Page 94 of A Reign of Roses
The darkened stairs were carpeted in a red rug that hadn’t been cleaned in some time, and cobwebs decorated each low, jutting overhang Griffin and Kane were forced to duck beneath. But the halls were adorned with oil lamps and well-worn yet cozy furnishings, like antique trays and portraits of somber rainy days and pale, contemplative women.
Our shared room was on the top floor, and had a peculiar handle in the ceiling that, when pulled, brought down yet another set of stairs that led to a private rooftop. The hardwood floors were dark and scuffed, and the two beds—one a rich artichoke color and the other a buff straw tone—looked plush and welcoming. Even the antique floral wallpaper was charming, and I decided I liked this strange, romantic inn.
“Arwen and I will take this one,” Mari said, dumping her snow-soaked coat and bulging bags atop the green bed.
Kane and I shot each other twin glances.
I wasn’t a child, and wouldn’t make a fuss over something so trivial, but…Kane and I had been separated for months. And without being melodramatic—who knew how many nights we had left to share a bed together?
Not even for sex—we’d never attempt something in the same room as our friends. But that intimacy. That warmth…
“You two can take the other one,” Griffin said bluntly, jutting his chin toward Kane and me. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Don’t be such a martyr.” Mari huffed. “Why? Because you and Kane can’t share a bed? That is the most antiquated, fragile, small-minded—”
“Because they want to fuck, witch,” Griffin said, nodding at Kane and me.
I wasn’t sure who flushed redder, me or Mari. I opened my mouth but she saved me an unintelligible response.
“Oh. Of course. We can give you some privacy, not a problem.”
Kane only chuckled, the sound sliding along my bones, before he ran a cool thumb down my arm to my wrist. I shivered.
I could hear the roguish grin in his voice when he purred, “Shall we go see about a bookmaker?”
But Griffin cut through whatever playful energy had been thickening the air between us. “The replica we sent for won’t be ready until tomorrow, a few hours before our tea with Ethera.”
Mari plunked down on the hay-colored bed. “What should we do tonight, then?” Her eyes brightened as ideas began to crystalize. “The last time I was here with my papa, we visited this dark, quiet tavern where they played strange, sultry music and all the womenwore short sparkly dresses, and they read these long poems that were more like stories that had no beginning or middle or end really but I loved them anyway.”
Griffin appraised Mari once before turning to Kane. “I think we should train.”
“Yeah.” Kane nodded, releasing my hand and moving for his discarded swords. “We should probably train.”
25
Arwen
Mari flung herself back intothe springy bed with faux devastation. “This is an outrage.”
I covered my laugh with a question. “Where would we even spar?”
Griffin was already pulling at those unexpected, drop-down stairs and climbing up to the roof.
Kane scaled after him.
“I swear,” Mari said to me as we followed. “His brain is just three lone words rattling around in the abyss:eat, frown, train.”
I smiled, climbing the stairs last, and when I reached the roof, the view that charged at me stole the breath from my lungs.
All of Revue—the entire city—sparkled.
A mountain range of towers and domes and balconies scattered with lights. Entire pillars lit up with them—flickering and sparkling like jewels in sunlight, commandeering the skyline. Rooftop gardens not dissimilar from the one we stood on now, set aglow with colorful lanterns and twinkling tea lights. All of it one richly warm, romantic, night-blooming sea.
From what Mari had told me, I knew those slopes and hollows were filled with art exhibits, literary salons, dramatic cabarets, and fine buttery meals. That those winding streets and grand avenues were flanked by elegant stone buildings and mansard roofs and luscious, ornate detailing. Slow, sultry melodies and upbeat bass lines misted out of the city below, blending with the chatter of sidewalk cafés and horse hooves on cobblestone and wheels rolling gently through snow.
And our little rooftop—encased in pretty wrought iron that Mari was already leaning over, her curls rustling with the breeze. A dried garden plot spread from one corner, where in the summer surely a stunning patch of flowers sprouted under the generous, uninterrupted sun. Two rusty chairs and a pebbled glass table with an ashtray and a desiccated cigar had been shoved to the edge by either Kane or Griffin to make room for their swordplay.
The men’s blades clashed lightly, their lighte barely flaring in the night. They were just going through the motions. Waking up their various and ample muscles.
