Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
I caress Kalos’s cheek and run my fingers over his skin as I pull his clothing off him, describing what I’m doing aloud. It’s not quite like undressing a mannequin. If I lift his arm, he doesn’t fight me, just raises it without protest. Getting his pants off is a little trickier, but I manage, and he’s left in nothing but a paper-thin pair of drawstring drawers that he must have gotten at Seth’s keep. I’m tempted to wash them on his behalf, but I don’t know how he’ll feel about that invasion of privacy. He’s not an invalid, and he’s got a lot of pride when he’s awake and cognizant. I opt to leave them, bundling warm blankets around his near-naked form once I’ve stripped him down.
I’m tempted to kiss his lips as I part but fight the urge.
As I pile the laundry in my arms, I notice Omos watching us out of the corner of his eye.
The next morning, the sun dawns bright and cheery, and Kalos is awake. He pokes me out of my sleep, leaning over my cot as I yawn and rub my eyes. “My shirt smells like weeds.”
“Your shirt smells like herbs,” I correct. “Good morning.”
“It’s wrinkled.”
“It is, but it’s nice and clean and probably feels good against your skin,” I counter, sitting up. “I see you’re back to yourself. Feeling better?”
He fusses with the cuff of his sleeve and shrugs. “Thank you. For cleaning it.” He pauses. “I still don’t like the wrinkles.”
“I’ll see if Omos has a suggestion on how to prevent them,” I say easily. I’m used to Kalos being grumpy over small things. It’s not that the shirt really bothers him. It’s that he doesn’t know how to express himself or start a conversation. This is just him noticing his laundry. “If you want to take it off, I can probably find you a monk robe to wear.”
Kalos gives me a narrow-eyed look. “Absolutely not.”
Chuckling, I toss the blankets back and get to my feet. I slept in my ruined dress because I had nothing else to wear, but my other outfit is clean now—and wrinkled, can’t forget that—and I change into it behind one of the heavy bookshelves. I emerge to put on my boots.
“You smell like goats,” Kalos comments, watching me lace my boots.
“That’s because there are goats all over the place here,” I say, laughing. “And you love goats, so you should enjoy my smell.”
When I look up, there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Perhaps I do.” He follows me as I move to the door. “The monk is outside. Something about putting straw down in the goat pen because of the mud.”
“He could probably use some help, then.” Not that I love farm work, but I don’t want to be sitting inside while the old man is working away in the goat pen. It feels all kinds of wrong. “Maybe you could take them out to the pasture so we can work faster? You’ll like spending time in the sunshine with Dingle. I bet he misses you.”
“Are you trying to push me around?” Kalos asks, even as he follows me out the door.
“I would never.”
He snorts. But as we part, he reaches out and caresses my braid. His hand slides along my arm, as if he’s reluctant to let go of me.
And I feel a little thrum of happiness in my belly.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
The day is a lovely one. The sun is shining high in the sky, the occasional fluffy cloud drifting past. Kalos takes the goats out into the nearby pasture as requested, and he sits in the grasses, watching them as they play and climb atop a few old barrels. Omos and I have the dirty work, but I don’t mind. It seems a small price to pay for how kind he’s been to us. We pull hay from the old barn, and it’s stacked in tight, heavy blocks. I use the pitchfork to separate the hay and pitch it into a wheelbarrow while Omos spreads the loose hay in the pen to dry the churned mud.
It’s hard, itchy work, and by the time we’re done, I’m sweaty and covered in hay, and desperately wanting a real bath. I wipe at my brow and take the dipper of water that Omos holds out to me.
“Do you need to attend to your lord?” Omos asks, watching me closely.
“Hm? Oh, no. He’s fine.” I wave a hand at his question. “He’s out playing with the goats. I think he likes them better than people.”
“But he’s better this morning?” the monk prompts.
I nod. “The fugue state hits him out of the blue and he’s not himself for a day or two, but then he’s back to normal. It’s just part of his curse, I suppose.”
As I finish drinking, Omos returns the dipper to the water bucket and hesitates. “You know…I have not had the opportunity to meet with an Aspect of Apathy until now. Most remain in one place or quickly depart this realm.”