Nen and Anani Read online

  I spring into action, throw the blanket off my shoulders, rush across the floor, and climb the ladder three rungs at a time, half expecting to find him being mauled by a bear or another wild animal. But when I reach the loft, he’s alone.

  He lies sprawled on the bed, throwing his head back and forth. His face is set in tense lines and he has kicked off his blanket, revealing an expanse of naked flesh. It’s freezing upstairs, and gooseflesh covers him everywhere I look. Even in the dark, I notice a blue tinge to his skin. I step closer and carefully lay my fingers on his forearm, but immediately jerk back my hand.

  He is cold as ice.

  I pull his sheet over his naked body, but it’s thin and doesn’t offer much warmth, so I hurry back downstairs. I pick up the blanket and get several more from the daybed. I let my gaze sweep the room and it lands on a pile of firewood under the ladder.

  After hanging the blankets over a rung, I grab an armful of wood and kneel by the big fireplace, where I quickly build a fire, hoping that the frigid air hasn’t pressed down too far in the chimney to get it started. I bite down my impatience, light a stick, and hold it high. I count to a hundred in my head several times until I’m satisfied. After adding more sticks, I send out a plea.

  “Spirit, you better make this fire start. I have no time to waste.”

  I’m not in the habit of speaking to the Spirit, so this is probably one of the saddest pleas she’s ever gotten, but it will have to do.

  It seems she listens, because the fire roars to life. I leave the blankets where they are and rush upstairs without them. My movements never falter as I wrap Anani’s sheet around him and lift him as though he is made from the most delicate glass. He moans and throws his arms around my neck, but his eyes remain closed. I don’t detect a shift in his emotions and I’m confident I haven’t woken him.

  I cradle him against my chest and tears rise in my eyes. I’m touching the Vasilieu. Anani. I’m touching my Anani. The feeling of his body against mine makes my knees buckle in a way not even the Vasilissa can manage.

  I make my way downstairs, careful to not jostle my precious cargo. His breathing grows more regular with every step, but he still clings to me as if he’s drowning and I’m his lifeline.

  I put him in the nest of pillows. He whimpers when I let go.

  “Hush now, I won’t leave you,” I whisper. Maybe it’s my imagination, but my words seem to settle him.

  Quickly, I put the blankets over him, making sure he’s covered from chin to toes. I place another log on the fire and stir it before walking to the cooking area to make myself another cup of tea.

  While my beverage is steeping, I refill the kettle so there will be hot water if Anani wakes up. Then I rejoin him, sitting cross-legged on the floor by his head. As I sip my tea, I don’t take my eyes off him for a second. He doesn’t toss and turn any longer, just lets out a quiet whimper from time to time, but as soon as I touch him, he grows silent.

  His hair reminds me of the beams of Lady Luna filtering through the foliage in the forest on cloudless nights, and I brush it away from his face, grimacing when a silken strand snags on my hand that’s more used to digging in soil or pulling out weeds than touching something as delicate as Anani.

  Except…something tells me he’s not as fragile as he seems, and it would be a mistake to treat him like that. The look on his face before he retired to bed was fierce. Defiant. Telling me not to patronize him or utter platitudes.

  There’s not a trace of that look now when his face is finally relaxed in sleep, but I’ll be wise to remember it. To never underestimate this man who was turned away from his home before reaching adulthood. Being forced to learn how to take care of oneself—even if not lacking for wealth—builds character. And I can tell Anani has it.

  It makes me proud, even though I’ve had no hand in it. He created this life and home for himself. Without help.

  Speaking of help. Where is his valet? I’ll have to ask Anani on the morn.

  My mug is empty, and I set it on the floor at a safe distance from Anani. I curl up next to him and close my eyes.

  * * * *

  It’s still dark when I open them again. I blink, having no idea how long I’ve drowsed. The fire is still burning bright, but Anani is no longer sleeping in the nest of pillows. I leap to my feet and look around, but my alertness fades as soon as I spot him by the small window. A blanket is wrapped around his narrow frame, the rough material making him look smaller somehow.

