Page 3 of This Midsummer Heart
No, I’m getting ahead of myself. Why should it be him? Why could it not be someone else who foresaw the need to reach Nox before I did?
“And who, pray tell, contracted them?” I ask, my voice overly sweet as I wait for confirmation.
Vervaine hides her hands behind her back. “Robin the Puk did, my lady, on Houselord Auberon’s behalf.”
At the mention of my ex-bonded one’s name, I grit my teeth so hard my jaw cracks. Of all the people!
Of all the people I must ask for a favor, why did it have to be him? Why should he be the one to humble me once again?
But who am I fooling?
It is always,alwaysAuberon.
Chapter two
A Courtesy
Titaine
Isipmyteacarefully,delicately, so as not to accidentally slurp. I’ve caught myself doing such graceless things of late. The very thought of slipping up like that in front of Auberon mortifies me, and I find myself tensing long before he appears in the doorway. It’s best that he sees me as the powerful fete I was when we were together—not someone losing her grip on the magic in her very nature.
Not that Auberon has fared that well, either. I hide my smile behind the rim of the teacup as I watch the elven man tromping like a brute through the rushes coating the floor of the Riverhouse Tavern. There’s barely a hint of his athletic ease and smooth, long-legged gait.
That isn’t all that’s different about him. He is still tall and warrior-like in his build—there is no way to ignore that—but his cheekbones, once chiseled, now lend him an appearance of gauntness. He wears a long, flaring coat, its collar pointed up at his sharp jaw. His dark, shoulder-length hair has receded a bit at his temples, and is more limp and oily than full of its usual luster.
I used to run my fingers through it,I think, the sweet memory turning bitter in an instant. I focus instead on his grouchy mood, and the pair of lines that now frame his mouth when he frowns at me. He is still striking to look at, with the blue-tinted skin from his dark elven father and height from his wood-elf mother, but Auberon is not the elf he once was. The loss of magic in our world is slowly leeching his strength and youth.
He looks tired. Then again, so do I. It’s hard to sleep when you know you’ll wake up feeling less refreshed than before, a little more of your magic siphoned away by the world’s chaos.
What’s most important about his appearance, however, is that he looks annoyed as he stands before me.
“You’re drinking tea in an alehouse?” is the first thing Auberon says.
I tilt my head, resisting the urge to frown at his immediate judgment. If I know Auberon, he is merely angry that I arrived here before him. In truth, I’ve been sitting here an hour, expressly for the purpose of catching him off guard, and this is my third pot of black tea. My fingers tremble a little as I set down my cup.
This proves that I can still get under his skin, even if he does have every advantage over me in this moment. I must admit, he’s played his hand well. But if there is anything I don’t want, it’s to look as though I’m asking him for a favor. At worst, it will have to be acourtesy.I cannot owe the House of Elves—not with my fellow fetes growing more fragile by the day. Elves are still tall and full of lean muscle. They will not lose the ability to shoot with bows or wield heavy broadswords overnight. But the fetes?
For creatures of such pure magic, the loss of it is a great deal more dramatic. More terrifying, too. Yet as Auberon takes his seat across from me, I hold tightly onto my glamour. The last thing any of the fetes need is for the Houselord of the Elves to know I’ve been having this much trouble with my magic.
“Greetings to you as well, Lord of the House of Elves.” I offer him a smile as I gesture at the empty seat. “I know the alewife here, and she knows what I prefer.”
“Of course you do,” he mutters, his lip unnaturally stiff, as if he is tamping down a sneer. “You’re rather good at consorting with mortals, aren’t you? Even ones with donkey’s faces.”
I cock a brow.Are you really going to bring that up right now? You, of all people?
He tilts a slight bow in reply.When it comes to you, nothing is too humbling to mention,his flinty eyes seem to say.
“Won’t you join me?” I ask politely.
Auberon pulls out the offered chair so forcefully, it squeaks against the floor. “Come to say your farewells, Titaine?” he asks, trying to sound lofty when there is a rough edge to his voice—one I’ve never heard before. “I trust you heard of my coming departure.”
Again, I am all smiles. “Vervaine told me, yes.”
“Ah, Vervaine.” Auberon sits with his knees wide, propping one hand on his thigh as he leans over the table, dominating the space between us. When I go for very long without seeing him, I sometimes forget this. Where fairies are delicate, he is big, lithe and strong—and now brutish without the grace his magic once lent him. “It would be a pity if she didn’t join us on one of the runeboats.”
I raise a brow. “Why would she?”
“She and Puk are sweet on one another. You know that.” He lifts his chin, as if this is nonsense. “Pity, separating two lovers.”
