Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
“Candra,” he says softly. “You’re sick. I won’t let this travel kill you. That would destroy me.”
Is that what this is, then? Because I threw up this morning, now he wants to leave me behind? Telling him the truth might further convince him that I need to remain behind, but I can see the worry and stress on his face. If nothing else, maybe I can take some of that away. “Actually, we do need to talk. We need to have a long discussion and compare notes.”
He tilts his head, curious. “Compare notes? About what?”
“About Ravendor. About your ancestors. About my ancestors.”
He tries to pull his hands from mine. “Candra—now is not the time for a history lesson.”
I shake my head, clinging to his hands and refusing to let go. “Just…humor me. All right? I swear I’ve got a point. And we’re not going anywhere tonight. So come lie down with me and tell me the Fellian version of Ravendor Vestalin.”
“Candra.”
“Please. It’s very important.”
Nemeth rubs his jaw, and it’s clear he wants to keep arguing with me—or rather, keep trying to convince me to stay behind in this little cottage. He looks around and then goes to the door, checking the bar over it one more time and then shoving a chair under the handle to reinforce it. After that, he comes and sits uncomfortably on the edge of the narrow bed.
“Lie down,” I tell him. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
“This bed isn’t big enough for both of us,” he protests.
“Then I’ll lie atop you.” I beam at him as if this is the most simple of answers.
His cock twitches in response and I know I’ve won. With an annoyed (but defeated) expression, Nemeth lies back upon the bed, stretching out. It’s a hay tick mattress and not as comfortable as the down ones we had in the tower, so I know it’s difficult for him to get comfortable. Once he settles his large body in, I climb over his bulk and sprawl across him.
Nemeth immediately puts his hands on my hips and settles me in place, the tip of his hardening cock brushing between my spread thighs. “You’re doing this to distract me, aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” I promise. “And you’re the one that’s putting me in the most distracting spot.” I wriggle in place, deliberately rubbing against his shaft and then folding my hands over his chest and propping my chin up on them. “I promise to be very still. Now tell me the story.”
His eyes narrow and he watches me for a long moment, as if trying to determine my goal. His hand goes to my hair, still damp from the weather, and he twines a lock around one finger. “Let me think.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
He tugs on the strand of hair, a reluctant smile curving his mouth at my teasing. “Naughty thing.” One hand slides down my back, his fingers trailing over my spine. “Let me think. I don’t know that you’ll like the story.”
“I don’t expect to like it. I just want to hear it. I imagine the Fellian version of events is very different from the human one.”
He chuckles. His expression turns vague and he thinks for a moment. “It starts, I suppose, at the beginning of time. The gods created their children and placed them upon the world to live. Humans, being the dirt-crawlers made from clay, were given the mountains—”
“Hey!” I thump his chest, insulted. “Dirt-crawlers? Seriously?”
“This is the Fellian version of events,” he reminds me. “It’s not going to be flattering. Do you wish to hear this or not?”
I scowl at him. “I do. Fine. Go on.”
He clears his throat loudly and obviously, making me snort with amusement. “As I was saying, the dirt-crawler humans lived under the mountains, as they were most comfortable being clasped in the earth that they had been brought from. The children of the Gray God were crafted from the clouds and the skies, and so they lived above, in the fields full of sunshine and warmth.”
I try not to frown. Humans lived under the mountains? This is new to me. “Why would humans live underground?”
“Why do you think a winged people do?” he replies, and taps his fingers on my arm. “I am getting to that part.”
Oh. I’d never realized how very impractical it would be for a winged people to live underground. What he says makes sense in a disturbing sort of way. Our legends say that humans were built of clay to be adaptable, to change quickly. Not that we’re from the earth itself. That the Absent God decided to create one last thing before he left, and so he took all the goodness in the world and pushed them into the clay and that made humans.
Our legends also say that the Gray God was jealous and took all the evils in the world and made them into a race of his own—the Fellians. Nemeth isn’t evil, though, and I know Lionel certainly isn’t good, so clearly the stories have spun away from their origins over time.