Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
It’s one night, while I’m in my bath with Zaroun, that he surprises me.
“How fares your garden?” he asks, holding me against his chest. My thick curls are wrapped in my silk bonnet and held out of the water, because it’s not yet wash day and I’m too tired to fuss with cleaning and oiling my hair today. Zaroun doesn’t mind, because he’s also wearing something on his head—his blindfold. In this way, we’re both comfortable in my tub, luxuriating in the warm water. I lie against his chest as he plays with my fingers, and we talk about everything and absolutely nothing at all.
“My garden hasn’t started yet,” I confess to him. Between constantly being called away for pleasuring, I haven’t had the time or strength to truly get to work on it. “I’ve cleared some of the beds but I’ve gotten no further just yet.”
“Apple?” he asks. “What about apple?”
I frown down at our joined hands. “You like apples?”
“I see apple.”
Most of the time Zaroun’s comments have to be deciphered, and so I don’t find this too alarming. “Apples come from trees, and I don’t know that we can make an apple tree work.” I run a soapy hand up his arm. “You see apples though?”
“Smiling. Happy.”
Well, that could be me, or that could be anything. “I’m happy right now,” I confess, and strangely enough, it’s the truth. My last lover prior to arriving here—Solat, who travels with Aron of the Cleaver and his anchor—was handsome enough, if not the most generous of lovers. And traveling with Aron allowed me to escape the brothels that seem to be the end-point of most attractive female slaves. True, there isn’t anyone around to talk to except the Spidae themselves, and the weather is bleak and dreary every day, and if I want food or a particular piece of clothing I must craft it myself…and yet, I am happy. My belly is full. I have a home to call my own and I am not being forced to service anyone with my body. I’m the one being serviced. I know I’m supposed to be helping the Spidae by being their anchor, but this last week, I feel as if I’ve been getting more out of things than they have.
That might be all the orgasms speaking, though.
But yes, I am happy. It’s not anything I would have imagined for myself, but I’m content and even looking forward to what each day brings.
I don’t think anything of our conversation until the next day, when one of the spiders approaches me in the kitchen and drops an apple at my feet.
That makes me pause, blinking.
I’ve grown used to the spiders that move about the tower, silently creeping in the webs that cover every surface. While I thought they were unnerving at first, now they’re just more of the tower’s fixtures, just like the gods themselves. The spiders appear occasionally to bring me bundles of food wrapped in webbing, too. Sometimes it’s fruit and nuts scavenged from who only knows where, and sometimes it’s a freshly killed animal. That took a little more getting used to, but I’ve learned to be more comfortable with it, knowing that the Spidae are directing the spiders to bring me such things.
They all want me strong and healthy, and so I’ve learned to overlook my squeamishness to enjoy the variety of things they bring me to prepare.
So I pick up the apple and smile at the spider in my kitchens. “For me?”
It crouches low, its hindquarters in the air, and gives a little wiggle. I’m reminded of a puppy, and while the face and legs are certainly not dog-like, there’s a sweet, innocent air to the spider. He looks as if he just wants to please me.
I beam at him and shine the apple on my dress. “Thank you very much. I love apples.”
The spider trots away and I return to tying bundles of herbs to dry.
A moment later, another apple rolls to my feet. When I look up, the spider gives another wiggle of delight, and I can’t help but laugh.
Well…I did say I liked apples.
Twelve
Over the next three days, the spider continues to show up over and over again, bringing me more and more apples. It makes me smile each time, and I start to look forward to my new friend visiting me. He always waits in the kitchens, and I’ve taken to saving scraps to feed him. Spiders still aren’t cute or cuddly, and one the size of a pony is definitely not either of those things…but he’s growing on me.
I start calling him Apple, and it seems I have a pet.
Apple follows me outdoors into the gardens as I dig at the rocky soil, and I drop fruit-cores and potato ends with roots growing out of them into the dirt and add composted kitchen scraps to the heap. It doesn’t look promising, as everything here is gray and cold. I’m determined to grow something, but my seedlings don’t look hardy enough to survive the weather here.