Clearing my throat, I stepped aside, removing myself from beneath the shadow of him.
“Hmm.”
Silence dragged between us, heavy as a sack of grain.
“How does it work?”
Another beat passed before he moved. The hinges squealed as he tugged a small chain secured to its side, and a door creaked open.
“You go in this side,” he said, “and I the other.”
Nodding, I crossed its threshold, the metal underfoot clanging with my weight.
Inside was a star-lit sky, the sconce fire casting constellations of light through each tiny hole. They bathed me in hundreds of scattered marks, like glowing freckles, and I turned my arms this way and that to admire them dappling my skin. Perching upon the cushioned bench, I faced a wall of the same metal lattice, the box divided in two by another sheet of filigreed steel. The space was cramped, my legs flush with the screen before me. The Unmantle shuddered as the Butcher entered, my kneecaps rattling against the metal as he took his seat on the other side. Steel scraped against steel just before a panel at thigh level shifted aside, revealing a narrow gap between us. Through it, I caught sight of his navel, framed by the lattice’s intricate pattern. Though the space was dim, I could still discern the faint outline of parchment tucked into his waistband, tubular against his skin.
“Cosy, isn’t it?” His voice was clearer, somehow, vibrating through the box in a deep, resonant hum. He’d removed his helm. He’d removed hisveil.
Instinctively, I ducked, trying to steal a glimpse of the face behind the mask. A strong jaw, dusted with a short dark beard, framed full, thick lips that, even in the faux starlight, appeared stained cherry red.
“Stop.”
His hand shot through the opening, seizing my shoulder and forcing me back, my head snapping with the motion. “Though there must be honesty between us, this is one thing I cannot grant you. You cannot look upon my face.” He spoke softly, almost gently, and I flushed; a child caught ransacking the pantry.
He released me, withdrawing his hand back through the latch.
“Why?” I asked, the burning curiosity surrounding his hidden countenance almost too much to endure.
A sigh. “It’s complicated.”
I shuffled on the bench, smoothing the skirts of my dress, though wool rarely creased. “As is the reason why I am here, no doubt. Why have you felt the need to pen us like hens?”
“It’s quite simple, actually. I need to ask you some questions.”
Questions. I swallowed.
“Questions? That’s it? What need was there to remove your veil forquestions?”
An amused huff breached the lattice, accompanied by the groan of metal as he shifted on the bench. “Well, I will need to taste you whilst you answer them, and the chainmail is rather bothersome when I have need of my tongue.”
Dots danced in my vision alongside the filigree stars. “So you do intend to lick me!” I accused, voice unpleasantly shrill. I rose, readying to leave.
“Sit. Down.”
Godsdamn me, I stilled.
“I will not be licking you this time, Seamstress.”
My stomach flipped, obviously relieved.
“Though I need to do…something else.” At his confession, I dropped back down, suppressing a wince at the rebounding clank.
“Give me your thumb, the one you cut earlier.” His hand protruded through the latch, fingers a breath from the curve of my breast. Pressing my back into the Unmantle’s wall, I edged away from his touch, wondering if he realised.
“You said there is to be honesty between us, Druid. Perhaps you can begin by explaining why you must taste me. I am no expert in inquisition, but even a dolt would question such methods.”
I sat on my hands, heedless of the stitching, tucking them firmly beneath me.
With difficulty, I tried to discern whether the low sound that followed was his teeth grinding or the groan of shifting metal.
