16. Chapter 16 #2
The first truffle melted on Ren’s tongue like sin wrapped in cocoa. Dark, rich, and spiced with something that warmed her from the inside out. Her breath hitched as a tingling sensation spread through her chest, her thighs, her throat .
Her fingers curled around the glass of wine. The wine had a heady sweetness — the smell of ripe cranberries and wild elderberries. Ren sipped.
And the world loosened.
For a moment, she felt boundless. Like she could kiss a stranger in the middle of the street or scale the palace walls just to feel the stars kiss her skin.
She exhaled sharply. “What is in this?”
Elira smirked. “Desire. The expensive kind.”
The second truffle came in the shape of a curled blossom, elegant and soft at its edges.
Elira gave a low, amused hum. “I recognize that one. It’s from Florneira. They say it reveals your greatest love.” She popped hers into her mouth without ceremony.
Ren hesitated, then bit.
Her vision tunneled.
There was a flicker of a female silhouette, the image shifting to reveal what looked like a tea room aglow with sunlight flickering through jaded glass, its windows dripping with rain, the world outside muffled.
Steam curled between porcelain cups, but it was the female’s breath Ren tasted, hot, uneven, too close .
Their bodies tangled on a bench, the female’s fingers threading through Ren’s hair, tugging as if grounding herself. Ren felt herself climb further into her lap, knees bracketing the female’s thighs, their mouths hovering but trembling on the edge of something vast.
A storm of restraint and unashamed wanting.
The female voice whispered something Ren couldn’t make out, then their lips met.
And the vision shattered like glass.
Ren cursed under her breath, the image warping as she blinked back into the present.
What in the seven hells was that supposed to mean?
A kiss? As if she had time for that nonsense.
It had been years since she’d been intimate with someone.
A barmaiden with dry wit and a smile that could halt an entire tavern mid-rowdy song.
Their fling had burned fast, brief, and bright, but sometimes, Ren still caught herself missing the warmth of it .
Ren almost laughed at the absurdity of her, tangled up in visions of romance.
Ridiculous.
“Gods,” Ren muttered, shoving the empty truffle wrapper away like it had betrayed her.
“Not who you expected? Or worse?”
“That was more like a nightmare .”
“Then maybe it was one of those ‘deepest fear’ ones. Who knows?” Elira winked and sipped her second glass. “I may have gotten them confused.”
Ren didn’t respond. Her heart was still racing, and not entirely from the sugar.
Elira’s laughter faded as she toyed with the corner of a folded napkin, twisting the fabric absently between her fingers. The candlelight flickered across her face, casting flickers of shadow beneath her eyes.
Ren asked, “What did yours show?”
Elira shrugged, too quickly. “Nothing. I’ve tried that one before,” Elira traced the rim of her glass with her finger. “Same thing. Just a void.” She looked at Ren and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Guess the truffle knows what I already do. Not everyone gets a love story.”
Ren leaned back in her chair. “Maybe not. But I’ve found those tend to end with someone getting stabbed or backstabbed anyway. Who needs love?”
Elira plucked the last truffle from the plate, turning it between her fingers before slicing it neatly in half. “Well said. Shall we gamble again?”
Ren raised a brow. “After the last one? You first.”
Elira smirked and popped her half into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. A beat passed, then her russet eyes widened. “Oh,” she said, except it wasn’t her voice.
It was Ren’s voice.
Ren froze, staring for a heartbeat before a smile ghosted across her lips.
On impulse, she popped the truffle into her mouth, the shell giving way with a soft crack, rich chocolate melting over her tongue.
“You’re kidding me,” she said slowly, only to hear Elira’s lower, huskier voice come from her own mouth .
For a moment, they blinked at each other in stunned silence. The laughter and music around them seemed to melt into the soft hum of candlelight and clinking glasses.
Elira picked up her glass and took a slow sip of her wine. “Gods, you sound like you’re one bad day from murdering someone. Do I always come across this intensely?”
Ren groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “Saints save me. I sound like that ? No wonder no one likes me.”
Elira smirked across the table. “Don’t worry. It’s growing on me. Must be the enchantments.”
“Enchantments?”
“Oh, Ren,” Elira drawled, her grin widening, “you didn’t think these were ordinary confections, did you? Everything here is infused by enchanters. They don’t use incantations — too crude for something this delicate. They work with emotion.”
Elira gestured toward the counter and Ren followed her gaze, where robed confectioners moved with almost ritualistic precision, stirring caldrons of molten chocolate.
“Every step of the process holds a feeling. A touch of joy in the stirring, a whisper of longing in the tempering. The chocolate absorbs it — warmth, intention, memory. Then it gives it to you.”
“Gives it how?”
“Depends on the confection. The first truffle we had tonight brought us bodily pleasure. The second showed us a glimpse of love that's to come.” She gave a wry smile. “And the last one must’ve been infused with mirth . The chocolatier who made it probably stirred in a little too much joy and mischief — emotions can tangle if they’re not balanced just right. ”
Ren hesitated, eyed the empty plate sitting between them. “You’re telling me someone poured feelings into this.”
"It’s all a suggestion, really. Enchanters are masters at swaying perception. They can make you believe the world’s shifted under your feet, when all they’ve done is coax your body into feeling it.”
“So it’s not real magic?”
“Oh, it’s magic,” Elira said, swirling her wine. “Just not the prophetic, stars-whispering kind. Enchanters aren’t seers; they’re artists. They work in illusion, in sensation. The right blend of emotion and craft, and suddenly your heart thinks it’s falling in love.”
“That’s mildly horrifying.”
“Mildly?” Elira smirked, leaning back. “If you think chocolate is powerful, just wait until you see what they do when they get their hands on scented oils. One drop of the right enchantment, and a whiff of jasmine can make you forget your own name for an hour. There’s a reason half the nobles of Pyraelia spend their fortunes on perfumes.
They’re not after the smell. They’re chasing the feeling . ”
Ren didn’t answer. She’d gone quiet, her expression thoughtful. She took a long sip of her wine as if the taste might anchor her. But then she paused. Is this enchanted, too?
Elira studied her over the rim of her own glass. “Why do you know so little about magic?”
“Why do you know so much?”
“Because where I come from,” Elira said, swirling her wine, “ignorance gets you killed. I’ve seen enchantments used for more than sweets and scented oils,” she added, her tone turning dark. “Some mages weave them into weapons.”
Ren set her glass down with a soft clink , the humor draining from her face. “Weapons?” she echoed, though her voice came out tighter than she meant.
“Oh, yes. I’ve seen blades that sap the strength right out of you — drain your endurance and fortitude until you can barely lift your arm. Swords that steal magic with a single cut. Even arrows laced with enchantments that slow your steps the moment they strike.”
"This sounds like a very creative way to kill someone.”
“Come to think of it, enchantment is a kind of magic that is subtler, quieter,” Elira said, her voice a low purr now. “It doesn’t roar like fire magic or flare like light. It seeps in. You never even notice you’ve been affected until it’s too late.”
The words hung between them, soft as the flicker of candlelight, and Ren couldn’t help but wonder what else Elira had seen and how she’d survived it.
Then Elira stood abruptly, draining the last of her wine and straightening her jacket. She slipped a few gleaming coins onto the table, enough to cover their meal and a generous tip.
“Let’s go give the bards something worth singing about.”