Page 4 of The Witch's Rite
That’s not to say I’m not thrilled for the both of them—I am. It’s just that my decision-making capabilities have a limit, and itwas maxed out weeks ago. I’m glad Lydia had Aurora with her throughout the planning process; it seems my little witch has made an impact on more than just me. It’s like she’s a member of our family now, small though it may be.
A troupe of musicians stands to the side of the Maypole, out of the way of the dancers, and one of them begins beating a drum. It resounds with a loud, deep thump that vibrates through my chest. Excitement is tangible in the warm air, and I swear Aurora is almost vibrating with joy, her green eyes wide and glittering. She’s like a kid sometimes, so easily excitable. It makes me chuckle, though I don’t let her see.
Another musician joins in with a flute, and then another with a lyre, and with a cheer, the dancers start to move.
I just hope I remember how to do this.
Holding my ribbon high, I move over Aurora as she ducks under me. We move in opposite directions, approaching the Maypole before retreating again, weaving in and out at a lively pace as the musicians play a bouncy jig. The faces that pass by me are all smiling, a blur of skin colors and hair colors, dancers young and old. I dip under Lydia’s ribbon as she twirls and laughs, and then I’m back to my green-haired witch.
Aurora is beaming, her sun-kissed freckled cheeks flushed red from the dance, the yellow flower crown Liora placed atop her head slightly skewed. I just now realize that she must’ve removed her boots at some point, because she’s dancing in bare feet. I’ve never known someone so opposed to footwear as she is.
And that funny little quirk makes me love her that much more.
Love?
My realization trips me up, and James, who’s dancing behind me, bumps into me. I stumble back into motion, but the dancers are spinning a bit too fast now, making my head swim.
Did I just admit to myself that IloveAurora?
After Belinda left, I told myself I would never love again, would never allow someone to hurt me in the way she had. But now here I am, dressed in my nicest trousers and cleanest shirt, beard freshly combed, spinning around in the town square, my eyes already seeking Aurora out as she twirls around the opposite side of the Maypole. This past winter, if someone told me I’d be here today, drinking mead and dancing, I would’ve told them to take a night off from the tavern. But I can’t help myself; it’s impossible not to love her.
And maybe it’s time I tell her.
Chapter 4
Aurora
Around and around and aroundwe dance, weaving the colorful ribbons about the Maypole. I move my feet to the beat of the drum, soaking in the warmth from the cobblestones as the sun shines down over me, illuminating the square and everyone in it. Lydia’s laughter rings through the balmy air as we dance, and it lifts my spirits further. My heart is so light and buoyant, it feels like it wants to float right out of my chest and into the pale blue sky.
I catch Alden’s eye from the opposite side of the Maypole. His hair shines under the sun, and beneath his dark beard, he’s smiling. Every time I pass him by, weaving my ribbon under his, I catch a whiff of his woodsy scent, and it makes me want to curl up beside him in bed while a summer rain patters on the roof of the cottage.
As the ribbons wind around the Maypole, the dance very nearly complete, I glance into the crowd and catch a flash of bright red.
Rowan.
He’s standing behind the other onlookers, nearly a head taller than everyone else, and I’m pretty sure he’s looking right at me. My skin prickles, and heat warms my cheeks. Has he been watching me this whole time? For some reason, the thought makes me giddy.
And that confuses me.
Because I adore Alden. I miss him for even a moment when he’s gone, feel cold in bed at night when he’s at his cabin instead of my cottage. How can I feel even a sprinkle of interest toward another man when my heart is close to bursting for Alden?
My thoughts swirl around, twisting almost as fast as the ribbons about the Maypole. The ribbons are getting so short now that all the dancers are close to the pole, our shoulders brushing and our laughter mingling, drifting high into the summer sky.
With almost no slack left in my ribbon, I lift what remains of it over a young girl with her black hair in pigtails, then come to stand beside Alden, exactly where I started. We tie off our ribbons, securing them firmly to the colorful pole, then all step back amidst clapping from the crowd.
Alden’s arm drapes around my shoulders, as sure and sturdy as a century-old oak, and his other arm wraps around Lydia. We both laugh as he pulls us in for a hug.
“Who are you?” Lydia asks, pulling away from him with a smile and reaching up to adjust her white flower crown. “And what have you done with my brother?”
She’s right: Alden is not the same man he was when I met him. Back at the beginning of spring, he barely smiled andneverlaughed, but now it’s easy to draw a chuckle out of him, and his dark eyes are almost always shining.
My heart swells, and I lift onto my tiptoes to press a kiss against his scruffy cheek.
“I like this one,” I say, gaze shifting to Lydia. “Let’s keep him.”
After the dance, Lydia and James drift away, hand in hand, to prepare for their handfasting ceremony, and Alden gets caught up with his group of men drinking mead. I’m left alone, and I use the time to explore the assembled stalls, curious to see what goods the villagers made for Beltane. One man is offering strawberry wine with ripe red strawberries floating on top, and I eagerly exchange a few eldertokens for a mug of the sweet-smelling concoction.
“Thank you,” I tell the man, and he gives me a smile and tips his cap as I turn away.
