Once Was: Book One of the Asylum Trilogy by Miya Kressin

not quite that easy. If that din was the worst way of waking me, finding myself in an unfamiliar bed came in at a close second. Lavender scented sheets covered me, and lifting the fabric I saw that I was still in the clothing I had worn to Cade’s for dinner. Relieved by the knowledge he had been a gentleman despite the spirits we’d imbibed, I let my eyes adjust to the dim light. Here a shell, there a hint of color, all displayed on a set of shelves with rough clothing that finally organized my memories until I recognized the bedroom as Cade’s. A heavy curtain separated his private space from the kitchen and dining area, and as I sat up, I could smell remnants of his breakfast.
    Not desiring to leave Cade a mess, I straightened the bed linens that bore the creases and valleys of having had two bodies sleep upon them. Aya’s voice stirred within my heart, divine murmurs of what it could be like to wake in this bed daily. His tone turned to one of chiding, A priestess being domestic? when I went out to wash the dishes. However, I found all save a plate covered in a serving bowl had been cleaned and placed onto a towel to dry. Lifting the bowl, I found a hard-boiled egg, a thick slab of ham that looked to have been boiled in the stew last night, and a chunk of bread. My stomach threatened to rebel, heaves shook my body as I doubled over. An empty wine bottle sat beside the fireplace with its glowing embers, and just thinking of more herb-accented mead made my head ache anew.
    With Cade outside at the forge, I had time to fortify my system before eating while I enjoyed the sights of his cottage, or “snooped” as he would put it. There were no doubts in my mind as to his classification of my close examination of his physical memories. Among his belongings were small paintings of the beach, a framed sketch I had done by memory in charcoal of him at the bellows when he was learning from my father, a collection of shells he had asked me for in my travels, and then a long, thin, raven braid he made last night. That I remembered clearly despite the spirits we had imbibed.
     
    *
     
    “I’ll burn the hair, a little at a time in the forge, so that the smell does not draw attention.” Cade held up my cut braids; the joined plait was as thick as his wrist, if not even wider. It wrapped around his hand like a snake.
    Not desiring him to be caught and harmed, I sighed as I reached for my hair. “I could take it to Sheelin with me, bury it there as an offering to Bas.” With my hands outstretched, I waited for him to press the braid into them.
    His fingers closed around my wrists before bringing my fingers to wine-dampened lips for a soft kiss. “Let me take care of this, Roseen. I have my own offering to make to Bas for seeing you safely back. While She may not see Her priestess’s hair as much of an offering, She will understand the sacrifice behind it.”
    My lips parted, a question burning on my tongue, but it went unasked as Cade’s God appeared in the looking-glass upon the wall, one soot-blackened finger held to His lips. Within my thoughts, I heard Him. My priest only asks to take care of this little thing for you, Daughter. As a gift to Me, won’t you let him? A wicked grin became one of paternal care as I saw Cade through an outsider’s eyes. He would make a good husband to a woman who could be devoted. While not possessed of the type of beauty found in men of rich families, Cade has a rugged yet handsome nature to his looks. He is rough on the edges, but only as a source of protection for the tender crystal inside. I have seen it broken before and would rather keep it whole as it is now.
    Cade unbound the braided length of my hair into six lengths and re-plaited them. Chuckling at my astonishment, he grinned. “Dexterity is more important than strength in my profession, Rose.”
    It was his strength, however, that drew my eyes to the lines of muscle along his back and shoulders, then down the lean sides of his