Chapter Nine
Loreleivnna
After picking through the wild patch for the most intact specimens, Dhek and I lug armfuls of pumpkins to a fallen sequioaoak that’s been sanded smooth to serve as a workstation.
“I haven’t gone pumpkin picking at the river since I was little,” I say with a grin.
“Well, you are a princess.” Dhek nudges my shoulder with his. “Your kind are meant for prettier things, like moonsilk ballgowns and, I don’t know, skyrite crystal slippers.”
My cheeks prickle. I look down at my day gown. I’d gone with something casual, but still cute, for my first-ever date. It’s not all made of moonsilk, but the velvet inset waistband is.
“At least I’m not wearing skyrite slippers.” I lift my foot, showing off my mud-caked heel.
“At least there’s that!” Dhek bursts out laughing. The heat in my cheeks grows, but I laugh along.
The embarrassment drifts past, but when Dhek turns toward the workstation, I shoot a discreet glance over my shoulder at my glowering centaur Guardian.
“Have you prepared pumpkin patties before?” Dhek asks, drawing my attention back to our date.
“No, I haven’t.” I look between him and the workstation, finding it hard to meet his eye.
“I’ll teach you. It’s easy.”
He shows me how to soften and slice the pumpkins, praising me when I get it right the first time. He’s a fine teacher, and I don’t mention that I’ve watched the kitchen staff make pumpkin pie thousands of times. The only difference seems to be where the pumpkins are sourced.
“This part is more of a challenge,” he says, stepping closer. His hand hovers over mine, the other slipping between my hair and my neck, making me shiver. “May I?”
My whole body buzzes. I send an anxious glance over my shoulder.
All of Pikr’s muscles are as tense as I feel.
A splash of crimson paints the luminberry tattoo on the white flesh of his left side.
The dark blush is oddly complementary to the anger in his striking eyes, which peer over the book to glare at Dhek’s hand.
There’s a dangerous aura carved into Pikr’s entire being, like he’s reverted to the warrior of his past. I shouldn’t be so thrilled by it, but glee ripples through me.
I lean into Dhek’s touch. There’s no sensible explanation Pikr can provide Father for any misgivings he harbors against Dhek without admitting things he hasn’t even admitted to himself.
Dhek’s scent of soft fur and sugar surrounds me.
If I’m going to take this blooming thing seriously, I won’t disrespect Father’s gracious deal by clinging to false hope.
Whether Dhek is my match or someone else, knowing Pikr will spend his time as my Guardian with his tail in a knot is a blessing from the Fallen Stars.
“You may,” I drawl, keeping my gaze downcast. My mouth continues without my approval. “In fact, I beg that you do.”
I flinch and check his face. Something like hesitation flashes over Dhek’s features, and I hope I haven’t scared him off with my overeager attempt at flirting. Despite the circumstances and no matter the outcome, I don’t wish to lose a friend.
Dhek recovers swiftly, and I get a whiff of brandy when he leans in to whisper, “Don’t worry, Lori. You’re in good hands.”
The use of my childhood nickname along with the brandy on his breath makes me pause, but I shake it off.
With his right hand covering mine, Dhek maneuvers behind me.
We’re close in height, but he’s tall enough that it isn’t overly awkward.
He guides me through the process of scooping the pumpkin’s innards.
It’s completely unnecessary, but the warmth of his body behind me and the steadiness of his hand on mine does disruptive things to my own innards.
Dhek’s palm is soft. It’s nothing like the calloused hand that had held me captive against the tree. His grip is gentle, not rough like the way Pikr had palmed my exposed bottom.
When I was a sapling sitting at Mother’s skirts during grown-up gatherings, I heard mated creatures swap strategies to endure a politically arranged marriage.
A popular technique was to visualize another lover, but I’m not sure that’s what’s happening when the image of Pikr fills my mind.
It certainly isn’t intentional when my eyelids flutter, my body replacing the warmth of Dhek at my back with the fantasy of Pikr there instead.
“Very good,” Dhek praises. “You’re a natural.”
The sound of his voice, softer and muttering things Pikr would never, makes me jump, accidentally scraping Dhek’s hoof.
“Sorry, oh, fuck my petals, I’m so sorry!” Flipping around, I grasp Dhek’s lean bicep and search his gaze for forgiveness.
Dhek chuckles, his hands landing on my waist. From this angle, I can see Pikr glaring without breaking from Dhek’s friendly gaze. “Don’t wilt, Lori. No harm done.”
