Chapter 23
When we walk inside, the first thing I smell is cedar. As I blink away the rain still smearing my eyesight, Daerios flicking a light switch just to the left of the doorframe, I see why.
Every inch of his cabin, from the floor to the staircase to the matrix of rafters crisscrossing the lofted ceiling, is made of cedar. It seems to glow in the warmth of the lights dangling from the ceiling.
I hand my still-soaking shirt and pants to Daerios.
We walked up from the lake in our underwear, leading Vorrok by his reins to a stall built into the side of the cabin, where a garage might be if this were a human’s home.
Daerios takes our clothing over to closet door that, presumably, holds the washer and dryer. As he works, I take in the space.
The majority of the cabin is made of an open kitchen and living room, but a set of stairs with no handrail are built into the wall, leading up to high platform that holds an enormous, quilt-covered bed.
The loft takes up the entire western end of the cabin, hanging over the rest of the space as if gazing down upon us.
The kitchen is nestled behind a long marble island, which separates the burners and cabinets from the rest of the cabin.
I spy a gas stove, an impressive set of knives, and, down below, a narrow wine fridge.
But the main part of the cabin is what captures my attention the longest. A dining table and L-shaped sofa take up most of the space, the latter facing a wood-burning fireplace made of polished stone.
Wool blankets and pillows scatter about the couch.
Thick knotted rugs overlap along the floors.
All of it is set against a backdrop of floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the rain-speckled surface of Spot Pond.
The whole thing is—
God. It’s cozy as hell.
Daerios reemerges from the linen closet. “Clothes are in the dryer.”
My neck turns to face him slowly, mouth agape. I take in his half-naked form, all bare feet and rippled muscles. Two towels hang from one arm. He shakes his hair out, sending rain droplets onto the floor. He grins at my expression. “You like it?”
Which part? I almost ask. You or the cabin?
Instead, I swallow and say, “It’s incredible. You’ve really hidden this from everyone?”
“Yep.” He tosses one of the towels to me. “My little secret.” A hesitation, eyes curling into question marks. “And now yours.”
I smile, clutching the towel to my chest. This secret is one I’ll never betray to anyone.
That I can promise.
I step out of the stone-floor waterfall shower, glass door swinging open with a puff of steam.
I pull the towel from its rack, wrapping it around my naked body.
Condensation clouds the bathroom mirror.
A deep copper bowl sits right below—quite the bathroom sink.
With one hand, I rub the steam away, revealing a misty version of myself.
My cheeks are rosy. My curls matted. My eyes shimmer beneath wet lashes.
I look happy.
I shake my head, turning away to finish drying off. I let the mirror cloud back over.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom under the loft, Daerios is in full chef mode. His tall frame hunches over the stove, shoulders swaying slightly to The Rolling Stones, which is filtering in through the speakers on the ceiling. Over in the stone fireplace, he’s built a roaring fire.
“I didn’t know you were a chef,” I call over.
“Only the most gourmet,” he says, spinning around to hold up a pot filled with gooey orange noodles. “I hope you like Scooby-Doo mac and cheese.”
I laugh. “I love it.”
At the sight of me, Daerios pauses, pot dangling limply from his hand.
“What?”
“My clothes look better on you than on me.”
I glance down at the dry outfit he lent me: a blue-and-black striped flannel so long it covers the grey boxers beneath. Fuzzy socks on my feet. I look back up at him and tug at the hem of the flannel. “I still can’t believe you own this.”
“What can I say? I’m a many-layered man.”
“A hundred and sixty-three years will do that to a guy, I suppose.”
I wander over to the marble island, where Daerios is now spooning heaps of mac and cheese into two bowls. Once satisfied with our portions—one noticeably larger than the other—he passes them over to me. “Mind carrying these over to the sofa?”
“You don’t want to eat at the dining table like proper royalty?”
“I don’t come out here to be proper, Quinn.”
Something about that statement makes my toes tingle, so I accept the bowls and shuffle over to the sofa in my fuzzy socks. Seated, I lay the bowls on the coffee table, wrap a blanket around my legs, and pick up my phone, which is charging, plugged into the floor. I pray it didn’t die in the rain.
Thankfully, the screen flashes to life. I have six texts from Cara.
CARA: dinner?
Twenty minutes later.
CARA: where r u??
CARA: helllooooo?????
CARA: BITCH DONT MAKE ME HACK INTO UR PHONE
CARA: OK. spoke to ber. he said u and daer are on a romantic excursion upstate. enjoyyyyy
Grinning, I set down my phone and twist around to watch Daerios over the back of the couch. He’s still at the island, uncorking a bottle of red wine.
