Twenty-Three
Avirin
Within a day, Avirin’s horns and eyes fade. It’s almost as if fretting over them was the very thing keeping them around, and when she wakes up without their extra weight, relief washes over her. For the first time since she arrived at Mothry Cottage, she enters the dining room in her morning gown.
Pye glances up once, and then again. “Lady Avirin!” They rise, as do the corners of their mouth, before they pull out the chair beside them. “What a pleasant surprise.”
She takes her seat. Pye does not comment on her appearance, but that alone makes her squirm with trepidation. “Are you disappointed the horns have receded?”
She expects they will say no, but now that she has spoken, the thought of that answer tightens uncomfortably in her chest. It shouldn’t bother her.
She was the one who wanted the horns gone, but over the past few days, she’d started to wonder if she’d be stuck like that.
If she would ever return to herself. If someone could find any beauty in —
A fork topples to the floor. Avirin hadn’t realized her fingers were rearranging the dishware without her knowledge. She begins to reach for it, but Pye curls their hand around hers. “I could never be disappointed at the sight of you,”
Avirin’s entire body flushes. She tries to tamp it down, but the heat seeps through her like the sun is shining directly through the roof. “I see you’ve been studying those poetry books.”
Pye picks up a napkin to dab at their smile.
Selbie enters with a tray of food and gapes at the sight of Avirin. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d run off!” She sits on Pye’s other side and gives Avirin a meaningful look. “I am very happy you are in high spirits, my lady.”
Sheepishly, Avirin ducks her head. “Thank you.”
Pye and Selbie fall into a discussion about the garden while Avirin basks in the pleasant conversation.
She’s never seen household staff dine with a lord, but she’s also never seen a camaraderie like Pye and Selbie’s.
It’s clear she works for him, but they interact more like friends than lord and servant, like their bond was formed long before Pye inherited his title.
“And what flowers do you like, Avirin?”
She blinks out of her musing. Pye and Selbie both watch her expectantly, and it takes a moment for her to consider the question. “I enjoy Columbine. Their spurs remind me of dragonflies or —”
Moths.
She stops herself, but Pye’s insufferable smile remains in place throughout the rest of breakfast.
Afterward, she and Pye take a stroll through the gardens.
They’re more impressive up close. Boxwoods grow lush and full, plumes of greenery between sweet William and peonies.
Syringa shiver amongst the evergreens while laburnum blossoms dance in the wind.
For every plant that Avirin can name, there are two more she’s never seen.
“They’re so…unrestrained,” Avirin breathes before she considers how her words might sound. “What I mean to say is, everything grows so freely here. It looks less like a garden and more like we’ve stumbled upon a glorious patch of wildflowers. So natural and beautiful.”
“It’s Selbie’s true passion,” Pye explains.
“She enjoys digging her hands in the dirt, shaping the bushes, watching seedlings sprout. I hate to tear her away from it to accompany me into the city, but I don’t have the funds to hire anyone else, and she’s a dab hand with horses.
Not to mention the visits she enjoys with a particular dryad. ”
Avirin’s brow lifts, but she can’t help the coy little smile that tickles her lips.
Perhaps she should feel strange that she and Selbie have both been intimate with Cascade, but there’s a fellowship in it that Avirin isn’t sure how to explain.
“I noticed the cottage seemed rather empty,” she admits.
“And those in your employ seem more like companions than anything.”
“That is what I would like,” Pye sighs. “When I was granted this title, I hired as many other courtesans as I could. Anyone who wanted to pursue a life that they couldn’t before. But I could not take on many of them; the late Lord Kyrven did not manage his land or money well.”
“How do you mean?” Avirin asks. This isn’t the type of conversation she’s ever been privy to. Her father would have never discussed such intricacies with her, and the other titled men spoke like the words hung far above her head.
Pye ducks beneath a low branch. “He allowed the cider mill to fall into disrepair, and I admittedly don’t have the mind for organizing it.
Keeping schedules, balancing rotations, tracking orders…
it’s difficult for me. I much prefer to spend my time growing the fruits, breeding new strains, developing flavors.
I’ve created a new one —” He cuts himself off with a wave of his hand. “It’s of no consequence.”
“I should like to hear it!”
A warm smile lounges across Pye’s face. “Then I will tell you all about it over dinner. But the point I was trying to make is that I want to take care of the tenants of this land. They have gone far too long with a careless lord soaking up their money. I don’t want to take from them.
With this title thrust upon me, I want to be able to provide, but I must make money to do so.
” He stares out across the countryside of rolling hills and copses.
“The ton may not love me, but they have always loved my work — and not just in the pleasure houses. My cider sells out every night at the theater.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
“I can only produce small batches. At least until I get a better understanding of how the mill works, and I fear that will not come to fruition any time soon.” He runs fingers back through his hair, then settles his hands behind his back.
“All this to say, my lady, I am sorry for dragging you into this charade just as it crumbles.”
Avirin purses her lips, the seed of an idea beginning to sprout.
She begins to enjoy her days at Mothry Cottage.
It is strange sharing a home with other people after so many years feeling incredibly alone.
Avirin has never been so privy to the lives of others.
There is a strange intimacy in knowing someone’s comings and goings, the way they take their tea, how they appear at their most reposed.
