Page 30 of Kissing Potions and Elves
We walk in silence beneath the moonlight, the road quiet except for the soft crunch of gravel beneath our shoes and thedistant rustle of trees as the wind picks up. Dark clouds gather overhead, and the air is thick with moisture.
“It’ll probably storm tonight,” Lyrion muses, gazing at the sky. “But we’ll be home well before it starts.”
“My father was a farmer. He loved the rain.” A wistful smile crests my lips. “We’d sit on the porch and watch it for hours sometimes.”
Lyrion cocks his head to one side. “You grew up on a farm?”
“A small one. But it was enough to make a living and keep us fed.” I swallow against the sudden lump in throat. “I wish you could have met him. He was interested in all sort of plants and herbs. I think the two of you would have gotten along quite well.”
He dips his chin. “It sounds like we would have.”
“And my mother would have stressed to you the importance of leaving an offering, on the windowsill, to the Sprites,” I tease. “She would do this every harvest.”
“Your parents sound like they were good people,” he says softly. “I’m sorry you lost them. Errol mentioned how hard things were for the two of you after they passed.”
I nod. “Errol and I were homeless for a while and there were times we almost starved, but… we came here and I found a job and we’ve been alright ever since.”
“I believe your parents would have been proud of you.” His eyes meet mine evenly. “Despite losing everything, you not only found a way to survive, you didn’t let it break you.” He pauses. “You’re a strong person, Isobel.”
His words touch something deep inside me. Emotions lodge in my throat but I somehow manage to speak around them. “Thank you.”
As we continue down the path, I turn to him. “Tell me about your family. Did they have any superstitions? Did you never believe in anything like Fox luck or offerings to the Sprites? Even when you were a child?”
A smile quirks his lips. “My brother and I would often fight, especially when we would travel anywhere, and it would frustrate my mother to no end.” He arches a brow. “She convinced us that there were Trolls beneath the bridges, waiting to snatch children who failed to behave.”
“Trolls?” A startled laugh escapes me. “Truly?”
“Yes.” A grin tugs at his mouth. “It was a terrifying thought. I hated crossing bridges when I was a child.”
We both laugh, the sound echoing through the peaceful, moonlit street. I glance up at him again, studying the proud lines of his face. He truly is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
“I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he older or younger than you?”
His expression falls and I wonder if I’ve hit a nerve. “A few minutes younger. We’re twins.”
We walk in silence a moment before I gently probe. “Are you two close?”
“We are but”—he hesitates a beat—“it’s been a while since we’ve spoken.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Our family is rather well-known among various circles.” The way he says this, I wonder if the rumors are true about him being some sort of High Elf nobility. “Our parents have always stressed the importance of building and maintaining certain connections, and my brother is perfectly suited for this.
“Rhystan is charismatic, outgoing; he thrives in diplomacy, effortlessly charming everyone around him. Whereas I’ve dedicated myself to more scholarly pursuits. And my family are not exactly very approving of my work. I’m afraid I’m… a bit of a disappointment to them.”
My heart squeezes at the quiet vulnerability hidden beneath his careful words. Without thinking, I reach out and touchhis arm. “I think you’re wonderful just as you are. You’re brilliant and scholarly, and the compendium you’re creating, it’s important.”
Nerves flutter in my chest as his intense gaze holds mine. “And perhaps it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I believe that your knowledge and your passion matter, Lyrion. And someday, I think your family will see it, too.”
His expression softens. “Thank you, Isobel.”
I smile, leaning against him as we walk, savoring the simple pleasure of his warmth, his strength, his closeness. But as the quiet streets drift by, my thoughts inevitably wander to the potion.
I know it’s only been a few days, and perhaps it may be an effect of the spell between us, but it feels as if I’ve known Lyrion forever. Beneath his cold elegance and aloof exterior, he’s kind, caring, funny, and so easy to talk to.
My family has been gone these past few years, so it’s been a while since I’ve had someone to speak with like this. I’ve been alone for so long, I forgot how much I missed having someone to share my thoughts or even my day with.
My mother told me that she knew my father was the one for her the moment they met. That there was something about him that her heart instinctively recognized. I felt this way when I first saw Lyrion, but I dismissed it when he barely acknowledged my presence, convincing myself that I’m just a hopeless romantic who believes in fairy tales and love at first sight—things that only exist in stories and myths.