“You like merlot?” he asks.
“I’m nineteen. What I drink usually comes from a plastic bag.”
He winces and pours two deep glasses. After carrying them over, he settles onto the couch a few feet away, placing his feet on the coffee table, ankles crossed.
I raise my glass. “To new experiences.”
“To new experiences. And to secrets shared between friends.”
As he clinks his glass against mine, my stomach dips. Secrets shared between friends. When I look around at this cabin, I see how much of himself Daerios has shared with me. About Elaerion, about his family, about his weaknesses and desires. And I have shared so little about myself.
Tactically, it’s a brilliant move by me. Morally?
My heart squeezes. I push the thought as far down as I can. There will be time for guilt later, I decide. For now—
For now, there’s a roaring fire and a bowl of mac and cheese and a glass of wine more delicious than alcohol has any business being.
I pick up my dinner and, noting its weight, realize that Daerios switched our bowls so that I have the one with the larger portion.
I look over at him, ready to demand he switch back, but his eyes are lost in the fire.
Orange flames flicker in their mirror-like surface, and for a moment, I’m transfixed by the sight of him—the hard jaw, the sloped nose, the damp black hair.
The shadows that seem to dance about him.
I giggle.
He turns to me and narrows his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just…” I purse my lips. “All of this—it’s so human.”
He shrugs, turning back to the fire. “When in Rome and all that.”
“No.” I adjust beneath my blanket, straightening and inching closer to him. “It’s more than that. Red wine, movies, mac and cheese—these things are quintessentially human. And you only indulge in them in private.” I tilt my head. “You like it here. But you don’t want anyone knowing.”
Daerios smiles, a faraway sort of look lit up by the dancing flames. “You asked me back on the dock where I’m happiest.”
“In nature,” I say. “Near bodies of water.”
He nods. “As children, Ber and I spent entire days exploring the rivers and lagoons of árrion. They ran throughout the valley, and no matter how much time we spent in them—swimming, wading, binding branches together into makeshift rafts—it seemed there was always more to explore. Streams that ran down into caves. Hidden reservoirs. It was…” He sucks in a breath, taking a sip from his glass.
“When we came to Earth, Ber and I traveled quite a lot. Obviously, our trips to bars and nightclubs drew the most attention of the press.” He smiles tightly.
“But we also visited every National Park we possibly could. Yosemite. Yellowstone. Glacier. Hot springs in Indonesia and waterfalls in Tibet.”
He pauses to take another sip of wine, then continues. “When my body is in water, I don’t know. I feel whole. Like someone has sewed together all the pieces of my soul.”
I set my spoon back in the bowl. “And, typically, you don’t feel that way?”
“No,” he says quietly. “Typically, I don’t feel that way.”
I lay my head on the back of the couch, eyes on Daerios. “Why don’t you let people see this side of you?” I ask.
“What side?”
“The kind one.”
He looks over at me, chin twitching with an emotion I cannot read. “Kindness makes you vulnerable.”
“And you don’t want to be vulnerable?”
His eyes flicker. “No.”
“Me, neither.”
We’re silent, after that. Sparks crackle from the log slowly coming apart in the fireplace. Outside, the wind howls like an animal in pain.
“My father was murdered.”
It comes out before I can stop myself. It’s—God, it’s the look on Daerios’s face.
The obvious pain. It’s the story he told me about Elaerion and Shadowfell.
It’s this cabin. I couldn’t not tell him.
After he shared so much of himself, I need to hand him a piece of me, too—however incomplete that piece may be.
He looks up at me, surprise unfastening his features. “What?”
“Yeah.” I look down into the mac ‘n’ cheese. Wilted noodles stick to the bowl’s edges. “In a parking lot outside a grocery store. I was twelve.”
“And you—”
“I saw.” I answer the question he can’t ask. “I was there.”
“Gods.” Daerios sets his bowl down on the coffee table. “Gods, Quinn, that’s horrific. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s—” I take a deep breath. “No. It’s obviously not okay. It’s far from okay. But it’s—” I try to find the words. “It’s part of me now. Part of who I am. And I just, I wanted you to know.”
Even though I can’t tell you anything else.
I set my bowl down on the table and look at Daerios. “I know what it’s like. Not to feel whole. There’s this gaping hole he left behind, and I can’t find anything that fills it. Not language. Not linguistics. Not my friends.” Not my mission—though that’s come the closest. “Nothing. I even…”
I swallow. Am I really about to tell him this?