Like Pye in his constant state of undress. Truthfully, she should have suspected it. Pye has always seemed restrained by formal clothing, the ink on their skin peeking out of collars and sleeves in search of freedom.
Avirin certainly isn’t complaining. At least, she wouldn’t be if the two of them hadn’t recently come to an agreement about their interactions.
It’s like he’s testing her resolve, tempting her with the muscles in his back and the cinch of his waist. She can’t pull her eyes away from his tattoos stretching and flexing when he reaches for a book on the top shelf.
By the third time he catches Avirin staring, he takes pity on her and begins to wear a robe.
It does nothing to stifle Avirin’s hunger, but she can’t let it out. Who knows what it would unleash this time. Wings? A tail? She grits her teeth.
Pye notices her struggle and places a bookmark between the pages he’s reading. “It’s been some time since your last feeding, hasn’t it?”
The two of them have begun to spend their evenings in the library, reading aloud to each other and trying not to become distracted.
It’s a practice in self-control that Avirin is steadily failing.
At least once a day, she feels a “headache” coming on and must retire to her room.
It’s the singular place she can muffle her sounds with the pillow that isn’t between her legs.
It’s an exhausting and exhilarating act that never quite satisfies her, but for the moment, it’s all she has. She thought she’d been getting away with it until she emerged yesterday, and Pye’s antennae twitched all through dinner.
Not unlike the way they’re twitching now.
Avirin clamps her thighs together in the chair.
No matter how refreshing her time here has been, something still chews at the back of her mind.
It isn’t her own voice — at least, she doesn’t believe it is — but over the years, it has become so familiar that she can’t be sure any longer.
It has been over a week since she was among society, but their sounds echo in Avirin’s ears.
“Do you think the horns were a punishment?”
Pye looks taken aback, but when they speak, their voice is calm and even. “Do you?”
“It would make sense.” Avirin chews the inside of her cheek. “They appeared after I had already taken many liberties with you. Now that we’ve stopped, the horns have gone away.”
Pye considers it. “You find the horns undesirable. Is that correct? That is what makes them feel like a penance?”
Avirin huffs a laugh. “Of course! Every frightening tale is haunted by a creature who looks like that: crooked horns, bottomless eyes, fathomless hunger. Those things can’t be a sign of anything good.”
A bitter smile cuts across Pye’s mouth, but they choose their words carefully.
“The world has taught us to deny ourselves. It creates deities to frighten us back into line, weaving stories of beasts to subdue us. They say it would be terrible to turn out like those creatures, but who are we hurting by accepting our true nature? Who are you hurting if you embrace what you are?”
She swallows. “When I feed, it drains people. It takes their energy.”
“You’ve only fed on willing participants.”
“Except for you. During our first lesson.”
Pye’s face softens, and it seeps into their voice like paint across a canvas.
“That was an accident. It does not make you evil or wrong. I assure you, there are many ‘fine, upstanding’ members of the ton who enjoy harming others on purpose. None of them have been ‘cursed’ with horns. To me, that says those features have no connection with what is good or bad. The horns are not a punishment. They are not a reward. They just are.”
Pye moves closer to her, and she feels like a shaken bottle of champagne, bubbles fizzing through her entire being.
“And when those horns belong to you,” Pye murmurs, so close she can feel his breath, “they will never be anything but exquisite. No matter how your body changes, no matter what new traits appear, it simply means that there is more of you. More to look upon. To understand. To adore.” He looks into her eyes as ardently as when they are black. “I welcome all of it.”
Her chest cinches. She wants to surge toward them, to kiss them, to cry, but the whirl of her emotions keeps her in place.
Pye’s words make her feel things. Things she wants.
Things she needs. Things she’s still trying to understand.
She will have to take time to inspect the feelings he’s filled her with, to stir her finger through them, to stare into the depths she has always been scared to dive into.
Pye takes a step back from her, like temptation is clouding his thoughts.
“You do still need to feed. Currently, I may be unable to fulfill that purpose, but there are others who can.” He reaches into the desk for an envelope stuffed with a letter and sets it before Avirin.
“Cascade would like to visit. She specifically mentioned missing you. How sweet you are. How…receptive.”
Avirin’s teeth drag into her lip when she takes the letter. It’s tinted a light shade of maroon, and perfume lingers on the page, sending Avirin back into her memories. She has not forgotten her night with Cascade — the dryad rocking into her, stirring sensations Avirin had never felt before.
Pye leans against the desk. “She also mentioned that perhaps you’d like to spend some quality time with both her and Selbie.”
Avirin’s head lifts in surprise. It’s an option she never knew existed, much like everything Pye has introduced her to. Three women? Together? Cascade alone was a revelation, but combined with Selbie’s cheeky grin, her nimble fingers, her creative spirit…
Avirin’s heels dig into the rug.
Pye watches her carefully. “You need not do anything that you do not desire —”
“Yes,” Avirin blurts. She tries to calm herself. Perhaps there is some truth to what Pye told her. Perhaps her desires are not evidence of corruption, and these twisted things she wants could just be beautiful. “I should very much like to see Cascade again. To spend time with both of them.”
Something deep and bright flickers in Pye’s eyes. “Then it shall be done, my lady.”