Page 74 of Stars in Mist

Riv shook his head. ‘She’s better off in the skies, surveilling the area.’

The truth was, he’d sent Mirage and Glimmer to the south to investigate the strange phenomenon Élisa and Killen had mentioned and to hunt down Ankis.

By evening, Riv had helped Élisa secure the property and even pack up some of her belongings that she’d need for her journey.

After freshening up, he worked beside her at the kitchen counter to prepare a light supper of flatbread, preserved pickles, and smoked meats. Élisa served it with a light beer, which he found delightful.

‘This is refreshing. I like the taste, super crisp and clean with a citrus finish.’

‘Our brew. Or rather, Killen’s. He’s been experimenting with a small batch of wheat growing in the back conservatory, adding desert lemons and tiny limes he’d found on his travels into the fissures.’

Impressed, Riv downed a bottle in just a few gulps to Élisa’s amusement.

He grinned at her and reached out for a second.

Leaning back against the stone lounge, looking out over the stunning vista, Riv indulged in the ongoing pangs of need for the woman beside him.

They’d worked in such synergy earlier, their bodies falling back into the rhythm that was theirs even two decades later. It was seamless, and it was singular. He’d never had this ease and flow with any other woman.

She sensed it, too.

He caught Élisa sneaking glances at him, ever more drawn to him and questioning his identity.

She’d soon rumble him, and he mused about when and how he’d reveal himself.

Perhaps it was time for another subtle hint.

He reached for his potty book and pulled it out, watching from the corner of his eye as Élisa’s eyes fixed on him.

‘I think it’s time for me to readThe Inomoratifor you.’

She tilted her head. ‘The man’s refrain from the last poem?’

She hadn’t forgotten.

‘Indeed. It’s even more poignant than you expect.’

She eyed him over her bottle. ‘Go on then.’

He stepped up to the challenge in her glittering eyes.

Riv flipped the pages until he found the one he sought. His lips turned up momentarily when his finger landed on the poem he was after. He began reading out loud with a slow, rhythmic resonance.

‘Oh, my love Inomorati, you are like a costly ring

for which thousands were paid:

Oh, you are as the gold of Sian, finely molded, always bright

You are the risen sun and the early days of dawn.

You are the strength of a bull when you work the land

You are the neck of a crested crane when you walk the avenues

Selling your wares so we may grow rich

Your eyes and teeth are so fine they out-glitter ice

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