Chapter 3 Brook #3
“I’m sure!” Thankfully, Aisling took this in the spirit it was intended. Bright, understanding, beautiful, and with an adventurous sense of humor? She was too good to be true.
“You could help me hide from him as well as my duty to my family,” Brook pointed out.
Aisling grinned. “My pleasure.”
They drank half the bottle, chatting about the places Brook had seen and Aisling wanted to see. Darkness crept into the campground, and glow-globes and fires lit it up in a patchwork. And then Aisling sighed and said, “Will the dance be over yet?”
“Very nearly. Enough that it’d be a lost cause for me,” Brook said, though she wanted to go on sitting here all night. Finish the bottle. Ask for a kiss.
“I’m glad I could be of help to such a distinguished lady.” Aisling bumped Brook’s arm with her shoulder again. “Thank you for the wine. And the talk. I never expected an Emberleigh would understand how my family makes me feel.”
“I assure you I do. And thank you, too.” Brook licked her lips. Then stood and held out a hand.
Aisling took it, standing on the blanket. For a moment, their gazes lingered on lips. And then they both said, “Can I—?”
“Go ahead!” Aisling laughed.
Brook ducked without another word and caught her mouth in a kiss. Light at first, lips just barely parted, breathing summerapple wine between them. And then Aisling opened up, and Brook leaned down further to get a better angle, sliding her tongue between Aisling’s lips.
Aisling gave a delicious little gasp, her hand settling on Brook’s hip, fingers digging in. Her tail whipped behind her excitedly.
Now was the time when Brook would usually make her move.
Come back to mine, specifically, though it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had a little fun in the campground either.
But when Aisling closed off the kiss and looked up at her, her hazel eyes full of starlight and surprise, Brook knew it was the right thing to say, “See you tomorrow?”
Aisling nodded, tail swishing her skirts. “I’m sorry. I’d like to—but I have to be up.”
Brook squeezed her hand, then kissed it before letting it go. “I’ll be here.”
When Aisling disappeared back into her wagon, Brook wrapped her magical cloak of light around herself. She slipped through the quiet market, suppressing an urge to hum to, and then into The Webbed Foot’s back entrance.
She was in such a daze that she knocked over the fresh pitcher of water waiting just outside her door. She swore and dropped the invisibility spell, darting into the room for a towel or blanket to contain the mess.
And, of course, Priscilla was there waiting for her when she returned with it. “There you are. She was still dressed to impress in the most current Emberleigh fashion. She looked down her long, aristocratic nose at Brook.
Brook dropped to her knees to clean up her mess.
“I’ll call Azalea,” Mama said.
“No, no, it’s my fault. I’ll go and refill the pitcher for morning.” Brook’s cheeks burned hot.
“Where were you?”
“Uh…”
“Britheue. Keep this up, and you’ll be joining the guard yourself.”
That drew her up short. She looked up at Mama wide-eyed. “You wouldn’t ask me to.”
“Your magic might actually be useful to Emberleigh, if you did,” Mama replied evenly. “So, where were you?”
“I was with…” Brook flailed mentally for a moment, as only her mother could make her. “My intended!”
Mama frowned. “Surely not.”
“Yes. She’s lovely—not from nobility, but you know how they are in Gearwick.”
“Gearwick…” Mama’s forehead creased more deeply. “A good family?”
“Very respected inventors, which is like being noble, there.”
“Hmm.” She was probably thinking, Not ideal, but better than nothing. But she was too well-bred to say any such thing. “We’ll be meeting her at the Gearwick cultural dance, then?”
“Of course,” Brook said. And as she watched her mother turn sharply, then go back into her own room, she muttered to herself, “Fuck.”
Brook tried to convince herself that she’d done nothing wrong.
Plenty of times, she’d told her mother untruths about friends, lovers, whatever she needed to get Priscilla off her back.
But this one felt… wrong. She tossed and turned all night, until the little pocket watch on her end table told her it was almost dawn.
And then she got up, pulled on her clothes, and trudged her way through the early morning gray directly to Aisling’s stall.
Aisling was there, lining up pretty little cakes on her shelves. The smell from the ovens was divine, savory and rich—must’ve been the Copperford pies. Brook meant to try one of those. But first…
Aisling glanced over her shoulder, then her eyes widened.
“Apologies. Sorry. I, uh…” Brook stuttered, suddenly at a loss.
Here Aisling was working toward her dream, toward defining herself outside of her family space, just like Brook should be.
And Brook had come to ask her for something.
Something very selfish, though she hadn’t thought of it that way before.
“Would you ever consent to a fake engagement, Aisling?”