Episode 89 Trust the Heartlanding
Trust the Heartlanding
The heartlanding is a cruel, cruel place.
Cerian stares out the door of their railcar as Arisanna clutches his hand.
“Well. That’s ironic,” she says.
He glances her way before turning back to the scene in front of them.
Sand. Nothing but miles and miles of sand.
“Perhaps we should stay on the train,” he whispers.
“Weren’t you just saying we should trust the heartlanding?”
“Yes, but...sand.” He gestures toward the sand dunes at twilight stretching before them.
So much sand.
And not a drop of water in any direction.
The heartlanding really is cruel. When it wants to be.
“Maybe you’ll love the sand,” she says, and he turns disbelieving eyes her way. “Or not,” she adds. “Either way, I promise not to let go.”
“You really wish to get off the train?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. But last time I was terrified, and it ended up being one of the most amazing nights of my life.”
She looks up at him, and he takes her in. Her expression, full of love and vulnerability and fear. Her glorious hair he longs to bury his fingers in and her rosy lips that beg to be kissed.
But for some reason, the heartlanding has decided sand is more important tonight.
“At least the sand will be confined to this dream world,” she says. “We won’t be finding it everywhere for days.”
It’s a good point.
He looks back over the dunes. “I suppose we should trust the heartlanding. But I don’t believe I will enjoy sand.”
“Just focus on me, Cerian.”
He lets out a sigh and nods before tentatively stepping off the train into the sand below.
So much for more bonding tonight. Arisanna tries not to let her disappointment show as she follows Cerian off the train.
“It moves when you step in it,” he says, and she hides a smile.
“It does. Would you like to take off your boots? Sometimes it’s easier to walk in sand with bare feet.”
The look of horror he sends her draws out her smile despite her best effort to hide it.
“So, boots on,” she says. “At least it’s not hot. I imagine it gets pretty warm when the sun comes up.”
“Where are we even supposed to go?” he asks. “All I see is sand. And the train is gone.”
She glances over her shoulder. He’s right. It disappeared again the way it did last night.
“Elowyn could tell if there were water nearby,” he says, and Arisanna looks thoughtfully up at him.
“She can detect water, but what often accompanies water?”
His brows draw together before his eyes widen. “Plants.”
“Do you sense anything?”
He concentrates for a moment, turning in a circle before looking back at her. “I believe there may be plants to the west. I sensed something, but I’m unsure of what.”
“How do you know which way is west?”
“Toward the sunset,” he says softly, and she nods. Right.
“Shall we?” she asks.
It’s slow trudging through the sand, especially since Cerian places every step carefully to avoid getting the tiny grains in his boots. She gave up and is now walking with mounds of sand beneath her toes, but she doesn’t complain. It’s only for tonight.
They crest a dune, and Arisanna looks hopefully down the other side, only to be greeted by more sand.
“Do you still sense plants?” she asks, and after a few moments, he nods.
“It’s getting stronger.”
“We must be getting closer.”
The twilight lengthens, and the sky grows darker as they plod forward. When she starts limping, he frowns back at her. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I’m getting a blister. It’s all right. I’ll be fine.”
She takes another step, but he pulls her back. “Sit. Please.”
With a sigh, she lowers herself to the ground, and he only makes a slight face before carefully joining her. He’s determined to interact with the sand as little as possible, it seems.
He gently tugs off her boot, and then he dumps it out. “How did your foot fit in there with all that sand?”
“Not well,” she laughs.
When he reaches for her foot, butterflies fill her at the touch of his hand on her skin.
“I wish the blisters would heal,” he whispers.
To her relief, the puffy red flesh mends itself.
“Thank you.” She gazes into his eyes, but he doesn’t let go of her foot.
He rubs it. Massages it with his strong hands. And her swift intake of air makes him smile.
Stars above. That feels glorious.
“I used to rub my mother’s feet when she needed touch to replenish her life magic,” he says, and Arisanna lies back and stares at the darkening sky. She’ll have sand in her hair, but it doesn’t matter. Not when his touch feels like that.
“Cerian,” she whimpers, and soon he has her other boot off, too.
When he lobs a series of fireballs high overhead, she barely glances at them before closing her eyes again.
Then his hands slide along her legs, and her breath catches.
