Winter Solstice Two Years Ago
RIVEN
Winter solstice has always belonged to people with somewhere to go.
Families. Lovers. Homes full of light. Not to people like me. Even since I left home and freed myself from the overbearing and fake celebration my equally overbearing and image-obsessed parents put on, I’ve spent them alone.
Which is why, this year, I refuse to let Poppy spend it alone.
Last year, she traveled home to spend it with her parents, who, according to her, are so in love it’s almost sickening.
But this year, Poppy gifted them a trip to see the celestial lights for the solstice, which takes place only once a year and is a romantic destination, not a family trip.
And as excited as I know she was to get them this gift, I can tell she’s down about the idea of being alone today and tomorrow.
I wipe down a table, helping Poppy close the Foxhole after a very busy night filled with festive well-wishers and families from far and wide.
The winter wind rattles the shutter while, in contrast, snow falls softly against the windows.
My fingers fist the handles of the two mule cups on the table near the roaring hearth.
Tables cleared: check. Just need to finish cleaning the glasses and invite Poppy to spend the solstice at my house, and the night will be complete.
I move into the kitchen to find Poppy sitting up on the counter.
A cinnamon stick floats midair, headed for her mug of steaming tea.
A bowl of dried oranges and cloves sits beside her, a decorative garland half strung on the counter.
Like she lost the festive spirit halfway through and gave up.
The washed and dried glasses are stacked by the sink, and her hair is piled high atop her head in a bun.
Looks like she finished cleaning without me.
Sometimes, I forget she’s a witch who can snap and shine the place up faster than I could make a to-do list for closing.
I lean against the door frame, the clanking of the glasses in my hand on the counter the only sign of my arrival.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asks.
I shrug, noncommittally. “Not particularly.” Was I invited to a party at the estate of a very alluring female tonight? Yes. Could I have ventured home to the Ombra, the shadow fae’s secretive city of shadows? Probably, but I haven’t done that in years.
“No maidens to escort to the solstice ball at the mayor’s house?” I forgot about that invite…I’ll send him a bottle of whiskey as recompense tomorrow.
“Plenty, but they’re getting too clingy.” The wood creaks beneath my feet, and the magic in the water pipes rattles when I turn the sink water on. “Can’t spend a holiday with a fling.” Water splashes the front of my shirt when I slosh a wet rag in the mug to clean it.
“So better spend it alone?” I can hear the disdain in her voice. She’d never choose such a thing.
“Nah, I have other plans.” Because I can’t stand the thought of her spending the longest night of the year alone.
“Any interest in coming to my house tonight? We can celebrate the long night and then be lazy all day tomorrow.” My voice is teasing and gives no inclination to the fact that I have set up elaborate decorations and paid a chef to prepare a solstice meal for us tomorrow.
Her spine straightens. “Really?”
“Really, really.” I smile, my back to her. “Grab an overnight bag and meet me-” I hear her snap, and when I turn, I see she’s changed into a matching sweater set in the colors of solstice and has a small overnight bag packed by her side.
“Ready.” She snaps once more, opening a portal to my manor house, a small magic that takes a great deal of her power.
Some witches can transport across the universe, but Poppy can really only do it from one side of town to another, and even that about wipes her out.
“Are you coming?” My smile deepens. Someone is eager.
“Yeah, Pop. I’m coming.”
All night long, we recreated old solstice traditions from both our childhoods. We lit extra candles in honor of my shadows, roasted chestnuts on the fire like her dad always does, and, of course, made hot cocoa.
Poppy sits, feet curled under her beside the fire, back against my couch.
I’m sprawled on the couch above her, boots kicked off long ago and my head resting beside hers.
The snow has yet to stop falling, and we’re content in the house amongst the crackling fire and scent of warm chocolate.
Outside, the world folds deeper into winter’s hold.
Inside, the fire burns like a small rebellion against it.
My shadows creep closer to Poppy. Over the course of the year we’ve been friends, I’ve seen them grow curious about her.
Though they belong to me, they are semi-sentient and, therefore, like to make up their own mind about people before getting too close.
They drift along the wall now, reaching for the kettle of cocoa and her empty mug and quietly refill it while she watches with rapt attention.
Seems they’ve finally made up their mind about her.
“Don’t mind them,” I say softly. “Sometimes, they get bored that they only exist in service of their master.”
“They’re incredible,” she breathes. The mulled wine with dinner must have gotten to her brain, because most women, and men, are afraid of my shadows. As they should be. They’d kill at my command with a single word from my lips.
“You’re the first shadow fae I’ve ever known,” Poppy explains, holding her hand out and letting my shadows weave between her fingers lazily.
“I choose to hear: I’m the most handsome and charismatic shadow fae you’ve ever known.”
“I guess, by default, that is true too,” she giggles, fueling my ego. “Will you tell me about them?”
