Episode 88 Under the Stars
Under the Stars
Did Rominy wish for that? He must have. It wasn’t there when they crossed this patch of sand on their way to the pool.
And it’s magnificent.
Elowyn takes in the massive instrument sitting on the shore as if it belongs there, the moonlight gleaming off its ebony shell.
“It’s a piano,” she breathes. Tharios told her about the stringed human instrument, but she’s never encountered one. She pictured them smaller.
And beside it sits the familiar bed from their cottage.
“I thought I might serenade you as you fall asleep under the stars,” Rominy whispers.
“You can play this instrument?”
He shrugs.
“I may swoon, Rominy Montarac.”
He smiles as he steps in front of her, walking backward in the sand toward the piano he requested from the heartlanding. “Swoon to your heart’s content, love. Just don’t catch fire. Not tonight, anyway.”
Then he turns and slides onto the bench in front of that glistening black monstrosity with its ivory keys. With a glance over his shoulder, his fingers take their places as if coming home to something so familiar he could find his way in his sleep.
And then he plays.
Whistling wind.
No wonder he wished to study music. The way his hands fly over the keys, coaxing the most beautiful melody and harmony from them, makes something inside her ache, not only for the haunting beauty of the music but for the dreams this prince of hers set aside because his future was written for him from the day he was born.
“Rominy,” she breathes when the last note ends, and he turns to look at her.
His eyes are full of so many emotions. Happiness and yearning and hints of vulnerability.
“That was beautiful, my love,” she whispers.
“I didn’t realize how much I miss playing.” He sighs and runs his hand over the glossy wood. “It’s been a while since I touched a piano. Always too many other things demanding my attention.”
“We will make time. I promised to help you find your music.”
“You already have, El.” The warmth in his eyes prods her control as longing fills his expression.
“Rominy.”
“I’m going to play more. I need to give my hands something to do that doesn’t involve running them all over you.”
Her heart speeds up at his words as memories from their twilight swim fill her thoughts. The way it felt when he touched her. The heat in his gaze when he looked at her.
“Lie under the stars, love,” he says. “I’ll play for you until you fall asleep, and I’ll be with you when you wake.”
“I’m definitely swooning.”
His lips tilt into a crooked smile that steals her breath away, but rather than cross the distance between them, she lowers herself to the bed and watches him draw another beautiful song from the gorgeous instrument he plays as if it’s part of him.
Soon, her eyelids grow heavy, and she doesn’t fight her exhaustion as the waves and music carry her off to sleep.
When Cerian opens his eyes on their railcar, a warmth fills him. Not that he’s any fonder of the train than he was before, but the train means having Arisanna all to himself, with no one else to encounter.
He’ll put up with the clacking and the smell for that.
Her head lies in his lap again, the way it usually does when they wake in the heartlanding lately. Her bow and quiver lie on the opposite bench. Perhaps he’ll teach her how to use them someday.
Her eyes are still closed, and for a few moments, he studies her. She looks so content, sleeping against him. Gently, he brushes a wisp of hair back from her face.
“Mmm. Cerian?”
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers after only the briefest hesitation.
It really is becoming easier to speak to her.
The smile she sends him when she blinks her eyes open fills his heart so full he almost crushes her to his chest. But he doesn’t. He just looks down into her eyes and plays with her hair some more.
“Where do you think our train will stop tonight?” she asks.
“Where do you want it to stop?”
It seems like a safe response. The last thing he desires is for her to feel pressured to do anything.
As she gazes up at him, a seriousness replaces her smile. “I want to stop somewhere with water,” she whispers.
“Sounds perfect.”
His magic comes to life thinking about it. About her.
“Have you ever seen the ocean?” she asks as she rolls to her back. She seems happy to lie across his lap.
And he doesn’t want her to move.
“I haven’t. Is it magnificent?”
“The water is. How do you feel about sand?”
“I have little experience with sand. Isn’t it similar to dirt?”
