Beneath dark waters, p.26
Beneath Dark Waters, page 26
“Most enjoyable.” Celia purred, sinking into hot water.
“You know everything about me, and I know everything about you.” Torin watched the hot, soapy water slosh over Celia’s breasts.
“What are you getting at, my love?”
“I don’t know why wanting more is a bad thing. It’s the next logical step, isn’t it? Marriage and children and all that.”
“And where would we raise them? Here?” Celia gestured at the room. “Or would we stuff ourselves into a carriage and go along with you on your travels while you’re slaying grotesqueries?”
“We’d figure that out.” Torin shrugged, understanding the difficulty of their situation but wanting his dream so much to become a reality.
“Maybe one day.” The wistful tone in Celia’s voice gave away the crack in her bravado.
Celia wasn’t ready for what Torin imagined, but her eyes were filled with a longing too deep to deny. Just like him, Celia wanted something more – his dream was hers, too! – but the reality of their lives made that dream feel impossibly out of reach.
Celia leaned back and dunked her head beneath the water, soaking her hair completely. Torin patiently waited for her to resurface, reaching over the side of the tub to grab a dry washcloth from a basket just an armlength away. Celia popped back up, water streaming down her face, her neck, the solid lines of her collarbones, her soft round breasts … She reached out blindly, accepting the washcloth Torin handed to her.
“Why not soon? We’re both in our early thirties, we’ve saved enough money to afford a house – it’s a great time for us to get married and start a family.”
“Hand me the soap, would you, darling?”
Torin took a lump of goatmilk soap, imbued with a variety of sweet-smelling herbs, from the basket. Celia turned her back on him and he lathered her hair until white bubbles covered her long, glossy brown tresses.
“I earned a lot this past year.” Torin pressed. “I’m sure we could buy a house now with the amount we’ve saved–”
“Torin, my love, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re cursed.” Celia said, flatly.
Torin’s jaw dropped. After the months spent in Vastrune fighting against the rumours that the hunting fleet were cursed, and the claims Krinn had made on Tempest Rover that Torin was the cause of the Order of Divine Balance’s attack – to return to Celia only for the word to be thrown at him … Torin couldn’t believe it.
“How am I?” He demanded.
“Grotesqueries are drawn to you like moths to an incredibly handsome flame.” Celia explained, matter-of-factly. “Monster attacks, wraith sightings, and all of the other what-have-yous increase like nobody’s business when you’re around.”
“You think I’m bringing them here?” Torin gawped.
“I think the hunter becomes the hunted.” Celia corrected, shooting him a stern look. “Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, I’m just stating facts. As a jaeger, your whole duty is to find grotesqueries and slay them. How are supposed to raise our little army of miniature Torins if there are grotesqueries snapping outside every corner of the house trying to gobble the children down as a quick snack?”
“I’ll quit hunting! I’ll become a farmer or a fisherman, or–”
“Do you know how to farm? Do you know any carpentry? Do you know how to cobble shoes? Can you tan animal hides? Blacksmith? Bake? Maybe you can mine, or – do you know anything about stonemasonry?”
Torin shrank beneath Celia’s interrogation. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked for Celia’s hand in marriage, nor the first time they’d had this dispute. He’d tried a few of those professions over the years to try and get away from hunting, but he was either utterly untalented and incapable of learning the new trade, or grotesqueries would crawl out of their hiding places and attack. Torin had no patience for cobbling or tanning, no skill for blacksmithing or stonemasonry, and couldn’t bake bread to save his life no matter how closely he followed a recipe. All Torin knew to do was kill grotesqueries.
“It’s not just you,” Celia said, softly, curling up between his legs and nestling against his chest. “I don’t know how to run a household. I can’t cook a damn thing, and I don’t know how to clean. I know my numbers, and I can read and write, but outside of that, I have no education. One day, we’ll be ready to start a family, but we’re not ready yet.”
