Quickly, I shake my head. Techeki no doubt dressed him in fine clothes from the outer layers on down—I don’t think it’d be a good idea to see him in his undershirt alone. “I was only thinking. I am quite warm enough still from the waters.”
Hunger sated somewhat, North lowers his hands to the stone and leans back on them. “Tell me, what’s so important about the temple waters that they play such a big role in your ritual?”
I eye him askance, trying to detect any traces of that irritating air he gets when he asks about magic or faith. All I can see is curiosity.
“Water and magic have always been closely linked.” I push the boxes of food aside to make room for us both at the bathing pool’s edge. “Running water can act as a shield against magic, and still water can be used as a conduit for it. That is why the temple is built here, nestled in between two branches of the river, where it runs most swiftly.”
“So it works like the sky-steel?” North asks, watching me curiously. “Keeps you safe from mist-storms?”
I nod. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but for the most part, yes. That is also why many of my people—the riverstriders, to be specific—have made their homes on the water and rarely leave the byways of the forest-sea and the river itself.”
“So your rituals honor the water?” His voice is a little tentative, as if, for the first time, he’s considering the fact that his attitude toward my beliefs might actually affect my feelings.
I find myself smiling at that, if not what he’s actually said. “In a way. Water from the two rivers, from the place where they split, is diverted here.” I gesture toward the pool, where troughs for the two rivers feed into the pool, keeping it brimming. “When I bathe here it symbolizes the living divine uniting her people the way the waters mix here and become one river again.”
North glances at me for permission, then dips his fingers into the pool with a little smile. “Nice and warm.”
“They’re heated by a natural spring below the temple.” I reach for my cup, and the sweet wine it contains, so I can sip at it while watching North over its rim. “These rituals are some of my favorite parts of my calling.”
“Mine too,” North replies fervently, his attention on the steam rising from the pool—then, seeming to hear what he’s said, he stiffens and looks up apologetically. “I mean—” But the spice in the pastries must catch up with him, as he bursts into a fit of coughing.
Torn between alarm and amusement, I lean forward and hold out my cup, splaying my fingers over the rim so he can grasp its base. He nods his gratitude, the paroxysm slowing enough for him to take a drink. Once he’s gotten himself under control, he takes another sip, slower this time, eyes downcast at the cup.
My amusement fades as I watch him, for his face has grown serious, a few dark curls falling forward into his eyes as he traces his fingertips around the rim of the vessel, where my own lips rested not long before.
When he looks up, his gaze is searching. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
My heart gives a painful lurch, as my first thought is for the prophecy, and the role I believe he is to play—the role I don’t think he would understand, not without reading the scroll, not without feeling destiny for himself.
Then it hits me, and I gulp a breath.
“You mean, that I am a goddess among my people?” I buy myself a little time with the question, half-distracted by the way his fingers circle the edge of the cup again and again. I open my mouth to answer him, but nothing comes.
Noticing where my attention is, he holds out the cup in return, for me to take it back. “I have a guess,” he says, as my fingers close around the rim of the cup, which has been warmed by his touch.
But when I would have taken it back, he holds on to it, making me look back up at him. He’s watching me, an odd look on his face—his thick eyebrows are drawn in, the brown eyes curious. His expressive mouth is curved just a little in a kind of interested fascination I’ve never seen before.
“I think I must be the first person you’ve ever met who didn’t instantly know who you were,” North goes on, holding me captive by my grasp on the cup—though I could let go, I don’t, and the smooth brass under my fingers is electric. “I think you don’t have many people who treat you like a person, rather than a goddess. It would be easy to assume you were hiding things from me for some sinister reason, but … I wonder if maybe you were just hiding them because it was the first time you could.”
With both our arms outstretched, it’s almost like we’re holding hands—except, of course, the surface under my fingertips is metal. I swallow. “The way you spoke about magic—the way you dismissed it—I knew you could not understand what it means to be divine, not then. You would think me a fool.”
“I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to tell me,” North admits with a thoughtful squint. “I’m sorry if I made you feel … It’s clear magic is a thing in your world. I can’t say I believe in it the way you do, but I don’t think you’re a fool. I definitely don’t think you’re a fool.”
His voice is always warmed by amusement, but just now, it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing. If anything, he’s more solemn than usual. When I fail to reply straightaway, he draws breath to speak, but then halts, meeting my eyes.
“The strangest thing,” he murmurs, scanning my features, intent. “Sitting here with you, I almost could believe in it. In all of it. There’s something about you I … can’t explain.”
My thoughts are racing, along with my pulse—I wish I had that scroll, I wish I could know he was divine, I wish I could know, so I could …
We’re closer than we were a few moments ago. Whether he’s drawn me nearer by the cup held between us or I pulled him closer, I cannot say. But as soon as I realize it, I flinch and release my grip with a gasp. That makes North recoil too, and the cup goes crashing down onto the stone.
North mutters something that must be a swear word in his land, whirling away from me to fetch one of the towels I’d used to dry myself. I haven’t the heart to tell him, as he begins sopping up the spilled wine, that the material is worth a small fortune and that the wine will stain.
I haven’t the heart, because my own heart is still racing.
North’s muttering to himself still, and I catch only fragments—clumsy as a fledgling—as I stare at him while he cleans up. It isn’t until he’s gotten most of the wine and sees my face that he stops.
“Nimh?”
“I can explain,” I manage.
His brow furrows. “Explain what?”
“You said there was something about me that you could not … I can explain it, North. I think … I believe … your coming here, to this land, was prophesied long ago. You and I did not meet by chance.”
His eyebrows shoot up, though for once he doesn’t seem to be dismissing me altogether. He is willing to wait, and to listen.
I manage a breath with an effort, drawing on all my training at diction and speech.
“I believe the prophecy brought us together. North, this is our destiny.”