Episode 58: Waking (Camilla)

She felt good. Deep in her bones good. Life was perfect good.

She stretched out in her bed, yawned, bumped up against her…

The guy.

Oh no.

She’d stayed over.

She’d slept with someone.

She took mental stock of how she felt about that. She definitely hadn’t planned to when she came here last night. She’d gotten drunk and distracted and weirdly hungry and…

Okay.

So she definitely wasn’t at a place where she should have slept with a complete stranger. It was a bad idea. A glorious and deliciously bad idea, but still a bad idea.

She hadn’t had any pregnancy prevention tea either. She’d need to do that as soon as she got back from the palace.

In the meantime, there was no harm in taking in his scent. He smelled even better when she wasn’t drunk.

She opened her eyes to see if he looked better, too. Yep. Chiseled jaw, brown hair in a casual cut which framed his face, blue eyes.

He was reading. When he saw that she was awake he set his book down on the spindle-legged table next to the bed.

She smiled at him. She smiled because she liked his morning stubble, because he didn’t have a shirt on, because she only had good memories of last night. She wanted more.

“Morning,” she said.

She blushed.

She had no idea how to sleep with him now that she wasn’t drunk.

“Good morning,” he said. His voice was so warm. She loved the way he said his consonants, like a violin bow biting into the string.

He leaned down and kissed her, and then he ran his hand down her side and her stomach did some kind of weird flip-flop thing that made her accidentally gasp.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good. Really good. Confused.” Like about how a glass of wine was enough to get her that drunk.

He slid down in the bed so that their bodies aligned better, and turned his lips to her neck, kissing her from ear to jaw to collarbone. She leaned her head back, enjoying the sensation.

“Do you want to focus on being really good first?” he asked. He moved his lips all the way down her body. She kneaded her hands into his hair as he kissed her more.

“Yes,” she managed. She kissed his head and thought about the odds of meeting someone she liked this much while on a date with someone else. They had to be so small they weren’t even worth bothering with. Tiny. The kind of odds only someone like her mom, who worried about plans and contingency plans, would ever even account for.

But it had happened.

It had happened to her.

“Still really good?” he asked her.

She breathed all her happiness into one sigh. “Yeah. You?”

“Yes.” He leaned partway over her and kissed her again. “Would you like breakfast?”

“Yeah, but first…” she blushed. All the social embarrassment of her situation washed over her. Even she wasn’t oblivious to what, exactly, she’d done. “I forgot your name,” she admitted. “I’m not usually like this. I mean I am, with the forgetful. But the sleeping over thing…”

“Tarragon,” he said. His eyes searched her face for something.

Maybe he’d been made fun of for his name before.

It was a weird name, but it didn’t bother her. She had a brother with rotting carcasses in his room on a routine basis, nothing about Tarragon was going to shock her after Sawyer’s life choices.

“I’m Camilla,” she told him. She tried to sound casual and confident so he wouldn’t be worried about his name. She sat up. “Second thing…you have weird magic, because I don’t have a bond. Do you have…like….a reverse bond?”

Because really, she was an air fairy, but there was no mistaking the sparks that danced across her skin right now. They were hers, her magic, and she’d gotten them from him somehow.

“It is basically a reverse bond, yes,” he agreed. He grew sparks from his fingertips and danced them along the peaks of her sparks on her skin. The feeling was powerful, sensual. “Do you mind?” he asked.

“No, I don’t mind. I didn’t know that was possible. That’s really cool.” She kissed him again, because the fire-touch had done weird things to her body and her focus.

“Breakfast?” he asked. “Or would you like to stay in bed and be served?”

“Breakfast?” she suggested. She wanted to meet his family, and survive that, before going home to her own family.

Her mom would be freaking out by now.

“We can do lunch at my house if you want.” Her mom couldn’t flip if she met Tarragon and saw what a soft, kind face he had, or how he seemed to be in tune with Camilla’s everything. “My mom’s been dying for me to meet someone.”

Okay, so that was a lie. Her mom was dying for her to get herself organized and motivated, ducks in a row. She had a good feeling Tarragon could help her with that.

“I thought you met people all the time,” he said. His tone was teasy, but there was something hungry about how he said it.

Maybe he’d been as lonely as she’d been.

He reached for her clothes and slipped them onto her, kissing her and drawing shapes on her skin as he did.

