CHAPTER FOUR
The ghosts of war and human screams chase Felix out of sleep. Once the nightmare releases its grip, he peeks through the ivy to find the sky only a shade or two lighter than full night. He has some time before he must report to the shrine. With the waterskin and his staff in hand, he goes in search of the river Cassandra mentioned. His breath puffs out in white clouds and he wishes he wore the cloak. Autumn is fading- he hopes winter is as mild as Cassandra said.
Faint remnants of a path help Felix navigate the shadowy forest and come to the bank of a wide, slow-moving river shrouded in mist. He splashes his face and water dribbles through bristly hair covering his cheeks and chin. Normally he stays beardless until winter comes, then shaves it off with summer’s arrival. He scratches at the itchy growth and thinks longingly of his well-used razor. Though it was among the few things he managed to grab while fleeing his village, by now it’s surely been claimed by another refugee, along with everything else he and Sam didn’t take to the castle. He’ll have to hope for a mild summer as well, if he’s going to have a blanket hanging off his face.
He fills the waterskin and returns to the hermitage, picking up fresh wood for the hearth on his way. However, he’s surprised by firelight glowing within the shack. He didn’t stir the embers before leaving. He approaches cautiously, and can hardly believe his eyes when he opens the door to find Cassandra sitting at the hearth reading the book Theodore left behind.
She glances up at him and gasps, a hand flying to her chest. “Oh, you’re back. We really must stop sneaking up on each other, don’t you think? It’s bad for our health.”
Felix edges inside, wondering while he sets down the wood what could possibly have brought the lady out here before dawn. His gaze drops to the page held open on her lap.
She follows his look and gives him a bashful smile. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was just so curious. Um, have you read it yet?”
Felix received a cursory education on the basics of letters and numbers from the spinsters who took him in. But he’s had little need of the former. Considering it now, it’s possible this book contains some information on the gods he’s meant to worship. It would be nice to name those he prays to. He sits as close to Cassandra as he dares, and she offers the book to him. Each page is dense with elaborate calligraphy- Felix can only identify the simplest words.
“It’s a beautiful book,” she remarks, “Must have taken years to create. Look at these illustrations.”
She reaches over and flips a page and Felix registers a colorful image featuring several people at varying levels of nakedness intimately entwined under a tree before his hands smack the book shut. His face burns hot, and he fixes his eyes on the wall while mentally erasing Cassandra’s entire presence. He notices four more books have joined the mysterious six that appeared yesterday.
Cassandra coughs delicately. “Fienne. Goddess of marriage. It seems she was very busy that day.”
She’s trying to trick him. Felix remembers now. It’s some strange amusement of hers, to get him to speak so she might have him tossed back out on the road. She crept up on him while he was taking a piss, and now she’s showing him disturbing pictures. Well, her scheme has failed again. Felix drops the book, grabs his staff, and marches out to kneel before the shrine. Dawn has yet to arrive, but all Cassandra will able to report to Lady Meridan is his eagerness to pray.
For several minutes he’s left in peace. But then he hears her damned skirts on the grass again. Something scraping across the stone next to his knee forces him to open his eyes and take note of a fine white cup that contains something dark and steaming. Accompanying it on its saucer is a slice of buttered bread. “Um, I made tea,” Cassandra says, her voice small, “The rest of the loaf is inside. Someone will come by this afternoon with more food. I’ll take the soup pot with me and have it washed. Good day.”
She flits off and after the scent of her fades away, Felix feels like he can breathe again. It seems the longer he knows Cassandra, the odder she becomes. He must watch himself. She is not to be trusted, no matter how sweetly she may smile.
That said, whether she’s trying to sabotage him or not, the tea is getting cold. Felix takes a sip, careful to avoid the chip in the rim. Warmth flows down inside his chest and pours into his stomach. A taste of the buttered bread draws a happy sigh out of him. On the road he almost forgot butter even existed. It feels like a miracle to have it presented to him by a lady. But surely she’ll stop coming soon. Once she loses interest in her little game she’ll send a servant with his food, if she remembers.
