Page 21 of Nix and Tell

15

Chlo

The world feels different in the morning. The sky is bluer, birdsong more melodic, and the pastries from Finn’s bakery seem extra delicious.

The Riverside Shops are usually all closed on a Sunday morning, but I’d messaged Finn the previous day to ask about being able to pick up some fresh pastries, and she’d acquiesced with only the slightest bout of teasing.

I pack up a picnic basket, and try and hold onto patience, whilst Violet slumbers.

Slumbers makes it sound peaceful, but good grief the woman has a pair of lungs on her. Even so, I wouldn’t have swapped out sleeping next to her for anything. Having her warm body pressed against my own, turning me into the little spoon for the very first time, helped release any of the tension that I had left in my body. I’d slept soundly.

Not quite as soundly as her, apparently. When she finally raised her head, hair mussed beyond belief, I’d showered and dressed, and was absent-mindedly spinning some wool.

“Morning lovely! Isn’t it a gorgeous day?” She laughed when I raised an eyebrow at her perkiness. “Yes, I wake up this cheerful. Gods I slept like the deep. How did you sleep?”

“Pretty well. Get dressed; we’re going out for breakfast… brunch.”

“Ooooo… that’s exciting. What’s the plan?” My refusal to answer doesn’t dim her spirits in the slightest, and she dances out of bed and across the room in front of me, completely starkers. “Chlo…Chlo…”

My self-control only works for so long. If I thought her breasts bounced in her gothic skater dresses, that’s nothing to how much they bounce about as I watch her pirouette freely across the room.

“Chlo Chlo Chlo! Tellmeeeeeeeeee.”

“You are brattier than any Domme has right to be.”

“Don’t you know that Dommes are just brats with power?” She pauses to lean down towards me, and I swear I could die happy right now, smothered by her breasts. “I could order you…”

“You could, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise, and we both know that you’ll much prefer it to a be surprise in the long run.”

That makes her think for a moment. “In that case, I shall allow you to keep the surprise to yourself whilst I shower.”

“How magnanimous of you.” She stalks imperiously to the bathroom, and just as the door closes behind her, I hear her mutter “damn service subs”. There’s laughter in her voice though, and I know she’s not actually annoyed with me.

Besides, I want to surprise her. This is more than just sex or a good kink scene—so much so that I fought a goddess-drawn compulsion.

I want to take her down the river on a boat, though not here. There are too many fae eyes in Wyvern Bridge, specifically fae eyes that are far too fond of a capsized boat for me to trust my mortal on the river near them.

It’s been years since I’ve allowed myself to give in to the lure of the river, and I suppose in some ways Trisantona is getting what she wanted after all.

It’s still quiet when we leave the shop, and walk out of the village, only stopping at Spellbound for Vi o brew up some tea. “I like seeing your scales,” she says. “It’s like a secret between you and me.” I’ve never considered my scales as anything more than something to hide, but the way that her eyes linger on them, like a caress, has me wanting show them off for her some more.

We follow the river walkway away from the village for about twenty minutes, until we come to where a rowboat is moored on the bank.

Violet looks a little wary. “Hazel said something about not going to a river with a river nix…”

“You’re under the protection of Trisantona now; I’m not sure I could drown you even if I wanted to. Which I very much donotwant to, for clarity. No drowning here. And we’re far away enough from the village that we should be able to avoid any unwanted attention.”

I don’t say that there are some specific fae that I don’t want to start paying attention to Violet, but there’s a reason why Kit is completely estranged from her family. Running the funeral directors has worked brilliantly to help them cover up any not-so-accidental deaths.

She nods slowly, and allows me to help her into the boat carefully. I settle the picnic basket in the hull, and roll up my sleeves. Rowing in a gym can’t compete with rowing against the currant of a river, and when we push off, I feel Trisantona’s power reach out, as if trying to draw us back towards her.

“Stop it,” I mutter. “I’m introducing her to the Arun, but we’re keeping it lowkey.”

That must have appeased her, because she loosens her hold, and off we go. With most nixes, it’s the river that reaches outtowards them, but for me it’s the plants. Tendrils and fronds reach up as the boat passes on through, never quite catching us. When one particularly stubborn starwort plant refuses to let go, I pause my rowing to stroke it.

That might have been a mistake.

As soon as they sense me, they’re all reaching out for me, trying to wind themselves round my fingers and up my arms.

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