Chapter 29 Neirin
NEIRIN
Evera’s embrace was sheltering, like a cloak from the cold; the scent of her soothing, like the burn of whiskey. And more than these things was the harmony of our heartbeats. The way she settled my body and my soul.
When she drew back, I held her gaze. How could I tell her she was everything to me when I was sure she still had questions?
At dawn, I’d sought to earn her trust, yet as I studied the flecks of many colors in her eyes, I knew this went beyond that.
Whether or not she trusted me, I could not say.
But in this moment, there was a connection between us.
Would she repute that if I voiced my feelings? Or did she sense it too?
“Are you alright?” Evera cupped my cheek, her touch light, caressing, and so incredibly intimate.
“I—” The words held in my throat. A fear gripped me.
If I pushed myself on her before she was ready, it could very well overwhelm her.
Yet time was something I did not have. Not when my brother’s life hung in the midst of it all.
When the huntsman returned, I would have to leave Elrune.
Whether Harlan accepted my word as truth or not, my duty to him, my love for him, would compel me.
Before Evera, I had accepted this freely.
For what value did I put on my own life?
I existed to protect Harlan, to ensure Nyana had all she needed, to give every moment of my existence in pursuit of repenting for Thatch’s death.
And while those things still drove me, Evera had shattered the numbness.
There was a selfishness to it, one that brought a bitterness to my mouth, but I could not deny the longing.
The aching desire to exist beyond all I was, to hold on to moments like this one—the salt on the breeze and the way it tightened Evera’s curls, the warmth of her body, the resonance of her heartbeat—for the remainder of my days.
This was not living for a purpose. It was living for a feeling. And it was shattering and equally enthralling.
“Neirin.” Evera stroked her thumb across the stubble of a beard growing in.
“I desire you,” I said without thought. Though as soon as the words escaped me, I knew they were ill-voiced.
To my surprise, Evera laughed. “That is very forward of you.”
“That is what Sindri said as well.” I shook my head, recalling the barkeep’s words the night of the festival.
Shifting my tone back to a more serious one so she understood that my longing for her went beyond what her body could give, I placed my hand atop hers.
“This, though, is a different form of longing.”
Releasing a breath, Evera smiled. “It is.”
“Do you have more questions to ask of me?” Keeping her hand in mine, I lowered it to my chest, to where my heart beat in rhythm to hers.
She sighed. “Yes, for each question you answer, I have three more. But that is enough heavy conversation for one night. It is, admittedly, exhausting.”
“It is,” I agreed, “but I believe I have earned one question for you.”
“Have you, now?”
“I’ve been very forthcoming, Cordelia,” I teased.
Shoving at my chest, Evera grinned. “Very well, Hadrian, a single question.”
I considered this for a moment, enjoying the warmth of her smile and the lighter tone our conversation had taken on.
It was true what she said. Though there would be many questions for us both as we learned from each other and uncovered our pasts and tribulations, there was a heaviness to such talks. One that needed to be balanced.
Evera shifted her weight, and the hilt of her blade, strapped at her inner thigh, pressed to my leg.
“Your dagger,” I said decisively. “Where did you get it?”
“I don’t remember,” she replied with an easy comfort. “I’ve always had it.”
“Can I see it?”
A wicked grin crossed her face, reaching her eyes. She pressed against my chest, encouraging me to fall back. I obliged and leaned back, supporting myself with my forearms. Raising to her knees, Evera bunched her skirts and withdrew the blade.
With a glint of a challenge in her eyes, she held the dagger out to me.
I supported my weight with one arm and took it from her. My muscles bunched with the effort, and I caught Evera’s brief glance across my body before she returned her gaze to the blade. A slight reddening flushed her cheeks.
Stifling my amusement and my satisfaction at the effects I had on her, I held the pointed blade up to the dying light of the setting sun.
It was old, but the craftsmanship was of decent quality. Rough leather wrapped its hilt, and accents of embossed metal decorated its pommel and cross guard. The edges, however, were markedly dull.
“When is the last time you sharpened it?” I asked.
“Sharpened it?”
I scoffed and ran my finger across one of the blade’s edges.
