Page 34 of By the Horns
He nods once, then continues eating a blueberry like I would an apple.
“If I muck something up, you’ll tell me? I’d rather know than have to tiptoe around, guessing.”
The slitherskin pops the rest of his berry into his mouth and tackles the next one, nodding again.
“Do you know what’s bothering her? Did she tell you?”
He taps his nose and gives me a look.
“Good talk.” I knock on the table twice. “Let’s do this again.”
With my last apple in hand, I exit the kitchen, only to run into Gwenna. She has a bag in her arms and gives me a surprised look.
“There you are. You—”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the necessary.” She darts away before I can finish my words, and as she does, a metallic scent trails after her. Blood.
Aaaaaah. Her menses.
Hot relief hits me. That I haven’t somehow mucked this up and she doesn’t hate me. I don’t know why it matters so much, just that it does. I enjoy talking to her. I like her sass and her pert responses. I like that she doesn’t make it easy for me.
Sarya crosses my mind, and hot guilt replaces my relief. I’ve not gone to any of the brothels in search of her recently. I feel as if I’m abandoning her. It’s just that being in a Five is time-consuming, and I’m supposed tobe watching everyone for Hawk and Head Guild Master Rooster. Add in my concern over Gwenna and the extra tutoring I’ll be giving her and…well.
I’ll go looking for Sarya tomorrow, I decide. The wedding and Gwenna today, the hunt for the woman of my dreams tomorrow. I’m putting off Sarya again, but it’s the last time. No more potions for me. The one I took a few days ago is going to be my last. It’s messing up my priorities. It’ll mean I’ll crave sex, but hopefully I can find Sarya before it starts to become a real problem.
I find ways to keep myself busy while I wait for Gwenna to emerge from the necessary without making it seem like I’m waiting on her. Both Hemmen and Arrod have taken the weekend as an opportunity to disappear. Neither one is in the nest this morning. I should be bothered by that—one of the core tenets of a working Five is that you’re close and get along. But I’m too set in my ways. I’m older than them and crabby at the thought of babysitting a pair of idiots, especially when one might be our thief.
Hmm.
Now’s the perfect time for me to check their belongings to see if they really are thieves. I head to the dormitory room and make my bed, tucking the blankets tightly under the too-small mattress that I wish curses upon every evening. Gwenna’s bed is made, and Kipp’s is undisturbed except for a circular ripple in the blankets where he’d kept his shell atop the folded coverlets. Hemmen’s bed is made, Arrod’s is not. I glance around the room, then mess up Hemmen’s bed.
Then I get to work “making” their beds again.
I flip the mattresses and feel all along the undersides, looking for holes. I shake out the blankets. I beat the pillows. I peer under the beds. When none of that leads anywhere, I dig through Hemmen’s bag, and then Arrod’s. There’s nothing of interest. Hemmen’s bag just has a couple of books in it and a box of old letters, and Arrod’s has nothing but clothing and what might be the ugliest velvet hat I’ve ever seen. Annoyed, I move to shove everything back into Arrod’s bag when I notice Kipp standing by the double doors. He has another berry in his hand, casually eating it as he watches me ransack their things.
“Lost a sock,” I tell him to explain away my actions. Never mind that Taurians don’t wear socks. Or shoes.
He just licks his eyeball with that long tongue of his and goes back to eating his berry. When he finishes it, he turns and walks away. Huh.
I’m tempted to check his bed, too, but whatever he has of value would be in his shell, and it’s currently in the kitchen. I toss Arrod’s bag back into its spot by the head of the bed just as Gwenna enters the room, wearing a pretty dress and a tightly fitting bodice over a fluffy white chemise. She touches her black hair, which has been braided into a crown atop her head, and her cheeks grow pink as I regard her. “Is my braid crooked?” she asks. “It’s bloody hard to braid without a mirror.”
“Come here and I’ll check it for you,” I say, waving her toward me.
She approaches without hesitation, sitting on the edge of my bed. She smells like flowers, soap, and fresh cotton, the tang of blood only a slight note now. I don’t mind it, as long as I know she’s not in pain. Even so, I’m aware of her tears from yesterday, and I play with how to approach that in my mind even as I unbraid her hair for her. “Let me redo this for you.”
“I don’t mean to be a bother.”
“You say that a lot.”
She hesitates. “It’s a bad habit of mine. I worked as a maid for a very long time before coming here.”
“Ah. So you’re more comfortable being invisible.” I finish unbraiding her hair and shake it loose.
“Precisely. Invisible is safe in a lot of ways. If you’re invisible, no one points out that the shelves need dusting. No handing you chores just because you happen to be standing nearby. No men deciding that because you’re a servant, you’re fair game.”
I bite back a growl.
“It’s a difficult habit to break.” She tilts her head slightly, leaning into my touch. “I had no idea you were so good at braiding.”
