8. Grievance #2
The sitting room vanished beneath a cloud of white. Grievance coughed as stuffing drifted past his face. A scrap of teddy-bear ear landed in the soup. Esmerelda sat proudly amid the carnage with the bear’s severed arm hanging from her mouth.
Pip bounced. “She is good student.”
Milo stared at what remained of his teddy bear as white stuffing drifted through the room like snow.
Grievance couldn’t help it. A laugh burst out of him.
Milo slowly turned. “Oh, you think this is funny?”
“Maybe a little.”
“That was my bear. He was my welcome-to-the-neighborhood present from Lucia.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Grievance tried schooling his face into a serious expression. But then the bear’s head chose that moment to roll off the cushion and land upside down on the rug, and Grievance lost it.
“Grievance!”
“I am sorry.” He was not. “He d-died bravely,” he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes.
“He was ambushed by a baby dragon.”
“A warrior’s death.”
“He was holding a little embroidered heart.”
Grievance snorted. “Then he died for love.”
Milo pressed his lips together, but Grievance saw his stubborn resolve crack as a tiny snort escaped him.
“See! You think it’s funny too.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“You laughed.”
“I’m laughing at you.”
“Still counts.”
Esmerelda gave the teddy’s severed arm a violent shake. More stuffing exploded across the rug.
Milo pointed the spoon at him. “You’re cleaning this up.”
Grievance wisely reached for the broom as new waves of laughter broke out each time a piece of white fluff fell from the beams across the ceiling.
Pip crawled proudly onto Esmerelda’s head.
“Next lesson: throat.”
“No!” Milo snapped. “No throats!”
Pip drooped. “Fine.”
Milo sighed, then looked at Esmerelda, who was practically vibrating beneath her tiny instructor.
“You’re a good teacher, Pip. Keep at it while we’re out today. But don’t stay up too late. She’s still a baby.”
“Pip knows.”
“And no killing anything.”
Pip looked toward the ruined bear. “Define killing.”
“Pip.”
“Fine.”
Training moved outside after lunch. That was safer. Grievance sat on the back steps with Milo tucked against his side while they watched Pip lead Esmerelda through the garden.
Marigold followed them. The goat was still wearing her ridiculous little pumpkin sweater. Grievance loved it.
“Stealth!” Pip ordered.
Esmerelda flattened herself against the grass.
“Lower!”
She flattened farther.
“Quiet.”
Esmerelda crept toward Marigold. The goat continued chewing.
“Target does not know you approach.”
Marigold looked directly at Esmerelda.
“Target knows!” Pip cried. “Bad stealth!”
Esmerelda chirped as Marigold headbutted her. The dragon tumbled backward into a pile of leaves. Milo snorted against Grievance’s shoulder.
Esmerelda burst from the leaves and chased Marigold around the garden, chirping excitedly. Marigold bleated and bounded away, pumpkin sweater bobbing with every leap, while Pip raced after them, screaming something about discipline.
Grievance rested his cheek against Milo’s curls.
Their home was very loud now.
He liked it that way.
By sunset, Pumpkin Hollow had begun to glow. They could see its light all the way from their spot on the hill. It was time.
Grievance stood before the bedroom mirror, fastening the last clasp around his wrist. Jewelry had fascinated him since he’d first seen it gleam through a shop window.
He could not entirely explain why. Fine metals.
Polished stones. Gems cut so precisely they captured the light and threw it back in geometric shards of rainbow color.
Tonight, Grievance wore nearly everything he owned.
Gold bands decorated several fingers. A bracelet hugged one wrist. Milo’s old cufflinks fastened his sleeves.
His peridot pendant rested against his chest. And from his ear hung the emerald Milo had given him.
His favorite. He turned his head, admiring the way the stone caught the lamplight. Deep green. Just like Milo’s eyes.
“You look handsome.”
Grievance looked into the mirror where Milo stood behind him.
His mate had dressed in his formal Healer’s uniform: a long navy coat fitted neatly through the waist, polished brass clasps marching down the front over a cream shirt.
His copper-brown curls refused to behave beneath his pointed hat, spilling around his ears, and the dark blue made his green eyes startlingly bright.
And… was that black liner around his eyes? It absolutely was—a thin, simple line traced along his upper lashes, flicking into a sharp point at the corners and making Milo’s green eyes look larger, almost catlike.
Grievance stared in awe.
Milo shifted beneath his attention, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”
“I am reconsidering going to the festival.”
A smile tugged at Milo’s painted glossy lips. “Why?”
“Because I would rather stay here and look at you.”
