10. Lirien
10
LIRIEN
I wake to sunlight streaming through threadbare curtains, my body instinctively sitting upright to peer down toward the foot of the bed. The pillow remains, but other than that the floor is bare. The bond tugs at my consciousness, telling me Darak isn't far, but the hollow ache in my chest hasn't faded.
My robes from last night are still damp. I peel them off, the fabric clinging stubbornly to my skin. My regular clothes help, though they can't wash away the memory of standing exposed in the lake, Darak's presence burning against my body. I wrap my robes back around myself like armor, fingers trembling slightly as I secure each clasp.
In the small mirror propped against the wall, I gather my silver hair, weaving it into a tight braid. My reflection stares back, green eyes rimmed with shadows from a restless night. The scar on my cheek stands out stark against my pale skin – Darak's mark. I touch it briefly before turning away with a sigh.
The main room bustles with morning activity. Serra stands at the hearth, stirring something that smells of cinnamon and honey. Rook's massive form fills a corner, carefully whittling what looks like a toy horse. The domestic scene makes my chest tighten with an emotion I refuse to name.
"Miss Lirien!" Turo bounds toward me, his hooves clattering against the wooden floor. He clutches a plate precariously in his small hands, topped with what appears to be...
"I made breakfast!" He presents the charred square with pride. It slides across the plate like a living thing, leaving black streaks in its wake.
"He insisted on cooking for our guests," Serra says, hiding a smile behind her hand. "Though perhaps next time we'll wait until he's tall enough to reach the stovetop properly."
The burned offering sits before me, and I feel Turo's eager eyes watching my reaction. My throat tightens at his innocent gesture, so at odds with the bitterness I've been nursing.
"My sweetbread is delicious for breakfast!" Turo thrusts the plate toward me with such enthusiasm that the blackened square slides dangerously close to the edge. His small hands tremble with excitement, and I catch myself reaching out to steady the plate before disaster strikes.
Turo's eyes, wide and hopeful, fix on my face. His tail swishes back and forth, betraying his nervousness. The charred creation looks more like something I'd use in a banishing ritual than breakfast, but his eager expression melts my resolve.
I take the bread, its surface crumbling at my touch. "Thank you, Turo. This is... very thoughtful."
"Take a bite!" He bounces on his hooves. "I made it all by myself!"
The first bite is... interesting. The texture reminds me of sun-dried clay, and it takes considerable effort not to cough as chalky crumbs coat my tongue. But I manage to swallow, forcing my lips into what I hope passes for a pleased smile.
"It's wonderful," I lie, patting his head. "You have quite the talent."
"Good morning, dear." Serra's voice carries from the kitchen area. She's arranging various items on the wooden counter – dried meat, fruit, what looks like fresh bread. "I'm putting together some provisions for your journey."
"Oh, that's not-" I start to protest, but she waves off my objection.
"Nonsense. The next town is at least two days' walk, and I won't have you surviving on whatever meager supplies you're carrying." She continues packing, her movements efficient and purposeful. "Besides, I insist on sending you with some proper bread, after what my boy just served you."
Turo beams, completely missing the gentle criticism in her words.
The door creaks open, and my heart stutters as Darak steps in, arms laden with split logs. His crimson eyes lock with mine for a heartbeat before I turn back to Turo's charred creation, forcing myself to take another bite.
The memory of Darak in the lake, bare chested, his hands on my body... My cheeks turn to fire. He was so sexy, so raw... But he's still an ass. I can't stop my mind from replaying that moment - the way the water had rolled down his ash-gray skin, how his muscles had tensed beneath my fingers. The intensity in those crimson eyes when he'd pulled me close. Even now, my skin tingles where he touched me.
But I force the thoughts away, reminding myself of his arrogance, his stubborn pride. No matter how attractive he might be, he's still the same insufferable dark elf who's made this journey so much more complicated than it should be.
"Love, could you grab the dried herbs from up there?" Serra's voice draws my attention.
