Page 18 of Elemental Truth (Mysterious Fields #3)

18

THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

T he first Vitus knew of anything wrong was getting kicked in the shin. It woke him enough to realise that he was not in his own bed. He was not in his working rooms. He was in Thessaly’s bed, and she was having a dream. Nightmare, more likely, the way she was reacting. The sun had not yet risen, but at this time of year and this far north, that only meant it was sometime before eight in the morning. It was still oppressively dark out, not a glimmer of light.

Thessaly twisted, still in the dream's grip, and Vitus wondered about waking her. He’d heard it was dangerous to wake someone in the middle of a nightmare, especially if there was any chance of a premonition. He had not in fact discussed that with her. He hadn’t thought to be sharing her bed yet, and it had not been a priority to this point. Besides, plenty of people wouldn’t admit to it, even if they had a hint of truth in their dreams. He pushed up on one elbow and waited.

Perhaps thirty seconds later, she blinked several times, her hand reaching out. “I, wait, oh....” That was not much for sense, but she had only just woken up.

Vitus cleared his throat. “A dream? A bad one?” She startled at the sound, but then reached for his hand and squeezed it.

“Yes.” She rubbed her eyes. “What time is it? There’s a clock there, on the table.” She gestured vaguely with her elbow at the table.

Vitus called a small charmlight to his hand. “Midnight. A few minutes past.”

“Oh.” Thessaly let out a huff of breath. “I don’t really know what to make of it. Or why it was upsetting?” She frowned, her forehead furrowing. “There was something satisfied, and something hollow, and something, I don’t know. About time? I’m not making any sense at all.”

“How about you write down whatever you remember and— you said there was food on the cart that would keep? You could use a little. I could, too.” Vitus could at least take care of her that way. She nodded, and he rummaged for the dressing gown. It was a shimmering grey silk, flowing, abundant in a way his dressing gown at home wasn’t. That done, he padded off to the sitting room to investigate the food. There was a stew, lamb, held under magic for the winter, and vegetables, Welsh cakes, hearty bread and smooth butter. And some wine, which was somehow not what he’d expected.

Thessaly was a few minutes, and she came out rubbing her nose and tugging the wrapper around her, since the fire had died down to coals and ashes. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense. Why would I be dreaming of Philip Landry? And there was lightning, but it, I don’t know, I wasn’t scared of it? It was strange. I was inside, so I don’t know why there should have been lightning, anyway.”

Vitus wasn’t sure either, though he also didn’t want to put ideas in her head. “Have you been talking about either recently? The last few days? And here, there’s stew? I don’t know what kind.”

“That’s lapsgóws.” Thessaly said, cheerfully. “The northern version of cawl. Lamb, leeks, carrots, potatoes, broth. Oh, and Collins brought up the wine. Grand. It’s Welsh. Someone got it into his head to make a vineyard like the mediaeval ones, but I rather like it? The idea he’s trying to rebuild history, as much as the wine, but the wine’s quite drinkable.” Whatever uneasiness the dream had brought, the food seemed to have banished.

Vitus pulled together bowls for both of them, a heartier pottery than he’d expected from this sort of house. But it was entirely in keeping with the Arts and Crafts feel of all the spaces he’d seen. There was something satisfying about them, not only to hold, but the way they were meant for use. They were a sturdy beauty rather than distant perfection and the fear of crushing a delicate bit of porcelain in the hand.

The food was also excellent. He’d expected that, from his previous visits, though those had been tea or biscuits or such rather than a full meal. If Thessaly were eating like this regularly, he might stop worrying about her well-being quite as much as he had been. They were both quiet while eating, other than the sounds of the spoons and the glasses, but when they’d put their bowls back on the cart, Thessaly leaned against him. “Back to bed?”

He nodded. She disappeared into the bathing room for a few moments, and when she came out, he did the same, washing up and making use of the facilities. By the time he came out, she was in bed with the covers pulled back on his side, making it clear she’d stripped out of everything she’d been wearing. “Is that a hint? How do you feel, then?”

“Grand. Like I want more, if you’re willing.” Thessaly was lying on her side, facing him, one arm stretched out. He wondered, suddenly, if he’d ever be able to carve her into a piece, the way she was both languid and ready to move, like a great cat considering pouncing.

Vitus felt himself smiling. “Willing is not the problem. You’re not sore? Too sore, I mean?”

She shook her head again, and stretched, a very physical stretch that made it clear how well she knew her body. “Much less than after some duels. More, please?”

“Something a little quieter. If you turn the other way, I could nestle behind you. You’d like my hands, I suspect, and then I’d rock into you.” The idea hit her as both novel and interesting. He could see the expressions across her face, just before she obligingly twisted, her other hip now against the bed, then her shoulder. He shrugged off the dressing gown, slipped his feet under the covers, and then pressed up close to her. It would take him a little while to be more active about her desires. He suspected, from the way he was rising to the moment already, that it would not be frustratingly long. In the meantime, this let him make the best use of his right hand, his left coming under her to stroke her skin and cup her breast.

It was absolutely the right choice, something that was about closeness and touch. Vitus had expected it to be quiet, but it turned out he wanted to whisper a lot into her ear or her shoulder or her hair. About how she felt against him, about how he was enjoying this, about how he wanted all of this to delight her. And then, once he was more active, about what he was going to do, how he would slide into her, fill her again.