“What about the plants?” she whispers.
“In a few minutes. I need a little love before we continue our trek through this fates-forsaken place.”
A light laugh escapes her as he crawls along her body until he hovers over her and presses his lips to hers.
He’s all smoke and sparks tonight. Not a trace of berries. She misses his vines wrapping around her.
Her fingers itch to slide along those pointed ears of his, but that might be too much for his fire magic, so she leaves her hands at his sides over his leather shirt.
As he kisses her, he grows slowly warmer, but he’ll pull away before he hurts her. Not even a hint of doubt fills her.
She’s safe with him.
And all too soon, he lets go of their kiss the way she knew he would.
“I got sand in my boots,” he whispers, and she laughs before she can stop herself.
“I’m sorry. Maybe you shouldn’t have kissed me like that.”
“I believe it was worth it. Most likely.”
She laughs again, and he smiles down at her. He seems in no hurry to move. Silvery light from the rising moon silhouettes him, and thoughts of experiencing the joining with him in the moonlight bring her own heat to the surface.
“We should go find that water,” she whispers, and his throat bobs as he nods.
When he climbs off her, the loss of his warmth sends shivers racing through her, though not the pleasant kind.
“You’re cold,” he says.
Was it that obvious?
“I wish for a jacket for my...wife,” he says softly in Nunian. Has he ever called her that before?
As a leather jacket forms around her, he finds her lips once more, and she clings to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“I need to cool my magic,” he says long before she’s ready to let go, but she nods and reclaims her arms.
Her own heat needs to cool a bit, too.
As he lobs more fire into the air, she collects her boots. She’ll end up with new blisters if she puts them back on.
It might be worth it in order to feel Cerian’s hands on her again.
Stars above. She shakes her head. She doesn’t need blisters for that. She can just ask, can’t she? He’s her husband.
She probably doesn’t even need to ask. Not with words, anyway. There are other ways to convey what she wants.
That thought makes her blush.
Of course, she did push him into the bathtub earlier. He seemed not to mind. She bites her lip at the memory.
“Are you ready to continue?” he asks. “Or do you wish to put your boots back on?”
“I probably don’t need them, do I? You’ll rub my feet, even if I don’t have blisters?”
Well. That popped out before she could stop it.
He stares at her before responding. “I hope you’re not contemplating injuring yourself so I’ll rub your feet.”
“That would be ridiculous,” she says with a light huff of a laugh.
“It would be.”
“Right.” She hugs her boots to her chest. “I’m ready then.”
He eyes her for a moment before taking her boots with one hand and offering her his other arm, which she clings to.
“You can just ask,” he says so quietly she can barely hear him, and she rests her head against his shoulder.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looks up at him again, and he studies her with a gaze that pierces her heart.
“Do you know you can ask for whatever you need and almost anything you desire?” he asks softly. “Without feeling guilty?”
She opens her mouth before closing it again.
“Because you can, Arisanna. Everyone else’s needs are not more important than yours. And I long to give you everything you desire that’s within my power to give.”
His words nestle into her heart as he gazes at her.
“So next time I have a blister—”
“Tell me right away.”
“And if I want you to rub my feet?”
“You need only ask.”
“And if I want you to...to...” She takes a deep breath and pushes the words out. “To touch other parts of me?”
He leans near her ear. “You need only ask.”
She bites her lip again as she clings to his arm and leans against him, and he presses his lips to the top of her head.
When he curses under his breath, she looks at him in confusion as he sputters and spits into the sand.
“You have sand in your hair,” he says before spitting again.
Well. That’s one way to ruin a moment.
“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t meet his gaze as she tries to brush the tiny grains away, but he reaches for her hand and lifts her chin until she’s looking at him.
“We were lying in the sand. It was inevitable. There’s no need to apologize. Though I may focus my kisses on other parts of you for now.” His mouth tilts into a soft, lopsided grin, and she can’t help smiling in return.
“So I don’t need to fix my hair?”
“I like it this way. Wild and free.”
She melts at his words, but before she can respond, he kisses her again—her lips this time—and she melts even more.
Then he offers his arm again. “Are you ready to continue?”
“I’d follow you anywhere, Cerian Westaria,” she whispers.
Warmth fills his eyes at her words, but he says nothing as they trudge through the sand once more.