  I approach him, stepping loudly so I won’t startle him. “Anani?” I stop next to him. His face betrays nothing of the overwhelming sadness emanating from him.

  “I cannot believe I did this again,” he says in a flat voice.

  I curl my hands into fists, but the temptation is too great. I rest a palm on the small of his back. Gulping down a mouthful of air, keeping it trapped in my lungs, hoping he won’t pull away.

  He doesn’t. Instead, he leans closer and the air escapes me with a loud whoosh. “I’m sorry,” I say, but the words seem inadequate even to my own ears.

  “I thought I had learned to control it.”

  “Maybe you’re just overcome with everything. With me showing up unannounced on your doorstep. With the news of your mother. With the prospect of walking the bridges. Maybe it will pass, and you will regain control again tomorrow.” I snap my mouth shut around the deluge of words.

  “Perhaps,” he says, but I don’t think either of us has much faith in my words. “I cannot believe you are here. So many rotations…”

  I desperately want to know the end of the sentence, but he doesn’t speak more. A heartbeat later, he leans in as if he wants to take advantage of my body heat. I gladly share it with him.

  “Nen?”

  “Yes?”

  “I do not think we will be able to leave tomorrow. Look.” He points into the darkness. “It is already knee-deep in places. And many hours before lightbreak. If this continues, we will be lucky if we can even get out of the cottage.”

  I hum in agreement. “I think…”

  “What?”

  “I think the Vasilissa knew this was going to happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before I left, she said, ‘It will take some time before you will be able to return.’ I didn’t understand what she meant at the time, but maybe…maybe she foresaw the snow?”

  He leans his head against my shoulder and my heart stutters. “Are you saying Maman has the seer gift?”

  “I wouldn’t know, my Vasilieu. But I was taught from a very young age that the only being more powerful than the Vasilissa is the Spirit.”

  “Hmm, yes, that is what we were taught. But we shall see.”

  “We shall.”

  “And my name is Anani.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”

  “I know.”

  The snow shows no sign of abating. Whatever happens tomorrow, we need our rest, so I steer Anani back to the pillows and he lies down without protest. I add more logs to the fire, and when I’m done, his eyes are closed.

  “Stay,” he says.

  I do. I lie on the floor behind him. Close, but not invading his space.

  Without turning around, he pulls off one of the many blankets and hands it to me. I cover myself with it, but it takes a long time before sleep finds me. I’m reluctant to close my eyes in fear of waking up all alone tomorrow and find that I only dreamt about seeing Anani—touching Anani. Again.

  Chapter 4

  The morn has broken and Anani is already up next time I awake. He points me in the direction of the privy and I’m relieved to finally be able to empty my bladder. I splash water on my face—it’s warm, he must have just poured it in the flagon—and pull on my last pair of clean trousers and a faded tunic before joining him in the cooking area.

  “I made first meal,” he says. “Do you want tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He’s dressed as simply as yesterday in a long-sleeved tunic and thic
k stockings pulled up to his knees over his britches. His long hair is arranged in a complicated braid and hangs down his back.

  I swallow. I never expected to see him dressed in coarse commoner’s clothing, but the sight of his stockinged feet—the socks are clearly handmade and knitted in every available color—makes my stomach settle. As if this is how it’s supposed to be.

  In his official clothes, the kaftan in the blues, greens, and aquamarines of the ocean only a few Elemiians have ever seen, he was truly regal. He was The Vasilieu. The first known male child ever born to a Vasilissa. But here in the humble cottage, dressed in a tunic even my mother would have discarded, he’s just Anani. The most beautiful being under the stars. Owner of my heart.

  As he pours hot water over the fragrant tea leaves in a large clay pot, I force myself to look away, walk to the window, and peer out. My heart sinks to my feet and I gasp.

