Seventeen Aris
SEVENTEEN
A RIS
All things considered, Aris knew he was getting off easy. At least for now, while there was still work to be done.
They sat at the breakfast table early the next morning, rehashing the plan a final time.
“Does everyone understand their role?” Blythe asked.
She reminded him of a princess from one of the wintry fairy tales she and Signa liked to read, leaning over the table like they were talking strategy for a war while dressed in a powder-blue velvet gown.
He watched her hair sway as she moved, cast over her shoulders in waves and so light a blond now that it was almost white.
Aris knew he should be paying more attention, especially when Blythe was upset with him, but he couldn’t stop staring at his wife, eager to be rid of the spirits so he might have her back to himself once and for all.
“It should be easy enough,” Elijah agreed, while Signa nodded.
“This just might work.” She seemed far more at ease now that Blythe was involved with the planning. Aris tried not to take it personally.
“It’d better,” he grumbled. “Otherwise I’m moving our home and we can leave these spirits to twirl away for the rest of their days.”
Signa frowned at him. “We’re going to help the spirits, not abandon them. Especially not on Christmas.” She turned to Blythe then, adding firmly, “I wanted to tell you, by the way. Your husband begged me not to.”
Aris shot his sister a glare so pointed that Death’s shadows twisted as if to remind Aris of his presence.
“Just be glad that it’s Christmas so I have an excuse not to tear all of your heads off,” Blythe told them. “We will not spend the holiday bickering. Do you understand me? This is a time for hot chocolate, dessert, music, and games.”
“I thought it was a time when we were meant to be enjoying one another’s company,” Signa noted.
“That, too,” Blythe hurried to add. “Now, let’s hurry and get these spirits out of Wisteria. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’d prefer we all be able to celebrate in peace before the night is through. The spirits included.”
They all muttered their agreement, to which Blythe clapped her hands. “We’ll meet back here this afternoon.”
With that the group split off, Death leaving with Signa while Elijah headed out with Gundry. That left Aris and Blythe alone as they made their way back up to the library.
Well… alone if he didn’t count the spirits, whose presence he still felt like prickles against his neck.
It was true they were far more behaved now that Blythe had arrived, though there was no way Aris was going to leave his wife on her own.
He sank into a green velvet chaise while Blythe arranged her easel and paints.
“Do you remember the night I gifted you this room?” he asked.
Blythe did not turn to him. “How could I forget?”
It was the first time they’d slept together.
The first time Aris had lost control and allowed himself to give in to the temptation of his new wife.
Her paints before him now were new, as was the easel, but the sight of her with the supplies brought memories back all the same.
Very pleasant, though very distracting memories…
“You can’t tempt me,” she said, batting back her hair as she turned away. “I’m still angry with you.”
“Understandable. Though, like you said, it is Christmas. And I’m certainly in the mood for giving once our pests are taken care of.”
Blythe flicked a brush of paint at him, and Aris scoffed as he wiped the splatters from his pants.
“Get to work, or I’ll send you to your study,” she demanded, though the words were half-hearted. She wouldn’t want to spend the day alone, either. Not when each of them was in a position to show off just how magnificent they were.
For Blythe’s part, she set about redesigning the room Aris had gifted her decades ago. It was a magical space, able to adapt to whatever she wanted it to be. All she needed was to create the image on a canvas, and the room could become her wildest dream.
It was an excellent gift, if he said so himself. Which was why coming up with another for her had been so troublesome. He could only hope that she would like her next present just as much.
Blythe set aside the canvas that depicted her library, placed a blank one on the easel in its place, and got to work creating a stage.
Only, the stage was no simple thing. On either side stood polished wooden nutcrackers, their varnish gleaming as they towered at least three times Aris’s height.
They stood sentinel over what would be the audience, wielding red coats with gleaming buttons and giant candy canes like swords that they pointed at each other over the top of the stage.
Dazzling snowflakes hung from the ceiling, and the seat beneath Aris shifted from a chaise to green velvet chairs, plusher than most theaters’.
Above the audience was a chandelier draped with ornaments and twinkling icicles, and Aris added a flare of his own, letting the pleasant scent of cinnamon and oranges suffuse in the air.
Garlands hung in all the corners, woven with more holly.
Not that it’d done Blythe any favors up to this point.
“Impressive,” Aris noted, catching sight of Blythe’s smug grin before she pressed her lips together to conceal it.
“Just wait until you see me in a garden. That’s where I really shine.”
Aris grimaced, still able to taste a faint trace of moss on his tongue. “Yes, I can imagine.”
She slid him a sideways look, scowling. “Don’t you have your own task you should be working on?”
He did, though he didn’t imagine it’d take him long. He held out his hand as Blythe watched him, a glinting needle appearing between two fingers. When he wagged a brow at her, she rolled her eyes.
Aris had made plenty of clothing in his lifetimes.
Even more recently, he had dedicated much of his existence to being a dressmaker and learning the trade.
However, in that moment he felt rather like the grandmother of a child in a school play, forced to craft ridiculous costumes for them and their friends.
He twirled the needle between his fingers, considering his creation. His talents were greatly wasted on the likes of the spirits haunting his home.
Though if he had to make costumes regardless, they might as well be spectacular.
The first thread came as a strike through the air, firm and decisive.
He was admittedly more dramatic about it given that his wife was observing, and he had a compulsive need to impress her, but it wasn’t until a few more dozen twists of his needle that she’d be able to see the threads crafted by his hand.
The first creation was a gown of gold, long in the back but barely hitting the wearer’s hips in the front, where sparkling white tulle flared out.
It was one of his simpler designs, ornamented with a headpiece of immaculate bone-white antlers.
There really was no rhyme or reason to the costumes he created.