Pink crept into Milo’s cheeks. Grievance grinned. There it was. He loved doing that.
“Just look at me?” Milo asked.
“Only at first,” Grievance said, his voice going low and husky.
Grievance stepped closer, letting his gaze travel slowly over his mate again. The clothes. The curls. That wicked little flick of black around his eyes. Milo had somehow made himself even more beautiful than usual on a night Grievance already considered sacred.
It seemed almost insulting to the Lantern to waste such a sight on the rest of Pumpkin Hollow.
“I was thinking,” Grievance murmured, catching Milo around the waist, “that perhaps the proper way to celebrate such a holy night would be to remain home and spend several hours worshipping my mate.”
Milo laughed, even as his hands settled comfortably against Grievance’s chest. “Oh, worshipping, is it?”
“Devoutly,” he purred, bending to kiss Milo on the neck.
“How—how very pious of you,” Milo said in a trembling voice.
“I am capable of great religious dedication.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Grievance bent closer, brushing his nose along Milo’s temple. “I could demonstrate.”
Milo’s laugh went softer. For one hopeful moment, Grievance thought he had him. Then a hand planted firmly against his chest and pushed.
“C’mon, you know we have to show.”
Grievance stumbled back a step. “Cruel.”
“We have to at least make an appearance.” Milo straightened his clothes where Grievance had already begun rumpling them. “Besides, I want to see the festival. Don’t you?”
Grievance did.
He wanted to see the lanterns glowing along Main Street. He wanted the music and cider and fireworks. He wanted to watch Milo laugh with their friends and complain about whatever ridiculous disaster Rowen inevitably caused before midnight.
But not nearly as much as he wanted to see his mate naked and writhing beneath him and—
“Hurry up, let’s go.”
Grievance blinked. Milo was already halfway to the door. He sighed and followed.
The sacrifices he made for this town.
They tucked Marigold into her straw bed before leaving. “Goodnight, my girl.” Milo kissed between her horns. “No parties.” Marigold bleated.
Pip received strict instructions not to destroy anything else. Esmerelda received even stricter instructions. Grievance waited until Milo turned away before slipping the dragon an extra piece of turkey. Esmerelda swallowed it whole.
“Do not tell your father.”
“Grievance.”
He froze. Milo stood in the doorway with his arms crossed.
“She looked hungry.”
“She had dinner.”
“She is a growing girl.”
“You’re spoiling her.”
Grievance gave Esmerelda another piece.
Milo groaned. “You are impossible.”
“So I have been told.”
Night had swallowed Pumpkin Hollow completely by the time they reached town. There were no stars. No moon. Only thousands of jack-o’-lanterns burning against the darkness.
They floated above rooftops and crowded windowsills. They grinned from fence posts and hovered between crooked buildings, their orange light spilling across cobblestones thick with autumn mist.
Shadows stretched impossibly long. Some moved when nobody did. Laughter carried on the wind, as did the music.
And Lanterns—the smell of it all.
Burnt sugar. Woodsmoke. Pumpkin pastries. Someone was roasting chestnuts. Someone else was absolutely violating several local ordinances with caramel.
And of course, the MythFolk, who emitted so much joy that it permeated the air. Grievance breathed deeply. He could have gotten drunk on its scent alone.
Instead, he got cider for both of them, and they sipped as they wandered. Letting their feet walk without purpose, shoulders brushing, fingers intertwined whenever their cups allowed it.
They watched children race enchanted broomsticks around the square, sparks bursting from their tails whenever they overtook another rider.
They stopped for the annual pumpkin regatta, where miniature carved pumpkins sprouted tiny legs and sprinted madly through an obstacle course while their owners screamed encouragement.
One pumpkin cheated by tripping the others. Grievance respected it.
Then came the carnival games.
Grievance could have happily walked past most of them.
Milo, however, slowed at every brightly painted booth they passed, that familiar, almost childlike excitement creeping into his expression.
Darts thrown at enchanted balloons. Balls hurled at stacks of milk bottles that rebuilt themselves with smug little shakes.
Rings tossed over the horns of wooden imps.
Simple games. Ridiculous prizes.
Milo loved them. Which meant Grievance inevitably found himself standing beside him while Milo tried each one. Usually, Grievance was content to watch. He liked watching Milo more than he liked playing anyway.
After waiting in line for ten minutes, it was their turn at the cauldron games booth.
Grievance didn’t see what made this one more appealing than any of the others, but it was clearly the most popular game at the festival.
Three tiny black cauldrons bobbed erratically through the air twenty feet from the counter while contestants attempted to toss miniature ceramic skulls into their open mouths.