Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [113]
It was profoundly satisfying.
Once or twice, Aleksei shifted restlessly, glancing around as though to ask if I were ready to leave, but I wasn’t content until those chains were altogether gone forever, reduced to a seething mass of molten silver. Then, and only then, did I whisper in his ear that I was ready to go.
Outside in the cool air, it was hard to contain my exhilaration. Those hateful chains were gone, gone, gone. Oh, I knew they could be forged anew, but for now, they were gone. Even if the Patriarch found me, he couldn’t bind my spirit. Those chains would buy my passage out of Vralia. I laughed and spun around Aleksei in circles as he led us back to the narrow alley where I could release the twilight safely.
He smiled wryly when I did. “You look positively giddy, Moirin.”
“I am,” I admitted. “I’ll try not to look it.”
“Yes, do. It’s nice, though,” he added. “You’re right. Until we fled, I’d never seen you happy. I imagine…” He cleared his throat. “I imagine it would make a person want to go to any length to coax such a dazzling smile from you.”
I raised my brows. “Are you turning romantic on me after all?”
“I don’t know.” Aleksei frowned a little, nodding to himself. “Mayhap I am. It’s a bit like trying on a strange garment. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.”
“It looks well on you,” I said. “But if the fit doesn’t suit you, you needn’t keep it. However, since we’re posing as husband and wife, you may as well wear it a while longer.” I took his arm, resting my fingers lightly on his forearm. He gazed at my hand as though it were a foreign object. “Here.” I adjusted the angle of his elbow. “This is how you would escort your beloved, at least in Terre d’Ange.”
“Like so?”
I smiled at him. “Aye, perfect.”
Naamah’s gift stirred between us, coils as hot and bright as the molten silver roiling in the crucible.
Aleksei tensed, but he didn’t pull away from me. He returned my smile, and there was yearning in his eyes, but there was sorrow and regret, too. “Let’s find an inn, and a hot meal for you.”
“And a bath,” I reminded him.
“And a bath,” he agreed.
There were several inns to choose from in Udinsk. We found a quiet one on the outskirts of town run by a devout Yeshuite couple. They regarded me warily at first, but I kept my eyes modestly downcast and Aleksei’s earnestness soon won them over. It was too late for a bath that day, but they offered us an ample supper and a private room, with the promise of a bath on the morrow—a hot bath, if we were willing to pay extra.
“Can we, please?” I begged Aleksei. “I know we can’t afford to be wasteful, but just this once?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “All right.”
“Thank you!” I kissed his cheek, making him blush. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
It won a smile from the innkeepers. So they were not so dour after all that they could not be touched by a pair of young newlyweds in love, the shy husband indulging his foreign bride in a small luxury.
It was such a pleasant fiction, I almost wished it were true.
That evening we dined on roasted chicken generously basted with butter, the skin a crisp golden brown, with stewed cabbage and dumplings on the side. It tasted like the best thing I’d ever eaten, and when I complimented our hostess in my halting Vralian, she seemed genuinely pleased.
Even Aleksei relaxed over the meal, setting aside his abstemious discipline to eat with rare gusto. I was glad to see it. I knew what young men’s appetites were like. If I was hungry, he had to be ravenous. He was too young for the ascetic lifestyle he led. The hollows of his cheeks were too gaunt beneath those rugged cheekbones with their perfect D’Angeline symmetry, his rangy, long-limbed body too rawboned.
If he were my husband, I thought, I’d take better care of him. The thought filled me with unexpected tenderness.
“Moirin, why are you looking at me that way?” he asked.
I bent my head to my plate, knowing it was unfair to give him even a hint of false hope.