  “I know.” The flatness is back in Anani’s voice. He’s angry, but the rage is directed at himself. And if I was the Vasilieu, the temporary guardian of the water element, I might feel the same.

  The snow is deep and covers the lower part of the window. It’s hard to tell, but it probably reaches at least to my waist, and fat flakes are still pouring from the sky.

  “Have you tried opening the door?” I ask.

  He grunts in reply and I nod. That’s what I thought.

  With a deep sigh, I turn my back to the blizzard and sit at the table. Anani puts a steaming bowl of porridge before me, topped with thinly sliced apple, fragrant spices, a few pink flower buds, and a swirl of silvery honey. My stomach rumbles loudly in appreciation.

  “I apologize,” I mutter.

  A twinkle lights up in Anani’s eyes and obliterates my embarrassment. My belly can growl all it wants if it brings some happiness to him.

  “Please.” He gestures for me to eat, but I take a moment to admire the food. It’s hearty. Abundant. Beautiful. It brings a sense of reverence to my heart.

  “No need to thank the Spirit for her gifts,” he says and shoves a spoonful of food into his mouth. “Unless you have become more pious since I saw you last,” he adds after swallowing it.

  “No.” I take a bite and moan as the honey coats my tongue in flowery sweetness. I scarf down half of my portion before I find my voice again. “This honey is wondrous.”

  “Yes. My bees are excellent workers.”

  “You keep bees?”

  Anani nods. “Two small hives of silver bees were already established when I moved here.”

  My eyes widen.

  “I know. I had not expected such riches. But we are close to the Outlands. Maybe that is why they thrive here. I hope they will survive this unexpected snowfall.” He grimaces.

  “We can check on them when we bring in more firewood.”

  Anani straightens his back and lets his spoon fall into the bowl. “We?”

  “Yes.” I finish the last of the porridge and lean back in my chair. I meet his gaze, trying to project a calmness I’m not feeling.

  “You are a guest in my home. I will not have you working while you are here.” He crosses his arms over his chest and I can feel a storm building inside him, rivaling the one going on outside the walls of his cottage.

  “I’m going to help.”

  “I can take care of myself,” he snaps.

  “I know.”

  He pushes back his chair so forcefully, the legs screech against the stone floor. With choppy movements and a stiff back, he starts clearing away his half-eaten meal. “I am not a child anymore. I have lived on my own for a long time and can take care of myself. I do not need to be rescued.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “I am perfectly capable of making sure we have enough firewood.” He picks up the pot and ladles more porridge into my empty bowl. He adds the fruits and spices and finishes off with a generous swirl of honey as he continues his tirade. “I do the work around here. I do not have a legion of servants. I cook and clean and do everything myself. I am no longer a spoiled child at the Vasilissa’s court. I can fend for myself.”

  When he brings the tea pot to refill my mug, I gently put my hand on his arm. “Please, Anani.”

  Unmoving, he stares at me, his gaze never leaving my face. He’s conflicted. He wants to keep arguing, but at the same time, he wants to accept my help. His emotions are as clear as if he spoke them out loud.

  When he doesn’t say anything, I relieve him of the heavy pot and nudge him to his chair. I bring back his food and put it before him, refill our mugs with tea, then retake my place at the table.

  “I know you’re capable of all that and more,” I say. I keep my voice gentle and plain. “I just want to help. If we work together, we’ll spend less time in the snow.”

  He picks up his spoon and resumes his eating, and I relax.

  “I confess, I didn’t bring my wool tunics,” I add, trying to ease the tension.

  He scrunches his eyebrows together as if he doesn’t appreciate the joke, but doesn’t comment on it. “As long as you understand I have no need for a nursemaid,” he mutters.

  “I do.”

  He grunts, and I want to raise my arms to the skies and declare a victory, but I refrain. “While we’re on the subject, where is your valet?”

  “I dismissed him as soon as we arrived here. He now lives with a companion and their children in the village.”

