Page 19 of Thief of Roses
IX.
She called herselfevery name she could remember and some invented just for the occasion because she could not think of a word in any language descriptive of her absurd foolishness.With the Fir’Darl’s acceptance to break their fasts together, she fretted as if her parents announced their invitation to her contracted husband.This was the Fir’Darl, not a contracted husband but a Rivan god, only a contracted companion for a year so far as the similarities went.How was someone supposed to behave when dining with a god anyway?Maybe she was not overreacting.Maybe she demonstrated the appropriate level of panic and stress.Maybe, once you invited a god to a meal and they accepted, that was enough.Didn’t the Fir’Darl require blood sacrifice though?That would have been fitting for the kind of god the Fir’Darl was supposed to be, but she now questioned those long-held beliefs.
With the accommodations in the solar surpassing those of the kitchens, she rearranged the furniture, struggling to anticipate how much space the Fir’Darl might need if he chose to sit on the chaise or join her on the floor.The low table that held the platter offered inadequate dining space for a god and only one goblet had been delivered.If the Magic was averse to assisting him, she could not ask for a second.Instead, she procured one of the larger jars from her own supply and brought it in as a second drinking vessel.She may have offered her meals to share but she did not think she could bring herself to drink out of the same cup he did.
She jumped when his hooves struck the stone floor of the great hall.Although unnerving, her heart raced not out of terror, but anticipation.When he stood in the doorway and waited for her to acknowledge him, her throat tightened.He kept his hands folded in front of him, assuming a non-threatening attitude, a conscious gesture she guessed by way of his deliberateness.It was almost gentlemanly the way he waited upon her.
“Good morrow,”she said before he did, using the words he had days before.
“And goode morrow to thee,”he replied.“May Y?”He gestured to the room as if asking for admittance.She did not think she blocked his way but moved aside, pressing her hip against the chaise.
“Yes, of course.This is your home.”
He entered at her permission.
“Nay, ‘tis thine for thy stay.Thou art mystress here.”
She rolled her eyes.Pretty words, doubtless designed to put her at ease.Was the Fir’Darl supposed to be disarmingly polite?She could not remember if he tempted, which would have been valuable information to have.The stories said he fed off of cruelty and suffering, that he sometimes perpetuated it, but if man did such things, it had already been in his heart — it could not be blamed on the Fir’Darl.
“Then,”she said, playing his game, whatever it was, instead of arguing the point,“this mistress says be welcome.”She gestured over to the platter.“I had just enough time to begin worrying that I had not specified when and where we would eat.”
He moved around the chaise in her direction, keeping distance from her.“The fact mayeth not be reassuryng and Y apologise for yt,”he continued to stand as he waited for her to join him on his side of the chaise,“but thy movements and locationnes art known to me at all tymes.”
She had been about to make her way over to the platter when his apology and following admission made her stop.She stared at him.
“No, that is not reassuring.”
“Yf yt be any comfortte, Y do not follow thee.Yt ys for thy safety and thy servyce sholde thou needest me.”
“But you can follow me throughout the day.Do you do that with all the animals in the forest too?Or just people?”
“Thou art from wythout the forest.Whan thou dydst cross ynto yt, Y knew.”His words faltered, struggling to verbalize a concept as nebulous as scent.“Whan thou dydst agree to lyve here and let me keep thy companie, thy agreement bound me to thee.Whan thy wanderyngs take thee from room to room, Y knowe yf Y chews to pay attentionne.Yf thou callest me, Y wolde knowe where to fynd thee.‘Tis no more than that.”
“That would be all?You won’t torment me or stalk me, knowing my whereabouts?”
“Nay,”he said, an edge of horror in his voice.“Y wolde not torment or stalk.Yf thou wyshest me away, Y wyll complie.”His brows pulled together.His shoulders dropped.His snout twitched.“Forgyve me.Y sholde never have accepted thy ynvytationne.Thy gesture ys moost appreciated, but Y recognyse now that yt came from a place of dutie and oblygationne.”He lowered his eyes and spoke as if from a painful catechism.“Thou owest me naught.Y know better than to abuse thy good graces.Y thank thee for thy offer and shall leave thee to thy meal yn peace.”He turned to depart, taking a path to the door that avoided her.
Her first thought was,Shit.Her second thought was to call him back.
“Fir’Darl, wait.”
At her command, he transformed.An air of cold collectedness settled over him, back straightened, posture perfect, eyes glazed and distant, face serene.
“What woldest thou have of me?”