“I will sharpen it for you. You should keep it on your hip, though. Where you have it now is impractical.” I considered for a moment, then added, “Though, unless it was your intention to cut me the night of the festival, I suspect you need lessons on wielding it properly as well?”
One of her brows rose as I handed the weapon back, handle first. She took it and set it beside us on the grass.
The guard in me cringed at the action. “A blade should always be sheathed when not in use,” I pointed out.
Huffing, Evera ignored my lecture. “I could not carry it on my hip.”
“Yes,” I told her with stern seriousness, dissatisfied by the bitterness in her tone. “You can, and you should.” To regain the lightness, I offered a crooked smile, knowing as I did that it would reveal my dimple; I knew she favored it. “Fuck what others think of it.”
“Fuck what others think of it?” she repeated on a laugh.
I drew a curl from in front of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. My gaze fell to the faint bruising at her cheek. I released a breath, the moment stifled by remembrance of what had led us here. “You should be able to defend yourself. That is worth more than the opinions of strangers.”
Evera held my eyes. Again, the emotion from before swelled from her. It was an emotion that my monster never communicated to me. Something warm, thick … I was unsure of the feeling.
She held out a hand and, with drawn brows, I took it.
“I am Evera,” she said. “I have no family name, no crest or sigil, and I have a despairingly meager dowry. But now you have my name. I choose to give it to you. I hope it is enough.”
“It is everything.”
The amusement in her eyes fell away at my vehemence.
As if she expected me to laugh at her gesture.
But this was what I’d been waiting for. For her name.
For her to give it willingly. A flutter filled my chest. Exciting, terrifying, weightless.
I rose so that our chests met, and I threaded my fingers through her hair.
A slight gasp escaped her before I stole the sound with my kiss.
The touch was light, intimate. When she gaped her lips, offering an invitation, I took it—slowly, though, not wanting to rush this moment.
She melted against me, matching my pace, and when the kiss broke, she rested her forehead on mine.
“Evera,” I said her name and cupped her cheek, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips once more before drawing back to study her with the need to memorize every detail; the dappling of freckles across her nose, nearly undetectable in the shadow of the setting sun; the curl of her lashes, a shade darker than her hair. “You are everything.”
When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “How? How, Neirin, when we’ve known each other less than a fortnight? How can I be everything to you?”
“I do not know,” I admitted, guilt stinging. The words had come to me before I could consider them, weigh them. They were spoken from my heart. “In truth, it terrifies me. But I cannot deny it.”
Evera returned her forehead to mine and made a small, contented sound. All the response I would get, I suspected.
“We should return,” I told her after a moment.
“Must we?” There was a sadness to her words that ached at my heart. But we could not stay here, not without the necessities to make a fire or some form of shelter. And not along the main road, in sight of any travelers who passed in the night.
“We must,” I told her and brushed a kiss to her nose.
She giggled at the gesture. When her amusement shifted into a broad yawn, she fell against my chest in an exaggerated manner and nuzzled at my neck, humming.
I wrapped my arms around her, cupped the back of her head with one hand, and rubbed her back with the other. “Are you sleepy, Evera?”
“Are you going to overuse my name now that you have it?” Her voice was muffled against my neck.
The brush of her lips sent a sudden jolt of desire through my body, and I breathed in deeply to settle the stirring.
It was not the time. Her body needed to heal from the day.
And, in truth, I did not want to cheapen this night; something told me that taking her so soon would do just that.
“I am,” I teased. “Come now, let’s get you back. You need rest.”
The ride back into town was quiet, late enough in the day that the petrels had retired to their nests, yet early enough that the crickets had yet to begin their chirping.
A chill had set in with the coming night, and I held Evera close to me, wrapped in my arms. Against her neck, I sighed, and she giggled. “That tickles.”
I laughed and repeated the action, this time with a breath that fogged her skin. She squirmed, a slight whimper escaping her lips. “I thought it tickled,” I chided, resting my chin on her shoulder to keep the moment light.
She hummed contentedly, and quiet befell us again. Alongside the road, the cliff’s edge was nearly indiscernible as the night darkened; the colors of the sunset were long faded.