He drains the cup and eats the slice, then resumes his position with bowed head, folded hands, and closed eyes. With his stomach warm and fed, it’s easier to focus. He actually manages to lose himself in prayer while the sun rises and floats across the sky. Having at least learned one god’s identity, he prays to Fienne for a little while. He asks that Cassandra might find happiness in her marriage. With a brave and no doubt handsome knight to call husband, Felix doesn’t doubt she’ll be very happy. Assuming he survives the war.
Gulping down a quick lunch of bread and water, he returns to the shrine and devotes his afternoon prayers to the desperate hope that this land will be spared his home’s fate. That something will hold back the invaders and keep everyone safe. He pleads with his whole cowardly soul until the sun sinks below the tree line. His hands hurt as much as his legs when he unclasps them.
A gentle cough drifts over his shoulder. He turns to find Cassandra standing with the soup pot cradled in one arm and a basket hanging from the other. She dips into a brief curtsey. “Good evening, sir. There, see? We’ve finally stopped spooking each other.”
Felix nods back at her, daring to assume his noble employer won’t mind him returning a lady’s greeting after sunset.
“I have some more things for you,” she says, holding up the pot and basket, “I’ll take them inside, shall I?”
She strides into the shack, and this time Felix has no compelling reason not to follow her. She moves about as if she’s the one who lives here, putting down her burdens and settling at the hearth to stir embers and add wood. Felix shuffles inside and sits across from her as he did in the morning. Cassandra pushes the pot in his direction, so he takes it and peeks under the lid. It’s full of root vegetables and some cured meat, he finds. And as he digs around a bit, a pear emerges. He pulls it out with a smile, quite possibly his first since he lost Sam.
“You should eat that now, it’s so difficult to catch pears just when they’re ripe. I’m sure it’ll be brown tomorrow.”
He does as advised and almost overly sweet juice floods his mouth with the first bite. He swipes at the sticky overflow with the back of his hand, hoping to keep some of it from seeping into his beard. A swift glance at Cassandra reveals that she’s not paying attention to his battle with the pear. Instead she’s focused on the basket, digging through what appear to be men’s clothes. When she reaches the bottom she pulls out a small book. She stands and adds it to the others lined up against the wall, then returns to her seat. Felix doesn’t miss the surreptitious look she shoots in his direction.
The poised lady transforms into an anxious girl, her shoulders hunched and lower lip pinned between her teeth. Felix can’t help raising an eyebrow in a silent request for an explanation. “They’re mine,” she blurts out, “From home. Before I- I was married. I couldn’t leave them, they’re... They’re mine.”
She fixes a look on Felix that’s somewhere between stubborn and pleading. He can only blink in response before it fades back into discomfort.
“However, Lady Meridan has opinions on what constitutes appropriate literature for young women. I’m honestly surprised Romilda knows what a book is.” She draws a short breath. “Anyway, I don’t want my books mysteriously vanishing from my chambers, so I thought they mig
ht be safer out here. With you. I can take them back. I know it was wrong to start bringing them without asking. I- I’m sorry.”
She moves toward the books, but Felix holds up a hand. She eases back down with wary hope replacing the anxiety in her face. Felix thinks how he would have appreciated a safe hiding place for what little he had, before the war. An attacking army is not in any way similar to a disapproving mother-in-law, but a loss is a loss, and Cassandra shouldn’t have to endure the pain of it. And in any case, hiding books with him suggests a level of trust that seems unlikely if she was trying to sabotage his position. He’d like to explain all this, but the best he can do is reach for his own book- and he supposes the indecent thing is his now. He turns to a random page and leans against the side of the hearth, eating his pear while deciphering some words. Unga, god of scholars, he reads, and wonders what Sam is learning at the monastery.
After a few moments, Cassandra fetches one of her books and reclines against the other side of the hearth. Felix can’t help glancing over at her. They exchange shy smiles before focusing on their reading.
After a while, Cassandra sets aside her book and climbs to her feet. As she leaves, she reaches out to squeeze Felix’s shoulder and murmur, “Good night, Bow.”
When his skin has stopped its warm tingling where it made contact with her hand, Felix frowns. What did she call me?