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)
Lying in bed, I toy with my knife and consider how I can flush him out. “Is the Fellian nearby?” I ask the knife.
A shiver. Yes.
“In his quarters?”
Yes.
“Awake?”
Yes.
Hmm. I stroke the sheath, considering. “Does he think about me?”
Yes.
A wicked smile curves my lips. “Do I annoy him?”
A hesitation, and then an affirmative shiver.
Interesting. I ponder what that hesitation means. “Does he think about me in my bath?”
No hesitation that time. Yes.
“Does he think about my breasts?”
Yes.
I smirk into the darkness, feeling a bit childish at the line that my questions are taking, but who else am I going to entertain if not myself? “Does he touch himself to the thought of me?”
Yes.
Oh. How very delicious and fascinating. “More than once?”
Yes.
Interesting. I think about the big ugly brute. He’s definitely not attractive when compared to someone like Balon, who has the smooth, elegant good looks of a courtier. I would never touch the Fellian, but knowing that he’s fascinated with me gives me an edge of power. To think that he touches himself to the thought of me regularly.
I cannot say the same. I haven’t touched myself since I entered this tower. Doing so would just make me hungry for the touch of a lover and those needs will not be fulfilled anytime soon, so it’s best to ignore them entirely. But maybe my companion is ashamed of his needs. “Is the Fellian avoiding me?”
Yes.
So he doesn’t want to find a human attractive, then. That sours the gleeful joy I feel, just a touch. He’s a man. Any man confronted with a pair of nice, juicy tits in a bath would jerk his cock to the sight. I’m not special. Ah well. “Does he hate me, then?”
Yes.
I frown at that. “Has he thought about killing me?”
Yes.
A prickle of warning brushes over my skin. “Is he going to?”
No answer. That’s a no, then.
Unless he changes his mind, of course. Unless I annoy him so much that he sees no way out except to get rid of me.
As if the knife is following my thoughts, it shivers in affirmation.
Hmph. “Sometimes your answers are very annoying, you know that?”
Yes.
Chapter
Fourteen
Idream that Balon sails off to join the war with King Lionel, heading to the distant mountains. In my dream, he meets a pretty Fellian princess and marries her, and I never hear from him again. I sit in the tower, waiting and waiting, and Balon never returns.
Weren’t you to marry a princess? the Fellian woman asks Balon in my dream.
What princess? he replies, his smile wide. Shall I tell you about my new horse?
When I awaken, I’m covered in sweat, gasping, and in a foul mood. It takes a moment of staring into the darkness to realize it was just a dream, and I sit up, pushing my hair out of my face. It’s pitch black in my chamber as it always is, and I feel the oppressiveness of it today. Fumbling through the bedsheets, I look for my knife. When I find it, I grip it tight in my hand. “That was just a dream, wasn’t it?”
Yes.
I exhale in sharp relief. “Does Balon ever intend upon coming back?”
Yes.
Oh. I’ve been afraid to ask that question before now, simply because I’ve been afraid the answer would be an unpleasant one and it would send me into a fit of depression. “When?” I ask, and then shake my head. “Tonight?”
Yes.
I all but squeal with delight. Finally, someone to talk to. Something to look forward to. I jump to my feet in the darkness. “Do I have time for a bath? A real one?”
Yes.
Excellent.
I tuck the knife into my dress and race down to the kitchens, counting the steps in the darkness. I’m getting better at navigating in the pitch black, though it still feels oppressive. Right now, though, I’m choosing to dwell in the dark instead of the choice being taken from me. As long as I have a handful of candles, it’s my choice, I reason.
It takes hours to heat my bath, wash up, and then dry my hair by the fire. Since the water’s already warm, I wash a chemise, too, and wring it out by the fire. I’m a little perturbed at how little wood I have left. I’ve burned through all the trunks I’ve broken down and all I have left is the heavy sled and whatever I can find on the top floor. I’m almost out of tinder and I’ve been supplementing with fluff I pulled out of a pillow.
That’s a problem for tomorrow, I tell myself as I dress in a fresh chemise, my wet one hanging off a hook near the fireplace. I’ll have to save the rest for winter, which should be coming soon. After that, well, I’ll figure something out.
I comb my wet hair by the flickering fire and glance over at the Fellian’s supplies. His wood pile is enormous once more, and he’s gotten more from somewhere. Or maybe he’s hiding some in his rooms? It’s impossible for me to tell. Either way, I’m jealous. I know his side of the root cellar is still packed with food while mine dwindles. Does he even eat? Meanwhile I’ve been using up all my fuel to make my medicine and to heat my bath. Even now, I’m making a batch of medicine for just in case. I stir the small pot over the fire, the foul stink of the herbal concoction mixed with the dried organs permeating the room.