He did only what interested him—candy-cane-striped bodices with twinkling skirts, all-white outfits with a subtle frosted sparkle, sugarplum-pink tutus with matching tops…
With each pull of his threads he fell more into his work, forgetting at one point that Blythe was watching as he dressed the fabrics in jewels and gemstones until they had just the right amount of sparkle to be dazzling, but not gaudy.
It was always like this when Aris worked.
The world fell away as he disappeared into his project, an artist fixated on finishing his latest masterpiece.
He had no concept of time. No knowledge of how many costumes he’d made.
Aris would have kept going for hours or days more, letting his creativity overtake him, if not for the gentle press of a hand on his shoulder.
“I think you’ve made enough,” Blythe whispered, and all at once Aris felt a snap back to reality. The gown he’d been working on fell limp in his lap, and he breathed out heavily as the weight of reality set upon him.
Scattered around the room were several dozen costumes that had piled up along the chairs and floor. Blythe was leaning awkwardly around one just to reach him, while another fluttered in the air, seemingly claimed by a spirit who twirled about with it.
He was glad to see that they liked it.
Aris let the needle disappear from his hands as he whisked the rest of the garments away by gilded threads that held them in the air like hangers. Then his arm slid around Blythe’s waist and pulled her into his lap. He was relieved to find that she didn’t protest.
“How long was I working?” he asked.
Blythe leaned on him, one cheek resting on his chest. “Surprisingly, only about an hour. I hadn’t noticed how many you’d made until I finished my own work.”
Aris hummed under his breath, casting a look around the former library.
His wife had clearly spent a long while perfecting the final details—sconces of candlelight perfectly poised to cast the aisles in a wash of warm amber, sparkles in the garlands that twinkled like tiny lights, plush scarlet rugs rolled out beneath their feet, matching the heavy velvet curtains onstage.
It was excellent work.
“My costumes will look quite nice up there,” he mused, kissing her temple.
She hummed against his chest, and God, did Aris want to squeeze her.
As it was, his arms were around her waist and she was pressed up against his body, but still it was not enough to satisfy the love that felt as though it were bursting out of him.
An overflowing chalice that sometimes overwhelmed him, for how could a man like him have been so lucky to end up with a woman like Blythe?
He’d been misguided to keep her out of this, certainly, though it was only because he wanted her to have the world.
“We’ll take care of the spirits,” he promised. Even now he was aware of their presence, though he had no intention of letting them stop him from enjoying this moment with his wife. “We’ll help them pass on, and then we’ll feast and drink and have the merriest Christmas either of us has ever seen.”
Aris felt Blythe smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“So am I. But first, there’s something that I’d like to give you, Sweetbrier.”
The line between Blythe’s brows crinkled as she tipped her head back to look at him. “There’s still a day until Christmas.”
“I am not a patient man.” He scooped her up, grinning as she squealed.
He carried Blythe, not like a hunted animal this time, but like a proper bride, down the stairs and to the Christmas tree in the foyer.
They’d decorate it more this evening, but for now the branches were strewn with delicate tinsel and candles that flickered like stars against the greenery.
He breathed deeply, relaxing into the crisp scent of the evergreen as he set Blythe atop a long crimson chaise he’d magicked there only a moment ago.
Beneath the tree were intricately wrapped gifts in gilded paper and velvet ribbons that had not been there this morning.
He plucked one of them from the floor and set it onto her lap.
It was a relatively flat package, though he’d managed to somehow make it beautiful in its wrapping.
Lifting it gently, Blythe arched a brow. “I’m not giving you yours until the morning, you know.”
“Yes, yes. That doesn’t matter.” He waved a hand at her, urging her along. “I don’t need the others staring at me when I give this to you.”
A grin spread wide over Blythe’s face. “Why? Is it romantic ?” The idea made her laughter all the more devious, while Aris tried very hard not to get nervous.
One would think that being as old as the world itself would somehow make him more assured, but when it came to matters of the heart, his was never quite able to stop its blasted fluttering.
“It took me a long while to think of what to gift you,” he said as he took a seat beside her. “And if you hate it… I’m sure I can think of something else.” He swallowed, knee bouncing as Blythe pried open the crimson paper to reveal the gift that awaited her.
It was a tapestry. Every person had their own—it was the pattern of their life. The threads that bound their fate and told the story of who they were and all they would become. He shivered as her fingers skimmed down the length of this one, turning her eyes up at him with a questioning glance.
He settled his hand atop hers, curling them around the threads. Gently, he brushed her thumb across it. “This is my tapestry. It belongs to you now, with a thread of red for every day that I have loved you.
“Day after day it will grow,” he continued, “for two million Christmases and more, because I will never lose you again, Sweetbrier. Be careful with these threads, for they are fragile right now. But they will continue to grow, and over time they’ll become stronger, as will the love I have for you.
” He released his hold on her and leaned back, feeling rather silly.
Looking down at the tapestry now, he wondered why he’d ever thought it was a good idea.
It certainly wasn’t as practical as a room that could change at will…
Surely he could have thought of something more exciting. Something more—
He went still as Blythe’s hands wound around him. She was hugging him, her face buried in his chest. Behind her, firewood crackled gently in the hearth, the sound almost masking the faintest sniffle.
“I would do it again in a heartbeat, Aris,” she whispered. “Everything we’ve gone through—all of the pain, all of the loneliness—I would do it all a million times more if it meant getting to hold you.”
Aris swallowed down the lump in his throat, nestling his face in her hair as he held her.
“I would, too, Sweetbrier.” He curled his fingers around her, holding tight.
It mattered not how they had gotten here—he could forget the pain he had suffered, and all the time they had lost. For her, he would forget all of it.
Because, finally, Aris Dryden had everything he had ever wanted.
Finally, he was happy. “For you, I would, too.”