  “Why?”

  “I did not want someone around to baby me. Or to constantly remind me of…what happened. The snow would have never stopped and all would have been for nothing. And I did not need anyone to take care of me back then any more than I do now. Out here—” he makes a sweeping motion with his arm “—I am a common man like any other. It is the way I prefer it.”

  I want to protest and tell him he could never be common, but it’s best to leave those words unsaid.

  “I have managed on my own for fifteen rotations.” Pride fills his voice.

  “You have a good home here,” I say with a smile. He’s entitled to his pride.

  His eyes search mine as if to confirm I speak the truth. He seems to find what he’s looking for, because the last remnants of tension leave his body and his shoulders sink down from around his ears. “It is modest, but it is more than good enough for me.”

  “It would be good enough for most Elemians.”

  He smiles. It’s a ghost of a smile, but it’s there and it warms my heart.

  We finish the rest of the meal in silence. After cleaning up, he finds me a thick tunic that barely fits me; it’s too short and stretches across my chest and I’m afraid I’ll pop the seams. I put on two pairs of socks before pulling on my footwear; there’s no way his boots will fit me.

  With scarves around our necks and head, we start working on getting out of the cottage. Both doors are blocked by snow and the windows downstairs are too narrow for us to climb out, but Anani suggests one of the rooftop windows upstairs. The protruding roof has protected them from being covered by snow, and at the back of the house, the snow is not as deep. The proximity to the barn has provided a little protection.

  The windows are difficult to open. The wood frames have swelled with age and are stuck. Neither of us is strong enough to open them by ourselves. Not until we both hook our fingers in an iron ring handle and pull does it move.

  It gives way with a complaining groan, and as it swings open, snowflakes whirl into the room, followed by a cold gust. Anani grabs a low, three-legged wooden stool, and sets it under the window. My heart tries to leap out of my chest as he climbs atop it. I want to pull him back and tell him to wait here in the warm safety of the cottage, but I just watch him swing a long leg over the windowsill.

  “Be careful,” I urge, not caring that it sounds like a desperate plea.

  He gives me a solemn nod, and with one leg on the outside and the other on the inside, he tucks his braid into his tunic before completely disappearing through the window.

  I rush closer and climb out,
afraid of what I’ll see, but he’s sitting, carefully lowering himself down the steep roof.

  He’s not afraid. If anything, I sense exhilaration, as though he’s enjoying himself. Another sign of his strength.

  I make myself wait before I follow. It would be terrible if I lost my grip and fell and took him with me.

  Soon, he’s at the edge, and he cranes his head to look down. “It is a lot of snow here,” he yells over his shoulder. “It will not be a high jump. See you down there.”

  He jumps.

  I scramble down the roof. Snow attacks me from all directions and finds its way up my nose and into my ears. The roof is icy cold and stings my fingers. The soles of my footwear are slippery, and I have to take it slow so I won’t slide down. I clench my teeth around my frustration, and when I finally reach the edge, I look down.

  The snow reaches his waist, but he looks up at me, and I breathe easier when I see he’s unharmed.

  “I am here to catch you,” he calls to me, and I know in my heart that he means it.

  I take a deep breath, squeeze my eyes shut, and let go.

  Time slows as I fall. The wind howls so loudly, it feels like a piercing scream in my ears, and I don’t dare open my eyes. Not until I make contact with the snow and time snaps back into place.

  Landing in the snow is a strange experience. The upper layers are light and airy, and I fall easily through them. But farther down, it’s densely packed as though the warm soil had tried to melt it when it first started falling.

  Anani grabs my shoulder, and I give him a shaky smile. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  He nods. “Good. Let us make our way to the barn and fetch the shovel.”

  We trod through the deep snow; every movement is slow and laborious, and soon, my muscles start trembling with the hard work. The barn door isn’t as badly covered as the cottage doors, and we dig our way down unexpectedly quick. When we stumble inside, my hands are red and numb.