I let out my worried breath with a laugh. Dhek doesn’t release my waist, and the tingly feelings that flooded my lower half while imagining he was Pikr come fluttering back.
The moment intensifies. I prepare myself for a kiss, which feels imminent. Despite wishing his palms were rough with callouses, I’m curious whether his lips will be as soft.
Dhek glances over my shoulder, in the direction of the river. His grin slips, and his hands drop like heavy ashenoak acorns.
“You’re a fast learner.” Dhek gestures to the workstation, where dozens of pumpkins remain.
I redirect my attention to the tray of seeds and goop, surprisingly relieved that the moment is over. “I had a good teacher.”
“Right,” Dhek chuckles.
He pats my back, nothing like the seductive charm he’d been giving this whole time. Something about the cordial gesture makes meeting his gaze easier than before.
His eyes dart toward the distance again. Curious, I follow his gaze.
Baskets of lunaplume succulents overflow along the bank.
The starseeds have already been removed, but dozens of servant-folk work in tandem to harvest the other materials lunaplumes provide.
Little pink spikes are shaved from the crescent-shaped stalks, then each is sorted into separate baskets.
Other workers rinse the shaved stalks in the cool waters of Eternal River.
The rinsed stalks then get squeezed empty of their sweet syrup into liquid-retaining waterskins made with the fibrous wood of Aevemoon Iris trunks, the rinds tossed in a separate basket.
It’s madness to consider that all of these boons are thanks to the Wise Ones and their gift of the Spiritgrove. Lunaplumes only grow when lunapulp harvested from iris trunks is wrapped in leaves of the spiritvine known as crawling ravenglory and buried in soil treated with lystag manure.
I’m so awe-struck by the beauty of the process, I startle when Dhek clears his throat.
“Are you all right?” I ask, hesitantly reaching for his shoulder and dropping my hand at the last moment.
“I’m sorry, Loreleivnna.” Dhek picks at the wood on the workstation.
“Whatever for?”
“You probably know this, but I used to have an Aevumoon Iris trunk-size crush on you,” he chuckles. When his murky sunshine eyes meet mine, wetness lines the bottoms.
Oh. It’s rejection.
I suppose I should feel a fraction of the anger that I felt when Pikr cast me aside, but my next breath comes easier than all those in the past hour combined.
He glances at Pikr, and so do I, but my Guardian is glaring at his book instead of us. I place a reassuring hand on Dhek’s shoulder and squeeze.
“Wilt not. I’ve always been fond of you, too,” I say. For the next part, I lower my voice. “Besides, I already knew how to prime a wild pumpkin, so you weren’t the only one pretending.”
Dhek’s laughter is real this time, and my heart lightens. My first choice in a political arrangement is a failure, but I won’t lose a friend today. My passing interest in Dhek was a fleeting means to an end. Hopeful, yes, but forced.
“Thank you, Lori.”
Dhek pulls me into a brief embrace, and my gaze accidentally locks onto Pikr. His book lay half-open on his flank, his arms crossed.
The grin that slithers across my lips feels malicious, but I do my best to make it appear like something else, hoping to stoke the grouchy centaur’s ire.
“No worries,” I say as we release each other.
With the heavy expectation removed from the mood, Dhek and I return to work with our own tools this time. His furtive glances toward the river become more frequent.
I clear my throat. “If the wind is calling you elsewhere, I’m happy to finish up here.”
There are few wind-whisperers in Svitaeryl, and most are employed by the palace in one form or another. I don’t believe there’s actually a zephyr whispering his name on the breeze, but hope he’ll recognize my olive branch.
Dhek looks between me and the object of his distraction. “Are you sure?”
“For petal’s sake, go on.”
The smile he gives me then is the most genuine I’ve seen scrunch his triangular button nose all day.
It’s none of my business why Dhek’s so enraptured by a servant, so I don’t bother to watch him hoof off.
Half of our pickings are still uncarved.
I set a slow pace, choosing to chop them all into halves instead of one by one.
It’s a calm autumn day, and having something to do outside without having to sneak out of the palace is never a chore.
A breeze floating up the hill tickles my senses with the smell of wild pumpkins and fresh lunaplumes, like honey and pine. I take another, deeper inhale, and the comforting scent is accompanied by smoldering fire, spiced vanilla, and soft, lived-in leather.