Oracles of Ice

Oracles of Ice 11

Aethelfrith awakened with a smile on his face. The sun streaming through the window shone on his skin, warming him. It had been nearly a moon since his last argument with Anya, and he felt things were finally getting better. He reached out to her side of the bed, but she was not there, so he sat up and looked across the room. Anya was seated by the fireplace, poking a stick into the flames. A large wool blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, and she rocked back and forth.

She coughed a few times, though it sounded to Aethelfrith more like a dog barking than a cough. He scooted to the end of the bed and let his feet fall to the floor. The movement drew her attention, and she looked up at him. He noticed her eyes were sunken in and there were large, puffy, dark circles beneath them. She looked weak and sad, and it troubled his heart.

"Are you ill?" he asked. "Should I call the plaith?"

Anya coughed into her hand and wheezed out a, "No."

"You don't sound well." He stood, keeping his blanket wrapped around his waist and waddled toward her in long awkward strides, kicking the blanket away from his legs as he moved. "I will send a runner."

"No. I'm fine. It's just a cough. Winter is upon us now, Aethel. It happens each coming of the cold."

Aethelfrith settled into a chair beside her and grimaced. "I know it happens, but you shouldn't have to suffer through it. I think the plaith will have some herbs or something that can ease the cough at least. I will send for him."

Anya gave him a stern look, and he sighed. There was no arguing with her when she had her mind set. And by the looks of it, he was already beaten before an argument could break out. Wanting to keep the peace, he ceded the fight to her, nodding at her insistent expression. She returned to poking the wood in the flames and yawned.

"You didn't sleep well?" he asked, trying to open up communication with her.

"No. I had dreams of blackness gripping my throat and choking me. It crept up my body from the earth, from somewhere deep in the darkness, slithering like a snake searching for prey. When I woke up, I coughed until I could barely breathe and decided it was time for a fire... I'm surprised I didn't wake you. The sun is high in the sky. I assumed you would be off for your duties."

"Not this morning. I told the men I wanted to spend time with you and Mek. Has he awakened?"

"At the stables with Joergen already. That boy is up before the sun and with his horse nearly every day now."

Aethelfrith nodded and looked around the room. Seeing the mess on the table, he gathered that breakfast had been served in silence, so as not to wake him, and Mek had been escorted out just as Anya had said. He saw frost around the windowpane and felt a draft. Winter would be upon them soon, and Mek would have fewer opportunities to ride Joergen. He decided it was good that his son made the most of the good weather days they had left before winter's chill bit down on them and the snows made it impossible to venture out. He also decided it may be a good time to try to bring down the remaining bits of separation between himself and his wife.

Leaving his blanket on the chair, he slipped off the seat and knelt down in front of Anya, laying a hand on each of her knees. He could feel the thickness of her petticoat beneath the blanket and the skirt of her dress, but it didn't dissuade his advance. Clothing could be removed as easily as it was put on.

"Anya," he cooed. "It's been a while." He lied to her. It had been a while—for her. Guilt played at the corner of his mind when he remembered the feeling of Gaielle's body beneath his as he satiated his lust with her flesh. His pulse quickened at the memory.