Eona - Alison Goodman [67]
Bright heat rose through me, exploding into a choking laugh. “No,” I said. “No, we are not.” Involuntarily, my eyes flicked over to Kygo, the heat intensifying. “I am his Naiso. That is all.”
He nodded and poured the last of the liquid into the bowl. “Then if there is no physical bond, the measurements should be correct.”
I stared down at my muddied feet. Did a tender touch on the cheek count as a physical bond? Perhaps I should tell him. But how could I explain the pearl? Something had ignited within Kygo when I had caressed it. And, if I was truthful, something within me as well. I let the small acknowledgment settle into my spirit.
Dealing with Kygo had been much easier when I was Lord Eon. Admittedly, I had walked a deadly tightrope of disguise, but there had been none of this uneasy desire to touch and be touched. I knew about the physical act of love; once or twice on the salt farm I had accidentally come upon the hurried, furtive couplings of the other bond slaves. Did those acts arise from the same longing I felt in my blood when I touched Kygo? Yet at the same time we were barely friends. Allies, at best.
The physician carefully brought the filled bowl across to me. As he placed it on the low table, his apprentice slipped around the screen with a stack of cloth in his arms.
“Madina says the soup will be ready soon, master,” he said, and bowed.
The physician took the bundle, dismissing the boy with a flick of his fingers.
“My lady, once you have washed His Majesty, you must eat and bathe in our thermal waters to restore your energy. You are as important to this resistance as His Majesty.” He placed the cloths next to the bowl and bowed. “I must give my report to Viktor, but I will return soon. Do you have any questions?”
No questions, but I did have a confession. I forced myself to meet the man’s kind eyes. “I have not lain with His Majesty,” I said. “But he has touched me once with . . . gentleness.” I pressed my fingers against my hot cheek, remembering the soft caress.
The physician smiled. “A gentle touch does not affect my measurements.”
He bowed again, and backed around the edge of the screen.
I was alone with Kygo. I picked up a folded cloth and dipped it into the ginseng wash, keeping my eyes averted from his body. The fragrant water still held the soft sting of heat. I squeezed out the excess, juggling the cloth between my hands, and held it up for a moment to let it cool.
The anxious whispering in the main cave ebbed into silence. The physician must be consulting with Viktor. They had moved too far away to hear their conversation, but even from behind the screen I could feel the held breath of the waiting crowd.
Where to start the wash? My gaze skipped over the pearl and landed uncomfortably on the blanket across his hips. Perhaps I would start with his arms: they had strong meridian lines and did not have any intimate beginnings or endings.
I slid my hand under his right forearm, noting the strong flare of muscle from wrist to elbow, built from long hours with his sword, and the thick ridge of blue vein. From my studies, I knew the sun arm held three meridian lines: heart, lung, and vessel. The heart meridian, fed from the point of power in the chest, represented compassion and governed spirit. I glanced at Kygo’s face—even though he was lost in the shadow world, his features held nobility and determination. No doubt his heart meridian, which stretched from shoulder to ring finger, was strong and clear of blockage. I rested his arm along mine, the muscled weight of it bringing a sharp memory of Ido’s body pressing mine against the palace wall.
I paused, disturbed by the strange alignment of the two men in my mind. Both were tall and powerful, but Ido’s physicality always held menace. With a shiver, I pushed away the image of the Dragoneye. If he was still alive, I could do nothing for him at present. And if he was dead, then let the gods help us all.
I swept the cloth from Kygo’s shoulder to wrist, first following the meridian lines and then once again following the long,