Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
He blinks at me. “Pepper? Apples?”
Grinning, I flounce to the root cellar in a swirl of skirts. “You don’t know the tradition? Okay, so after the Vestalin brides returned, a second feast was held, a betrothal feast. The brides wanted stalwart husbands, so each one took an apple and studded it with peppercorns. Each suitor would take a peppercorn and pull it free from the apple with his teeth, and bite down on it. If he sneezed or spat it out, he was eliminated from consideration.” I pause. “But I guess you don’t know much about the Feast traditions, right?”
“Yes, I stopped listening after the slaughter of my ancestors,” he says dryly.
I make a face at him. “Well, anyhow, the tradition is that those at court flirt by studding apples with peppercorns and handing them to a man they’re interested in. If he’s interested back, he takes a peppercorn from the apple with his teeth. It’s truly a lot of fun.” I sigh, eyeing our dwindling supplies in the root cellar. “No apples left, I’m afraid.”
“Sorry to disappoint, princess. If it makes you feel better, we have more stew to eat.”
More stew. I bite back a sigh. While I am thrilled with every bite of it, simply to have good, warm food, sometimes the monotony bothers me. “Stew is a celebration all its own,” I say cheerfully. “Especially when you’re cooking.”
Nemeth smiles at me.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
We head back upstairs and have a meal of leftover stew. The day is miserably cold, so I huddle under the blankets and nap while Nemeth pulls out one of his books and reads by the fire. It’s a lazy day, but it’s too cold to do much. I think of my sister back at Castle Lios and wonder if she’s enjoying the holiday, or if she misses me. Is she eating sweetcakes and drinking mulled wine? Is Balon eating peppercorns out of the apples of other ladies? Do I even care since he’s abandoned me? I didn’t expect him to wait seven years for me, but now that he’s the one that showed up to visit, I’m annoyed that he’s wandered away.
Seven years is a long time to miss out on celebrations and parties. Seven years in my prime, too. When I get out, I will be thirty-one, and will flirting and dancing seem frivolous and silly? Will everyone be expecting me to settle down? My thoughts take a depressing slant and so I fluff my pillow and go back to sleep.
A hand gently shakes me awake a short time later. “Candra.”
Nemeth. I inhale, stretching…and pause, because I smell onions? I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “What is it?”
He holds an onion out to me, the source of the smell. Studded into the surface with bits of wood serving as toothpicks? Peppercorns. He’s made me a feast apple, but since we have no apples, it’s a feast onion.
I giggle at the sight of it, feeling perilously close to crying with joy. “You made me an apple.”
“You were so sad at missing the holiday, I figured we could have one of our own without assigning it to a particular historical figure. Nothing says we cannot celebrate the end of winter, just the two of us.” His hard face is impassive, but his eyes gleam with amusement. “I will not celebrate that man, but I will celebrate at your side.”
I clutch the peppercorn-studded onion to my chest, utterly touched. “Thank you, Nemeth.”
“What would you like to do for your holiday? Since there is no one to flirt with but me, you cannot play your regular games.” His cloak sways, as if his wings are twitching nervously underneath.
“I can’t flirt with you?” I tease, hugging the onion as if it’s made of gold. I’m just so happy. “You wouldn’t eat a peppercorn for me?”
His wings move again, a sure sign that he’s nervous. It’s his way of blushing, I think. “If you want me to, I will.”
I beam at him and wink, holding out the onion. He takes it from my hand, his fingertips brushing over mine, and then he studies it as if trying to decide which peppercorn he’ll eat. Nemeth finally lifts the onion to his lips and plucks one of the peppercorns off it with his tongue, chewing.
“You did it,” I crow, delighted. I clap my hands. “Now the rules say we have to be lovers.”
He coughs, choking on the pepper in surprise, and I burst into a fit of laughter. Nemeth laughs, too, and the room feels full of happiness even if there’s no feast to celebrate. We don’t need one after all. We have each other for company, and full bellies. It’s enough for me.
Nemeth’s cloak practically shivers, and he sits down on the bed next to me, handing back the onion. “What else do you do on this holiday?”