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“And you’re very grumpy,” I retort pleasantly, keeping things light. He doesn’t take the bait though and reverts back to his tight-lipped self.
What feels like another eternity passes, and I have to admit that his attentiveness is far from unpleasant. It may even be even arousing . . . or soothing, or . . . Mother help me, is he taking care of me? I could get used to this. When he uses the comb to apportion a section of my hair and begins to rebraid it, I can’t keep silent any longer. “You’ve done this before?”
He lets out an audible noise of irritation, but he answers. “Yes, for my mother when I was a child.”
The irresistible urge to press him for more almost gets the better of me, but I manage to hold my tongue.
“She . . .” he pauses as if considering his words, and I hold my breath. “She didn’t like having other women around her. My father was known to compel them into the nearest bed.”
He must pick up on my grimace even though my back is to him, because he goes on with, “Oh, yes, I knew from a very young age what kind of man he was.” Gesturing for me to hold the end of the braid, he ties it off with one of the leather strips before gently tilting my head to start work on the other side. “I’ve been swearing to myself for as long as I can remember that I’ll never become him.”
My welling compassion doesn’t overflow because he hastily changes the subject.
“So, I have a job for you.”
“What? Really?!”
After a short, disbelieving laugh, he mutters, “Only you would be excited about being given work.”
“Luka,” I protest, half-turning my head until the motion tugs at the braid. “Tell me.”
“Keep still, woman. And hold onto that enthusiasm. You might need it since Bron can be surprisingly headstrong.”
“Bron?”
“Yes, with the scribe dead, I need you to teach him the writing and reading thing.”
“Oh . . . not you?”
I feel him shrug. “Not for now. Maybe when winter sets her claws into us more firmly.” He gets me to hold the second braid while he ties it off. “You’ll start after breakfast.”
He stands and heads for the door, leaving me to scramble after him, checking his work with my fingertips. It’s not as intricate as Kata’s, so my joy is probably out of proportion, but I couldn’t care less. I’m thrilled with the two simple braids that will keep the hair off my face, yet leave most of it loose how he seems to prefer.
He yanks open the door to reveal Kata and Ion waiting in the hall. “Morning,” I sing song as I rush to keep up with Luka’s long strides which already have him down the hall.
Kata smiles, passing into the room with a bucket of water and a bundle of something, but Ion remains stoic in the presence of his deve and follows in our wake. On the stairs, the stiff, morning ache in my thigh forces me to slow and Luka outpaces me entirely. Ion offers me his sturdy arm, and between him and the wall, I manage to hobble to the bottom.
Both Ion and I are so absorbed in my progress that neither of us see Luka backtracking to shove Ion away from me and take his place. It’s not violent, but it has Ion putting his hands up in surrender.
“Was that necessary?” I ask wryly as he covers the hand I wrap around his forearm, petting me.
“Is it not healed yet?” He sounds disgruntled of all things.
“I’d remind you, my deve, that I didn’t stab myself just to annoy you.”
Our arrival in the Great Hall stifles the urge to tease him further. Instead, I lift my chin and concentrate on minimizing my limp. Like yesterday, the room quiets down with our entrance, but unlike yesterday, it starts back up again almost right away. Though I can still feel some stares as Luka leads me to one of the long tables instead of the dais, evidently we’re old news.
We sit across from Noé, who appears to be his usual ray-of-sunshine self.
“Good morning to you, too,” I say with enough sarcasm that Bron, who’s seated down the bench, has to repress a laugh.
Lorna, the serving girl, distracts Noé from his retort by coming up behind him, ale pitcher in hand, to press her body against his back. “Would you like ale, my a’deve, or tea?”
Is she . . . staking her claim to Noé? In front of me? Ewwww.“Uh, tea, please,” I croak.
She must understand my expression loud and clear because she grins devilishly and says, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“And I never will,” I announce with a grimace. Luka explained to me that the ‘beads’ in Noé’s hair are actually the molars of his savage kills.
