Inheritance

Chapter 31: Searing Passion

With the night over, Eory, Kori, and Pollyanna all rose.

The ball would begin when night fell, and they had hours to sweat out their nervous energy before the coming event.

Eory arose with the sun with deep circles under his eyes and saw that the clothes he had come in had been washed by the servants and laid out for him along with the clothes Kori had brought for him to wear to the ball at the foot of his bed.

With a stretch and a yawn, he began donning the green jerkin, red cloak, and brown breeches he had come in yesterday, and would save the other clothes for later that night.

He pulled on his breeches and then held out his jerkin in front of him, but was interrupted by the door being thrown open.

Pollyanna entered the room—wearing her same clothes from yesterday as well. She slammed the door shut behind her--not recognizing her own strength, which seemed to be a common trend with her.

At the sight of Eory's naked torso she thought to herself, he looks like a damned toothpick. She noticed how red with embarrassment he was, but still had no concern for his modesty. "Hurry it up. I've got a long day of making sure you don't get assassinated ahead of me."

Eory said quietly to her, "can you please give me a moment?"

"I can if you order me to, but I'd rather not leave you alone if I can help it." Pollyanna said with her arms crossed. At his silence and his embarrassed face, she sighed. "How about I just turn away?"

Eory smiled sheepishly and nodded.

Pollyanna turned away and faced the blue wall of the spartan guest quarters with her hand on her empty sheath.

Giving up her weapons was the requirement of entering the castle.

She could still feel the fury of having to give up them up pulsing through her veins. It was like they took away her identity when they took away her sword.

"Okay, you can look now." Eory told her in a moment.

She turned back around and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands folded in his lap. He was hunched over and looking... Incredibly small and unsure of himself.

I don't know what that waif was teaching him, but he behaves like a damned woman...

Pollyanna gazed at him with a conflicting feelings. The first was a kind of disgust that made her knit her brows. An Arrozan should be strong and hold their head high. They should not cower on the foot of a bed and keep their eyes down and shoulders hunched in shame.

The second emotion was something of a mystery to her and it made her eyebrows soften as well as her expression. She was enticed by his shy and sweet nature; she had never met someone like that. She thought that if he were strong and confident, cynical and knowledgeable, he would lose that kindness and innocence.

An unwanted thought stuck in her head; it would be a crime for him to become like the rest of us...

She did something very unlike herself and she knelt in front of him. Her face was pulled up into a smile as she straightened his shoulders and then flicked his forehead with her thumb and pointer finger—making him jump. "Are you nervous about tonight?"

Eory looked into her striking blue eyes and lowered his own in embarrassment. "Yes... I am. I—I'm really sorry for dragging you into this... I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing; I don't want you to die with me..."

Pollyanna remembered how she had grabbed him by the collar and scared him half-to-death the other day and felt ashamed of her actions. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have scared you the other day. I may not agree with your decisions, but I am sworn to protect you, regardless. It is not my place to object to them."

Eory looked into her eyes fearfully when she brought up the memory of how easily she had lifted him into the air and how easily she could have killed him if she wished. He let out a shaky breath and then looked down at his feet again.

She tilted his chin up gently--he gripped his blankets nervously in response. "Whatever happens, I promise I will never lay a hostile hand upon you again. A word of advice, however; an Arrozan never questions their own decisions—regardless of what their ugly, weathered old protector has to say."

Pollyanna began to rise to her feet, but was frozen in place as Eory reached out a hand.

He slowly placed it on her cheek with an intensity in his eyes that seemed to sear through her soul.

And she suddenly realized an obvious thing which she had managed to ignore but could no longer.

He looked upon her with eyes that no man should look upon a woman her age with. They were adoring and passionate; provocative and longing. He didn't just revere her like she thought he did--he was clearly in love with her.

And in her mind, her imagination took the moment further. She could envision herself letting go of the thing she craved most—power—and abandoning it for an impulsive moment with this young man she barely knew.

But with a gasp, she removed his hand with lightning quickness and then turned her back to him with her heart pounding wildly.

She heard the fairy say in his quiet and self-conscious way, "I don't think you're ugly and weathered—and I respect your opinion... I don't want you to stop voicing it. You can object to any decision I make; I actually care about what you think, unlike my family."

How foolish she had been. It was always so easy to tell when someone wanted her in the way he wanted her—and it was doubly easy to avoid people who did once she recognized their desires.

But this time was different. She didn't realize he wanted her because he had not looked upon her with the eyes of someone who did until he looked at her with those same eyes his ancestor did so long ago.

"You don't need to flatter me. I am a gray and weathered woman." Pollyanna wouldn't face him. She was afraid whatever face he had on would only confirm her suspicion that he had feelings for her.

Eory was silent for a moment as he stared at her back and her long, thick, hair. He felt his heart beating so quickly that he felt short of breath. His hands were sweaty as the sentence he wanted to say repeated over and over in his head, but couldn't escape his lips.

Your hair is like silver.

His mouth moved but every time he got close to saying it, his heart pounded all the harder until, finally, he whispered...

"Your hair is like silver..."

There was solid silence between them.

Pollyanna stared at the blue wall with pity in her heart. The waif's stories made this poor creature fall in love with a woman who any sane eighteen-year-old would never find attractive. In a moment, she recovered her gruff nature and lost her pity towards him. She snorted and replied, "you couldn't even get your hands through it."

She heard him stand up and listened to his quiet footsteps as he approached her from behind. "Can I try...?"

His hand reached toward her hair; his fingers outstretched and trembling--but she turned around and smacked it away. She backed away from him with genuine terror in her heart that she had not felt for what seemed like hundreds of years.

Eory looked up at her longingly and with embarrassment mixed with confusion.

Pollyanna cleared her throat after a moment. "I'm hungry, aren't you? Let's see if that waif can get us some breakfast."