Page 86 of Florescentia

Altair’s returning footsteps made me flinch.

He was rather awkward, standing a moment. He shifted his weight where he stood before laying the fresh clothes on the vanity chair.

There was no containing the shivers. The salt irritated my eyes and stuck to my skin. My hair was already becoming crisp in some areas as it dripped dry. The moment my body trembled, he covered me in a towel, making a hood over my head as he wrapped it.

I gripped the towel at the top to keep it closed.

I felt his fingers through the hood, scraping and pressing against my head and back to encourage the absorption.

Somehow, it felt nice. Like my mother used to do, when she had to wash me after I’d slipped in the street, my entire backside covered in mud.

He pushed the hood off my head, only to catch me looking up at him. His expression was cold, concerned. But I didn’t think that was inherently an expression he would know without practice. Which only further bewildered me as to his reasoning for not letting me drown in the first place.

The towel tugged over my face with such quickness it jolted my head forward. When I stumbled forward, there was no one to run into. He was gone, like a puff of smoke.

“Coward.”

I gathered the clothes he’d brought. There was a nightgown, a formal blouse, a petticoat that was too long, another petticoat that was a little fancier than necessary, and a robe that was too warm for the season. I supposed you could know the secrets of the universe and still not understand women’s dressings.

I slipped into the nightgown, made of cotton light as air, the sleeves long and spacious enough to not overwhelm the skin. The trim was lined with simple lace, a silk ribbon tied in front of the breasts.

With each step, I could feel my circulation improving, the brain fog clearing the more the shivers slowed. A dim light was glowing from the second floor, but it was faint as I stood on the top of the steps.

As I descended the stairs, the light crept through the study door left ajar.

Somehow it was like I was intruding on my own office. I hesitated to open the door. Perhaps the hypothermia wasn’t quite gone, with that nonsensical thinking.

Altair sat in the chair in the corner, the biolamps offering a calming atmosphere. He was reading, a couple of books queued beside him in a pile. Encyclopedias, dictionaries, and, oddly enough, Shakespeare.

He did not regard me, not one bit. But it was unlikely he didn’t hear me enter.

Are you angry with me?

I couldn’t even believe the thought. What right had he to be angry when he was pretending not to care in the first place?

Even as I stood in front of him, not even a glimpse from him.

“You won’t speak to me now?” I disturbed the silent study.

He flipped the page, shifting his gaze to follow to the next line.

“Truly? This is the game you wish to play?”

No response.

I slapped the book from his hands, his palms held up as if he still held it. Only then did he look up. His jaw was tight, eyes sharp.

I crossed my arms, raising a brow.

“What would you like to speak about?” he asked, his question monotone.

“Why?” was all I said.

“That’s far too broad.” He tipped his head at me.

“Everything!” I gestured, my arms wide.

“You may need to narrow a bit more, love.”