her feel less of an encumbrance. “But,” he continued, looking at her directly. “I spoke out of turn. You are not keeping him from anything, so you do not have to fret about that. If the right woman cared for him, she would not mind a little challenge.”
She nodded her head, but merely because they seemed to be expecting her acquiescence. Their words did little to assuage her guilt, the knowledge hot and biting that she could be keeping something so important from Olivar.
But what made her feel all the worse was knowing there was a part of her that was glad. Because she liked living here with just Olivar for company. She liked that he was so attentive to her, that he... he seemed to care so very much about her and her wellbeing. And once he had a proper mistress, he would begin to compare them, to see how lacking she had always been. And then his smiles would be given to another, the offer to share his bedroom would be quickly and firmly rescinded as he shared his bed with someone who functioned properly.
Someone who could give him offspring.
Olivar did not look at all convinced that she believed either of them, and he sighed deeply. He glanced at his brother before shaking his head, his hand coming to rub her shoulder lightly. “I will bring your herbs,” he told her softly. “Perhaps you should go sit down.”
She looked glumly to where he might mean. There were multiple places to sit, and she glanced at him for further direction. But he’d moved off, turning back to the hot water. She could ask, could entreat him to order her properly, but something told her he wouldn’t like that.
This was probably another of his attempts to make her choose.
She eyed her options carefully. If she was meant to sit alone, she would choose the cushioned chair in the corner. It sat away from the others, a quiet place. But they still seemed insistent on including her, so she supposed perhaps she should simply sit at the table. They had intended to eat before the entire business with her hand, the food long since going cold.
She sat down at the table, feeling confused and every bit the burden she always knew herself to be. She did not like all these feelings, did not like how her admiration of Olivar was making her selfish, making her forget that it was his welfare that mattered and not hers. She’d always known she was a terrible thrall, but to have it confirmed so thoroughly sent a dreadful churn through her stomach and made her glad that their meal was delayed.
Perhaps she deserved the burn on her hand and all the pain that accompanied it. Olivar certainly didn’t know how to punish her for her selfish thoughts.
Master Bendan took the seat across from her, giving her a smile that did not meet his eyes. She could not even bring herself to mimic the gesture.
“You look terribly low,” he commented to her. His long legs reached out, tapping her feet beneath the table, and she lurched her feet backward lest they be in his way. Unless he’d meant to touch her? She bit her lip, doubtful of what to do, and was grateful when Olivar appeared and placed a steaming cup before her. “For you,” he added, brushing his hand over the crown of her head after he put it down. She closed her eyes, wishing that those kinds of touches would frighten her again, wishing that they might be used to remind her of her place. It would be better if they hurt. She knew how to learn from those kinds.
These... these did funny things to her stomach, made her pulse quicken, in ways that had little to do with fear.
They made her nervous, p
erhaps, but not frightened.
They made her feel special, for a keeper to show such special attention—to show affection.
And yet she was a horrible thrall, undeserving of his care.
She looked down miserably into her cup and took a large sip, ignoring the heat. Perhaps this would dull her senses, would keep her from reacting to Olivar’s simple gestures. She hoped so.
Olivar returned, a cup of something for himself and one for his brother too. It was steeped from dried leaves, much like hers was, but he had told her it was not medicinal, merely consumed for the sake of doing so. He’d offered her a sip once, from his very own cup, but he hadn’t ordered her and it seemed too wrong for a thrall to share a cup with her master.
But what felt even more so was that she’d wanted to.
Olivar set beside her, his broad shoulder nearly touching hers. She couldn’t quite tell if he’d pushed the chair purposefully close or if it just happened to settle there. She didn’t know which answer she preferred.
“Has Olivar told you much about us?” Master Bendan asked, taking a hearty gulp of his drink, the heat not bothering him in the least, not even on the inside. The discrepancy between their peoples seemed so obvious now, but she’d been too dull-witted to notice.
Ness glanced at Olivar. A part of her wanted to keep their conversations private, not that she had contributed much to them. He spoke of a great many things, though mostly related to things that directly impacted her—what she would need to know to navigate his home safely. What she could do once she was more comfortable here.
And then there were many times when he didn’t speak at all. When he would settle in that big chair in the corner, reading.
She didn’t ask him what, for that would be rude, but whatever it was seemed to capture the whole of his attention. She certainly couldn’t read, especially not in his language, and he did not tell her of its contents, so it must be important just to him.
And it was a pleasant sort of silence, as she would sew and he would read, and it felt easy and...
And wonderful.
He had a whole stack of them, the pages neatly cut and bound in shiny skins of various colours. He’d let her touch one, one day, obviously noticing her curiosity.
“Did the Narada have many books?” he’d asked her, holding one out and beckoning her forward. “You can touch, Ness,” he told her, a smile in his voice. “You will not hurt it.”
She was not quite convinced of that, but he was holding it out in offering, so she obliged, skimming just the very tips of her fingers against the supple leather. “No... no books,” she answered him, the word foreign on her tongue.
Olivar sighed, that pitying look on his face that she wasn’t certain she liked. “A shame,” he’d murmured, taking the book back and opening it once more.
Which had left her to her sewing, thoughts very far away from her task.
Except now there was no pleasant silences, and instead there were questions, with a man she did not fully trust, regardless of his relation with her keeper.
Had Olivar told her much about whom?
“I am... I do not understand the question,” she answered him at last. “Do you mean about your kinship or about your people?” A clarifying question could occasionally be asked, though it was generally presumed that it would be accompanied by some physical pain. It was a thrall’s responsibility to listen closely so as not to waste a master’s time.
