Episode 72 Flirting with Danger
Flirting with Danger
Arisanna freezes in the doorway to Elowyn’s room, Cerian’s boots clutched to her chest.
While Cerian holds Elowyn’s arm gently in place, Tharios seems to be infusing her wound with some sort of magic.
And Viala stands behind her husband with her arms pressed against his back beneath his shirt.
That...is not the sort of thing humans do in public. Are the Lothlesi so free with their affection?
Cerian doesn’t seem to notice or care, though.
“Tharios,” Viala says softly. “That’s enough for now.”
“Just a little more—”
“You promised. She’s stable now. You need to rest. You won’t be able to help anyone if you hold nothing back.”
With a sigh, he straightens and turns toward Viala. His face is ashen and sunken, and Arisanna bites back a gasp when Viala quickly unfastens Tharios’s shirt and presses her arms to his chest.
Arisanna looks away as the pieces of the puzzle slide into place. Life magic. It must drain the life from Tharios when he uses it. No wonder he looked ill last night. And flesh contact must replenish it the way eating plants restores Cerian’s magic.
“Go lie down,” Cerian tells Tharios. “I’ll watch over them while you recover.”
Weakly, Tharios nods. “Thanks, Cer. Mother and Father are sleeping next door if you need them.” As Viala leads him from the room, he offers Arisanna a faint smile. “Don’t forget to come see me later.”
“After you recover,” Viala says sternly, and he chuckles.
Then they’re gone, and Arisanna turns back toward the bed, where Cerian studies his sister.
“Do you want your boots?” she asks.
He lifts his eyes to hers, and the walls that went up when Tharios joined them crumble again. He looks lost and worried, but a warmth that steals her breath crosses the space between them, and with only the slightest hesitation, she sets down the boots and runs into his arms instead.
He’ll need his boots eventually, but right now, he needs her more. His heat has tempered, leaving a soft warmth in its place as he clings to her in a way he hasn’t before. Something between them is different now. Every touch is more intimate. More comfortable.
“It’s hard seeing her like this,” he whispers.
“I know. But she’s strong. And she’s in the heartlanding with Rominy now. Imagine her there, all right?”
He nods against Arisanna’s hair. “Where do you think they go?”
“Well, we often end up in the forest and the dark. Places we need your magic. Perhaps their heartlanding has water.”
“She’d love that.”
“Then picture her smiling and happy near water.”
Cerian’s embrace tightens around her. “I love you.”
“And I love you, my elven fire wielder.”
Eventually, Cerian lets her go, and Arisanna gazes down at Rominy again. He probably doesn’t care where their heartlanding takes them as long as he’s with Elowyn. His everything.
And as long as no one dies. Cerian probably assumes Elowyn is the one who met an untimely end in their heartlanding, but Arisanna would wager it was Rominy who sacrificed himself to protect the woman he loves.
The thought warms Arisanna’s heart. Hopefully, they’re finding rest together this time.
Wherever they are.
Rominy gazes through the small window facing their garden as rain drizzles in the fading light.
The sun rose over their sailboat this morning. Then it traveled across the sky as it does every day. And now it’s setting again.
And they’re still here.
He tries not to let the setting sun unnerve him. Or the fact that he hasn’t woken yet.
“Rominy,” Elowyn says behind him, and he sighs as he turns.
“I know. We’re still here, which means we’re probably not dead, and Tharios must be letting me sleep to keep my heart steady. And time is different in the heartlanding.”
She’s told him those things at least five times as the day has grown long.
It only helps a little.
“Why don’t we eat something?” she suggests. “I’m surprisingly hungry for being in a dream world.”
His stomach is too knotted to think of food, but he nods.
“I wish for waffles with strawberries and whipped cream,” she says, and he slides his eyes closed.
She did that for him. Asked the heartlanding for one of his favorites to cheer him up.
He needs to do better than this. She deserves better than his moping.
When he looks at her, she’s eyeing him uncertainly.
She definitely deserves better than this.
“Elowyn. Come here.”