“What do you want to know?” I respond without hesitation. Yes, the shadow fae are known to be secretive, but in the year I’ve been friends with Poppy, she has more than earned my trust.
“Were you born with them? Are they you or…something else?” Popp continues to watch my shadows move as she asks.
“No, the shadows are ancient, undying beings. They find a shadow fae during the introduction into the realm, sometime shortly after birth, and then return when the child comes into their powers in early adolescence. Somewhere between your first lie and your first mistake and stay until you die.”
“That’s morbid to think about.”
I shrug. “It’s our way, and they’re quite loyal once you earn it.” The shadows gather nearer while I talk. Almost like they’re listening.
“How do you tell them what to do?”
“They speak only the language of Ombra, the Midnight Tongue.”
“Can you teach me?” she asks innocently. Little does she know, they don’t often take well to outsiders using their tongue.
“I’ll teach you one thing, but it comes with a warning.” She turns to watch me, eyes wide at the gravity in my voice. “Don’t try to speak to anyone’s shadows but mine, and only the exact word I teach you. They seem docile, but they’re wicked if disrespected.” She nods in understanding. “Custodire.”
“Custodire,” she repeats quietly, and gasps when my shadows engulf us in a swarm of darkness. “What does it mean?” she asks, breathless but unafraid.
“Protect,” I answer. “But it’s not a command you’ll ever need when I’m around.
I promise you that.” I wave my hands. “Reqium.” My shadows fall back to the corners of the room at this command, resting.
“Gratias tibi,” I thank them before letting my eyes fall back to Poppy, whose own golden orbs are wide with wonder.
“What power do they hold?” A question kings would kill to know.
“They’ve existed longer than most kingdoms, and people have wanted to know that just as long.
” One shadow curls near Poppy like a cat, and she pets it without hesitation.
I’ve never seen anyone outside of Ombra so comfortable around the shadows.
“They move unseen, carry whispers and secrets, can carry or hold just about anything, and even slip into others' minds on command.” Poppy swallows. “There are limits, but honestly, I don’t even understand them completely.”
Poppy blinks up at me, a small smile on her lips. “Thanks for telling me about them.”
Her smile is easy to return. “Thanks for listening.”
She looks around the room, from the evergreen in the corner to the single wrapped present beneath. “Can we do presents now?”
“Presents? That’s very presumptuous.” But without command, the shadows are carrying the gift I wrapped for her toward us. “Yes,” I huff, laughing. “We can do presents now.”
Poppy snaps her fingers, and a small green box appears in her hand. “Me first.” She extends it to me. Nothing extravagant. No bow or frills. “Open it!” she demands, her face showing just how eager she is. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t use magic for this. Though you might wish I had.”
I lift the lid off the box, and Poppy scoots closer, eyes on me as I take the tiny wooden object in my hand and turn it over. It’s a fox, like the one on the sign that hangs above my bar. It has slight imperfections, clearly made by hand by a beginner wood carver.
“I carved it for you and made the sides smooth. You’re always fidgeting with things, so I thought you could keep it in your pocket or something and rub the sides when your hands need something to do.
It isn’t a big deal.” But it is. More thoughtful than any rare artifact or piece of jewelry my parents ever bought me.
Which is exactly what I got Poppy. Something I spent coin on while she spent hours making me something.
“My turn!” She gently takes the present the shadows are holding up for her.
“It’s nothing big,” I downplay. “Just found it lying around.” At a jewelry shop costing more than my rarest bottle of whiskey.
She pulls the thin, pure gold ring from the box. I thought she’d like it, to add to the stack she always wears. Most of which, I doubt are real Faebarian gold like this one.
“I love it.” Poppy’s face lights up, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I like seeing her happy.
She slips the ring onto her middle finger on her left hand. “Thank you, Riven.” Her arms wrap around my neck, the scent of her gourmand perfume settling around my chest and her warmth seeping through my shirt. “Happy solstice.”
“Happy solstice, Poppy.”
Our embrace ends soon, and we go back to just talking.
Gossiping about regulars and discussing what we’ll do with an entire day off tomorrow.
Eventually, Poppy stretches out near the hearth, her head resting against the couch once again where I lay.
If we stay down here much longer, she’ll be in a combo sugar-and-wine coma, and I’ll have to carry her to the guest room.
My shadows tuck a blanket around her shoulders. Watching it—them interacting so naturally in my home—makes the world feel small in the best way. I think this is the closest feeling of home I’ve ever had.
Soon, Poppy is asleep beside her half-empty cup of cocoa. I stay awake much longer, watching the flames dance, my shadows curled around Poppy like quiet guardians as I turn the small wooden fox over in my hand again and again.
Solstice is meant for families. Or lovers. Or people with somewhere they belong.
I think I finally have the last one.