Chapter 10 Aisling
Aisling nuzzled into Brook’s neck the moment she hit the bed. They smelled of expensive herbal potions. Aisling rubbed her face against Brook’s soft, wet hair and inhaled deeply, stretching out her tail.
As usual, it had a mind of its own; the spaded tip slid down the curve of Brook’s naked calf, then wrapped around her ankle tight.
Brook chuckled silently, just a shake and a little puff of air against Aisling’s shoulder. One of Brook’s arms wrapped around Aisling’s waist, fingers tracing the ridges at the base of her tail. Faint, almost feather-light caresses that sent little sparks shooting up Aisling’s spine like magic.
“Sleep,” Brook cooed, voice low and sweet. “You must be exhausted.”
“And the bath made me feel positively boneless,” Aisling admitted.
“You’re welcome.” Her smile was audible in Brook’s voice now.
Aisling chuckled. “I was so mean to you yesterday. And you still came back.”
“I knew there was something wrong. Something I didn’t understand. But I never even thought—goddess bless me, I’m an idiot.”
“No more than I.” Aisling snorted.
Brook kissed her hair. They were quiet a moment longer, curled together in the dark between the most decadent set of sheets Aisling had ever experienced.
And then Brook stirred again, pulled away just enough to look Aisling in the eye, and said, “To be clear, I plan to see you after this market. As often as possible. So think about options tonight. Talk tomorrow?”
Aisling nodded gratefully. She was so exhausted, riding the edge of her hangover and a genuine emotional crisis, that she would’ve said yes to anything just then.
Even without the large, dark, beautiful eyes of a lover fixed on her.
Aisling murmured. “I plan to see you too. As often as possible. If only I’d said it… ”
“We’re a pair of idiots. Just in very different ways.” Brook pressed her forehead into Aisling’s.
“So are my parents,” Aisling had to admit.
“And mine,” Brook agreed. “I’ll introduce you in less fraught circumstances tomorrow. If you want.”
“I want.”
Aisling woke before the gray dawn crept into Brook’s posh room. She considered getting up and going to her stall, trying to salvage her bellows—or maybe Darra, Dad, or Mum would have something she could use.
But no. They’d be running around, busy and excited. Today was the Innovation Awards.
She sighed and rolled over. Brook’s eyes were closed, black lashes soft against her dark bronze cheeks, lips faintly puckered as if expecting a kiss. Asleep like this, she looked younger, someone’s little elfling.
As if she felt Aisling’s gaze, Brook’s eyes fluttered open. Slowly, she smiled. “Of course you’re awake.”
“Before the songbirds.”
“Speaking of, when will you sing for me, songbird?”
Aisling snorted. “Never.”
Brook smiled and scooted nearer, throwing an arm over Aisling’s hip. “Sleep well? Feeling better?”
“Decidedly less hungover, yes.” Aisling cringed at her own ridiculousness. At least the ginger elf from the Dun Steorra dance hadn’t stuck around long enough to see her make a fool of herself. If anyone else had—well, didn’t seem like she’d ever find out, which was fine by her.
Hopefully, the ginger elf’s husband had also stopped avoiding him.
“I have an idea,” Brook said after a moment.
“Do tell.”
“Let’s stay in bed today,” Brook said.
Aisling laughed. “But the…” The awards, yes, but that’d just be frustrating for her now.
And she couldn’t do her morning bakes, either.
Even if she’d rebuilt her bellows and gotten someone working on the enchantment right after breaking the thing, it’d only be ready the day after tomorrow at the earliest. And by then, the market was all but finished.
Next year. Next year, she’d win it all. This year, she’d spend her earnings fixing what she’d broken in foolish frustration.
Which meant she really didn’t need to go to the awards. She was interested to see how Darra did, of course, and curious about the outcome of the airship theft kerfluffle Durae had let her in on. But…
Well, just look at her. Who could leave this? Aisling rationalized, “Anyhow, I’m almost out of jewelberries and I can’t find Arryn anywhere.”
“Arryn?”
“My berry farmer. They grow the sweetest, most wonderful berries in Everend, but I haven’t seen them since before the market started. So even if I did fix the oven, I couldn’t do much with it.”
Brook grinned. “Maybe they got married and ran off. Either way, seems like a sign.”
“Oh, now you believe in the stars.” Aisling laughed. “Next you’ll tell me you’re finding messages in the stories of the gods and goddesses.”
“If the stars and gods are telling you to stay in my bed, then yes. But the only goddess I’m interested in is you.”
Aisling grinned right back, utterly speechless, floating on a cloud of contentment.