She doesn’t hesitate, and he wraps his arms around her and holds her close as she clings to him.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you, too. And I’m sorry. When I was there, all I wanted was to be here with you, and now that I’m here, I’m the worst sort of company.” He sighs.
“Hardly the worst. Just a little...distracted.”
He laughs and holds her closer. She’s like the sun. Always full of light.
Except when she was trying to obliterate the hearth with her fire magic, but that was hot in more ways than one, and he certainly won’t complain about the fiery side of her.
At all.
“You know, this day would be a lot easier to endure if I wasn’t trying to avoid setting you on fire,” he says when he lets her go.
As she lowers herself to a chair at their little table, she smiles up at him from beneath silver lashes, and his heart thrums faster.
“Perhaps it’s worth the risk, my love,” she says. “To lift your spirits.”
That would definitely cheer him up.
Stars above. They can’t do that. Not without getting the go-ahead from Tharios.
“Elowyn, you know we can’t.”
“I almost convinced you that time, though. I could read it in your eyes.”
Shaking his head, he takes the seat across from her. “It was a very brief lapse in judgment.”
“Perhaps the next lapse could be a little longer.” Her eyes twinkle as she lifts a forkful of waffles to her perfect lips.
“A little longer, huh? How long do you think you need?”
She almost chokes on her waffles, and heat creeps up his neck.
What in the world possessed him to say that?
“How long are you offering?” she asks after taking a sip of water.
Are they flirting? They don’t do that much.
He’s never been good at it.
Maybe he should try. Anything beats sitting here staring at the rain.
“That depends,” he says. “What are you offering in return?”
Well, that felt a lot more forward on his tongue than it did in his head.
They’re married, though. It’s fine. This is fine.
She sets down her fork and leans her crossed arms on the table. “A game of political diplomacy. Intriguing. Did you learn such things at the university? Prince Rominy?”
Her eyebrow twitches as she tilts her head slightly, and his mouth suddenly feels like cotton.
She’s better at this than he is.
He clears his throat. “I...I studied the art of diplomacy, yes. No one’s offer was ever quite as...attractive as yours, though.”
Stars above. Hopefully, she takes that the right way. No one was offering him sexual favors in his political science classes. It was all mock treaties and border disputes.
Thank the heavens.
“And what is it you think I’m offering, Your Highness?” She leans back in her chair, and as she lifts her feet to the table, her white dress transforms into her elven leathers.
Air. He needs air. Is it suddenly warmer in their little cottage?
She’s definitely better at this than he is. Perhaps he should follow her lead.
There’s nothing for it.
He silently wishes for his elven leathers and painted eyes.
The heartlanding is happy to grant his request, his loose sea clothes transforming into leather around him. He’s not nearly as smooth in his transformation as she was, though. Stars above, that was unsettling.
He gazes at her across the table, and for a moment, she looks a little overcome.
She does like him in leather.
Soon, she’s back to her aloof persona, though, which is a side of her she’s never shown him before tonight.
It’s not doing his racing heart any favors.
“You never answered me, my prince.”
“Is that the Elvish honorific, my princess?”
“You’re avoiding my question. What do you believe I’m offering, Your Highness?”
He is avoiding her question.
He would like to keep avoiding her question.
“Perhaps I want to hear it in your own words.”
Without hesitating, she answers in swift Elvish, and he almost laughs until he catches a few phrases he understands. She looks straight at him as she speaks, and he struggles to breathe.
That was specific. At least the parts he understood.
“You win,” he whispers. “How long should my next lapse in judgment be?”
Laughter trips from her lips. “You understood more of that than I thought you would. I almost didn’t say it.”
“Please tell me you meant it.”
She turns serious as she glances away. “I did, but...”
Sighing, he leans back in his chair and wills the fire filling him to cool. “But not yet.”
As she meets his gaze again, her eyes are full of heat. “Soon. All right?”
“You’re treaty-bound to make good on your offer,” he says before he can talk himself out of it. “I’m going to hold you to everything you promised. At least everything I understood.”
To his relief, she grins. “And what do I get in return, my prince?”
“For that? Anything you want.”
She laughs and picks up her fork again, and they return to their waffles.
That wasn’t so hard.