Page 74 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“Are you going to tell me it wasn’t my fault?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Itwasn’tyour fault,” she confirmed, “but I’m not sure that I wouldn’t think exactly as you are now, if the situations were reversed.”
For another moment, they sat in silence.
“Cass’ death,” he asked her. “You said you blamed yourself. Why?”
Aislinn paused. Even now, she didn’t like to recall it. “I didn’t take enough people with me,” she said. “I ought to have. But we wanted to go alone. It was her decision too, but I had the final say. I should have found others to join us. I should have taken Beau.”
“Beau?”
“He wanted to come, but he was so young… barely field trained. I thought he’d be a liability. But the truth is, if he’d been there… he could have healed her. She could still be alive.”
Caer finally turned to her, but she didn’t meet his gaze. She felt his eyes on her, soft and alarmed. “Or Beau could be dead,” he said. “You might have lost them both.”
“I know that now,” she replied, “but thatcouldremains. The what if. I don’t think about it all the time, not anymore. I know we don’t get to know the other courses. I do, and yet…”
Caer sighed. “How did you move past it?”
“I’d like to say that I leant the truth of Minerva’s words—that Cass knew the risks, that it was her decision, not mine. I don’t think I truly did, though. I just tried to become the sort of person worthy of such a sacrifice. The first time I saved a life after her death, I felt better. Like I’d earnt back my place here.” She stopped. Caer’s eyes had gone dark and glassy, staring into the fire—Caer, who had yet to save a life, and had ended plenty.
“For what it’s worth,” she continued, “I’m sad that Fort’s gone, but I’m glad that you’re still here.”
Caer turned to face her again, gaze bright, burning. His eyes swirled like pools of starfire. She could not read his expression, not fully, but pain flickered there behind a veneer of gratefulness.
Without another word, he closed the gap between them and buried himself in her arms.
His head fell against her chest, his arms tight around her. His tousled waves brushed her nose and chin. The scent of him shuddered inside her, all woodsmoke and pine and snow. She wanted to trail her nose down to the contours of his neck and kiss him there, inhaling the richness of his skin.
He tried to pull back. “We shouldn’t—”
“You aren’t touching my skin,” Aislinn assured him, gripping him tighter, “you’re fine. We’re fine.” She couldn’t imagine, in that moment, anything worse than having to release him. She wanted to roll him back against the floor and twin his breath with hers and let her hands roam under his shirt, exploring the firm, silky muscles beneath…
Maybe sheshouldrelease him. It would do no good to cling to those thoughts. They couldn’t touch, they couldn’t—
I think I’d risk it.
One of the dwarves rolled over, snoring loudly.
They pulled back, but the spell wasn’t fully broken. They were still sitting far too close.
“Caer,” Aislinn whispered.
“Ais.” He raised a hand, and—very carefully and avoiding all contact with her skin—tucked a strand of hair behind the pointed tip of her ear, the tiniest piece that Beau hadn’t braided back. There was barely any point to the action, yet it sent shivers through her.
“What happened to your ear cuffs?” he asked.
“I think I left them behind at the cottage.”
“We should get you some more when we reach Avalinth.”
“I’m not sure they’ll have elf ear cuffs in stock…”
“I’ll make you a pair.” His face hung beside hers, far too close and far too far away.
Something glinted in the distance—a single torch or flame.
Aislinn squinted through the dark. The flame was moving, getting closer, surrounded by a marching shadow. Her eyes tried to adjust to the dark, half-mortal and not quite fae enough.
