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)
I glance over at him, dismissive. I’m getting cold, my nipples tight in the chill, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of covering my breasts. I rest my arms on the edge of the tub and comment, “Balon has no need to lie.”
“You think not?” Again, amusement. “As a reminder, female, if you try to leave, I will stop you.”
I eye him. “Are you going to stand here all night and ogle my breasts while making threats? Or can I finish my bath?”
The Fellian bares his teeth at me—fangs, of course they’re fangs—and then melts away into shadow. It takes me a moment to realize that when his eyes close, he’s not returning. I sit up, shocked. That was magic of some kind. He didn’t move his legs or his wings. He simply disappeared into the darkness. If that’s possible, how is anyone supposed to fight a Fellian?
As if agreeing with my thoughts, my candle gutters out and I’m left in the darkness.
Well, dragon shite.
Chapter
Thirteen
Time passes faster than I expect it to, and slower than I want. Each day seems to be made up of making fires, cooking, taking my medicine, recovering from my medicine, and cleaning. Gods, so much cleaning. Why must everything get dirty once it is used? My clothes smell of sweat. The dishes are endless. The bedding is no longer fresh. And my hair is still dirty. All of this takes a lot of work and strength and time that I do not have. I make a list inside Riza’s recipe book of all the things I need to clean, and by the time I mark one off, three more have taken their place.
How do peasants get anything done without a staff to clean up after them? It truly boggles the mind.
I wash clothes. I wash bedding and lay it out to dry. I hang my sodden linens flat on every surface possible, but they take forever to dry. I could light a fire, but I’ve already burned through all the wood of several of my trunks and it is not even winter. I have to remind Balon to tell them that I need much more wood for next winter, I fret.
And I’m almost out of candles. I burn each one down to a stub and I’m judicious with using them, but I’m still reaching the last of my supply and I don’t know how to make more. Riza’s instructions do not cover candle-making and I grow more anxious every time I light one of my tapers.
Do I burn my candles and save my firewood? Or do I burn the firewood and save my candles?
Or do I do neither and sit in the dark? I have no idea.
My food supplies seem to be lasting, at least. I’ve taken to eating less simply because it’s too much effort to cook and clean up. That’s going to help me stretch them, but I still don’t have nearly as much in the larder as the Fellian does.
Balon doesn’t return in two weeks, either. I’ve been making marks on the wall in my room each time I burn a candle fully. That’s as close as I can come to accounting a day, and when I’ve burned sixteen of them, I realize he’s forgotten me. Time crawls again, and I feel lonely.
The Fellian avoids me. I bathe several times in the kitchen, just to try to flush him out, but there’s no response.
I fear I’m going mad already and it hasn’t even been a season. How am I going to last a full year, much less seven of them?
It’s boredom that makes me reckless.
Boredom and sheer loneliness. I can only entertain myself for so long, after all. I’ve spent the last week lying in the darkness, singing songs to myself. Touching my knife and asking it all kinds of questions. Is Erynne’s baby well? Is she thinking of me? Is the war over yet?
Is Balon returning soon?
None of the answers are particularly satisfying. The world outside is forgetting about me as the months pass, and the realization no longer brings me comfort. I want Erynne to dwell on my imprisonment. I want the war to end. I want Balon to rush to the tower and pull down the bricks on the other side of the door to free me. I want him to declare his love for me and that we’ll run away to the distant mountains and damn the crops and the people that need the food.
I want a great many selfish things.
Thinking about the mountains gets me to thinking about the mysterious Fellian. He’s been avoiding me since that day in my bath. It’s painfully obvious. I hear him moving about when I lie down to sleep, and I’ve started counting the pieces of wood he has stacked on his side of the kitchen. He’s using some, because it’s been slowly disappearing. It’s the only sign that he’s still in the tower, because he’s quite good at hiding from me.