Page 44 of This Midsummer Heart
The woman’s eyes grow round. “But do you think more of you will come? Your people used to come with their instruments and share their songs—everyone loved it. It hardly feels like midsummer celebrations without it. ‘Twas good for the town, too.”
I regard her carefully. “I think the age of peoples of magic feeling at ease with mortals who lack it has passed.” Titaine was right, but a little short-sighted. Soon enough, I think that even humans with magic will start to feel unwelcome and unsafe in this magic-less land.
Her face falls. I know then that she speaks in earnest, but that she doesn’t understand why the dark elves of these parts now keep to themselves. These are the elves who refused to bend the knee when I became king. It also means they lack a king’s protection.
With men like her husband, it’s no wonder they’ve stopped coming to this town.
“I’m grieved to hear it,” says the woman, offering me a weak semblance of a smile. “Sleep well, sir.”
I shut and latch the door, relieved to be done with that conversation—and to finally be able to stand upright. But my relief is short-lived as I turn to find Titaine climbing into the bed.
Chapter twenty-one
Memories
Auberon
Titainesettlesinto“her”side of the bed without even thinking about it, even though I’ll now have to climb over her to get to the far side of the bed. My heart skips a beat. She’s probably never stopped sleeping on that side, even after I was permanently evicted from her bed and home.
Setting the basin and ewer on the wash table, I take my time working at the mud on my clothing. When I’m sure Titaine’s eyes are closed, I remove my jerkin and the chain mail beneath it, hanging it to dry on one of the wall pegs.
With the air so close in this tiny room, I would’ve been more comfortable sleeping in less. But I can’t quite bear to climb into bed over Titaine while half-dressed. It’s too intimate. Too familiar. I replace the jerkin and resign myself to an unpleasant night.
Every muscle in my body tight, I climb awkwardly into bed, my long limbs nearly keeping me from touching Titaine at all.
Her eyes flutter open. “Don’t be getting any ideas, husband.”
“The only idea I have, wife, is of sleep.”
“Good.”
“Good,” I echo with a huff. “I wouldn’t want you to get any ideas, either.”
“As if I would!”
“Don’t make it sound preposterous. You had plenty of ideas about me, once.”
“A long time ago,” she murmurs, turning her face into the noisy pillow.
She’s quiet after that. As I wriggle under the covers, however, another problem presents itself.
Titaine’s wings.
“What are you—stop touching my wings!” Titaine cries out, tugging on the blanket.
“They’re in the way.” Relaxed like this, Titaine’s ghostly wings are like draping silk, and not the easiest to move so I can slide the rest of the way into bed. But I have experience in this department. If I don’t get them out of the way, I’m bound to roll over onto one or pin it beneath my elbow in my sleep, which would then wake Titaine, which would then wake me when she starts screaming like a banshee.
Despite Titaine stealing most of the blanket and wriggling to the very edge of the bed, I manage to drape her wing forward over her arm. The other, I fold as best I can, shoving the upper end under the pillow.
“Was that really necessary?” Titaine complains.
“Very.” I settle myself in, shoving aside the buckwheat pillow on my side of the bed. Better to put it between us. As I yank my portion of the blanket back, I whisper, “Good night, wife.”
Titaine scoffs. I swear I hear her murmur the words “elven law” before I drift off, exhausted.
Sleeping in the same bed as Titaine might’ve felt routine, but waking up beside her? That is another experience entirely.
Sometime during the night, she slipped closer to me, the pillow that is now pressed tightly between us all that keeps her from burrowing into my chest. Every part of me aches—and not just from all the travel—as I slowly extricate myself from the tangle of her wings and limbs.
