CHAPTER SIX
In the morning Felix boils a potato and makes himself a cup of tea to bring to the shrine, scooping up the hourglass as he goes. He will keep his deal with Cassandra. Once he’s settled on the stone, regular sips from the chipped cup ease the pain in his throat. The hourglass proves helpful as he neatly divides his prayers into those devoted to Sam, those for Cassandra, and those for the Meridan household.
While his head is bowed and his hands are folded he hears silk whisper across grass. Cassandra doesn’t speak when he glances at her, just holds up three fingers with a warning look. He responds with a bashful nod and lets her go about her business gathering firewood and refilling the waterskin. She squeezes his shoulder on the way out of the hermitage and Felix spends the next minute or two remembering who he’s praying to for what, scolding himself all the while for his weakness.
When three turns are done he retreats to the shack and settles in front of the fire with his book and a second cup of tea. He’s getting better at deciphering the elaborate script, and though some of the illustrations make his skin itch and his cheeks heat before he quickly flips the page, they do help his understanding of this foreign pantheon. When he resumes his full day’s worship, he’ll keep dividing his time with the hourglass, so no god is ignored.
A patch of sunshine stretches across the floor and Felix’s eyes flicker from it to the page as his mind instantly calculates the hours left until dusk. He sighs- it will serve his foolish eagerness right if Cassandra doesn’t come. She must have other demands on her time, he can’t assume she’ll drop everything just to see if he kept their deal or not. Felix nails his gaze to the page and roars every word of the next sentence inside his mind. If anything ought to distract him, it should be his son. He hopes Cassandra would’ve mentioned if Sam hadn’t made it to the monastery safely, or if something happened after his arrival. But then how would she know? And if she did get word, what help could he possibly provide? Formless worry gnaws at Felix and his heart aches for his lost boy.
He’s almost done packing away his grief and fear by the time Cassandra arrives. She stands before him with her chin held high as she presents a plate covered by a silver lid. She whisks the lid off and the aromas of corned beef and seasoned vegetables spill out. Hunger yawns in Felix’s stomach and he gratefully takes the plate and utensils Cassandra passes him.
“Direct from Lady Meridan’s table,” she says, though the last word ends in a faint cough and frown as her fingers brush her throat.
Felix stares up at her, appetite lost under the crushing weight of guilt. He got her sick.
Cassandra immediately tilts her head and smiles. “Don’t panic, Bow, I’m fine. It’s a little dry, that’s all. It gets dusty in the castle.”
Illness has deepened her voice to a low and husky range. It’s actually quite appealing. He quickly lowers his shamed face to the plate. This food is finer than any he’s ever had, and she brought it to him even after he infected her. His chores still needed doing, and no one was left to do them but her. A fact she never let him forget.
While he wanders through bitter memories, Cassandra scoops up herb broth in his bowl and settles by the hearth. She sips it and hums. “This is just what I need.” She leans back against the rough stone, staring at nothing. “Lady Meridan had me banished from supper. Ordered a general quarantine of my chambers. Which is wonderful- it’s not a far drop at all from my window. The tricky part was tying up the plate and lowering it down.”
Felix can only gape at her, utterly unable to comprehend why she would go to that much trouble. He looks at the plate on his lap and realizes this is likely the meal she was served. The meal she traded for a hermit’s soup.
“I probably ought to thank you. Aside from a scratchy throat I feel perfectly fine. I think going through you took the fight out of it.”
Felix holds a finger to his lips before touching his neck. He’s desperate for anything that might repay his debt to her, but the best he can do is let her know he doesn’t want her to get any worse.
Cassandra just rolls her eyes and whispers, “All right.”
She continues to sip her broth while he consumes every speck of food on the plate. He would lick it clean if he could keep remnants out of his beard. The coarse strands itch more than ever, and Felix knows relief won’t come until it’s fully grown in. He tries not to be too obvious with his scratching.
“Finished?” Cassandra asks as she sets aside the bowl and stands.
Felix nods and offers her the empty plate and utensils.
“Leave those for now, we have a chore to do.”
He does as told and watches curiously as Cassandra kneels with barely a foot of space between them. She reaches into a pocket of her dress and pulls out two thin silk ribbons, two pieces of parchment rolled into a tube, and a stick of charcoal.
“Let me see your left arm?” she requests, and Felix extends it.
With one hand she holds the end of a ribbon to the tip of his middle finger, drawing the rest along the full span of his forearm. When she has the measure, she marks it with a quick knot. She makes two more knots for the size of his wrist and the length of his hand.
“And the right?”
The process is repeated with his right arm and the second ribbon. Felix finds his eyes darting to Cassandra’s face, taking in its unusual solemnity as she works.
“Put your left hand here,” she says after laying a piece of parchment flat on the floor. Felix presses his palm to it and Cassandra leans almost near enough for her head to brush his as she slowly traces the outline with the charcoal stick.
He really can’t tear his gaze away from her then. She’s somehow even more beautiful close-up. He could almost count the freckles faintly dappling her nose. A bit of light catches a tiny white scar at her hairline and he has to clench his jaw against asking how she got it. He tries his best to keep his hand still, but she has to cover it with her own, and Felix swallows dryly at its warm weight.
“That should do, I think. Now the right.”
Cassandra lays out the other sheet of parchment and pins Felix’s hand between it and hers. He spends this time not wondering at all if the rest of her body is as warm as her hand. Their breath mingles and Felix fights to keep his steady and shallow, rather than sucking in deep drafts of her scent.
“All right, I think that’s good. Sorry to keep you up for this, but you’ll thank me when rain isn’t dripping down your...” She trails off as her eyes lift from the parchment and meet his, which have been burrowing into her for several minutes.
Felix’s panicked brain shrieks commands to stop leering at the poor woman, but he can’t make himself do so much as blink. After far too many taut seconds pass, he finally manages to cough and look down at his hand. Cassandra’s still rests on it for some reason, and even more bafflingly curls around it and turns it palm up.
Her thumb presses into a callus there that’s so thick he can hardly feel it- his reward for hefting a staff with nearly every step he took. He still remembers the taut pain of the swollen blisters as they formed. He wondered if they’d fester, and he would end up ridding his family of their crippled cowardly burden after all. But he survived when they popped and scabbed over and left behind a pad of numb scar tissue across his palm and patches on his fingers. He can’t make a fist anymore without feeling like he’s holding a flat stone under his skin.
“You should keep resting. You’re not well yet,” Cassandra murmurs, and if Felix was ever allowed to ask one more question, he would ask why she cares. It’s a mystery he can’t at all fathom. What brings her out here day after day? Is she truly just that noble of heart? If he’s never going to know another person for the rest of his life, he would like to know her. She sits back and rolls up the parchment pieces again, tucking it into her pocket with the ribbons and charcoal. “Maybe stay out for six turns tomorrow. But if
you get tired, come inside. Deal?”
He mouths deal and is gifted with her smile. A trick of the firelight makes her round cheeks look pink before she picks up the plate and stands.
“I’ll bring your gloves as soon as they’re ready. Good night, Bow.”
Felix nods at her swift curtsey, then she’s gone. He rubs at his eyes, and smiles at black streaks she left behind on the sides of his fingers and palms.