22
THE SUN ROSE sooner than Torin liked. The off-white curtains covering the window glowed from the warm light radiating behind them. The silky-smooth flesh of the Celia’s round bottom shifted against Torin’s thigh, coaxing him awake. Opening his bleary eyes, Torin found himself nestled in furs and blankets in Celia’s room at the Velvet Pearl, the lovers a tangle of limbs. Celia was fast asleep beside him, her plump form white as snow and completely naked, her wild lengths of chestnut hair strewn across the pillows. Across the room, a low fire was crackling in the hearth.
Torin’s body still smouldered from the night spent in Celia’s embrace, but he couldn’t ignore the fears throbbing in the back of his mind like a festering splinter he couldn’t dislodge.
“The thread of your fate is tangled with the Order’s! You must fulfil your destiny! The blood is on your hands, Jaeger! The grotesqueries won’t stop until you return to the temple!”
“If we give you to the Order, this will end! We won’t have to risk being eaten! We can throw you overboard – they’ll retrieve you while we get away!”
“… We can’t squabble over the lies of a shit-spewing bone-picker!”
Was it all rubbish like Tam claimed?
No. In his gut, Torin was certain that the bone-picker was telling the truth, the Keeper had insinuated just as much before Tam had killed him with the throwing dagger. Krinn knew something, but without knowing where the maggot had run off to, Torin might never get answers out of him.
Torin tightened his grip around Celia, taking solace in the warmth of her against him, filling his arms, breathing in the lingering scent of her perfume and pleasure exuding thinly from her sleeping form.
“If you want to stop this – if you want to get rid of the grotesqueries – you must return to the temple!”
“This is all your fault, Jaeger! The grotesqueries – the suicides – it’s all because of you! Ask your mother! Ask him!”
Such crushing claims! How could Torin possibly be to blame for grotesqueries of all things? The suicides weren’t his fault, the Order of Divine Balance were the ones poisoning the hunting fleet on behalf of the Sirinean Empire … Weren’t they? They couldn’t possibly be poisoning the fleet to get to him, or was it some kind of psychological warfare?
No, Torin was being vain and paranoid.
Privately, Torin cursed himself for letting Krinn go. As tight-lipped as a tomb, Torin would have an easier time interrogating a statue than getting an answer out of Tam. And how did Torin’s mother fit into all this? How did Krinn know his mother to begin with? And how did Krinn know Torin’s name before he’d even introduced himself when they first met on the beach?
A pang quaked through Torin. If the Order was hunting him down, they won’t stop until they captured or killed him. He had to prepare for future confrontations … And what about Celia? Was she at risk by associating with him?
Torin pressed a tender kiss to the top of Celia’s head, burying his face in the tangled mane of her beautiful hair. His dream of marriage and starting a family with her seemed like it was being snatched even further out of his reach.
Celia stirred beside him. Torin smiled, watching her stretch as she wakened, a series of soft sighs and a delicate yawn tumbling from her lips. With a purr rolling in her throat, Celia rolled over and curled around him. Her lovely mouth pressed gentle, drowsy kisses across his torso, enticing him from his thoughts. The jaeger pulled Celia’s luscious body against him, letting himself forget about Tam, Krinn, and the Keepers, at least for a little while. He met Celia’s searching mouth with his, losing himself in the sweetness of her lips.
“Good morning,” Torin murmured.
“Mmm, it is indeed.”
Nestled into the crook of Torin’s arm, she yawned, still half-asleep. They cuddled in silence, gradually waking. Celia traced a slender white finger along the web of scars that marred the images tattooed to Torin’s chest, but she didn’t say a word.
Torin cupped Celia’s jaw and brought his lips to hers. Moans rolled in her throat as she melted against him, meeting his tongue with hers. They parted, tenderly gazing at each other, her cheeks rosy with yearning. Torin admired the way her brown eyes glittered beneath the fan of her dark lashes, traces of make-up smudged provocatively around her lids.
“I’m starving. Worked up an appetite after last night.” She winked mischievously at Torin.
