~

Chapter Fifty-six

~

Zia stirred first, which drew me out of a half-slumber. If I’d had the energy I would have told her good mornin’, but she was workin’ so hard not to disturb me. She wore a set of white sweats that would have glowed in the dark, which it wasn’t. The sun peltin’ the window suggested it was at least nine in the mornin’.

But more important than the time, I watched Zia glide away from me, her feminine features enhanced instead of covered by the soft fabric of her thin garment. Definitely not sweats one would wear to the gym. Silkier than fleecy.

Like a dream, she scooped up a gown off the nearby armchair and snuck out of the room like a tiny, eight-foot-tall mouse. I worked to iron the vision and my emotions into memory, so I could share ’em with my pa.

He would have to tell me if the sensations spikin’ through my body are natural. They felt so good they hurt—and it didn’t have to do with any bullet holes.

I didn’t really want to get up, but nature screamed in my ear. I limped to my en suite. After, rinsin’ the sand out of my eyes at the sink, I came close to goin’ back to bed but I could hear the tins and bits of sound comin’ from downstairs now, and the thought of joinin’ Zia wrenched overwhelmin’.

Took me forever to get the nightshirt off, a favorite loose sweater dragged over my head. I sat on the bed, dreads still entangled, arms exhausted from the effort, when Zia glided in. “Let me help ya,” she cooed. Oddly, I didn’t feel embarrassed the rest of me hung out there, uncovered. If she was embarrassed, she didn’t show it. Like the natural nurse she claimed she’d be for bein’ a hen, she carefully got me and my bandages settled into clothes.

“I need to sit here a sec,” I said breathlessly.

“Why didn’t I just come North? Ya should still be in the hospital.” She slowly settled next to me, a hand lightly on my shoulder, arm ’cross my back. Her warmth gave me a bit of a shiver.

“Because.” I smiled. “Didn’t occur to ya that the council would have flown ya out without a second thought.”

“How do ya know—” She stopped.

“I have connections,” I said. “Know folk in high places. But. I wouldn’t have gotten Ike here, if I hadn’t come, hadn’t brought Nuel.”

She cocked her head thirty degrees. I didn’t really feel up to explainin’, but began my tale. She giggled, accusin’ me of playin’ matchmaker. I denied it. Told her it was for his emotional health. She chortled. I would never tire of her giggles and chortles. So beautiful. So unlike what I would have expected from any troll two months ago.

“Want me to carry ya downstairs?” she asked. Another possibility I never would have considered.

I smiled. “Leave me a bit of tusks, will ya.”

“Ya know,” she said, “we troll hens will kill for our mates. Ask anyone. That includes doin’ yar biddin’ like it’s the gods’ own.”

“Feels peculiar, hearin’ ya say mate,” I admitted.

“It bother ya? Scare ya some?”

“Terrifies me,” I said.

She bounced the bed hard with her outrageous laughter. Amused me to no end, but also rocked every hole the surgeon dug lead out of. My groans calmed her down. “Serves ya right,” she said.

My mind spun thinkin’ about gettin’ a troll-sized bed right away. She must have really had to curl up last night.

She stood and grabbed my hand, pulled me to my feet. “Let’s get some crickets in yar maw.”

“Seriously hope ya’re jokin’ now,” I said. “Maybe soup?”

“They’ll grow on ya,” she cooed.

Yeah. I don’t think so. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand as she dragged me away from the bed.

“Already. Business?” she asked.

“It’s been tingin’ every ten minutes.”

“So?” she said.

“Feed me. Then let me see what’s goin’ on in the world.”

“Maybe.”

“And when I say, feed me—”

“Only the freshest crickets.”

~

Nuel

~

I tossed, tossed more, tossed even more throughout the night. I lay under the same roof as Ike, the beloved son of Black Lake. More like the hero's, great, great, great, grandson. I could be missin’ a great or two.

The blasphemous thought, belittlin’ the current Ike, would make some hens catch their breath with the scandal of it.

I wasn’t gonna put him on a pedestal like everyone else. My character is clearly lackin’, makin’ any kind of a big deal about who I pursued. Not an intentional pursuit. I could honestly blame it on the idjit cousin.

I am not pursuin’ Ike. This is nothin’ like that.

