A Hint of Frost: Araneae Nation ( Book One) (5 page)

Shock and stress would have reduced my ability to produce the hormone, or at least any usable amount. Without it, even a room full of my best spinners’ production would be a tenth of what I could make it. In that respect, she was wise to attempt a compatible match for me as well.

As I worked, I felt Rhys’s eyes on me. I glanced up once to see a grimace pulling his expression tight. I’d almost asked if he wanted a chair or an escort into the great room, when I realized his lip curled in reaction to every touch, no matter how innocent, I gave the spinners.

What drug was in that male’s venom that I found his jealousy oddly endearing? Why, as my mouth brushed another male’s cheek, did I wonder how his skin would feel beneath my lips?

Chapter Three

Firm tugs on a ribbon left in my hair from this morning’s ceremony brought my head up and centered my hazy focus on Henri. Straightening after I’d been hunched over for the past several hours hurt. Blurry-eyed, I ground my palms into my eye sockets, but I still saw double.

“You’ll need this tonight.” He placed a clay pot in my palm.

The smell wrinkled my nose. “Is this another of your concoctions?”

“Sister dear, I’m no Armand. Even Channing spins a sight better than I do.” He tapped the jar. “Herbs are much more cooperative. Though if you’re too afraid to give the balm a try…”

“No. I’ll do it.” Thank the gods he was a skilled herbalist. His threads were atrocious. I winced as a shrill whistle rent the air. “Your experiments haven’t killed me.” I frowned. “
Yet
.”

I dabbed at the lid where oil seeped beneath the cap. It burned my fingertip like mint. While I rubbed the dab between my fingers, a broad arm wound around me, plucking the container from my grasp.

“What’s in this?” Rhys gave it a sniff. “Comfrey leaves?”

Henri lit with enthusiasm. “In part it is, yes. It also contains mint as well as other soothing herbs.” He assured Rhys, “I’ve tested it myself, of course. I’d never give Lourdes a balm I hadn’t tried.”

Rhys tucked the tin into a small leather pouch slung around his hips. For the first time, I noticed he still wore the white linen kilt from this morning’s ceremony. His bare knees drew my attention to the stark maleness of the coarse hair covering his legs. Heat blazed into my cheeks. Exhaustion must have loosened my mind, because I hadn’t made such a frank assessment earlier.

As if in a daze, I noted the way his bronzed skin contrasted with the white of his bloused shirt. Though the fabric was stained reddish brown in places, my gaze skimmed over those spots. His leather was all black, from the pouch to his scabbard, down to his boots. Only his emerald eyes broke the monotony of his attire.

Cursing my poor manners, I realized he must have no less formal clothes with him. I would see that was remedied. We were spinners, after all, and clothing was a necessity. Perhaps, in this case, it was an indulgence as well. The thought of outfitting Rhys in clothing I’d had a hand in making appealed to me more than it should have.

Experience helped me estimate the breadth of his shoulders and his inseam. Eyeing the hem of his kilt, I admitted a certain curiosity as to what lay beneath it.

“What is its purpose?”

Rhys’s voice pulled me from my slow perusal. Though he held the pot, he stared at me.

I’d been caught. I stifled a dry cough. If I heated any more, I’d burst into flames.

“Show him your hands,” Henri said.

Sensing my reluctance, he snared my wrist and held my hand before Rhys. Reaction absent in his previous inspection flared now. He caught my wrist and turned my hand over in his.

“Your fingertips are blistered.” His touch hovered over my skin. “I should have seen to your care.” His soft hold made me forget the furrows crossing my palm. “How bad is the pain?”

I shared a surprised glance with Henri. I blinked up at Rhys. “It hurts a little.” He slanted his eyes, and I confessed. “I don’t think I’ve ever hurt so much. Are you happy now?”

His brow creased. “Why would your pain please me?”

His honest confusion made me fumble for a response. “I didn’t mean that I thought you enjoyed my pain.” He waited as I tripped over words. “I meant that—I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Understandable.” He lowered my hand with a frown but kept hold of it. He asked Henri, “How much does she need, and how often should I apply the balm to her fingers?”

Henri’s mouth slackened as he glanced between us, the question clear in his eyes. He must have been as surprised as I was to hear Rhys planned to play nursemaid. I gave him a nod.