A smile teases at her face. “It’s similar. But different.”
“Different in what way?”
“It sticks to nothing. Until you get it wet. Then it sticks to everything. And it gets in your shoes and your hair. Everywhere, really.”
As she speaks, dread fills him. Sand sounds horrific.
“And people enjoy this?” he asks.
“Some people do. My mother isn’t a fan.”
“What about you?”
She shrugs. “It’s all right. It can be fun to play with. To build sandcastles or write your name in it. What is my name now, Cerian?”
He frowns. “Isn’t it Arisanna?”
“Arisanna what?”
It dawns on him what she’s asking, but before he can respond, she keeps going.
“My mother called me Arisanna Montarac Westaria. My tutors told me your mother’s name is Nestraya Thariosi Westaria. Is that the elven convention?”
“My mother chose to take the names of both her fathers,” Cerian says softly. “Restoval Westaria, who brought her into his family when she was a child, and Cerian Thariosi, her first father, who died protecting her.”
Arisanna’s eyes grow wide. “That wasn’t in our history books. That’s why your mother grew up at Windhaven?”
“It’s a long and difficult story, but it’s beautiful, too. I would tell it to you, but I believe it would be better for her to tell you herself someday.”
“So you and Tharios were named after her first father who died?”
Cerian nods. “My mother’s uncle says I look like him.”
This conversation took an unexpectedly serious turn, but since the train’s not stopping, it’s a nice distraction from the heat building within him.
“What is the elven naming convention?” Arisanna asks as her brows draw together. “After binding?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be. The Westaria name is legally yours, if you want it. But many elven women choose not to change their names at the binding.”
Arisanna glances away at his response. The desire to run his finger over the adorable wrinkle in her brow fills him, but he settles for resting his hand on her waist over her elven huntress dress.
Hopefully, that’s all right. She doesn’t seem to mind. It’s not as if his hands haven’t been there before.
And everywhere else.
Arisanna meets his gaze again. “If it’s good enough for the legendary Nestraya of Lostariel, it’s good enough for me. I would like to honor both the family of my birth and my new family with my name. Arisanna Montarac Westaria.”
The heat her words elicit in him is overwhelming.
“Does the sudden warmth of your hand mean you approve?” she asks softly.
He lifts his palm from her waist and flexes his fingers to cool them off. “Forgive me for that. But...yes. It’s perfect.”
Utterly and completely perfect.
“I wish the train would stop,” she whispers.
He looks at her in surprise, and the longing in her eyes steals his breath away.
“I...want you, Cerian.”
Whistling wind. There had better be water wherever the train deposits them.
Her gaze carries a soft vulnerability as she looks up at him.
“Here I am,” he says. “I just need some water to ensure I don’t set you on fire.”
“What if I want you to set me on fire, my elven fire wielder?” Her eyes light up with an impish smile.
That’s hardly helping his magic, but he doesn’t complain. “Then I will endeavor to do so. Figuratively, of course.”
“Of course.”
As the train stops, he looks longingly down at her. But he keeps his hands to himself. That seems wise with the heat filling him at the moment.
She doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave her spot on his lap, and Cerian eventually clears his throat. “Are you ready to disembark?”
“I’m a little nervous about what we’re going to find.” She’s turned serious again, and he nods.
“It will be all right. It was all right last time, wasn’t it?”
“It was better than all right.”
“Then perhaps we should trust the heartlanding. Just...give me a moment.”
As she watches, he lifts his hands above his head and lets off some of his heat. Then, once his palms aren’t in danger of burning her, he offers her a hand. “Together?”
“Together.” She clings to him as he helps her to her feet, and they wander toward the back of the railcar while Cerian’s anxiety grows. Arisanna’s heart races within his chest to match.
It will be fine, though. Every expedition beyond this train has been perfect. Even when it appeared otherwise at first.
He lets out a deep breath, and as they step into the open doorway, he freezes, and Arisanna gasps behind him.
Whistling wind.