Sentinelspire - Mark Sehestedt [60]
"Very well… Lewan." Though he could not see her face, he thought the sound of her voice held the warmth of a smile. A pleased smile. She gave him an odd shrug, but then he realized it was neither a shrug nor meant for him. She was undressing.
Lewan closed his eyes, but he could hear the sound of her silk dress peeling off her bare skin. His heartbeat and breath came faster.
"What are you doing? " he said.
"I am wearing a soaked dress in a room of stone," said Ulaan. "I'm cold. I will dry better without the wet fabric."
Lewan thought the room seemed a bit too warm, stone or no stone.
He gathered the fur coverlet into a bundle and tossed it over the holly bush at her. "Here. Wrap yourself in this." "But Lewan, what will you-?"
"I'm not cold," said Lewan. It was true. Lewan had spent countless hundreds of nights sleeping under the stars with no more than a tent or just his cloak and a blanket between him and the elements. This room, with its huge hearth and warm air flowing in through the walls, felt hot to him. Too close. Had Ulaan not been so frightened and so desperate to close off the balcony, he would have kept the doors open for the fresh air, wind and wet be damned.
He heard her wet dress hit the wall near where he had tossed his own clothes, then listened as her bare feet approached. His heart beat so hard he could feel the blood pounding in his ears.
"Do you mind if I sit while we talk?" Her voice came from the stool beside his bedside table.
He opened his eyes the smallest slit and saw that she was sitting there, wrapped from shoulders to toes in the fur coverlet. Her hair was still sodden, but she had pulled it back over her shoulders. Her forehead and cheeks still held a moist sheen from the rain. He closed his eyes again and laid his head back against the headboard.
"Tell me more of your rites," she said. "What happens in this Jalesh Rudra? Sauk, too, serves the god of the wild. During his holy rites, he goes onto the steppe to hunt. I have heard that he kills his prey and drinks their blood under the full moon-and his prey are not always animals. Your god… does he do these things?"
"No!" said Lewan, his face twisting in disgust. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Nothing like that."
"I didn't think so," said Ulaan, and for the first time that night he saw her smile. His breath quickened again, and the blood pounding in his ears began pounding in other places. "What, then? Tell me, Lewan."
Lewan swallowed and took a deep breath, praying that his voice would not shake. "My master and I seek out one of the sacred groves. We paint each other in symbols sacred to the Oak Father and make an offering of the leaves of Oak, Ash, and Thorn. Over running water, if it can be found. Then, when the Moonmaiden is at her height, the master of the ceremony plays the sacred pipes. If the Oak Father finds favor with the offering, he sends his messengers. They dance for us, and if I am found worthy, one of the messengers and I will, uh… c-commune."
"Commune?" asked Ulaan, her brow creasing in confusion.
Lewan looked away and hoped that in the warm light of the fire and candles, Ulaan could not see his blush. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
"Lewan?"
"Yes?"
"These messengers from your god? They wouldn't happen to be women, would they?"
Lewan's heart skipped a beat and he said in a hoarse voice, "Uh, spirits. Tree spirits. Or water spirits, maybe."
"You mean dryads?" said Ulaan.
Thunder rumbled in the sky outside, but the beating of Lewan's pulse almost drowned out the sound. "Uh, y-yes."
"Dryads take the form of women, don't they, Lewan?" Ulaan's voice seemed lower now. Husky and barely above a whisper. "Young women. Young, beautiful women. How do you commune with them?"
"Uh, I…" He couldn't bring himself to say it. Didn't know how to say it without sounding like a damned fool.
"Lewan?" Ulaan's voice sounded closer. Lewan opened his eyes. She was standing beside his bed, but the coverlet lay in a pile on the floor.
"Ulaan… I-"
"Lewan, do you