Page 20 of Forbidden Obsession
“Perhaps I’ll take you up on that.” He gives my nipple a light pinch. “Later.”
I bite my cheek, hoping he does. I don’t want anything to do with reality for the rest of the day. No mysterious registries, no news from the royal court, no dormant mothers or absent fathers, just Rahz and me, and this feeling of being united against the world. Forever.
ChapterNine
Rahz
With the risingof this month’s round moon, our old group, plus a few new members, meet down at Redfern Gulley. Though we no longer get together at every single round moon like we did when we were children, neither have we let these gatherings become rare. We meet four, maybe five times a year, when someone bothers to plan, when there’s something to be celebrated or something to be mourned. When the mood strikes.
And the mood has struck like a lightning bolt—bright, bold, and urgent.
A certain restlessness cropped up among us in the weeks since the royal delegation’s visit and brought with it an implicit understanding that we’d gather this month.
The round moon’s silver light casts a hazy glow over the gulley as Jindal and I trundle down the switchbacks to the rocky ledge about halfway down. On the other side of the giant gulley is a sheer cliff, the same one my mother said she’d climbed with my father in her youth. He would have had wings to ensure his safety, but my mother? She’d have had to free-climb.
Crazy woman. I’ll stick to the safety of the worn path, thank you very much.
It’s windy tonight, the breeze blowing my hair around enough to make me wish I’d tied it back like Jindal’s. His purple curls are secured with a black leather band at his nape. Already I look forward to pulling that band loose and freeing his hair to spill down his back later tonight.
I carry a shoulder bag with two jugs of cherry ale, which clink together despite the towel I shoved between them. Jindal has a basket of Bessa’s pastries to share. He could fly, of course, but he walks by my side instead, and for that, I’m grateful. My nerves keep me on edge, and his presence is a balm.
How will the others view the royal decree? What will they expect of me when even Jindal doesn’t understand my reluctance to sign a mixling registry?
Not that he isn’t trying. Jindal is always willing to lend an ear, to hear me out when my thoughts wander aloud. He knows I worry about an underlying meaning, about a potential conflict, about the war still raging in my night terrors. But he’s stubborn in his belief we’re safe here. That the fae court will always ensure the peace no matter what.
But we’re both quick to find more pleasurable things to do with each other than squabble.
So while I continue to prepare for the worst, if only in my mind, Jindal carries on as if nothing is wrong.
I don’t blame him for it. Perhaps I could be more direct. More insistent. But what’s the use of convincing him to worry when I do it enough for both of us?
Even still, I want to know what the others have to say.
When we arrive, Salah and Lemon, with their mates, twin brothers Arrow and Wilder, are already seated on fallen logs long since maneuvered into a circle. The twins are from Clodhill and met the sisters during our local Gatherdawn a few cycles back. The four of them have been inseparable ever since.
I hate to admit it, but the only way to tell one twin from the other is by which sister they’re doting on. Otherwise, their looks are indistinguishable. Glimmering mulberry-colored skin, minty green hair and wings, yellow eyes topped with dancing bushy eyebrows they each use like beacons to express what they’re feeling. Nice guys. Friendly, silly, fun. I’m happy Salah and Lemon found them. And I’m glad they were the first to arrive. Greeting them is easy. Hugs all around as Jindal and Lemon spread the food on the low stone boulder we use as a table.
“I’ve brought berries and sweet cakes,” says Lemon. “You?”
“Bessa’s apricot pastries, of course.” Jindal holds up a silver tin. “She wouldn’t let Rahz go without his favorite on the round moon.”
“Sweet Bessa.” Lemon snags a pastry. “We’re lucky to have her.”
Bringing my flame magic to my fingertips, I light a floating fire at the center to keep us warm. It sparks to life, orange and red dancing blazes flickering and popping just like a real fire, but this one is harmless. It won’t burn anything unless I direct it to, and even the night’s gusty winds can’t blow it astray.
“Show off.” Vander’s voice, from up the path, grating, as usual. We get along now. Mostly. We have to. We’re members of the same village and must work together often. But I’ll never like him. After all these years, he still finds a way to get under my skin with only a few words.
“Oh, shut up, Vander.” Jindal comes to my defense, also as usual. “Unless you’d rather do it yourself or have us all freeze our buns off all night long.”
The others, except for Lemon, couldn’t maintain the fire as effortlessly as I can. Cast it, maybe, but not keep it going without expending enough effort to tire them out and exhaust their magic. Vander won't admit as much, but we all know it makes the most sense for me to provide the fire. The effort is so minimal I barely notice.
As the others arrive—Basil and Petzyl, together as always, then Jord and Cindra, and finally Nellie and Bird with Bird’s new beau Falen—pleasantries and chitchat grow louder and more excited. It’s nice when we can all get together like this. Like the old days.
I’m glad for Falen’s presence in our group. He’s the only other mixling, and though his fae features are much more prominent than mine, including a set of shimmery, flightless, opalescent wings on his back, his human heritage is also obvious. He’s nearly as tall as me, with a broader form than most fae, chocolate-brown eyes, and brown hair to match. There’s no denying the characteristics of either race in his features, whereas aside from my pointed ears and silver hair, I’m as human-looking as they come.
Like me, Falen will be required to make the pilgrimage to Lemossin to sign his name on the registry. He’ll be asked to pledge his loyalty to Queen Aurielle and her consort, Lord Warner. I’ve been meaning to steal a few minutes with him to ask his thoughts on the matter, but with the planting season upon us, we’ve been too busy to carve out time for socializing.
We’re gathered in a circle around the fire, drinking cherry ale and eating from a platter of cheeses, dried fruits, olives, and sweets when the topic we’re all anticipating comes around.
