Chapter 19 Rumors and Revelry #2
The flush in Cedric’s cheeks deepened, his eyes glassy, and Elyria found herself wondering just how many drinks deep he’d already been when she came across the knight. He pressed his lips together in a quivering line—like he was trying very hard to maintain his already-inebriated composure.
“Stars a-fucking-bove, the three of you together are a right menace,” huffed Elyria, though her irritation was already quickly draining away.
“Join us in our game?” Tristan suggested.
“Yes!” Cedric exclaimed, the word so uncharacteristically buoyant that it pushed all remaining annoyances from Elyria’s mind.
She had to work to maintain the look of disapproval plastered on her face as she flicked her gaze to Cedric’s now-empty mug. “The Lord Victor is all out of drink, and I highly doubt he needs another.”
“Who are ye, his mammy?” Thraigg said with a snort, and both Tristan and Ollie erupted in a fit of snickers, which only served to draw Cedric in further. The knight laughed—truly laughed, the sound wafting over Elyria, warming her bones.
“Four fucking hells.” She shook her head. “Fine. What are we playing?”
Tristan held up a short stack of cards. “Dynasty’s Reign. Have you played before?”
“I’m sure I can pick it up.”
“Very good.” The scar on Tristan’s cheek stretched with his grin as he shuffled the cards between his hands. “Loser has to clear out the stables at King’s Keep.”
Elyria arched a brow. “You do realize none of us work at the palace? You don’t even work at the palace.”
“Details,” he said with a shrug. “These two already agreed to my terms.”
Ollie laughed. “Yes, but you never actually told me what I get if I win?”
“Didn’t seem relevant, since you haven’t been winning.” Tristan arched his brow. “What would you want?”
Ollie gave the knight a suggestive once-over. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”
Tristan’s eyes twinkled in that roguish way of his. “I’m willing to work out the details later.”
Elyria’s cider nearly came out of her nose.
“Well, boyos, if we’re to play another round, we need another round,” said Thraigg, slapping the table with gusto. “And let’s make it a good one. I’ll have ye both come help me this time.”
Ollie clapped the dwarf on the shoulder as the three of them ambled over to the bar, leaving Elyria and Cedric alone in the booth. The surrounding space suddenly seemed very quiet, despite the continued activity in the tavern.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, they both did.
“Elyria, there’s something—”
“I know I’ve been—”
Cedric laughed, his rosy cheeks swelling as he smiled. “Ladies first.”
“No, what were you going to say?”
“Do you remember our discussion from before we—” He cleared his throat, swaying in his seat. “When I mentioned the records from Paideus? Of the princess’ sylvan nanny we suspected is the one who snuck her away before Malakar’s coup?”
Elyria nodded, mentally sidestepping the coiling sensation she felt behind her navel at the not-quite-mention of their kiss in the hall. “Of course.”
“The records finally arrived from Magister Yvan this morning.”
Elyria sat up straighter. “And? Did they reveal a name? A location? Do you know where to start looking?”
It was Cedric’s turn to nod, but there was something sad about the movement that tugged at Elyria’s chest.
“The records are centuries old and, as with most things recovered from the ruins of Luminaria, not in the best of shape,” Cedric said.
“Most names were not legible. But we were able to read the city of origin. Magister Yvan thinks the sylvans may have more complete records there, and with the accords in place, traveling to the Midlands is no longer an issue, so . . .”
That curling behind Elyria’s stomach quickly turned into a sinking feeling. “So . . . ?” she prompted.
Cedric took a long drag from his tankard, draining it. “So, Lord Church is eager for us to investigate. Tristan and I leave for Elderglade in three days’ time.”
The world narrowed before Elyria’s very eyes.
Ostensibly, she knew that their goals would eventually take them in different directions—hells, she’d even been the one to suggest this specific direction, hadn’t she?
And they needed to find the princess. They needed to find the other half of the crown.
Still, with the reality of it now looming before her, a cruel carrot dangling from a string, it suddenly seemed far too soon.
Hadn’t she only just gotten him back?
“I see,” was all she could manage to say, twisting in her seat so she faced forward once more. She braced both forearms on the cool wood of the table as if doing so might steady the rising wave of unease cresting inside her.
