14. The Frog in My Throat Has Reproduced
the frog in my throat has reproduced
—SAGE
We begin our walk in comfortable silence. I don’t miss the way she keeps glancing at my wings. Is she waiting for one of them to turn black again?
“Thank you for coming to look for me.” She smiles. “I realized not long before you found me that I didn’t know how to get home.”
“I will always find you, Eden.”
“I hope Droot is okay. I’m sure he’s awfully lonely by himself after spending every moment with you for the past year.”
“Shá.” (Shit) I forgot all about him. I’m definitely going to owe him some snacks when we get back.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she murmurs. “Sometimes you say these… words that I don’t understand. I don’t know if it’s something I’ve forgotten… or something I’ve never known.”
I think about it for a moment.
“I don’t know where they come from,” I answer honestly. “They just… arrive when I reach for them.”
“You said í amar thé after we kissed for the first time.”
I feel like I’ve swallowed a frog.
“I did.”
“What does it mean?”
I rub the back of my neck. My heart is pounding loud enough for the whole meadow to hear. “Are you sure you want to start with that one?”
“I am.” She nods. “It’s the one that made my belly do a little flip-flop when you said it.”
“It means… that my soul chose you before I did.”
“Is that what it actually means?”
“There isn’t a perfect translation.”
“But if there was?”
“I love you.”
She stops walking.
“Eden?”
She stares at me, her wide green eyes looking straight into my sírael.
“I know you’ve only been awake for less than a day,” I rasp. “It’s too soon—”
“í amar thé,” she whispers.
She steps closer.
“What does ním mean?” she whispers.
I swallow.
“It means…”
She stops in front of me, and I continue staring straight over her. I have never felt as lucky to be a giant as I do now.
“Are you… embarrassed, Sage?”
“Me?”
“You.”
“Not at all.”
She lets out a little chuckle. “Then why are your cheeks turning purple?”
“Allergies.”
“Mm.” She doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me. Three sunflowers behind her have turned to watch.
Her fingers find the leaves on my forearm, tracing one seam with an innocence I don’t trust for a single heartbeat.
“You were saying…”
“It means mine,” I manage.
“Mine,” she repeats, testing it. Her thumb draws a slow, thoughtless circle on my arm. “As in… you’re mine. Or I’m yours?”
The frog in my throat has reproduced.
Both. It has always been both, the voice whispers into my mind.
“Yes,” I say.
“Hm.” Her hand travels to my chest, and my own heart betrays me against her palm. “The first day I heard your voice, you called me something… Sae… Saevú—”
My hands move before my mind does.
I lift her.
Suddenly she’s at eye level. Her hands braced on my shoulders, her mouth close enough that I can feel her startled little laugh land on my lips.
“Oh,” she says softly. “Hello.”
“You were asking questions,” I rasp, “from very far away.”
“And now?”
“You’re asking them from somewhere much more dangerous.”
Her eyes drop to my mouth. The meadow has gone completely silent around us.
“Saevúra,” she finishes, barely a breath, “what does it mean?”
Don’t say it. Say anything else. Lie. Allergies. Say allergies—
“Soulbond,” I whisper. “It means… the one my soul was made beside. The one it goes home to.”
Something warm moves across her face.
She leans in. Her nose brushes mine. Her lips stop a petal’s width from my own, close enough that when she speaks, I taste the words instead of hearing them.
“Thank you for teaching me, Saevúra,” she murmurs.
And then she climbs down.
I remain exactly where she left me, arms still half raised.
What just happened?
Morning glories begin to grow over my feet. Ahead of me, Eden glances over her shoulder, copper hair catching the last of the light. The smile she wears is sweet and utterly without mercy.
“Coming, Sage?”
The morning glories release me, and I follow her home like the sun follows the horizon—helplessly, with absolutely no memory of ever having done anything else.
“Here,” I murmur, reaching for the laces at the back of her dress. “Let me help you. You’re covered in mud.”
