Page 71 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Rest, water and food—the three things required for her to return to full strength. She wasn’t so exhausted now, which was a sure sign she was healing, but it also made resting more difficult as she was intimately aware of how uncomfortable she was, and how cold.
And whatever food Caer managed to find, she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
Caer.
The sound of his name had changed in her mind, clear as a bell, crystal as water. She loved and hated the sound, like she loved and hated most things about him… the soft canter of his voice, those dark, liquidus eyes, the way the veins in his hands moved when he fiddled with the beads on his necklace.
No wonder she’d wanted a nickname to use as defence.
Caer returned after about an hour with an armful of firewood and a handful of berries and nuts. It staved off the hunger, but only just. She doubted there would be much more to be found in this barren place, and Caer couldn’t risk going further without freezing to death.
She was still in no condition to travel.
“Help me up,” she said to Caer when she was done with their meagre breakfast.
Caer could not have looked more shocked if she’d grown wings. “I don’t have my gloves on me.”
“I’ll grab your arms,” she said.I’ll grab your arms and I’ll try not to think about them.“Just… get down here.”
Caer crouched down and held out his forearms. Aislinn latched onto him, bracing against muscle, fingers grazing his elbows. Her plans not to think about the considerable muscle against her palms failed.
Her legs wobbled, but she pulled herself upright, only to sag a moment later.
Caer caught her around her waist, holding her against his body. Warmth rushed through her.
“You all right?” he whispered, his soft gaze intense. It slid down to her bones.
She was aware of every muscle holding her up, the entire, unwavering strength beneath her quivering body. He might as well have been an oak. But oak trees weren’t warm. They didn’t harbour smooth, silken skin, or soft smiles, or stupid dimples or—
“Ais?”
“I’m… not hurt,” she said, hauling herself up again.
“You looked ready to faint.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Should I let go?”
“I, um…”I don’t want you to.“I should…”I need to learn to stand again.“I think I can manage…”I’m scared of letting go.
Caer moved back, hands still outstretched as though to catch her at any moment. She took a few wobbling steps, and slowly lowered herself back down to the floor. She smiled tiredly at him. “Be back to decapitating ogres in no time.”
Caer slid down the floor beside her. He tugged on a lock of her hair, moving it behind her ear, careful not to touch her skin though his hands lingered at her pointed tips. “I don’t doubt it for a moment.”
They huddled beside the fire and chatted about little and nothing—the colour of the sky, memories of playing in the snow as a child, stories of youth. She told him of the all-season gardens of Acanthia, how autumn would blend into winter, and snow would merge with meadows.
“I think I should like to visit Acanthia some day,” Caer remarked.
“No reason why you can’t. You won’t be a prisoner in Avalinth. When you gain control of your powers—”
“IfI gain control of them.”
“I prefer ‘when’.”
“Of course you do.”
She cleared her throat. “When that happens, there’s no reason you can’t come to the capital. Although, you’d probably want to return to the mortal world, and if you do that…”