“She should coat her fingers before bed and then wash the remnants off in the morning.”

“Sounds simple enough.” Rhys glanced around the room. “The whistle I heard, what does it mean?”

“It means the day’s done.” Henri rubbed his face. “Thank the two gods for it.”

Armand strode over, slapping Henri on the back. “It also means it’s time we eat. No worries on your account, Rhys, I spoke with the matrons and asked they prepare a dish suited to you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We eat dried meats and grains during the winter months, but this is a night meant for celebration. We’re to have fresh roast. I requested it prepared rare.”

“Thank you,” Rhys said.

For a moment, I thought I glimpsed disappointment, but that made no sense. Grains and vegetables, a bit of fruit, those weren’t his staples. Mimetidae were carnivorous, weren’t they? There was much I didn’t know about him, and the only way to learn was to ask, a daunting task.

I settled on a simpler question, this one for my brother. “How is Channing?”

“As well as can be expected.” Armand sounded tired. “All things considered.”

“Where is Pascale?” I asked.

“I had her escorted to her room,” Armand said, “while I took Channing to his nursemaid.”

“It’s for the best.” Henri glanced between me and Rhys. “She was out of line, with both of you.”

“She’s young,” Rhys said gruffly. “Hope is a fragile thing, easily crushed.”

I stared at him. His experience sounded personal, and it made me curious as to what he’d once wanted and gone without. His tone led me to believe he considered hope another wasted emotion his clan was better off for lacking, and I wondered how he existed without it.

Dinner was mercifully subdued, if you discounted the open stares from some of the youths as they got their first look at a Mimetidae warrior’s dining habits. Not to say Rhys did anything to encourage them, and I truthfully wasn’t any better. His presence alone distracted me.

When he excused himself after eating, I stared after him, as did most of the diners.

His exit was a long one. Instead of a dining room, we had more of a dining hall, and the table stretched so far to accommodate us all, the end was not in sight from the head where I sat.

Curiosity hung so thick in the air, I tasted it. Rhys was the first of his clan bound to ours, and the whole of the table paused with their forks mid-bite to watch him leave as though he were the most exotic sight they’d ever seen. Perhaps he was. Their reactions
did not
make my fingers curl with the urge to strap blinders onto the ogling females. Had they no manners at all?

Rhys must have felt the hall’s attention aimed between his broad shoulder blades, but if he did, he gave no sign of annoyance. After Pascale’s tantrum, the staring might be preferable.

“It’s rude to gawk.” Armand, who sat to my right, elbowed me.

I was annoyed at having an accusation similar to the one I’d flung at Rhys hurled at me.

Yet he carried on, undaunted. “You’re not afraid of him.” It didn’t sound like a question.

I smoothed a hand down my neck, where Rhys’s fangs had pierced me. “I think it’s his venom.” I searched for marks that were no longer there. Araneidae were nonvenomous, so I hadn’t known what to expect. I assumed Mother and Father had shared a similar bond, and that they would have educated me in this if they’d lived long enough. “It binds nested pairs together.”

“I see.” He gave me a speculative look.

I didn’t care for it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I just—” He pointed past me. “Look. There comes Rhys.”

I dropped my arm and turned, expectant, but Rhys was nowhere in sight. Armand’s laughter made me tighten my jaw. So much for him being my more mature brother.

“You should have seen your face.” Glee shone in his eyes. “I do believe you have a crush on him.”

When his mirth rocked him forward, I popped the back of his head.
Brothers
.

I scolded him. “You’re not half as amusing as you think you are.”

“I beg to differ.” He pointed again.

“I’m on to your tricks.” I snorted. I wouldn’t fall for them a second time.

“What tricks would those be?” Rhys’s voice came from beside my ear. He’d bent over my chair so when I turned my head, our cheeks brushed. “Well?” His breath smelled of anise.

“Nothing.” I spoke softer than I’d meant to. His stubble grazed my skin and stung in an unfamiliar way. “He suffers the common brotherly malady of thinking he’s funny when he isn’t.”

“She has no sense of humor,” Armand said. “She’s the least agreeable of the five of us.”

“Perhaps I should be in on the joke?” Rhys’s interest stirred mischief behind my brother’s eyes. “Then I could be the judge.”

“It’s like this—” Armand began.

