Interlude
Late Autumn, three years ago. The Lovelight Festival
The Lovelight Festival sets the canal banks aglow: sweet buns, soft lanterns, whispered wishes.
I’d like to enjoy it.
But the cruel, cat-torturing sons of high-ranking officials spot me.
Shouts. Pointing. Flinging spells.
I duck and bolt, pounding along the path six feet above the water. Blooms of light swirl; one spins into my face. I stagger.
A hard gust shoves me sideways.
I tip. Fall. Into shadow beneath the bank, into a small boat tucked under the stone.
And into Calix.
Of course it’s him. Silent in a rowboat like an inconvenient fate, holding me in his lap. A finger presses my lips. Boots clatter overhead.
“Where’d he go?”
“Must’ve reached the other side.”
Their steps fade; the boat drifts out into night. Water black; trees a rustle of shadow. I’m still in his lap. His finger still at my mouth.
Then boom: the canal erupts in lovelights, glittering and twirling. Light speckles his mask, my face. We stare.
His finger lowers. My breath tightens. Something soft moves in his gaze, something real behind the magic.
I sink into his hold, then jolt. I shouldn’t.
His breath hitches; his hand stills in my hair.
I frown at that hostage-making mask.
He shoves me off his lap. I hit the bank with a thunk.
“I’m not your enemy,” I say.
“You’re not my friend, either.”
He sinks a fraction. “What were you up to before those nobles? Should I drop you to someone?”
My belt pouch is gone. I sigh and look up at him. “Are you hungry? Pecan puffs?”
“Pecan puffs?”
“Ground pecans in creamy custard in flaky pastry. Pretty taffy on top.” My stomach rumbles. “Share a plate?”
He shakes his head, taking the oars. “You’ve lost your money, haven’t you?”
“Please? They only make them for the Lovelight festival. I’ll have to wait a year.”
“I don’t know. Buying someone dessert sounds like something a . . . friend would do.”
“What, are you upset?” His tone, his posture . . . “Well, I’m upset too. Last time you took off without a word!”
He looks over, pensive. Then he steers to steps and joins me on the bank, tapping my noisy stomach with a cane he pulls from the boat. “Pecan puffs.”
He sets a whip-quick pace through the streets. He disappeared from the mountain with no goodbye, he’s upset we’re not friends, and now he’s feeding me pastry puffs?
We reach an inn; he leads me to a small table. I blurt, “Why are you still hurt?”
He stiffens. “Father was furious at my absence that night. I was . . . punished. I’m to heal without magic.”
“Harsh.”
“He’s tough on everyone.” A beat. “My brother disobeyed him too. We’re both hobbling on canes today.”
I lean in, smirking. “Then let’s order sikelion lamb and emberfruit pheasant. And borage tea. With that, I can take away your pain.”
“You just want more free food.”
“We both win.”
He orders everything. Plates arrive until the table vanishes. I moan into the pecan puff, then set it down and look him dead-on. “Enough. Why do you keep frowning? Why are you sharing this meal with me? Why were you so upset before?”
He looks away. “I was upset before I met you tonight.” His jaw tightens. “My marriage has been arranged.”
I stare, suddenly fascinated by the last morsel of puff. “Arranged?”
“But I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Is she not nice enough? Pretty enough?”
“She’s plenty nice and plenty pretty. That’s not it, Caelus.” His eyes search mine, imploring. “Being with someone should be intimate, passionate. Felt deep inside. I can’t be that with her. Do you understand? I can’t.”
Something inside me drops. My gaze slides down, then up. I glance at the food between us (payment?) and swallow the last bite of pastry. “I understand.”
He lets out a shaky breath, closes his eyes a moment. I lean over the table, voice low. “I can get that happy for you.”
The air thickens.
Calix surges to his feet, staring hard. Coins clink onto the wood.
“Maskios?”
He turns and walks out.
Again.
Gone.
“Fickle!” I shout. The innkeeper arches a brow.
I take another bite of puff.
He’s just one silly young man, I tell myself. One masked, frustrating, annoyingly mysterious young man who doesn’t know how to say goodbye. Or how to stay.
He’ll come and he’ll go.
So forget him.
Save lingering thoughts for people who matter: my family; Akilah, nearly a sister; Veronica, who taught me the drakopala; even the prince I once slept beside in the hollow of a violet oak, the first stutter in my heart.
Not some too-handsome, magic-masked, cryptic-lipped, just-par-linea-declaring, festival-boat-ambushing menace.
I bite too hard; cream oozes down my chin.
“No more thoughts.”