“You know how to read,” she mused, searching for more about him, some key to why he was lonely. “How come your cousin doesn’t?”

“He had no reason to learn,” Tarragon said. He clasped the frogs on the front of her shirt and kissed her one last time. “My work requires the skill.”

She almost laughed. No one’s work required the skill, outside the ruling family. Even merchants just had to know how to count money, in the end. It wasn’t like there were vast libraries in the desert, or hundreds of schools where people like Tarragon could teach.

“I didn’t know there were jobs that did.”

She waited a minute to see if he’d share more, but he didn’t so she added, “Thanks for rescuing me last night. You didn’t have to.”

She was a little disappointed. She’d hoped he would share about his job and his life because she wanted to know and absorb everything about him and she couldn’t do that if he wasn’t open with her.

“I was too drawn to you to let him take advantage of you,” he told her.

She melted a little.

It was probably just a line, but it felt so good to hear…

When he kissed her, she kissed him back, enthusiastic. They were never going to make it downstairs, but she was okay with that.

He wasn’t, apparently. He held the door open for her.

The hall ceiling had a weird slant to it, like the roof of the house outside curved down just where the hall met the wall. No wonder she’d been so stumbly and disoriented last night.

Maybe she hadn’t been as drunk as she thought.

He led her down a narrow staircase with the same rough white walls and curved ceiling as the hall, and into the kitchen. Some people sat at a table, eating. It smelled delicious, very Lower Dell ethnic, strong spices and probably corn and rice even though it was breakfast.

There was the pale woman from last night, Tarragon’s aunt, sitting at the head of the table. Then there was a blonde girl, a red-haired boy about Mallory’s age, and a little girl around the same age as Silas.

Jentzen, to Camilla’s relief, wasn’t there.

“Camilla,” Tarragon said, “I’d like you to meet Tara and Annatto. And you’ve met my aunt.”

She had, but she couldn’t remember her name.

Another person walked in from the kitchen, a teenager. She had messy white hair and white skin and white lips and the pale red eyes that came with albinism.

She might have been even paler than King Meldrick, and that was saying something.

The aunt smiled. “We’re happy to have you here. So happy. These are my daughters, Veil and Gemma.”

Veil was the pale girl and Gemma was the toddler.

Gemma bounced up on her chair, some kind of red sauce on her face. “Hi!”

“Hi,” Camilla said. “I have a little brother about your age.” And absolutely no idea how to relax here.

The temperature of the room was weird. Not the actual cold-or-hot temperature, but the emotional temperature. Camilla felt like something was wrong and everyone knew it but her. Even Tarragon was tense.

He pulled out a chair for her and she sat, relieved that he sat next to her.

“Do you enjoy children?” The aunt asked.

“Does it matter?” Tarragon said, with an edge. “We’re just having breakfast.”

Camilla blushed. She didn’t want him fighting with his aunt.

“It’s okay,” she said. She squeezed his hand under the table. She’d always wanted a hand to squeeze at family dinners whenever everything got tense, and she finally had one. She smiled at the aunt. “I like kids, but I’m not the best caretaker.”

“Even with a baby brother?” the girl Tarragon had said was named Tara asked.

Tara and Tarragon. Someone really needed to get more creative with their naming structure.

Camilla’s parents liked to do M names for girls and S names for boys.

It was great, except that it left her out. It was like growing up with the constant reminder that she was pale and blonde and blue-eyed and not of them. All their other kids followed the naming pattern.

Sometimes she wondered if she was so distracted and incompetent because she couldn’t stand the reality of knowing her parents didn’t understand her.

That wasn’t fair.

She wasn’t prone to bouts of morosity. The alcohol must be wearing off, or something.

She forced herself to laugh, because she was happy to be here right now. She didn’t dislike her parents. She took another drink of her morning tea stuff. “Yes, it’s awful,” she told Tara. “I forget things that are supposed to be common sense to other people.”

“Excuse Tara,” Tarragon said dryly. “She may have earth magic, but it’s more of an earthquake than a rock.”

They must be siblings. That would explain why they didn’t get along that well.

“You don’t have any skills then?” Tara snipped. Camilla felt a blush creeping up her neck. She didn’t need Tarragon’s sister pointing out flaws that might make him realize she was a bad choice.

Tara continued, “Aside from somewhat useful if it’s short lived and low in responsibility?”

