Page 109 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“Is crying some sort of slight in the mortal world? I have not heard of this. In Faerie, we always cry at death.”
“But you’re…”
She raised an eyebrow. “Say it.”
Caer paused. “Mortal men aren’t supposed to cry.”
Aislinn fixed him with a stare that suggested she was considering throwing him out of a window for saying something so utterly ridiculous. “An entire gender isn’t supposed to cry? How is that… I don’t understand. Are your emotions attached to your genitalia? I’m sure I was told that mortal and fae anatomy is virtually the same—”
Despite everything, Caer found himself laughing. She looked so serious and so genuinely perplexed and she was absolutely right; it was ridiculous.
Aislinn waited until his laughter had subsided, leaning back against the wall beside him. “I think I wept for about a week when Cass died, once it hit me. Then on-and-off for days. Weeks, months after, it would still double me over.”
“Did you have an audience for your tears?”
“Sometimes. Not most of the time. I don’t like other people to see me like that.”
“Weak?”
“Vulnerable.I… don’t like people knowing how I’m feeling. For someone in my position, it can be exploited. I don’t think feelings are a weakness, I just enjoy the comfort of my shield. I find it easier to function beneath it. Does this make any sense?”
“Perfectly,” he said. “Does that shield ever get a little hard to bear by yourself?”
“Have youseenthe party I’m currently travelling with?”
Caer laughed.
“Yes,” she said, with a starkness that took him by surprise, “it has, in the past. I am learning that the weight is better shared.”
She moved away from him, back towards the others. “Ais?”
“Yes?” she said, her voice fringed with hopefulness.
Caer took a moment to steady his breathing. “You can cry in front of me any time. I hope you never have to cry again in your life, but if you do… I want you to come to me.”
Aislinn turned, holding his gaze, her expression wide and unreadable. For a moment, he thought she might never speak at all.
Then she walked forward, took his chin lightly in her fingers, and tugged his cheek towards her lips, kissing the tears that lingered there.
Her touch shivered through him, like lightning made of petals—soft and monumental.
Aislinn pulled back. “Come to my room tonight,” she whispered. “You can cry if you want, but I rather hope we shall find more to fill the time.”
Half a smile flickered in her cheeks, but the rest of her face was serious as stone. Caer’s hand drifted over her waist, as if hoping to pin her there. But if he grabbed her now, would he be able to let go?
He was spared the answer by a knock at the door. An aide appeared, summoning them to the throne room.
Venus wanted to see them.
Leaving their tankards and candles behind with the remaining mourners, the group trailed up the stairs back into the gilded throne room for their audience with the dwarven queen. Venus sat on the throne, skirts of gold and bronze arranged in perfect pleats down the shimmering steps. She looked like she’d been moulded from sheets of metal.
Aislinn half-wished Beau would make a sketch. She wouldn’t say no to a gown like this once she became a queen herself.
“I have reached my decision,” Venus said, her voice quietly booming through the hall. “I shall grant sanctuary to Prince Caer, if, and only if, you complete a favour for me first.”
Minerva pursed her lips, the fingers of her borrowed metal hand clenching. “What kind of favour?”
“I want you to go into the Deep and retrieve an item for me.”
