Page 45 of The Demon's Delight
“How old are you, Moonflower? I’ve never thought to ask.”
“There are three things you should never ask a woman,” I scolded him, though in truth I was not offended. It was honestly a surprise to me that it hadn’t come up sooner. “Her age, her dress size, and whether or not she’s with child.”
“Noted.” He grinned widely, and I could tell he was calculating something.
“So? How many winters have you seen, then?”
“Clever, but still the same question.” I tutted at him, and he laughed.
“What if I start? Three hundred twenty-nine Earth years have passed since I took up residence in Hell. Time is a much more fluid thing where I originated. I don’t really know how to calculate how much passed before then. And it also bends and moves differently depending on the realm you’re in, so perhaps even that’s not an accurate accounting.”
I kept my silence for several paces, but there was no need for my age to remain a secret. “I’m thirty-three. Old, by all accounts where I’m from. Spinster-y even.”
Seir scoffed. “You’re still very spry. What could possibly be the qualifications that would make someone call youold?”
“Well…” I mentally compiled all the things that had been listed off to me over the years, most of them intended to shame or guilt me into some kind of marriage of convenience or admission of failure as a woman. Then I listed them off for him, getting increasingly sharp with my tone as I did.
“I prefer to keep the company of my aunt almost exclusively. I perform a craft that many find questionable. I was educated past primary school, which is mostly unheard of where I’m from, particularly for girls. I have a proclivity for using my blades and prefer pants to skirts. I’m unmarried by choice, having refused most suitors even attempting to court me, but especially proposals that would have only benefitted them and their families, not me or mine. I’ve unashamedly bedded people I didn’t plan to marry, some I didn’t even like all that much. I don’t have any children and I’m past thirty. The list is quite long, honestly.”
He gaped, eyebrows up high and mouth slightly open. “That’s madness. Education is a positive thing, no matter who you are. Knowing how to defend yourself is valuable, as is your healing ability. And babies are adorable but terrifying, so I can understand why you weren’t interested in jumping into having them or a marriage, particularly with someone you didn’t care for. Those contracts are binding.” He shook his head fiercely and a hand strayed to one of the blades along his belt. I could only imagine what he was envisioning, but I was certain it entailed violence. He seemed like he was struggling to decide what he wanted to say next. “In any case, I think it’s pretty. Your hair,” he said quietly. “I call you that because the white reminds me of a moonflower blossoming.”
My breath caught and I stopped, the gravity of his casual words leaving me unable to move for several moments.
“Hailon?” Seir turned around, finding me several steps behind him.
“That’s… sweet,” I managed. With no hint of insincerity on his part, it truly was. “Are there moonflowers in Hell?”
He chuffed a small laugh and continued on, lifting one knee high, then the other. “There are some gardens there, though my experience with flora and fauna like that is mainly here, or in the fae realm. Between the two, the chances of being injured by pretty plants is much lower here.”
I watched him doing knee lifts as he walked, his gait wide and comical. “What is it you’re doing up there? It would be wise to take your hands out of your pockets, in any case. If you fall, you’ll land right on your pretty face.”
Seir spun, grin wide. “You think my face is pretty?” His tail swished happily back and forth in the air behind him, one hand dramatically pressed to his cheek.
I rolled my eyes but felt the heat of a blush on my face. “You know it is.”
“It doesn’t matter what I know,youthinking so is another thing entirely.” He flapped around me like a light-drunk moth, teasing and laughing, chasing up great gusts of wind and dust with his outstretched wings.
Then, we both froze. “Seir, did you?—?”
He blinked at me and tried to replicate what he’d been doing. On the fourth flap, he lifted off the ground.
“Ah!” he shouted and laughed, crashing into the ground so hard he stumbled to his knees. He somehow turned the fall into a graceful tumble and sprang back to his feet after doing what looked like a carefully practiced roll. “Hailon, you saw that, right?”
Excitement surged through me. “Yes, you were hovering!”
Eyes alight, enthusiasm bubbling over, he reached out and held my face between his hands. Then he crashed his mouthto mine in a kiss that could only be called a smooch. I froze, feeling the surge of electricity that passed between us, a riot of palpitations in my heartbeat. He pulled away, a wicked grin on his mouth like he knew exactly what he’d done but had no regrets.
Then, as I stood there in shock, he took off at a run down the road, mighty wings pushing him off the ground—but only a few inches at a time and only for a moment. Still, he was undeterred. He practiced on and off in different ways until we broke for lunch, then continued again until we set up camp for the night. I was exhausted just watching him, but it was amusing nonetheless. His energy never seemed to flag, and his determination was relentless.
He finally put his wings away when we found a copse of trees to camp in for the evening.
“I’ll get some wood,” I offered as he assembled some rocks into a ring and collected kindling to get a fire started.
I picked up as much as I could carry and found he’d already gotten a decent flame going when I returned. “What’ll it be tonight, soup or stew?” he asked.
“What’s the difference?”
“Nothing, really. More water for broth. Just seemed polite to offer a choice.”
