"Stop calling me 'master.' I am not your master."
She was silent a moment, then said, "What shall I call you?"
"Lewan," he said. "My name is Lewan. I have-uh, had a master. But I am no one's master."
"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 think I am beautiful?"
She crawled into bed beside him, and he answered her.
Chapter Twenty
20 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) Sentinelspire
When Lewan woke the next morning, he lay in bed with his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of Ulaan nestled in his arms. She was very warm, and he could smell a flowery scent in her hair. He enjoyed a moment of sheer contentment, of wonder almost, and then the realization of what he had done hit him. All his life with Berun, learning from his master, he had prepared for last night, for the Jalesh Rudra, when he would become a man and fully enter into communion with the Oak Father. But last night…
No, not just last night. Four days ago, his master had died, consumed by the very earth that he had held so sacred. Lewan had been unable to celebrate the Jalesh Rudra through no fault of his own. That choice had been taken from him. But did that excuse what he had done? He had sworn his life to the Oak Father-his spirit, his mind, and his body. Those who walked this sacred path swore an oath of chastity, of complete faithfulness to the divine, pledging themselves for the servants of the Oak Father alone. Last night was to have been the final consummation of that oath. Instead, he had chosen a different consummation.
Ulaan moaned softly in her sleep. She snuggled closer, and he felt the soft smoothness of her skin rubbing against his own, touching him in places that no other person had ever touched.
He opened his eyes, and Talieth was standing at the foot of the bed between the oak and holly. Lewan gasped. Talieth stood with her back straight, arms crossed under her breasts, looking down on Lewan and Ulaan. The green of her dress was just a shade darker than the leaves of the miniature oak.
"Dress yourself," she said. When Lewan showed no sign of obeying, her eyebrows rose slightly and her chin jutted out. "Now."
Lewan scrambled out of bed, too frightened to even care about his nakedness. Ulaan moaned softly in her sleep, turned over, and lay still.
"I-" Lewan began, but Talieth cut him off.
"I said dress yourself." She kept her voice low, though Lewan could not believe it was out of concern for the girl's slumber. "We will speak on the way."
Someone had brought fresh clothes for both him and Ulaan. Who could have-?
Talieth walked across the room, sparing him a sidelong glance, and placed one hand on the doorknob. Quick as he could, Lewan pulled on the fresh clothes-loose-fitting linen trousers, a shirt of black silk, soft fur-lined boots, and a robe with a deep hood. The robe was well crafted, but of plain soft wool and unadorned. It seemed entirely out of place over such finery. When he was finished, Talieth looked him over, gave a curt nod, then led him out of the room.
It was the first time he'd seen the hallway. The walls and ceiling were crafted of the same stone as his room, but black tiles so smooth that they reflected the lamplight covered the floor. The hall wound round the inside of the tower. Doors lined either side at regular intervals.
"Follow me," said Talieth, and she started walking.
Lewan scrambled to keep up. "Lady, I, uh… that is-"
"Is this about the girl?"
"Y-yes."
"Put it out of your mind," said Talieth. "Ulaan was sent to serve your needs. Judging from what I saw, she is doing so. But if she displeased you, we'll find you another."
Lewan opened his mouth to reply, but then realized he had no idea what to say-and that Talieth was leaving him. So he simply followed her down the hallway.
Talieth led him down a long series of stairs winding around the inside of the tower. In a large hall at the base of the tower, she stopped before two massive doors and pulled a heavy cloak and hood of dark green velvet off a rack beside the door. She turned and faced Lewan as she put them on. "Pull up your hood," she said.