Page 50 of Aubade Rising

My relief at our escape is regrettably short-lived.

Cathair may be far from Tanwen, but the rebels have contacts everywhere.

Every servant in Eskar’s family townhouse could be working against us, plotting to stop us returning or to take back the rucksack full of serpentine stashed in my room.

We have to get back to Pentargon as quickly as possible, to tell the Concord what we’ve learnt.

I try to convince the housekeeper to send a message to Pentargon and to book our passage home but she resists.

She makes it clear that only Eskar’s approval matters and I should wait for his instruction.

It rankles. Particularly since I can’t find him.

After I’ve meandered through the house, unable to sit and still full of restless energy, the housekeeper sends me to the greenhouse for herbs for dinner. She’s a stern old woman and not one to take no for an answer.

Flowers bloom at every turn. The grounds are beautiful.

I can’t miss the greenhouse, a monstrously large wrought iron structure nestled deep in the garden.

It towers over me, the size of a marquee and when the gardens are in full season, then that is nothing compared to the lush green foliage pressed to the glass surface roaring to break free.

The humidity punches me in the face. Breathing is a challenge and my body braces against the increase in temperature.

I stroll further into this tropical oasis, lifting the huge, variegated leaves out of the way, noticing hoarse croaking of tree frogs and the gentle hum of insects.

Sweat forms at the back of my neck, across my collarbones and down my spine.

Cursing as I trip on an exposed root, no herbs are going to thrive in this heat. I turn to leave and spy Eskar through the dense leaves. I falter, tilting back and forth between leaving him in peace or investigating what he’s up to. Curiosity wins and I creep closer.

There’s a stream bubbling through the centre of the greenhouse that I hadn’t seen before. What wealth his family must have if they have this private sanctuary to ensure they are always able to channel. No need to share the rivers or canals like common Mordros.

The stream explains the humidity. Eskar reclines in it, channelling, a pile of clothes discarded on the bank next to him. I blink twice, taking in the view.

His broad shoulders and back muscles are relaxed and my eyes can’t help tracing the pattern of bruises downwards until the water obscures his body.

He leans back on his hands, head tilted back to the foggy glass panes above, eyes closed.

I’m jealous of his state of relaxation, my mind still jumbled and processing our escape, heart racing and palms sweaty.

Instead, I settle for admiring each individual muscle from his neck downwards – there’s plenty to appreciate.

After a while, my sanity returns and I realise how creepy I’m being. I go to leave but as I turn, he calls out.

“Finally finished staring then, Sage.” His caramel eyes are mischievous and the creases living round their edges have been erased by the damp air. I’m struck by how much younger he looks without the dirt from the Haag coating him. We’re so similar in age but have had such different lives.

After all we’ve been through together, I recognise the pull towards him, the desire to climb into the stream with him and smooth away the bruises lingering on his skin. But after the mixed messages this morning, I’m uncertain whether he feels it too.

“You made it clear touching wasn’t allowed. You didn’t say anything about looking.” To make my point, I strut over to a smooth rock nearby and sit facing him.

He rises to my challenge and leans back in the water.

I gulp – obviously, he is definitely very naked.

Fidgeting, I can’t get comfortable, nor can I ignore that the sight of him has made my mouth incredibly dry.

He’s clean-shaven again and he looks like he did when we were in his apartment in Cathair, after we changed our appearance to go into hiding.

I wrap my fingers self-consciously around my dark hair, the dye still lingering.

Eskar blatantly stares at me, tempting me to push back, to ask why he kicked me out of his room earlier. To finally address what’s been simmering between us now for months.

“Well, I hope you enjoy the view then,” he drawls, languidly tilting back and closing his eyes. He shifts down to his elbows, allowing his hands to move. They remain submerged, drawing slow circles as he channels to replenish his magic.

I test my magic while sitting on the rock, ruminating over my confusing companion’s behaviour. I’m unable to wield through the glass. It must be specially made then, a safety precaution. Unusual though – normally Aubade magic is overlooked.

I notice his eyes are staring at me hungrily.

“Now who’s enjoying the view?”

A drop of perspiration leaves my face, trailing down my neck. I freeze when it pauses between my collarbones and changes path, creeping towards my breast.

Eskar is smiling lightly, hands now static.

If he’s stopped channelling then he must be working on something else.

I narrow my eyes and the bead of water continues its journey south, feeling pleasantly cool against my overheated skin.

More droplets join, condensing from the air around me.

My nipples respond. If I’m reading the new tension in his shoulders correctly, it’s something Eskar has also noticed.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice is low, gravelly and full of something I can’t identify.

I’m struggling to process words, let alone full sentences, my concentration focusing on urging on the delicious tickle of the water droplet.

His eyes darken. “I said no earlier because I won’t be some trivial, spontaneous escape for you. I won’t be temporary.” The water caresses my ankles in cool strokes and winds round my arms.

“We won’t be short-lived.” Liquid shackles pin my ankles in place with his words.

“I intend to spend a long, long time with you.” In my distraction at the bead of water teasing my breasts, he’s restrained my limbs completely.

I tug gently, confident he will release me at the slightest indication. But he knows that’s not what I want.

“Tell me what you want, Sage.”

I want him to get out of the stream and replace the water with his hands.

“Use your words.” The ropes of water pulse and tighten at his command.

“I…” I’ve never had to articulate exactly what I want before.

Any trysts I’ve been involved in happen spontaneously, after plenty of alcohol and I’ve never lingered.

Almost all were disappointing and I’ve never sought a repeat.

But I know with Eskar it would be different.

I’d have to be vulnerable and, right now, I don’t think I can open up.

There’s no trace of disappointment on his face as the silence continues. I can’t find the words to explain. I want to forget the rebels, Tanwen, how close he came to death trying to save me. I need to clear my mind for a moment and lose myself in the fact that we miraculously made it out alive.

He senses my frustration but doesn’t give in.“I won’t do half measures with you, Sage. If I’m in, I’m all in. So, I’ll wait until you choose me for the right reasons. Not because you need to forget the rebels or because you pity me for being tortured. I can be patient.”

And with that confusing statement, the liquid chains dissolve and flow back into the stream. He leans back and closes his eyes, seemingly relaxed and returns to channelling.

He is quite possibly the most irritatingly handsome man I’ve ever met.

My body is on fire and yet he’s content to subject us to this misery.

His previous behaviour with other women back in Pentargon led me to think he was never interested in something more serious, but his attitude to me suggests otherwise.

I contemplate climbing into the stream and onto his lap but I can’t promise him anything more than a temporary distraction and he deserves more.