She slides past Rook in the cramped kitchen space, her fingers trailing down his muscled forearm. The minotaur shifts, uncomfortable, but doesn't move away completely.
Rook reaches up, his massive frame easily spanning the distance to the top shelf. Serra rises on her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips in thanks. He startles, nearly dropping the herbs as he jerks backward, his eyes darting nervously between Darak and me.
"It's alright," Serra soothes, placing her palm against his broad chest. "They figured it out last night. Didn't you?"
The tension bleeds from Rook's shoulders as Serra's words sink in. His tail swishes once, twice, before settling.
"I don't judge love," I say softly, the words tasting less bitter than expected. "Not when it's real."
Darak's presence burns against my awareness as he sets the firewood down, each log placed with deliberate care. The sound echoes in the sudden quiet.
"Besides," Serra adds, "who are we to cast stones? A dark elf and a human traveling together isn't exactly conventional either."
I bite back a response, the reminder of last night's vulnerability stinging fresh. Beside me, Turo happily munches on his own creation, oblivious to the undercurrents of adult tension swirling around him.
I clear my throat, standing abruptly. "We should get moving. We've wasted too much daylight already."
Serra nods, her hands busy wrapping chunks of bread and dried meat in cloth. She tucks them into a worn leather sack, along with several apples and what looks like dried herbs. "The bread should last you a few days if you're careful with it." Her eyes catch mine. "Real bread, not Turo's creation."
"But mine was good too!" Turo protests, his tail swishing.
"Of course it was, sweetheart." Serra pats his head before pressing the sack into my hands. Her fingers squeeze mine briefly. "Be safe out there. I hope you find what you're looking for."
The kindness in her voice makes my throat tight. "Thank you for everything."
"You're always welcome here," Serra says, though Rook's grunt suggests he might disagree.
Turo's lower lip trembles as he looks between Darak and me. "Do you have to go? You could stay and I could make more sweetbread!"
I kneel down, meeting his earnest gaze. "That's very tempting, but we have important things we need to do."
"More important than sweetbread?"
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" I ruffle the fur between his horns.
Darak bows slightly to Serra and Rook, his movements carrying that inherent dark elven grace. "Your hospitality won't be forgotten." Coming from him, I know it's more than mere courtesy - Darak doesn't give praise lightly.
Or ever.
Turo charges forward with all the boundless energy of youth, wrapping his arms around my waist in a fierce hug that nearly knocks me over. His small horns bump against my stomach, and I catch a whiff of sweetbread and childhood innocence. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too," I say, surprised to find I mean it with every fiber of my being.
I've never been interested in children - they're usually more useful as bargaining chips than companions - but this little tot, with his eager smile and endless enthusiasm for baking, holds a special place in my heart. It's almost frightening how quickly he wormed his way past my defenses.
The morning sun warms my face as we step outside. Behind us, Turo waves until we disappear over the hill, his small figure growing smaller with each step.
"How long until we reach the port?" Darak's voice breaks through my brooding thoughts.
I adjust my robes, keeping my eyes fixed on the dirt path ahead. "Kestral's only a couple days' walk from here if we follow this road."
The leather sack shifts against my shoulder as we walk, the sound of Serra's carefully packed provisions rustling with each step. His words from last night echo in my mind: At least Serra knows how to present herself. Though I suppose when you've got nothing to present...
The early afternoon sun beats down on us as we trudge forward in silence. I touch the scar on my cheek absently, remembering how he'd tried to salvage the situation later. You're not ugly. The words stick in my throat like Turo's charred breakfast. Not ugly. What a ringing endorsement.
The sack of food suddenly lifts from my shoulder. I blink, startled from my thoughts as Darak swings it over his own. The gesture catches me off guard – too gentle for someone who'd cut me down so easily with his words last night, too familiar for the uneasy tension between us.
I sneak a glance at his profile, trying to decode the meaning behind this small act of... what? Kindness? Pity? The bond pulses between us, offering no answers, just the constant reminder of his forced connection to me.
Without it, he probably would never have bothered to notice me.