Page 11 of Sons of Sorrow
So did Sylvain and Satchel, the vines loosening from around their mouths and bodies, enough for them to scream as they fell into the grass. Sylvain arched his back, wincing. Satchel sat up and shook his head vigorously, too light to really suffer from the fall, but still disoriented and apparently a little bit pissed off.
I gave them my best apologetic grin. “Uh, oops?”
5
The pixiesof the Amber Pavilion frolicked in their own gardens, something that reminded me of a miniature version of the Wispwood’s own Canopy. Little homes that looked like ornate birdhouses sat on the boughs, faerie lights making every tree glow like something out of a winter festival.
Around us the air filled with the chatter of little voices, the strings and bells of pixie music, the flutter of delicate, gauzy wings. A pair of pixies approached me and Sylvain, giggling as they deposited honey cakes in our open hands. I popped one in my mouth and chewed, perfect and moist and sweet. They were big enough to feed four pixies, but just enough for a tasty human mouthful.
Satchel zipped from tree to tree, waving at us as he flew. Somehow I’d forgotten that he actually needed his hands to zip from place to place, opening pocket dimensions in the fabric of reality. No wonder he’d gotten stuck among the tendrils, just like Sylvain. Satchel was a kid at the playground, and Sylvain and I were the proud parents watching from the benches.
“Look at him,” I told Sylvain, nodding at the garden. “Having the time of his life.”
Sylvain chuckled. “Satchel is clearly delighted to be among his people, but it seems he has more than pure pleasure on his mind.”
He wasn’t wrong. It was difficult to make out with the frenetic pace of the pixies buzzing back and forth between the branches, but they were excited about more than just a visit from a fellow pixie. Part of the enthusiasm came from the samples Satchel was passing out, prototypes of the shirts, trousers, vests, and skirts he’d stitched up in his own free time.
“My little familiar, mixing business and pleasure.” I sniffed melodramatically as I ran a finger under my eye. “I couldn’t be prouder.”
We’d arrived at the Amber Pavilion shortly after our encounter in the forest, but not before I could give Old Man a tasty, meaty treat of his own. Sylvain had taken us through a secret side entrance, for whatever reason. That allowed us to bypass Queen Aurelia’s audience chamber, as well as the archery yard where Sylvain’s sister Yvette liked to spend her time.
Both had healed from the ravages of the Withering, but Sylvain insisted that they were too busy to entertain us that day. Why he was being so secretive about our arrival, I couldn’t really say. Maybe it really was that simple. Queen Aurelia had royal duties to attend to, and Princess Yvette was too busy with combat drills. No big deal. I could see them later.
We left Satchel in the pixie gardens, which was where he liked to stay over whenever we visited the Verdance, anyway. It was one big slumber party for him every time, which was just as well, since it gave Sylvain and I enough privacy to have our own slumber party. I was fairly certain that our parties were a little filthier, though.
I followed Sylvain back to his royal bedchambers, by now as familiar as my own. He held the door open, teasing me with a bow of his head as I entered.
“After you, oh summoner.”
I rolled my eyes and patted him on the cheek. “You’re so damn silly, Sylvain.”
“Only treating you as you deserve to be treated, little human.” He shut the door, then wrapped his arm around my waist. “We can spend the rest of the evening here, recuperate for the night. I shall send for dinner. Our kitchens would be most delighted to prepare something special.”
“Room service,” I said, shrugging off my backpack, sighing as I plunked myself down on Sylvain’s plushest, softest sofa. “Just like the Wispwood. That sounds great, actually. We can have a nice, relaxed evening in. Let me just go wash up, freshen up a bit. We got all grubby and sweaty back in the forest.”
Sylvain kissed me on the cheek and smiled. “As you wish, oh summoner. My luxuries are yours, always. Ask if you need something. Anything.”
And I knew he meant it, too. I kissed him back before heading to the washroom in his chambers, knowing that Sylvain would go to preposterous ends to impress me or make me happy. One time I forgot to bring shampoo. He asked me to name a flower, then promptly commanded the court alchemists to prepare me a flask.
It was ready within the hour. Lavender, in case you were wondering.
I found lavender in everything for the next few days, whether it was tea, the buttercream on the cakes in the banquet halls, sprinkled on my pillow. I had to gently explain that it was just something I’d named in the spur of the moment and not a flower I intended to inhale and consume for the rest of my days.
But that was how my prince of flowers liked to express his affection, these big, beautiful gestures that were meant to bowl me over, sweep me off my feet. I smiled in the polished silver mirror, shook my head when I reached for a bar of soap and found flecks of lavender embedded in it. Some things never changed.
Refreshed, scrubbed clean, and smelling faintly of lavender yet again, I returned to the bedchambers, a towel wrapped around my waist. Sylvain was watering the potted plants strewn around his room. Most days, when he wasn’t in the Verdance, the task was left to the palace servants. It was kind of sweet, seeing him do something so mundane for once.
“Look at you, caring for these fragile, pretty things.” I ran my finger up the line of his arm, tracing the vein in his bicep. He looked so masculine, bare-chested and beautiful in spite of the dainty little watering can in his hands.
He grunted, pretended to pout. “I am accustomed to caring for fragile, pretty things. Like you, for example.”
My mouth fell open. “Hey, I’m not fragile.” I smacked him across the arm, a little out of annoyance, but mostly to cop a feel of his hard muscle. “Pretty, maybe.”
Sylvain frowned, rubbing the sore spot. “There’s no need to get physical, oh summoner. Is this how you treat all your eidolons? Beating and haranguing them when they displease you?”
I snaked a hand along the back of his neck, grinning when he leaned back into my touch, my fingers tickling at the hairs on his nape.
“You know that the only kind of beating I deliver is with my fingers, and sometimes with coconut oil. I mean beating you off, in case that wasn’t clear.”