But Master Bendan only gave another of his half-smiles. “Both, I suppose, but I was thinking of... of him and me.”
She glanced at Olivar again, wondering if it was all right to be honest. But she hadn’t lied yet to either of them, and now didn’t seem the appropriate time to begin. “No.”
It was Master Bendan’s turn to eye his brother, and he looked stricken for a moment. Was that of some significance? She doubted Olivar had been hiding such information, but it wasn’t particularly pressing in her first days here.
“Bendan,” Olivar began with a sigh. “It has been difficult to know what to prioritise with her.”
Master Bendan did not appear terribly convinced. “I am sure.”
If they were trying to help ease her discomfort, it wasn’t working. She wished they would simply ignore her, would stop trying to include her in their much needed talks, and let her just disappear.
But of course, not even in this could they act like proper masters.
She looked down into her cup, holding it tightly in her good hand, ignoring the heat that seeped through the sides.
Perhaps if she burned her other hand, she could avoid the awkwardness of this conversation.
“All I am saying,” Master Bendan continued, “is that I think it is a bit odd she could be here so long and know so little.”
Olivar glared at him, and she hunched her shoulders all the more. “You know nothing about her situation here, so if you are going to make sweeping assumptions, perhaps it is better you departed.”
Master Bendan blinked at him, a frown playing at his lips. “Olivar...”
Ness peeked over at her keeper, watching as he forced himself to calm, as he fought for his composure. It was a strange thing, to have a master defend her. She could not say she objected to it, though, even if she disliked that it strained his relationship with his kin. “I had thought you were here to apologise to her. To me!”
“I am. But you seem to be ignoring that perhaps I had a right to a few of my concerns. You had not thought anything through. I took a loss that day, as did the rest of our crew, and that was a choice you made quite on your own.” Master Bendan looked directly at her, and she forced herself to meet his eye, however briefly. “But Ness, I wish for you to know that my reservations were for my brother’s sake. You were... and are, a stranger here. I did not wish him hurt,” she had to suppress a strangled, incredulous laugh. As if she could hurt any of their kind! “And I wish for him to be able to live a good life. I did not know if you would interfere with that.”
Olivar shook his head firmly. “You might be older, but you never were quite able to accept that I can make such assessments for myself. Ness will keep me from nothing. If anything, going through this with her will make me a better man.” He glanced at her, and even with the miserable clutch at her stomach, she could see the tinge of fondness in his eyes. She hoped that was real and not supplied by her imagination. “A more patient one at the very least.”
Master Bendan sat quietly for a time, looking at them both, and she grew even more uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Her hand had numbed to the dullest of throbs, whether from the salve or with the medicine she had managed to choke down.
She did not think this was going as either man had intended. Both had claimed to want reconciliation, for peace between them, but neither seemed to be able to go very long without the conversation devolving into angered tones. And they both kept glancing at her, as if she held some sway in this matter, which was absurd in the extreme.
But everything was strange here. Her masters did not know how to be masters, and clearly they couldn’t comprehend how unimportant her opinion was, no matter how she tried to explain.
And she had resolved to learn Olivar’s rules, even if they chaffed against the ones so firmly ingrained from her years with the Narada.
“I understand,” she told Master Bendan. She kept her voice low, her eyes equally so, but she spoke clearly. She paused, waiting for either of them to speak over her and urge her to silence, but as she’d feared, both seemed very intent on hearing what she had to say.
All of this was far too absurd, but it was reality all the same, so she forced herself to continue.
“Your bond is to your brother, not to me. You see me as a danger, as... as an impediment. It is only right that you would be so concerned.”
Olivar turned, reaching out and touching her arm. “Ness,” he said softly. “You are not either of those things.”
She smiled at him sadly, not at all convinced that she wasn’t. She still wasn�
�t convinced that he could find a mistress given her presence here, and she couldn’t imagine what man wouldn’t want a proper woman in his home. One that was everything she couldn’t be. “I am... grateful you believe that,” she told him earnestly. If he didn’t, he never would have brought her here.
“Ness,” Master Bendan interrupted, his voice a bit strained. “I would not say that I believe that now. But I... appreciate that you understand my initial position.” His eyes went to his brother. “I only wish you could.”
Some of Olivar’s ire seemed to ease from him, and she marvelled at how quickly their emotions could shift. They were teasing each other in one moment, then appeared almost near blows in the next. Perhaps it was dangerous for them to be together.
“I am attempting to,” Olivar relented. “But someday, Bendan, I would like for you to trust my judgement. That perhaps I am capable of making my own decisions without consulting you.”
Master Bendan smiled ruefully. “I have watched you grow up, Olivar,” he said in answer, his voice almost wistful. “It is... difficult to reconcile that... maybe... you are capable of making your own choices.” There was that teasing again, a hopeful glimmer of extended friendship that she could not help but marvel at. Olivar had asked them to be friends. But seeing this... she did not know if she could ever be that. This was born of familiarity, of long years spent together.
She could not imagine how long it would take before she could be so free with her words and tone.
“You can certainly try,” Olivar answered dryly, but his shoulders relaxed and he looked a little more like the keeper she had come to so admire. “And,” he added, a bit more firmly. “You can do me the courtesy of waiting at least a day before reporting my actions to the Caern.”
Master Bendan huffed out an annoyed breath, but it lacked any true ire. “For the final time, I did not report you. I answered a question! Would you have me keep from doing so?”
Olivar sat back in his chair, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “Perhaps. If it keeps him from coming to interrogate my new guest, then most definitely.”
Thrall (Deridia Book 3) Page 17
