66. Seb
SEB
He meandered down to the second-floor bathroom and splashed water on his face, then ran his fingers through his hair. He shed his pants and beat the dust off against a stall.
Checking his watch, he hopped up on the counter and slouched against the mirror to read the letter he’d brought with him.
The afternoon reminded him of his childhood; sequestering himself in any out-of-the-way nook where he could read uninterrupted.
Even before Cantrèa and dance, his first love had been books—traveling over and over to imagined worlds.
Reading Selene’s letters to Windermere was a bit like that.
Each letter was a variable falling into place, the web of a story drawing a little tighter.
It was almost impossible, reading their letters, to remember that they were real people—their words were too vivid, their voices too sure to feel real.
It was only when slips of mundanity crept through (a counting of barrels, acreage to be cultivated) that Seb remembered this was his self-same world.
He tried to imagine how he would feel if someone told him that three hundred years in the future, someone would be reading his emails.
I have begun to resent the space you take up in my thoughts, the way you have carved your way into my dreams. I did not request it, nor did you ask permission.
I found myself, after service yesterday, in the street with Marie and Agnès DuBois, and all their discussion was of waterfowl, and I could say nothing, for my boredom, and for the fact that my mind was down the valley, and across the river, with you, in your workshop.
I fear what you have made me; I fear what you have woken in me.
The world was so simple before you showed me a flame in the palm of your hand, its flicker pulsing like the organ inside my chest. I fear now that nothing but the sky shall satisfy the ache in me.
I fear I shall be careless, in my joy, and discovered; that everything I cherish shall be taken from me—you, most of all.
My heart harbors so many fears, and yet, I would trade nothing for these moments, this life.
Yours,
Selene
Seb tipped his head back against the mirror. “I fear that nothing but the sky shall satisfy the ache in me.” How was it that a young woman who had died centuries ago knew, better than his own mind, what was in his heart? He carefully refolded the letter and went back upstairs.
Lily ceased pacing as he pushed open the door, and he stopped short, staring. Darkness had folded up the library, and she was caught from behind, limned gold around the edges, by the candles and lamplight, her own AEtheric aura. She brushed her hands on her jeans and faced him.
“Surprise,” she said weakly, stepping to the side.
Lily had moved the small table to the center of the room and set it with a tablecloth that he was pretty sure was actually a sheet, candles, and two steaming-fresh plates of dinner. A bottle of champagne stood in the center.
“What…how?”
She wrung her hands. “You like it? It’s not a laptop, but it’s the best I could do. I know you like the Manuscript. I wasn’t planning on getting snowed in, but I was planning on dinner.”
“I don’t need a laptop,” he said, his stomach growling audibly as he reached for her hand. It was sweaty. “This is perfect. How’d you do this?”
“Stasis charm. Merry Christmas.”
He twirled her, admiring her change of clothes, before pulling her into him, pressing his lips against her hair, breathing in the scent of her beneath the dust. “Merry Christmas, Lily.”
They sat down to eat, suddenly shy with each other, all the conversation gone out of them until Seb uncorked the champagne. Then they were talking about the letters, speculating on Selene and Windermere, leaning closer and closer over the table.
When they finished, Seb pulled the table back to its previous spot, pouring each of them another glass of champagne and pairing his phone to Lily’s speaker. She eyed him skeptically from the couch.
“You know,” he said, scrunching his sock feet against the rug, “I had to go to all these awful holiday parties while I was home and dance with all these girls and their mothers, and all I could think of, every time I was out on the floor, was how I just wanted it to be you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. None of them could dance for shit.” He grinned as he offered his hand. “Dance with me?”
“Gladly.” She smiled as he pulled her into his arms.
They turned slowly in a circle, grinning at each other.
Seb was pretty sure he’d never been happier.
He let his nose rest against her hair when she laid her cheek against his shoulder.
Their circle slowed until it wasn’t a circle at all, and they were just swaying together absently to something approximating the beat.
Lily turned her face to his, and lifting slightly on her toes, she kissed him.