As if on cue, Celia’s belly rumbled. Torin grinned, gliding his hand down her body and resting it on her soft tummy. He managed to steal a few more kisses before she sat up in bed, yawning and stretching luxuriously. Torin watched, acutely aware of every tiny movement of Celia’s body, every sway, every jiggle. He tried to ignore the stirring down below the blankets.
As Celia pulled the gold rope of the servant bell hanging from the ceiling, Torin curled his hand around her hip and pulled her against him, nipping the soft flesh of her back between kisses to the music of her laughter.
In a whisk of action, the servants arrived, built up the dwindling fire, and brought up hot water for Celia and Torin to bathe with. The lovers took turns washing each other slowly, reacquainting themselves with each other. Torin kissed every one of Celia’s freckles, every mole, and each of the few silvery scars, ensuring there were no new ones since he left. Celia stroked every one of Torin’s cut, every scar, every bruise, traced each vibrant illustration etched into his golden skin.
Torin shuddered, his eyes drifting closed as Celia smoothed oil over his broad shoulders, kneading the knots from his tight muscles. Slow and soothing, for an age, she indulged him, pressing, rubbing, and applying the perfect amount of pressure in smooth, gliding strokes to coax his tight muscles, tendons and ligaments to release. Torin drifted into a daze more than once, and by the time Celia was through, Torin felt as though he was drifting in the air. His body sang; his skin was as smooth as butter. Dreamy-eyed, Torin pulled her into his lap.
“Thank you.” Torin pressed a trail of gentle kisses to her neck, the curve of her shoulders, and the delicate flesh of her chest.
“Darling, it was my pleasure,” Celia purred, gliding her hands over Torin’s shoulders, delighting in his broad, hard muscles.
Torin held her, gazed up at her, his sapphire eyes boring into her honey-brown ones. His scalp tingled deliciously as Celia tenderly drew her fingers through his sleek ebony tresses.
“I love you, Celia.”
“I love you, too.”
The lovers’ lips met in the most delicate of kisses. Straddling his lap, Celia clutched Torin’s face between her hands, and he cocooned her in his embrace, their bodies slick and glistening with the resplendent-smelling oil, the warmth of the firelight dancing on their naked forms.
*
FIGHTING THE URGE to return to bed and bask in the afterglow of their pleasure, Torin busied himself with unpacking his bag while Celia finished cleaning up in the washroom. She hummed as she washed herself, her voice terribly offkey, but Torin loved listening to her anyway, snickering when she swore to herself with every high note she couldn’t reach.
Torin rifled through his bag and pulled out a good-sized sack, wrapped in his clothes for safety. It was filled with gifts for Celia that he’d gathered over his travels.
From Hebiwa, Torin had purchased a selection of hair ornaments including a variety of ornate hair combs, some painted black and red, others were lacquered wood, each of them painted with pretty floral designs, some decorated with folded silk flowers. There were hair pins with jewelled tips and others with delicate silver chains dangling from rounded plates at the tips.
From Vastrune, Torin had purchased various bone and antler combs with geometric patterns carved into them, a pair of tortoiseshell brooches, a matching set of woollen mittens and scarf, and a shiny silver ring.
The final gift was the dainty silver necklace with the amber pendant that Krinn had given Torin. He had considered selling the thing, unsure whether he wanted to adorn Celia with an item that reminded him of the bone picker, but in all the chaos and his desperation to return to his lover, Torin forgot about it. He would let Celia make the decision – if she liked it, it was hers. If she didn’t, she could sell it and purchase whatever she wanted with the money.
“What’s all that?” Celia asked, stepping out of the washroom entirely naked, towelling her thick lengths dry, her milky skin glistening with oil.
“If you’re trying to convince me to go back to bed, it’s working.” Torin eyed her hungrily, reaching out and pulling her against him.
Celia laughed. “Show me all your goodies first, magpie.”
“These are presents for you,” Torin announced proudly, puffing out his chest. “Every time I saw something that made me think of you, I bought it.”
“You don’t need to get me anything!” Celia scolded, but the blush on her cheeks and beaming smile betrayed her pleasure.