The moment my fingers start working the ties loose, her breath hitches.
The fabric is cold and damp. I try to focus, but my hands are trembling.
“Sage? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
It feels like lava is flowing through my body.
The dress falls to the floor, pooling around her feet. She’s left in nothing but a thin cotton slip that clings desperately to her curves.
The firelight turns the fabric nearly see-through.
Look away. Now. Give her privacy.
But I can’t take my eyes off of her.
The air around us grows thick. Something sweet and intoxicating coats my tongue, like nectar left to ripen in the sun.
I realize, with dawning horror, that it’s me. I’m the one flooding the room with this scent.
Honeysuckles bloom across the walls, their vines pulsing as they push me closer to her.
“Sage?”
My wings snap wide.
Lavender curls around my wrists while shimmering gold pollen begins flooding the room. The moment she breathes it in, her head falls backward, wild curls cascading behind her.
The lavender at my wrists pulses, and I find myself moving toward her with no way to stop.
“I can feel you,” she whispers, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Something is different.”
“I have always been able to feel you, ílyara.”
“My skin feels tingly,” she murmurs.
“So does mine.”
“What does ílyara mean?”
“My Sun.” I reach out, my fingers tracing the line of her collarbone. The lavender throbs in time with her pulse. Every breath she takes pulls more of me into the air between us. Like my body is trying to feed hers.
“Eden,” I breathe, my hand sliding from her collarbone to the curve of her shoulder. The vines tighten, urging me closer. The whole house seems to want this moment as badly as I do.
I lower myself to her level and press my forehead to hers. Her fingers curl into the leaves at my shoulders.
“Why is the room covered in gold?”
“I think… my body is responding to yours.”
My nose traces the line of her jaw. The sweetness in the air deepens and the flowers at my wrist bloom wider, desperate to touch her.
“Lavá va solun, Saevúra,” I whisper into the hollow of her neck.
She shivers, goosebumps rising over her skin. “What does that one mean?”
“You bloom for me,” I confess, my hands sliding to her waist, thumbs brushing the thin cotton at her hips. I have to fight the overwhelming need to pull her flush against me.
“Eden, if you don’t want this,” I murmur against her mouth, “you must tell me to stop. Because my body does not know how.”
Her breath catches against my lips.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispers. “Something inside me is reaching for you.”
Her lips brush mine.
“Kiss me.”
I claim her mouth in a hungry kiss, my tongue sliding against hers. She moans, her nails dragging lightly over my shoulders.
I can feel her arousal as if it’s my own.
“Please,” she whispers into my mouth. “Touch me.”
I break the kiss just long enough to look at her. Her pupils are blown wide, and her lips are swollen.
She arches into me.
My thumb brushes the corner of her mouth. “May I taste you?”
The petals around my wrist tremble with need as I wait for her answer.
Please say yes… please.
“Yes,” she says breathlessly, leaning in for another kiss. I place my finger over her lips.
“Not there, luváel.”
I trail my finger from her lips down the column of her throat, leaving a path of gold in its wake.
Soft green tendrils slip through the floorboards beneath us, coiling gently around her ankles.
I dip my head, my mouth grazing the pulse point just below her ear. “I want to know if you taste like The Sun I’ve been chasing through the dark.”
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. I groan against her throat. The vines around her ankles wind up her calves.
I drag my mouth down her neck, tasting salt and the faint sweetness of honey. My tongue traces the rapid flutter of her pulse. I hook one claw under the strap at her shoulder.
Someone is in the meadow, the voice rasps in my mind.
I freeze, my breath hot against her collarbone. I pull back slightly.
“Please,” she whispers, tugging my face back down. “Don’t stop.”
“Eden,” I rasp, trying to think clearly through the swirling haze of pollen and her need. “I have to go check the meadow.”
Her hips roll forward, seeking anything.
I press a kiss to the hollow of her throat, tasting her one last time before I force myself to step back.
“Stay here,” I say, my voice thick. “I’ll be right back.”