Page 77 of A Kiss of Embers
Pri stiffened against her and threw the cloth off herself. She spun around, and Seraphina’s breath caught. The pulsing blue light of the pool illuminated the shimmer of Pri’s wings. The torn, tattered pieces healed back together while the holes were filled with new membranes. Slowly, Pri lifted her wings. They were whole. Healed. Beautiful.
“Thank you!” Pri sobbed as she threw her arms around her once more. “You did this for me.”
“I did this for our people,” she corrected, but then she smiled. “But especially for you.”
After Pri dressed, they exited the Glades and stood at the base of the bridge, Bastien now at their side while all the others watched from the opposite end of the ravine. Pri’s face glowed with happiness as she lifted her wings, and both of their people alike cheered at the miracle that had taken place.
Seraphina reached for Bastien’s hand, her heart fluttering at the beaming smile he sent her way. As much as she wished to take the credit, this was his doing. And although she would only ever admit it to herself, she owed him a thousand times over.
A heavy, reverberating beat echoed around Bastien as Ember Fae pounded on their drums in a mesmerizing rhythm. Fire burned brightly from long torches stuck into the ground, lighting up the night of the full moon.
He sat cross-legged beside Seraphina on a large, red rug laid outside with mountainous gifts piled on both sides of the rug. He wore half his hair tied back, with a plait on each side of his head. Like most of the other Ember Fae, he was bare-chested, wearing some sort of loin cloth around his waist that barely reached his knees. Something about union traditions. The other clothing he would wear would be far less exposing.
Bastien had never worn so little clothing before, but if he were to integrate into Seraphina’s culture, he wanted to do a fully baked job of it rather than half-baked. Although he’d hated almost everything about his time in Attleglade, there were some things he couldn’t let go of. One of which included his long hair. Despite everything, Attleglade was a part of him, and he refused to let go entirely.
Two women approached with bowed heads, one with a bowl of red paint and the other with black. He watched in fascination as they painted his new bride with intricate patterns across her skin, including her neck and face.
For their union day, she wore a two-piece outfit, a deep red in color. The top dipped low, cut off to show a good portion of her stomach. And her skirt cut off at her lower calf, a slit on either side of her leg.
Seraphina explained with her eyes closed, “In Blackburrow, it is a tradition to paint the bride and grooms, or groom and brides, to symbolize a powerful union of togetherness, happiness, and good luck.” Her mouth twitched. “And it is also used to determine the luck on a union night.”
He furrowed his brows as he tried to make sense of it. “How so?”
Her grin grew into something a bit more sultry and teasing. “The more smudged the paint, the better chance at conceiving offspring.”
The moment the meaning clicked, he slapped his knees and laughed out loud, drawing plenty of attention in their direction. “Well,” he wheezed, “I’d have to say if our firstborn doesn’t come out with white hair, I might be a little concerned.”
“Ha ha.” She shoved his shoulder just as the women moved onto him next. But when the first woman ran a finger over his chest with red paint, Seraphina swatted her away. “Chchch!No one touches him except me.”
They bowed, leaving their bowls behind as they backed away. When Seraphina knelt in front of him, several hoots and whistles rounded in the audience, one particularly loud whistle coming from Ashryn, where she sat on a rug beside Sylvain and his father in the large circle. On other rugs, Seraphina’s fathers and brothers sat beside Pri. No one knew the truth about Pri yet, and until they deemed her safe from harm, they planned to keep it that way.
In the middle of the circle of rugs, several performers danced with flaming balls on the ends of a rope, dangerous and foreign and fascinating all at the same time.
Heat spiked his blood when Seraphina dipped her fingers in the paint, drawing whorls and designs across his skin.
“How could you possibly think I could have handledyouhaving several concubines if you can’t handle the thought of another woman touchingme?”
She huffed as she dragged her finger lazily across his face next, and just the simple touch burned his soul in the most pleasant way. “Perhaps I was not made for the traditional polyamorous life.”
Her fingers dipped lower until she drew designs across his belly and then the portion of his visible legs. As she finished the designs on his arms, the beat of the drums intensified. The dancers twirled their fire ropes in mesmerizing circles, and not for the first time, he was struck dumb by the beauty of the flames.
Servants passed by with drinks and plates of food. He passed on the drinks but took a sample of white cheese and roasted meat.
“Wait,” Seraphina said before he managed to pop them into his mouth. She nibbled on a corner of each of his offerings before nodding. “Can’t be too sure someone might not try to poison you tonight. The food is fine.”
Unable to keep his hands completely to himself, even with an audience, he ran a hand up her arm, uncaring when the paint smeared as he did it. “Is this how life is as the Ember Queen? People dance for you, feed you, wait on you?”
She shrugged and rested a hand on his knee, smudging the paint there, too. “Not always. But a union day is a special event in everyone’s lives, an important occasion for all clans. The party will last all night and well into the morning. Even if we are absent.”
A fiery yet mischievous twinkle gazed back at him in her eyes, and he couldn’t help but meet her heated stare.
But the arrival of two more servants with trays of food broke the heated tension between them. Not until after they bowed and backed away did he ask, “How are the clans taking this change of tradition?”
“Better than I expected, I admit. After what happened with Zephyr, their clan has been groveling at my feet ever since. The other two clans are disappointed to be left out of the choosing, but not terribly much now that the Glades flow through our territory once more.”
Seraphina perked up beside him at the change of tempo of the drum and the accompanying music and chanting of her clansmen. To him, the new beat sounded heavy, almost like a dare.
“Our turn,” she breathed excitedly, pulling him to his feet.
