The question was quiet, hardly more than a suggestion between exhales. But still, Elden paused. Their eyes locked. Something in their light blue depths gave Jude pause. He wondered if he would ever truly know the other man. Even after three years in the same home, he still sometimes felt like a stranger, a fault that didn’t lie with Elden. Warm, friendly Elden. Jude only had himself to blame.
‘Let’s get you into the house,’ Elden murmured.
Jude bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He pulled his gaze away from his housekeeper and back towards the oak, further,up. He searched the horizon for guidance, for birds. He would allow himself that much. A desperate moment of pain and fear, a prayer sent towards an uncaring sky, before he turned and trudged back towards Ánhaga.
5
Jude
Jude awoke as the sky gradually lightened to a stormy, limpid blue. There would be no sunrise today – no hazy shafts of russet and ochre illuminating the patchwork shape of the moors. Mist fogged the edges of the orchard where it met the far wall, dew coating each lichen-webbed branch. A delicate lace border of frost ringed his window.
The rain might as well have been a thunderstorm with how his head ached.
He downed the cup of water Elden had left on his bedside in three gulps. It left a stale aftertaste, but anything was better than whisky. At the edge of the bed, his cat Olive gave a luxurious stretch. She padded up to him, butting against his arm with her tail held high. At least someone would still look him in the eye after last night’s antics.
He flopped back in bed. Fucking hell…what had he been thinking?
He never got drunk.Ever.Not only for how it affected his loose-fingered grip on his magic but for how it made him feel the following day. Something he’d clearly decided to disregard last night. He’d wanted to think of nothing but how the whisky was slightly smokier than his preference. Easy thoughts. Ones that wouldn’t drag him down or fill his head with hazy, half-remembered fears. Jude pressed his fingertips against his closedeyes. Maybe he could push his eyeballs back into his skull and summon a quick death.
At least he hadn’t vomited. Small mercies.
Stifling a whimper, he forced himself out of bed, into the bath, and finally down the stairs. The house creaked around him. The acrid smell wafting from the kitchen told him Elden was cooking.
He stopped in the doorway, scrubbing at an eye.
Elden was lying on the floor, poking at the coals lining the bottom of the cookstove and grumbling under his breath. Even from his position in the doorway, Jude could tell the coals were too hot to make anything palatable. His stomach churned at the charred smell emanating from the open hatch at the top. If Elden would just lethimcook, none of this would be happening.
‘Is all this truly necessary?’ Jude asked with a sigh.
Elden grunted. One hand slapped the flagstone by his hip, searching the ground. Loosening the rigid set of his legs, Jude leaned down to grab the poker and slide it into his waiting palm. Elden’s huff sounded vaguely thankful this time. An improvement.
‘I’m going to make something,’ Jude told him, pushing back to his feet before Elden could argue. He took up the knife and a handful of carrots, chopping them into equal pieces. Some of the tightness banding around his ribs loosened. He liked to cook. Perhaps he’d make a stew to have later. He moved on to the onion. At his feet, Olive wound around his ankles. Jude dropped a piece of chicken. She hunched over it, black fur glinting amber down her spine.
‘Jude,’ Elden growled, finally freed from the stove. ‘Let me do it.’
Jude rolled an undersized parsnip under his fingers, inspecting the discolouration around the base. He’d need to spend some time in the garden to get it ready for the colder temperatures on their way. The women who ran Oakmoor’s market wouldn’t be pleased with a half-rotted and shrunken selection. He pushed the parsnip aside, holding up a sprout for inspection next. Sheena would be having words with him the next time he hauled himself down the road, of that he was certain.
Elden cleared his throat.
Jude sniffed at the burnt air. ‘What were you trying to make? Bread? Or the memory of it?’
Elden slid the knife out from between Jude’s fingers. ‘Go make yourself useful elsewhere. Leave me and my kitchen be.’
Jude didn’t have the energy to argue today. He poked Elden’s ribs as he stepped back from the butcher’s block. Elden flinched, his grumbling hiking up a notch. Kitchen control had been a constant battle between them in the years since Elden had showed up. In all fairness, the other man was better than he used to be.
Elden picked up the knife and cut a parsnip clumsily in half, barely missing his fingers in the process. The end of the parsnip rolled promptly to the floor.
Maybe Jude’s assessment had been too generous.
Rain splattered the windows lining the kitchen. A fresh bout of nausea found a home in his stomach as he brushed aside a hanging bushel of garlic, tracking droplets as they raced down the glass. Outside, the sky had darkened to near black. The pane rattled with a gust of wind. A day to be indoors if he’d ever seen one.
Light fluttered at the edge of his sight. Jude blinked.
Abruptly, he remembered –the iconographer.
He dug his nail into the soft, damp wood lining the window, thinking. She’d be here tomorrow. He needed to control the situation. Alongside her assignment to paint him, he had no doubt she’d be reporting back to the Abbey like the dutiful acolyte she was. His movements, his words, his house… all of it would be under her watchful eye. He needed her to see only what he chose to reveal and nothing more.
He turned back to Elden. ‘Have you seen the keyring?’