Yes, it seemed improbable that someone like Brook would want someone like her. Especially after the ridiculous exhibition she’d been making of herself for the last few days. But Aisling wanted it too badly to argue with it when it was right in front of her. And here it was.
Brook actually giggled. “Let’s go get breakfast. And then not leave this room for a good twelve hours. Yes?”
“Yes.”
Aisling pulled on one of Brook’s shirts, which was far too long and tight across the chest, and her own outer skirt. They rushed down into the dining room, meaning to grab some food and escape back upstairs quickly.
But Brook’s father, a tall, dark, and stern-looking elf with an unmistakably noble bearing, was there behind one of the local gossip rags. He flicked his paper aside and eyed them both speculatively.
“Papa,” Brook said in surprise. “You’re usually in your sitting room.”
“Well, I didn’t hear you come in yesterday. So I assumed you’d be arriving this morning. And yet… Hello, Aisling of Copperford.”
Aisling’s cheeks heated. Then her ears. “Sir.”
He laughed. “Call me Papa. I know, it’s premature. But it’s good to see you two getting on with it.” He lifted the paper to cover his face again.
Brook shot Aisling an apologetic glance. And then they both started giggling, collecting boiled eggs, cheese, fruit, and bread in Aisling’s skirt and carrying them back upstairs in a hurry.
“They really wanted you to marry,” Aisling huffed at the top of the stairs.
“Papa says I don’t care enough about myself to find something useful to do. He thought I’d need someone to care about, I think,” Brook said quietly.
“Is it true?” Aisling asked, stomach dropping. How sad. How lonely. But beyond that, how painful to know that your family saw that in you and could or would do nothing about it.
Except insist that you marry a perfect stranger. Like it was some kind of cure-all. Or like Brook would be someone else’s problem to solve, if she married.
“Partly, perhaps.” Brook shrugged. “But the more I think on it, I don’t dislike myself. Or even not care about myself. I just don’t think of myself much. Never needed to.”
“You are a mystery.” Aisling smiled again as Brook opened the door for her.
“Not much of one,” Brook said. “Deep as a mud puddle on a hot day.”
“No.” Careful not to drop any of their breakfast, Aisling maneuvered through the doorway and to the table near the windows. “But you would say that, as it would stop anyone from looking deeper.”
Brook shot her a pregnant look, then laughed and began the process of taking the food out of Aisling’s skirts and arranging it on the table.
After they ate, Aisling kicked back on the bed and sighed.
She kept thinking there was somewhere she should be, something she should fix or finish or otherwise attend to.
Especially today, the day she’d built up as the most important, the most frightening, the most crucial in her Everend Midsummer Market journey this year.
But there was Brook, brushing her long wavy hair and laughing across the room, and Aisling had nothing to do but admire her beauty. Nothing to do but ask her everything she’d ever wanted to know.
So she began with, “Where do you want to live? To make a home?”
Brook gave a little shrug, and her fine shirt slipped off one shoulder fetchingly. “I don’t mind, really. As long as I can travel. You said you’d like to travel more, yes?”
Aisling nodded. “I’d love to. Everend is so big, and my corner of it feels so small.”
Brook turned around in her chair and set aside her brush. “There are small market fairs in most of the big cities and towns—you could bring your oven and build up demand throughout the year, then in summer everyone would know where to find you again.”
“That’s… an idea.” Aisling said. “A good idea.
“Isn’t it? Brook leaned her elbow on the back of her chair, propping up her chin on it. “What about you? Where would you live?”
“It’s easier to build things in Gearwick cities, I hear. But I do think I could learn some excellent magical applications to incorporate in Emberleigh…” Aisling licked her lips, momentarily embarrassed.
But Brook only said, “We could go back and forth—depending on the season. Find the best spots for the best ingredients, even.”
And just like that, embarrassment fled. Why, oh why, had Aisling not just talked to Brook?
No. She knew why. But never again. Aisling said, “Yes! Would you mind?”
“Not at all. It’d make travels even more exciting than my aimless ramblings so far, to really be looking for something. And maybe ventures north and east—and you know, I’ve never been all the way south, to the mouth of the Portage.”
“Me neither.”
Brook stood. “We should go.”
Aisling sighed. It was hotter down south, and so the fruit was said to be very small and uncommonly sweet. “Imagine the produce.”
Brook came to her and took one of her hands. “You’re not this summer’s Sunny, Aisling. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Like me? Look at you!” But Aisling flushed, running her gaze up and then down Brook hungrily.
“I mean it.” Brook climbed into the bed and settled facing her, legs pulled up so their knees touched. “I’ve never really gotten up in the morning looking forward to… doing something. Something productive, I mean.”