Cedric moved closer. His thigh pressed against hers, his heat like a reassurance, and Elyria fought the urge to lean into him. Resisted the urge to inhale his charred sandalwood scent like it was the last time she might be able to do so.
“What were you going to say before?” he said, his voice little more than a murmur in her ear.
She tensed. “Nothing. It’s not important.” Not anymore.
“It is to me.”
“You’re drunk,” she said flippantly, still pointedly resisting the urge to look at him. “Everything probably seems important to you right now.”
“I’m not that drunk,” he said, “and everything about you is important to me.”
Elyria felt her cheeks heat, and she was glad she still had her hood up to help hide her reaction. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
Finally, she turned to face him again. “You know why not.”
He placed a hand on the table next to hers, his little finger darting out to cover her own, twining around it. “Please. Don’t. Don’t pull away again. You do this every time we start to—”
“How can I not?” she whispered harshly, even as her fingers spread on the table, inching toward his. “There is no ‘we.’ There is no this. You just said it yourself: You’ll be gone in three days.”
“You say that like we won’t ever see each other again.”
“There are no guarantees that we will.”
Cedric shook his head, his fingers weaving through her own.
“You can continue to refuse to give a name to this thing”—he gestured between them with his free hand—“but you know as well as I do there is something here. Bigger than whatever distance might come between us. It brought us back together after the Crucible. It—”
“There can’t be anything here. There is nothing between us.”
Cedric pulled back with a sloppy shake of his head, disentangling their fingers, and the sudden rush of cool air against Elyria’s skin felt like a slap. “And you call me a liar.”
She pulled her shaking hands into her lap. “I’m not lying.”
“If not a liar, then you are a coward.”
Rage bubbled up in Elyria’s gut, her shadows stirring in her chest. She slammed a fist on the tabletop. “What did you just say?”
“You are so determined to deny whatever this is. So scared of what it might mean.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not the one running from examining what certain things might mean, Cedric.”
“Yes, well, we aren’t talking about me right now,” he said, jaw tight.
“There is nothing to be gained from whatever it is you’re asking of me.”
“Nothing to be gained?” The look on his face was so stricken, so forlorn, that it stole Elyria’s breath.
“Cedric, I—” She closed her mouth. She wasn’t sure what she meant to say. Was she going to apologize? To scold him?
To admit he was right?
Whatever might have tripped off her tongue, Elyria wouldn’t get the chance to find out. Because suddenly he was there. Her pulse thundered in her ears as Cedric leaned in, his gold-ringed eyes half-shuttered, until he was so close that his own features were swallowed by her hood.
It didn’t take sharp fae eyesight to know he was looking at her mouth, however. Didn’t take a genius to know what would happen next. Time slowed enough that she could have stopped it, had she wanted to.
She didn’t want to.
Cedric’s lips were soft and gentle as he pressed a featherlight kiss to the corner of her mouth.
It was hesitant. The barest brush. The gentlest graze.
Just enough to send a spark zipping through her, racing over her skin, down her spine.
And that was all she needed. Unable to resist the tug in her chest, pulling at her, begging her, Elyria surged forward, crashing her lips into his with a hunger that surprised even her.
She fisted a hand in his shirt, yanking him against her until she felt the hard planes of his torso against her own.
His hands snaked around her waist beneath her cloak, brushing up her back, heated, fierce, drawing her closer as the kiss deepened.
Heat surged between them—bright and fevered, magic thrumming in Elyria’s veins, that pull behind her ribs vibrating.
It didn’t burn though, didn’t hurt. It was light and warmth and welcome, and in that moment, Elyria understood why walking into this tavern had felt like coming home.
It wasn’t because this place reminded her of her old favorite haunt.
It was because of him.
She drew his bottom lip between her own and sucked gently, urging him closer.
Cedric made a small, stunned noise—half moan, half breath—that echoed in Elyria’s bones as she devoured the sound.
His hands gripped her tightly, his fingers digging into her skin as he planted soft kisses up the curve of her jaw, nipping at her earlobe, before returning to claim her mouth once more.
He kissed her like she was the very air he needed to breathe. Like he had been drowning, and this, right here, this kiss, this closeness, their bodies pressed together in this dark corner, was the only thing keeping him alive.
For several glorious moments, nothing else mattered.
Until she remembered.