Page 26 of This Midsummer Heart
I should thank him for saving me, or at least express gratitude in a way that does not leave me in his debt. I open my mouth to do just that, when Daegris chimes in.
“Well done, dark elf. I ken you’ve saved our hides.”
Auberon snorts a laugh. “You’re welcome, pirate. Getting slow in your old age, are you?”
Daegris returns his laugh, the sound loud and bold against the strange half-silence of this wood. “I’m getting slow alright, but it’s nothing to do with age. And what about you? Getting surprised by me like that. What would the dark elves say if they knew a pirate had bested their king?”
The two carry on their banter as if there’s not a care in the world, their voices cutting through the night and startling birds out of the trees. Slowly, I extricate myself from Auberon’s grip.
To my dismay, his hand lingers on my lower back, tucked beneath the translucent fall of my wings. Even after five years—more than that, given the state of our bond before I ended it—the warmth of his hand is all too familiar.
He’s just trying to get back on your good side by charming you. He always was a charmer and a flirt. That’s why you could never fully trust him.
But that is the one secret I’ll never tell: I did trust him, once, and I trusted him completely. My conversation with Cassandra changed all that.
Poor girl,the Lady of Nerania Wood had said, genuine pity softening her gaze.You don’t even know. Auberon couldn’t be faithful to you even if he wanted to. He needs an elven consort, but more than that, it isn’t in his nature. He and Lusida will always be drawn back together, like moth and flame.
And because words matter to fetes, I asked her,Which is he, the moth or the flame?
The flame, of course. Auberon has always been, and will ever be, a flame disguised as a moth, like the will o’ the wisps on the far side of this Wood.
You just have your designs on him for your sister, and for the prestige a union with the Houselord of Elves would bring,I accused her.
Cassandra shook her head, almost sad—sad for me.I respect you, Titaine. I should not like to see another great woman brought low and shamed by her foolish husband.
You think Auberon a fool?
If he cannot see what is before him, let alone his own nature? Yes, I think that makes him a fool. And fools know no other way than to play fools’ games—even if it is with a lady’s heart.
It’s the sublime darkness of these woods that brings old memories to the fore. I wish I could forget them. Maybe I almost had, since I thought I could travel to Nox with Auberon.
As the spelled gates of Lunevelle appear in the distance, still glowing faintly with the magic of the moon elves, I make up my mind to part ways with Auberon. In the morning, I’ll rise early, and I’ll leave without him.
Morning dawns with an eerie red glow that makes me instantly aware of the dark magic lacing this Wood. Nerania isn’t at all like I remember it, and neither is the half-empty city of Lunevelle.
I stretch and flutter my wings back into shape, shaking off too little sleep after too long a journey, when my foot connects with something. Something warm, and mostly smooth, though I feel a firmness underneath.
I jump out of bed with a scream at the exact moment Auberon bolts upright with a yell, struggling to disentangle himself from the silken sheets. Instead, he tumbles onto the floor, revealing he is naked from the waist up.
Well. I guess I needn’t have worried Auberon was losing his strength. Muscles ripple on his abdomen, his chest as chiseled as ever.
What am I thinking? I don’t care what Auberon looks like, or what condition he’s in—though, clearly, he’s benefited from some healing by the elves.
I’m looking at him again.Stop that!
“What happened? How—why—” I stammer, forcing my eyes to shift towards the wall.
Auberon gets up slowly from the floor, kicking away the clinging sheets. Other than his missing shirt and his idiotic sleeveless mail drying by the open window, we’re both fully dressed. A panicked glance at the bed reveals it is mostly un-mussed, and that the pillows are placed on opposite ends of the bed.
Good. Nothing happened. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. But my head is pounding.
“You don’t remember anything about last night, do you?” Auberon asks, a sly grin sneaking its way onto his face as he retrieves his mail and discarded shirt.
“Nothing,” I confirm, still breathing too hard and too fast. I sit down on the bed when I begin to see dark spots. “Someone must’ve cast a spell on me—“
“Dear Titaine,” he chides, clearly loving every minute of this. “I’ve always told you that faerie wine couldn’t hold a candle to elven spirits. Now do you believe me?”
That would explain my pounding head. But why on earth was I drinking with the moon elves?
