Epilogue Avirin
EPILOGUE
Avirin
The Ladies Riften lie on the hillside under a willow tree. Pye rests on their stomach, the back of their dress unlaced to expose their wings. While he dozes, the wind ruffles his hair, now colored the same light indigo of the summer storm in the sky.
Avirin reclines against the tree’s roots, dipping one of Pye’s paint brushes into a watercolor palette before she fills in a spot on his back. This tattoo is new, a Columbine flower with prominent spurs. Avirin drags her brush along the petals, the watery paint bleeding into a halo around it.
Pye’s voice is dreamy. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
Avirin fights a smile. It’s a silly question, given that the two of them haven’t been able to pry themselves apart since the first night in her room.
That was over a year ago now, but nothing has changed.
Pye’s sheets still smell like her every morning, and there are wing-shaped indentations in her mattress that never go away.
“Perhaps,” she muses, swirling the brush against his skin, “with some convincing.”
Eyes closed, Pye slides one of his palms up her calf. It sends a flash of heat through her that multiplies when Pye cups the back of her knee. “I’ve been struck with inspiration,” they murmur. “I must put your form to canvas again.”
She scoffs, but there’s no disguising her amusement. “Will this be yet another piece that involves me undressing in your studio?”
Crookedly, Pye smiles. “If you feel so inspired.”
“If I recall…” She drags the wet brush to the nape of Pye’s neck to watch them shiver. “The last time you tried to paint me, you became rather distracted.”
Pye hums, sweet and rich as honey. “I can’t deny that; you are quite the troublemaker to my thoughts…but I did finish that piece from memory.” They massage the back of Avirin’s thigh, working slowly higher. “I can show you tonight.”
Avirin’s horns knock against the tree. She tries to continue with the watercolors, but Pye’s hand on her skin robs her of all faculties. She can hardly focus to keep the brush in hand, let alone move in a way that resembles painting.
As if Pye senses it, their voice dips low. “I’d like to hang the portraits for our next house party. Give our guests a taste before they experience the real thing.”
Avirin’s teeth dig into her lip. The thought is heady. She and Pye have hosted a few lascivious weekends, but to have her naked body on full display before their guests have a turn with her…
Pye brushes fingertips along the juncture of Avirin’s thigh. “Perhaps we should have a live painting.” Their hand inches higher. “Let everyone witness how thoroughly distractible I am.”
Avirin’s breath catches. She can already feel the warmth building between her legs, but she promised herself she’d get some work done today.
Since Pye returned from the city, the two of them have been rather otherwise occupied.
“Before that…” She taps his cheek with the end of the brush.
“You promised to tell me how your trip went. You met with the printer?”
Pye teases her once more before they withdraw to trace patterns on the inside of her knee. “I did.”
Oh, how they love keeping her in suspense. “And? What did they say about the manual?”
“They were interested.” For the first time, Pye cracks an eye open, stretching before he rests his chin on folded arms. “But I apprised them that they would have to impress my business partner before any contracts were drawn up. They sent me back with a pile of their most prestigious academic books to woo you, and I informed them that you would join me at the next meeting, if you so choose.”
A lightness spreads in Avirin’s chest. She had expected only Pye would be allowed on the industrial side of this venture, but being able to have a hand in it pleases her beyond words.
She will be able to learn how the production works.
How the materials are chosen. How their words look fresh off the press.
And she will have to return to society.
The thought no longer frightens her; it hardly makes her feel anything at all.
In fact, when this year’s social season came and went, Avirin never spared a thought for it.
One would think that a disgraced lord and lady would not receive any callers, but she has been surprised at how many letters do arrive for them.
Rarely are they answered. Perhaps people only write for a chance to see the spectacle of Pye and Avirin, but it makes Avirin more surefooted.
The next time she enters the city, it will be with her horns and eyes on full display.
“And Mr. Brandiron enjoys working with Cascade?” she asks.
“They get along swimmingly. Selbie says the two of them share cigars and bandy words at least once a week.” Pye presses a kiss to Avirin’s ankle. “Most recently, they were discussing Lord Reid’s funeral.”
Avirin’s brows lift sharply. “Oh?”
“Such a shame he confused the potion intended for his mistress.” Pye clucks their tongue and thumbs circles against Avirin’s shin.
“And how terrible the measurements for it were all off. Might as well have been poison, the coroner said.” Though Pye’s face is somber, his feet swing whimsically behind him.
“His new wife barely had time to change from her wedding dress into full mourning, but she seems to be getting on fine. It appears Reid was very generous in leaving most of his estate to her.”
Avirin presses her lips together to keep them in check. “What a pity. I don’t suppose there are any records of where he might have gotten such a tonic.”
“None whatsoever.” Pye pushes up from the ground to kneel next to her, voice lowering conspiratorially. “Between you and me, no one was surprised. Reid always dabbled in more clandestine affairs. It was simply a matter of time before it caught up to him.”
Avirin’s nose wrinkles happily.
Pye entwines their fingers, turning her hand over in his and smearing a spot of paint between them.
“We work well together, don’t we? You turned my apple strains into best-selling ciders.
You transformed my ingredients into perfectly formulated potions.
You transposed my courtesan notes into our instructional manual.
” Pye presses their lips to the tip of one of her fingers.
“And I loved every moment we spent testing those tutorials.” Another kiss.
“And retesting.” Another. “And testing again…”
Avirin blushes so thoroughly that she doesn’t realize he’s removed her wedding ring until he slips it onto her opposite hand.
Pye reaches into their pocket. “We work so well together that it’s only right that I make my intentions with you very clear.”
With two fingers, Pye produces a different gold ring. It’s beautiful, inlaid with pearls that surround the central oval gem. Once Avirin looks closer, she realizes there is no central gem at all; it’s a piece of glass covering a blond lock of hair — Pye’s hair.
“You always have my heart,” he murmurs, “but I want you to have another piece of me. I want to pledge my life to you once more.” He holds the ring at the tip of the fourth finger of her left hand, his eyes bright on hers.
“Marry me again, Avi. Right here. We’ll invite everyone who cherishes us.
We will have a ceremony, and feasting, and dancing.
We will give our love the celebration it has long deserved. ”
The wind gusts through the trees, willow branches flapping and spattering the two of them with rain. She yelps with delight, and Pye grips her hips while he licks droplets from her neck.
“Please say yes,” Pye murmurs, like it pains them. Like they’re suffering every moment they aren’t bound to her. Their thumb smears paint across her arm and brands her with their fingerprint. “Please make me yours again.”
“Yes,” she breathes, and Pye slips the ring onto her finger. His mouth molds against hers and reminds her that she has always been hungry for a taste of this.
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