The words were nearly as provocative as the touches. By the time he pushed inside her, she was quivering with desire. He could take his time with it, though. The earlier bout had taken the sharper edge off. That meant they could rock and move and tangle for quite a while before he finally shifted how he was using his fingers. Those touches teased her to her climax and brought his. He fell asleep with his face buried in her hair, and he’d never been happier.

When he woke again, it was sunny out, through the window, a clear winter sunlight. Thessaly was no longer in the bed, and he looked around, blinking. The door to the sitting room was open, and he could hear quiet noises out there. He got up, using the facilities again and washing his face, before tentatively emerging. Thessaly was sitting on the floor, wearing a flowing gown in a deep green that was pooling around her, several piles of paper out. “Good morning!” She sounded bright and cheerful.

He smiled at her, gesturing. “May I?” She patted the floor near her, and he sat down, careful not to kick any of the papers or make them move. “I thought about a dozen Solstice gifts for you, but I thought, in the end, you might like a say in it. I brought some stones and some sketches. It doesn’t make something pretty to unwrap, but?— “

Before he could finish, her arms were around his neck, and she was kissing his cheek. “I’d like that very much. I have one for you, but Collins can arrange for someone to deliver it to your workroom.” That made him curious, and she slid a rather large and solid package over to him with a bit of effort. He unwrapped it to find a desk set, the sort intended for magical researchers. There was a stand for a book that would keep pages open, or, he found when he read the attached information, turn them with a word. The inkstand was charmed against spills and stains. There were little boxes for small items, a tray to contain things, and she’d added a shallow tray with different hollows. “I thought one might work for stones better than most things.”

“It is splendid. I would think of you often anyway, but this just means I will think of you even more so. I’ll be back at work for at least part of the day come the twenty-seventh.” There were other obligations between now and then.

From there, the conversation devolved into a pleasant discussion about the stones he’d brought, their particular properties, and his ideas for what could be done with them. He’d brought a larger piece of obsidian, good against nightmares and protective, and then three smaller stones. The garnet would match the pendant she had from her aunt, and while he wished her all the protection and joy, that maybe wasn’t the right stone for this. Niobe had a piece of lapis lazuli, a little oddly shaped and small, but her fingers lingered on that one. It had particularly vivid veining, the kind they’d been discussing from the start. And there was a small topaz, with an inclusion, but the sunny golden light of it brought joy and peace and all the blessings of the sun.

Of course, he also thought about the emerald, tucked away in Niobe’s protective storage. It was still there. He had visited it every week or two, when doing other work in the shelving. But equally, he could not offer it to Thessaly, not until they were more settled about what they were doing. Until she could be clear she was promised elsewhere. He managed, in the course of the conversation, to determine she liked them as a stone, though they weren’t one favoured in her family overall.

She did not decide immediately, and he could tell that the choice was about whether she was going to make whatever she selected public or not. That affected both design and purpose, naturally. He left the notes with her, or rather, he’d made copies for the purpose. By the time he set off for the Council rites a bit after noon, he felt like he was on top of the world.

The rites themselves were, well, the same and also different. There was no Metaia, dancing with Owain Powell. He was partnered by his sister, or at least Vitus was fairly sure that was his sister. They certainly looked closely related, the length of their faces and the shape of their eyes and their noses.

Council Head Rowan seemed to be everywhere at once, even more so than usual. Cyrus Smythe-Clive was a tad solemn for a festive occasion, paired in the formal dances by his own sister. Vitus circulated, chatting here and there with various people. Some of them wished to arrange a consultation early in the new year. Two of those who’d commissioned talismans against lightning wanted to check all was still well. The fact that lightning, in specific, kept coming up made him think of Thessaly’s dream, and he wondered again why Philip Landry might be relevant. He’d have thought that lightning would be about Childeric, if anyone, and Childeric was firmly dead and buried. Of course, so was Philip.

He saw Lord Clovis and Sigbert. They’d come in a hair late, looking flustered, before taking up their places in line to make their offerings. Later, he saw them amongst the guests, along with Lady Maylis and the Dowager Lady Chrodechildis. There was no sign of Laudine or Dagobert, and Vitus would not have approached them here. It was too public. Vitus was getting punch from the refreshments table when he heard what he was fairly sure was Sigbert’s voice, behind him, a few feet away.

“So curious, but that’s why we were late. We got the news just as we were leaving. Her maid found her dead when she went to bring the luncheon in. Of course, she wasn’t coming today.” The antecedent wasn’t clear to Vitus, until the person Sigbert was talking to mentioned the name. Magistra Landry.

That was a shock. Vitus thought back to when he’d last seen her. Shaken, of course, by Philip’s death, as any reasonable person would expect. And then at Childeric’s funeral, she’d been veiled, which obscured a lot. But she had not seemed feeble or in ill health in other ways. Certainly, she’d seemed more robust than either Dagobert or Laudine that day. Entirely in control of herself, her magic, and her place in the world, that was the way to put it.

It wasn’t as if he could ask, of course. He stayed where he was for another minute, appearing very indecisive about whether to select the shrimp paste or the cheese, and then dithering over which wine. He only made his choices once he could hear that the people behind him had moved away. Fortunately, the footman tending the table was used to that sort of oddity from guests here, and certainly well-trained enough not to comment, even by a shift of his expression.

Vitus retreated with his refreshments to a quiet corner to contemplate, and to see who else might be interested in a conversation in due course.