Page 22 of Steeling Light
I run my finger over the silver icing that covers my cheek and put it in my mouth. A wash of blackberry blends with the soft earthy flavor of dasha root, smoothing the sharp and sweet and creating a smooth and creamy mousse texture with a soft cake to hold it together. “Ooh, that is good. Is there any more?”
I look at the table that’s covered in tiny bits. The last course was the savory, and this is the sweet. There are probably a hundred confections, and there’s no way I’ll eat more than ten or twenty of them. Rhion and I have been breaking them in half so we can both try them.
“Nope,” he says as he picks up a random one that’s covered in chocolate so dark I’d swear it was black that has red drizzles over it. “Now this one has possibilities,” he says as he breaks it open. “Raspberries with chocolate is always a win in my book.”
“Same,” I agree, and this time, when he offers my half to me, I open my mouth rather than take it on the cheek.
He grins at me and drops it into my mouth. Immediately, the rich candied raspberries overwhelm my taste buds, but then the wave of bitter dark chocolate washes over me, and they swirl together, tart and sweet and bitter all at once.
“Oh, that’s delicious,” I say. Rhion nods, a smile on his face that hints at the laughter that’s waiting for another spark to explode from him. I know the feeling.
Every other adventure we’ve gone on has been a walk of some sort as we explore the city, and it had taken a little convincing to get Rhion to come to this. “To think that you didn’t want to come here. Look at you having a great time.”
He chuckles and picks up an odd-looking lump that’s been covered in gold flakes. “It’s not that I didn’t want to come. It’s that I didn’t want to share you, and I thought it was going to be like any other event, people everywhere.” He looks around our little alcove, lit only by the candles on the table. The House of Light controls all the light coming in and out of the alcoves, so each of them is pitch black until the candle is lit.
“You didn’t want to share me? It’s not like I have a flock of friends following me to every event. No one even knows me here except my mother.”
Rhion shoves the whole confection into his mouth, and I reach to get my own, a perfectly cut cube that’s coated in some kind of blood-red icing. “You can’t help but make friends, Ainslee. It’s who you are.”
I frown, my hand frozen above the candy. “I have almost no friends. Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true. No, none of the people you meet become like Cole or Darian. Or me, I guess. Still, people are drawn to you. They hear you laugh, and it makes them smile. They see you, and they want to be closer. You called all those fireflies to you that night outside the walls, and it’s no different with people. You’ll never see those fireflies again, but for a night, they were your friends. I didn’t want you to find Immortal friends for a night. What can I say? I’m selfish, and this is my month with you.”
I blink. “I don’t remember making friends like that…”
“You wouldn’t. How many times since our childhood have you actually done anything without Cole or Darian?”
I pick up the dessert under my hand and put it in my mouth. A wave of a flavor I haven’t tasted in centuries floods my mouth. Human blood. Mixed with coffee and cinnamon, it shocks me for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” Rhion asks, his eyes suddenly darkening. Every muscle in his massive body tenses as he watches the shock on my face.
I swallow hard, trying not to be sick. “It’s nothing. That was just a blood candy, and I wasn’t expecting it.”
He visibly relaxes and nods. High Fae aren’t like many of the Lesser Fae. We don’t need to consume blood like them, but many still do. Long ago, just after we created Aerwyn, I decided I wouldn’t take part in it anymore. I had to draw my line in the sand as to what I considered acceptable cruelty if I was going to create a sanctuary for Immortals. Why should we ignore the plight of humans if we were going to act against cruelty towards Immortals?
“I was worried someone had poisoned it,” he says softly.
I look down at the rest of the sweets and decide that I don’t want to accidentally experience that again. “I think I’m done with tasting.”
He looks at the table still covered in food and shrugs. “That’s fine with me. Want to leave or just sit and talk? I’m sure that we could have some wine brought in…”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I feel a little sick and think I should get some air.”
He stands up and walks around to my side of the table. He offers a hand, and a grin spreads across his face. I take the proffered hand, and when I’m standing, he says, “Hold on just a moment.”
Then, without warning, he runs his finger over my bottom lip.What is he doing?My heart races at the touch, and I stare up into his eyes. He’s never touched me like this before. It’s sensual, something lovers would do, and there’s not an ounce of hesitation behind the movements.
The soft scent of freshly forged steel washes through the alcove, and behind it, there’s something different. Wildflowers in an untouched field. It’s a strange amalgamation of his House, of civilization, and of something wilder and so much happier.
“You didn’t get all that cake off your face,” he whispers. “I didn’t want you to embarrass yourself by walking around like that unknowingly.” He shows me his finger, and as he said, soft white cake and silver icing cover it.
“Oh.” I can’t keep the breathy tone out of my voice. My heart’s beating too fast. Silence lingers in the alcove for what seems like long minutes as we look at each other, and it’s like I’m seeing him as something different, something more than the friend we’d promised we’d be.
Give me a month to live between the tears beside you as your friend. Nothing more and nothing less.Nothing more. We used to be friends, but there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? I’d cried more tears over losing him than I’ve shed over anyone else.
He brings his thumb to his lips, turning it sideways, and the way his lips press against the skin to clean off the crumbs makes me wonder what it’d be like to have those lips on my skin. Soft yet strong, just like the rest of him.
“You said you needed to get some air,” he reminds me, and he’s right. I do, just not for the same reason as I did a few moments ago. Now I need to clear my head and convince my heart to stop pounding.
