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Chapter 32
Then
My mother and I fell into a comfortable routine. There was always enough to eat, always firewood in the hearth, and plenty of clean clothes free of tears and patches. Lord Castemont had stopped by every week or so for the first few weeks, ensuring we were doing well and taking time to speak with my mother. His visits soon grew more frequent, though, and he sat with my mother almost daily now. She slowly began to speak more and more, little bits of her former self peeking through the calloused crust of grief. Solise stopped by frequently, too, offering to fix supper or clean dishes. She was sure to voice her skepticism of the arrangement.
It didn’t take long for Cal to begin accompanying Castemont on his visits, standing beside Tyrak as one of Castemont’s personal guards. “He doesn’t need more than one guard,” Cal whispered to me one afternoon while I lay tangled in his arms, legs wrapped around him. “You know that, right?” We had taken to making our way up to my new bedroom during their visits, first trying to play it off as just a simple, private conversation. Both my mother and Lord Castemont saw through that quickly, and since nothing was ever mentioned about it, we stopped being so discreet. He would make love to me, a hand held over my mouth when it became impossible to stay quiet, our bodies melting together again and again.
“And may I guess why he has two guards now?” I teased, my fingers drawing lazy circles over his bare chest. He nodded. “You’re just so persuasive that you convinced him he needed you.”
“How did you know?” His sensual laugh wrapped around me. I giggled as he began to plant kisses down my cheek to my neck, my skin prickling into goosebumps.
“You’re not guarding himnow, are you?”
“I’m not sure how much protection he needs from your mother. Besides, he seems to be smitten.”
I pulled away, propping myself up on one elbow. “What?”
“You can’t tell me you don’t see it.”
A sour feeling pooled in my stomach. “She’s grieving.” My tone was short.
“Petra, I…” He planted a kiss on my forehead. “I know she’s grieving. But she seems…better. Lighter.” I couldn’t deny that. “And as long as he’s smitten with her, it means he’ll be visiting. Which means I get to see you even when I’m on duty.” A smile pricked at my lips. “And, I get to dothis.”He ran his thumb across my lip, the touch moving down my chin to the hollow of my throat as he pushed himself on top of me. He looked down on me with a smile as I relished the warmth of his weight, the smoke and cedar scent of him creating a heady mix in the midafternoon light. The light danced off his eyes, the blue and green meeting like salt and freshwater.
“So is this the plan from now on?” I asked.
“Is what the plan?”
I leaned up to kiss his nose, reveling in the feeling of his eyes on me. “What we’ve been doing. You visiting with Castemont.”
His eyes crinkled with a smile. “For the foreseeable future, I hope.”
“What about after that?” I blurted. I didn’t know why I asked, but the words were out before I could reel them in. His smile melted into a thin line, his eyes fortifying. I wanted to take the words back as my face reddened. “I only mean…because–”
“Do you remember the cave?” My brows raised as I nodded. “And how I told you I thought about being inside youevery single day?” My face grew hot. His lips grazed my ear, my neck, before he pulled back and looked at me again. My face began to scorch under his gaze. I swallowed and nodded again. “The only thing I think about even more than that, even more than fucking you on every surface in this Saints forsaken city…” I inhaled sharply. “Is a future with you. I’d marry you in a heartbeat. We’d have a house and children and you’d be the most amazing mother. I wantthatfuture.” The air left my lungs at his words, at his molten eyes, and I wondered how I ever could have doubted his feelings for me. “But I don’t know if that’s even possible...” The heat inside of me went frigid and I tried to conceal the hurt that I knew was visible in my eyes.
He sat up, pulling me with him, cradling me to his chest. “My future… It’s in the castle, Petra. Guards may only marry if they receive the Saints’ blessing.”
“So how do we get the Saints’ blessing?” I whispered.
He breathed in, a thick, heavy sigh. “It’s only happened twice, Petra. The last time was before the War of Kings.”
I bit my lip. “So our future is…nothing.”
“No,” he said, a palm cupping my face. “No, it’s not nothing. But I don’t think it looks the way you’d like it to. The way I’d like it to.”
I inhaled. “I never wanted to marry,” I said quietly, looking at him. His eyes widened. “At least, I didn’t think it would ever happen. Larka and I, we…we assumed we’d need to provide for our parents for the rest of their lives. Marriage was never really an option.” The left side of his mouth quirked up in a sympathetic half smile. “I don’t care what the future looks like as long as you’re there.” A smile erupted across his face, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he leaned his forehead against mine.
“I have to go away for a few days,” he said. “I’m on duty for a tour to Blindbarrow. A few barons are headed there, and I have to accompany them.” He shifted to lay beside me, again placing a hand on my cheek. “But when I get back in three days, there’s something I’d like to show you. It’ll have to be late at night, and you can’t tell anyone.”
He gave a mischievous grin and I matched it, raising a brow. “A secret, then?”
“A very big secret. So I hope you can keep your mouth shut, or I’ll have to do it for you.” I laughed as his lips collided with mine. He laid me back, his hands moving so urgently across my skin that I felt I’d ignite. I clung to him, breathed him in, savored the feel of his body on mine as he set about holding a hand over my mouth.
???
The late summer haze had swallowed the city, the days sweltering but the nights whispering promises of autumn. I found work at the washbasin when it was available, but Lord Castemont was happy to provide us with everything we needed, no matter how persistently we declined. The money found its way to our home one way or another, be it deliveries of fresh fruits and breads, new clothing hung sneakily in our closets, or small gifts left on the doorstep. Never anything excessive, always respectful of the life we lived in Inkwell.
I had a book spread across my lap, the story of a peasant turned king painting itself in my mind. My mother had taken to weaving scraps of our old clothes into blankets and hot mitts and rags, most of them ending up in a pile as she started another. She sat idly on the couch, lazily twining fabric together. I was just happy to see her doing something other than staring into nothingness and weeping. The late morning sun had been baking the city for an hour now, the heat slamming into our roof and creeping its way inside the house.