Camilla laughed again to hide her blush. “Not really.” Earth magic? Wait a minute… “I know you!” Camilla told Tara. “You were like one year behind me in school!”

“Yeah, I was.” Tara looked at her plate.

“Didn’t you wreck a classroom or something? That was great. No school for the rest of the day.”

It had been a fun day of hanging out by the pool and watching everyone try to figure out what to do with so much free time.

Tara and some other girl had been fighting over a guy. Neither of them won.

“Yeah, that was fun,” Tara agreed, like it wasn’t. And it probably wasn’t. While everyone else had hung out by the pool, Tara had probably been getting told off by Headmistress Watters. “Except I got kicked out.”

Ouch. Camilla thought back. Maybe she hadn’t seen Tara around after that day.

Camilla hadn’t been one of the gossipy students and she didn’t live in the dorms, and she and Tara were on different tracks, so they didn’t have classes together.

But yeah, she hadn’t been around after that.

“That sucks,” Camilla apologized. She rubbed her leg against Tarragon’s. “But your family’s nice.”

Tara’s eyes popped a little. “Nice? No they weren’t, they sold me.”

Sold her?

Camilla looked at Tarragon.

“She’s not a slave,” he defended.

Tara laughed.

The aunt turned toward Tara with a cold expression. “Would you prefer to eat downstairs?”

Tara stared at her plate and swallowed. She looked back up at Camilla with a forced smile. “Do you want to do something later? There are a bunch of movies.”

Camilla reached for Tarragon’s hand again.

She might be flighty and useless, but even she could tell something was wrong here. Tarragon took her hand willingly, but his grip was tighter, more tense.

“Sure,” Camilla said. She had a vague memory of trying to leave last night and being discouraged. Now she wanted to leave even more, take Tarragon somewhere quiet and private where she could ask him all these questions without his family around. “We’re going to my house for lunch though,” she stated with conviction. “So maybe tomorrow? Or later tonight, if we come back here?”

She squeezed Tarragon’s hand, and he squeezed back.

It was okay. Whatever was wrong, it was going to be okay.

“Maybe we should stay here for the afternoon?” Tarragon suggested. He was so mild and content, Camilla realized she was crazy to be worried. Maybe Tara was just an angsty person. She had destroyed a classroom, after all.

“I really can’t; my parents will worry,” she explained to him.

“I’ll send them a message for you,” the aunt offered. “How are your twin niece and nephew?”

“Who?” Camilla stammered.

She wasn’t about to tell this weird woman about Fort and Emma, or Ella and Jax for that matter. Her twin nieces and nephews weren’t anyone’s business outside of family until they were old enough to matter to the kingdom as heirs.

Then she remembered the other two, the new twins Spence had adopted.

“Oh, them,” she blurted out. “They’re not my niece and nephew. I mean they are, but not really. They’re adopted. They’re good, I guess.”

Tara stood and carried her plate to the counter in the kitchen. “Is anyone else finished?” she asked. “Annatto?” she said to the boy, “I’m free, if you want to hang out.”

The boy looked up and spoke for the first time: “I thought you were his,” he said in a soft but somehow surly voice. He looked back down at his plate.

“I’m available for a game or two with you,” Tara offered.

“You have training,” the aunt told Annatto. She turned her gaze to Tara. “I want you to teach Camilla about the house and expectations.”

Tara stood at the archway between the dining area and the kitchen. She gave Camilla a level look for a minute before she folded her arms and said, “You’re expected to stay here.”

She turned around and walked into the kitchen.

Camilla stared after her, unsure.

She looked at Tarragon, who was running his hand up her thigh. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Do you want to go back upstairs first?” he asked.

First before what? Before they talked? Before he answered her growing list of questions?

“Sure,” she agreed. She picked up her plate, since Tara had cleared hers before she left. “These go in the kitchen?” She hoped Tara wasn’t still in there.

“Yes.” He picked up his plate and walked out of the room with her.

She realized belatedly that she’d forgotten to thank the aunt for breakfast, but she didn’t think the aunt would care. Something was very wrong here. Something slippery that her brain couldn’t stand to think about.

“What did Tara mean?” she asked. She rinsed her plate in the sink.

Tarragon did the same, silent.

“Can we go upstairs?” he asked, once his hands were free.

Yeah. Upstairs to find out what was going on.

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