I slapped a hand across his mouth. “Unless you want me to tell him about the time—”

He peeled my hand aside. “
No
.” He cleared his throat. “No. We’re even. I’ll behave.”

“Doubtful,” I muttered as chimes rang throughout the room, signaling the meal’s end.

“I suppose dinner has ended.” Rhys startled me by pulling my chair back with me in it.

“Yes, it’s time to gather in the great room.” I accepted his hand and stood.

“Are we expected to attend?” His arm wound around my waist and tucked me close.

Moisture left my mouth parched and my voice hoarse. “Yes.”

My first lie to Rhys, and it unsettled my stomach. Although the evening gatherings required the maven’s presence, my presence, no one would expect me to remain for the stories and songs. Not while the tall warrior at my side continued staring at me with that half smile on his face and a wicked gleam in his eye.

Whatever Ulrich, the youths’ tutor, had planned, I hoped his program stretched for long hours past my bedtime. Surely if the night dragged on much longer, Rhys would tire. He’d see sleep was a better alternative to his plans, and then tomorrow, well, I’d think of something.

Rhys’s chest vibrated with laughter. He knew I was stalling. He must. Why he didn’t press the matter confused me as much as everything else about him. His actions went against the grain. Where I had expected a savage, I found quiet manners. Where I expected rudeness, I found kindness. His behavior today had been model compared to that of my siblings. My steps slowed.

“Is something wrong?” His grip loosened as he scanned our surroundings.

“It’s…” I gestured toward the room we must pass after leaving the hall and took a steadying breath. “This was my parents’ bedroom.” I smoothed my palm across the raised panels. “You said you wanted to see inside.” I withdrew my key, twisting as I fumbled with the locks.

Tremors in my hand rattled the knob, my limp grip making it impossible to turn.

“Let me help.” Reaching around my side, Rhys did the job for me.

When the door burst open, it was on a breath of stale air smelling of Mother’s powder and Father’s licorice candy. The room was as I’d left it, as they had left it every morning before their rooms were tidied. Covers rumpled, clothes from the previous day tossed over the backs of chairs. Mother’s brush sat on her nightstand. Father’s candy dish was uncovered, and the book he’d been reading sat beside it. I allowed myself a moment of imagining they would walk through the door at any moment. It was simple. Father would hug me close…Mother would kiss my cheek…

Rhys’s voice ripped me from my fantasy. “Who found them?”

“I did.”

“Why had you come to their bedroom?” He began his inspection. “This happened late last night?”

“Father said he and Mother wanted to speak with me in private. He said Mother still felt ill. That I should wait until she was in bed and resting while we chatted. So I came late.”

“She’d been sick?” He didn’t have to say the words. I knew what he must be thinking.

“She fell ill that morning. She’d been spinning in here.” I pointed toward the spinning wheel. “The older a maven gets the more hormones she produces until her silk supply doubles.”

Rhys made a slow circuit of the room, paying special attention to the wheel. Bending down, he reached beneath the chair and picked a scrap from the floor. When he stood, a lock of braided hair was in his hand. Shades lighter than mine, it was paler even than Mother’s had been.

“This isn’t yours.” He turned it over in his hand. “Your mother’s perhaps?”

Without realizing it, I’d touched my own hair. “No. I…got my dark color from her.”

“Would your father have had a reason to own a lock of another female’s hair?”

The bottom dropped from my stomach. “If you’re implying my father had some other—” I waved my hand, searching for a word harsh enough and coming up blank. “My parents were devoted to one another. Father had room in his heart for only one female and that was Mother.”

Crossing to him, I examined the braid. The cut ends were bound by silk, and I’d have known the spinner even if I hadn’t combed Pascale’s golden hair since childhood. Each spinner’s silk was unique, and I’d been taught subtle nuances of coloration and composition since birth. Since I’d used my siblings for practice, I knew their silks the best.

“This is Pascale’s hair, and her silk.” Both slid easily between my fingers.

“Why would her token be in your parents’ room?”

The lock tumbled from my hand. Only Rhys’s nimble fingers saved it from hitting the floor. “I’m not sure.” She wouldn’t have flaunted such a gift. “Perhaps Mother confiscated it?”

“It makes sense.” He returned it to me. “She’s too young to offer such a favor.”