Torin closed his arm around Celia as she curled against him, admiring the vast collection of gifts covering the top of her vanity table. Surprising Torin, Celia picked up the silver necklace first, turning the little amber pendant as she admired it and the delicate filigree bordering it. The pendant was the same colour as Celia’s eyes. There was no way Krinn could’ve known that, but it was a welcomed coincidence.
“I – A – M? I am?” Celia read the engraving on the silver back of the pendant. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure. To be honest, a man – if you could call him that, he was more like a goblin crossed with a rat – gave it to me in Hebiwa as a reward for helping him butcher the kraken.”
“You helped a goblin butcher a kraken?” Celia repeated, wide-eyed with intrigue.
“He wasn’t really a goblin – that I know of, at least – he just looked like one.”
“He sounds so interesting!”
A bolt of envy jolted through Torin.
“He wasn’t! I’ll tell you about that oddball later, first let’s look at your gifts.” Torin wrinkled his nose. “Do you want to try on the necklace? Let me help you.”
“Why were you butchering a kraken? Do they eat kraken meat in Hebiwa?” Celia handed Torin the necklace before scooping her hair up out of his way.
“I’m not sure – I don’t see why not, it’s just like a squid. But I know that they use the kraken’s gladius – the hard structure inside the kraken’s mantle – for lots of things, like cosmetics and medicine.” Torin explained, racking his memory for the other uses Krinn had told him about.
“Look at you! It seems you learned a thing or two from that oddball goblin while you were butchering the kraken.” Celia mocked, playfully.
Torin, rosy-cheeked from Celia’s teasing (he couldn’t get anything passed her!), delicately slipped the necklace around her slender neck and fastened it closed while she admired the multitude of gifts.
“Is that–” Celia stopped short.
Celia’s eyes were round as coins, locked on the silver ring. Her body tensed, rooted to the spot. Torin’s heart panged, hoping beyond hope that Celia was overjoyed at the connotations of the ring, but knowing deep in the marrow of his bones that she was frozen in shock.
“It’s not,” Torin admitted. “But it can be if you want it to be.”
“I don’t.”
Torin was caught off guard by the hardness of Celia’s tone. He swallowed the knot lodged in his throat, disappointment making his heart sink to the bottom of his chest. They had spoken about marriage often over the years, and while Celia dreamed of one day marrying the jaeger, she had made no secret of her desire to wait for the right time. Torin respected her wishes, but he couldn’t help feeling disheartened. The right time never seemed to come, and marriage seemed to be getting further out of reach, a dream that they would never realise in this lifetime.
“Then it’s just a present.”
Celia sighed, relieved.
She turned around and noticed Torin’s eyes were locked on the ring, the thin band polished so it gleamed.
“Darling? Are you alright?”
Torin was quiet – stung.
“Darling?”
Torin swallowed, trying to find the words. “Is it … Is it really that repulsive of an idea, to marry me?”
“No, it’s not.” Celia’s tone was just as resolute as before.
Celia picked up the ring and slipped it onto her ring finger. Hope billowed in Torin’s chest and his heart swelled as he watched a smile spread across her face. Her honey-brown eyes sparkled as she regarded it, holding her hand out and turning it, watching the light catch on the slim silver band.
“One day our relationship will shift from professional to personal,” Celia winked wickedly at Torin. She turned back to the ring, tilting her head as she admired it. “It does look beautiful on this finger, doesn’t it?”
“Then keep it there.” Torin said, daringly.
“Bad for business.” Celia shook her head, moving the ring to the same finger on her other hand. “When all your grotesqueries are slayed and you’re ready to find somewhere to plant roots with me, I’ll put it back on my wedding finger.”
“I’ve been ready to plant roots with you for years.” Torin gently took her hand and glided his thumb over the ring. “I’ve wanted to make you my wife since the day we met.”
“Slay your monsters, Torin,” Celia said, softly. “Then we’ll find a home together. We’ll get married and have our army of little Torins, we’ll grow vegetables, keep chickens and goats – the whole lot! We’ll grow old and grey and forget everything except the fact we love each other. Slay your monsters first.”
*
