Page 49 of Aubade Rising
In the early hours of the morning, the adrenaline leaves my body.
My aching muscles relax into the soft mattress and I’m warm and dry.
Distant birdsong draws a faint smile as I doze.
At Chi An Mor, the birds soar high. Trilling and calling to each other as they rise on the thermals, where they bathe in the river at the top of the cliff, their songs echoing against the cream sandstone.
Deep in the rebel tunnels it was silent.
Depressingly so. Hearing their sweet, warbling song soothes me back to sleep.
A hot prickle sweeps across my scalp as sweat beads in my hairline, waking me.
Eskar has melded himself to every inch of my body, cocooning me in a hot oven.
The heat is overwhelming. My feet touch the floor without disturbing him and a cooler breeze wraps itself around me.
Then the bed creaks and he groans loudly.
His hands search the bed and I don’t move quickly enough before they tug me back towards him.
His large body wraps round me, his legs pinning me in place and his chin pressing into my forehead.
A sigh of contentment comes from deep within this chest as he settles back to sleep.
“I can’t do this. You’re boiling me alive.” I wriggle away, trying and failing to put some distance between us, avoiding the lure of the hard planes of his muscles. The weeks of torture underground have had an impact but not enough to stop me appreciating his body.
“Is that your only complaint?” His eyes aren’t even open but a lazy smirk stretches across his face. His hand draws circles on my lower back and my stomach tightens. I take in his sleepy form and briefly consider giving up and curling back at his side when his caramel eyes open and glint at me.
The noise my hand makes as it whacks off his chest is not as satisfying as I want it to be. He flinches and my cheeks flush when I remember the beatings he’s withstood. He relents and shuffles back to his side of the bed.
“I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep after yesterday,” he admits sheepishly, staring at the ceiling, one arm slung behind his head. I tilt to meet his gaze but he’s stubbornly shy and won’t let me see his eyes.
“Want to talk about it?” This time I’m the one who leans closer. I cup his cheek, turning his face towards me.
“Not particularly.” He burrows his nose in my hair, then recoils sharply.
“You smell revolting. What is that?” Eyes wide open now, he looks as if he’s going to be sick.
I stop breathing through my nose because I know I’m going to vomit now too. Somehow I’d got used to the smell overnight but flashes of the red tinged water yesterday swim in front of my vision and I start to hyperventilate.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here; we made it.” He repeats over and over, stroking my hair from a distance, mouth tense.
“Blood. The smell. From the water. Your magic faded… I thought…” My nails scratch at the skin on my arms to rid myself of the unclean feeling crawling through my body.
“Come here.” He holds my hands firmly but gently to his chest and pulls me towards him. “It wasn’t mine. I couldn’t risk fighting them with magic whilst also wielding to send you away; it took a lot longer and ended up being a lot messier but I’m here.”
We lie for a minute and I’m acutely aware of him breathing through his mouth, avoiding the smell which creeps through my nostrils, churning my stomach.
Eventually I can’t stand the smell either, or the proximity to him when I smell like an abattoir and I pull away to find a bathroom. I’m conscious of his gaze watching me leave.
When I return, long after the water turned cold, Eskar is gone and a set of clothes is laid on the bed. Gratefully I pull them on. They’re oversized, sleeves tangling over my hands and trousers tripping me up. I sit on the bed waiting for Eskar to return.
My fingers can’t help but play with the soft cotton of the shirt.
Despite its size, I’ve never worn something so lovely and I start to take in details of the room.
It’s vast, for a bedroom. Large, relaxed sofas frame the fireplace and I’m tempted to sink into their embrace and sleep some more.
The desk is neat and tidy and the morning light reflects off the polished mahogany surface: not a speck of dust can be seen in the air.
“Not quite what I had in mind, but I can’t say I’m complaining.”
I startle at his return, clearly from a washroom down the hall as he’s wearing a towel draped across his lower half.
Water runs down his chest, finding a path through an excess of muscles and ageing wounds and causing my mind to go completely blank.
His stare is fixed on the loose cotton shirt I’m wearing and he offers me a genuine smile.
I realise the clothes laid out on the bed weren’t meant for me and a hot blush races from my chest to my cheeks. Eskar chuckles at my embarrassment and struts to the wardrobe to pull out a fresh shirt.
“Hoping for a show?” He says, one hand on his towel about to untuck it. I can’t stand that eyebrow, sardonically rising above the other whenever he teases me.
I gulp, still processing wearing his clothes and that I think he likes it.
“Absolutely not.” I make a show of being interested in the books on his nightstand.
He coughs, sounding uncomfortable for once. “I’m going to need you not to be sitting on my bed while I change. In fact, I need you far away from it.”
I lean back on one arm and half turn towards the sound of his voice. His eyes travel up and down my body before he shakes himself.
“Sage,” he grits out, jaw tense. He drags his hand through his hair in irritation and the towel slips lower on his hips, “Go and get some breakfast or something.” I frown. There’s no need to be so rude.
Frustrated, I storm to the bedroom the housekeeper assigned to me, tossing his oversized clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor.