Page 62 of Still the Sun

Step by careful step, I wend my way west. Pause, consider, and continue. Not toward the main road. Not toward the tower or Salki or anyone else in Emgarden, but over this way, toward the eroded stone wall surrounding the town. It’s more decorative than anything else. Not hard to step over it. I sit, then rotate on my butt and swing my legs over. Walk out a little farther into the mists, one hand out like I might run into something, though I know there’s nothing of note over here. It’s just ... away. But that’s what I was trying to do, wasn’t it? Beaway.

I pause, trying to gain my bearings. Trying to hold on to the slip of memory that’s as intangible as the vapor around me. No, I didn’t stop here. I went farther out. This way?

I walk a little quicker, turning more south. Yes, this is right. I went this way. And ... quiet steps beside me. I wasn’t alone. Who, then? Salki? Heartwood? Moseus? Arthen?

Here.I pause again. Spin slowly, but only see dull gray mist. But something happened here. Something important. Crouching, I drop my head into my hands.Think, Pell.What was it? What happened that’s so important?

I suck in a deep breath. It’s fading. I feel it fading, and if it leaves, I’ll never get it back.

“Think, think,” I whisper, pleading. “Come on, you know this.” I swallow, palms moist. Lick my lips. Close my eyes. “Nophe, please,” I murmur. “Help me.”

Perched on the roof, I let my eyes unfocus. The subtle colors in an otherwise dreary mist come out when I do, showing pinks and blues and greens, not unlike the emilies sprouting across the road. I watch them for a long time, long enough for the mists to curl the ends of my hair. Long enough for my mind to empty.

I don’t know how he saw me up on that roof. I would have missed him, had his foot not crunched in gravel. I think he wanted me to see him. Heartwood has always been light on his feet, when he wants to be.

Blinking the colors away, I look down. Scoot forward on the shingles so he can hear me without yelling. He’s donned his black cloak; it makes him look foreboding.

“Not like you to wander town,” I say. The mist is too high to see for sure, but I know he smiles at that.

“I wanted to see you,” he confesses, and my skin pebbles. Not from the cool fog, but I blame the weather anyway, because it’s easier. Safer.

I hold out my hands. “Here I am.”

His head tilts to one side. That beautiful hair draped over one shoulder. “Can we talk?”

I don’t answer, merely stand and climb down the ladder. He’s there when my feet touch the ground, and I lead the way out of town; I know how he and Moseus feel about Emgarden. Best not to chat here. We’re silent as we walk, me sliding over the stone wall, him simply stepping over it. Needing something to do with them, I shove my hands into the pockets of my trousers, which are thankfully clean. We walk a little ways before the silence makes me itch.

“I just need to adjust the framework,” I say, “and the rest of Machine One should click in. There’s this one gear that—”

“I don’t want to talk about the tower.”

I glance up at Heartwood, taking in the way the mist dances around him, like he’s part of it. His hair loops in a conglomeration of plaits, and I wonder if he spent extra time on it, and why. Probably because he was bored. The tower seems unbelievably boring to anyone who isn’t elbow-deep in grease and metal.

“Oh?” I ask. “What, then? Interested in starting your own crops?” I’m goading him, but goading him is one of my favorite pastimes, and it helps me ignore the racing of my heart. I silently thank the fog forkeeping my skin cool. “You have to dig pretty deep for the richer soil; the stuff on top is almost entirely sand, so you have to turn it over—”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are tireless.”

I turn and face him. “You like it. I dare you to tell me you don’t.”

Those vivid green eyes study my face for a long moment. I’m sure he can hear my pounding heart. It shakes my thighs and fills my head. “I do,” he replies, after eons have passed. “Unfortunately, I do.”

“Unfortunately?”

He adjusts his cloak. He knows better than to offer it to me; I snapped at him pretty good last time. “Moseus—”

“Needs some booze and a very long walk,” I offer.

He chuckles softly. “I have not been as subtle as I should be around him.”

I swallow. “Subtle how?” But I know. I’ve caught his glances too many times. Accepted his assistance fixing the machines even when there’s little to nothing he can help me with. I’ve lost sleep talking to him, only to be reminded by his counterpart of the criticalness of repairing the tower. Heartwood always sobers at the reminders—his sister is waiting for him, after all. I’m drawn to him, always, but root myself to the machines. He has nothing to root himself to.

He reaches forward and slides a knuckle beneath my chin, his warm touch a stark contrast with the fog’s chill. “Subtle in the way I no longer wish to be. Nophe—”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.” My blood rushes through my veins swiftly enough to make me faint.

He rolls his lips together. “Do you want me to explain it to you?”

“No,” I murmur, pushing his hand away and grabbing the front of his shirt. I’m too short to reach him, but he obliges me and meets me, his lips crashing into mine. The world around us slumbers, and yet a symphony sounds in my ears. His hands on my waist ignite me; I can’t help the tiny moan that escapes me, the release of want I’ve been carrying cycle after cycle. My fingers entwine in that glorious mane as my mouth demands, demands, demands, but Heartwoodgives, gives, gives, and I am undone by his tender passion, overjoyed that this desperation has not been mine alone. I kiss him with everything in me, content never to let him go.

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