Yeah, sure, Ike’s an interestin’, attractive sort. But would I be throwin’ my life into the wind for any other bull? The idea of that would make me a little ill. I’m an independent hen. Don’t need no bull to complete me.

Ick.

Though only the gray reflection off the snow hinted through the curtains, I maybe heard sounds comin’ from downstairs now. I thought I’d heard creaks on the stairs before.

Funny, as rich as Ike and Kriz are rumored to be, they both live in identical, humble places, perfectly called mountainside cabins. But then, Ike had built a sprawlin’ place on the Central Plain. With a basketball court instead of a livin’ room. Such a his hut.

I dressed—maybe some of the worst ache had eased so I left off my sling, splashed water over my face one-handed, put a touch of makeup on, and hurried downstairs. Swingin’ my arm both hurt and felt good.

“Mornin’,” Ike said as I entered the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, eyed my loose arm.

“Hey.”

He motioned at the coffee pot, stepped aside and grabbed another mug from a cabinet. I noticed it was chipped and didn’t match his. Was that fittin’, or a blatant statement that parents’ hand-downs were fine with him, that he was no uppity bull?

I closed my eyes, willed myself not to face plant. Why am I so overthinkin’ everythin’? My hand shook a bit as I poured my coffee. Should I have let him pour it for me? There I went again.

“Ya sleep?” he asked.

I told him, like a baby. No way was I gonna admit I’m totally freaked out about pushin’ myself on him. “Ya?”

He shrugged. “Got no food in the place. Plan to trudge over to the inn for breakfast.”

“That’s fine,” I said.

We stood, four feet apart, a good minute in silence. To break the spell, I sipped at my coffee. Shoulda been a smaller sip. Burned the jeez out of my mouth. Was harder than dragon pooh not expressin’ it out loud, or jumpin’ up and down.

Several quiet minutes later Ike asked, “What’s goin’ on here?” threatenin’ my head to explode.

“What? What? Don’t know what ya mean.”

“Ya’re such a liar,” he said.

The glow that had to be takin’ over my face almost made me forget about my burned mouth. “I haven’t a clue what ya mean.”

“Everyone should know—” He didn’t continue.

I waited. Not many ideas came to me, what he was possibly gonna say. What should everyone know? The electricity built over the minutes so much I feared the kitchen appliances might explode before my head did.

“I’m aware of all the hen talk,” he said.

I waited.

“Folk think we’re supposed to be—somethin’ else than we are.”

I didn’t like where this was goin’. And it’s my fault. No. I wouldn’t take the blame. It’s all Kriz’ fault. I didn’t have to buy into his stupid conspirin’.

Heat radiated through every pore of my body. My eyes welled. “I’m sorry. I— I—”

“If we were what the hens think we are, it would’ve been fine,” he said.

Oh. So. Would have, but isn’t. I’m delusional. Kriz is delusional. Wizper and Darshee were delusional. Worse, Papa assumed a false sense of reality, and in the next moment Ike is gonna put me in my place, and I would die of humiliation.

“I assume ya think ya and I could—”

I waited, lungs refusin’ to take in air. Chest started to pang.

He set his mug down on the counter loudly, which made me flinch hard enough I flipped some of my coffee into the air between us.

We both looked down at the brownish splash on the rough timber floor. And laughed. We laughed a few moments. Wasn’t like it was a big deal. I know mine was from anxiety. What was his from? Wasn’t funny at all in truth.

Ike stepped toward me, hand reached out to my shoulder, and he planted his ogre lips on mine, pressed hard enough our tusks clacked hard. We ground ’em into each other a moment, before he angled his head to broaden our kiss.

My left hand rested along his waist. I maybe poured some coffee down his opposite leg. He slung an arm over my angry shoulder—so glad I left off the sling—his other hand, maybe unintentionally, since he’s a bit shorter than me, folded around my tuckus.

We maybe spent a dime or twenty minutes gettin’ to know each other better like that. My cup finally found a better place to hang out. Our hands worked across each other, some. He made it known his grip of my backend was intentional. I maybe groped his butt a little too.

We began to pull apart three or four times, but ended up extendin’ the get-to-know.

We only broke the spit passin’ when both of our stomachs rumbled like volcanoes on cue.