Declarations #2
She wanted to wake him, pull him into the darkness beyond the firelight, and finally let this thing between them catch flame.
Soon, she told herself, they would find a place with walls and a door and a bed, and she would stop being sensible. Soon she would let herself have him, and moons help anyone who tried to interrupt.
But not tonight. Not here.
She closed her eyes and pressed against him, feeling his arm tighten around her in response. Even in sleep, he wanted her closer.
It wasn't enough.
She lay awake for a long time, burning quietly, and tried not to count the miles to Summerbright.
“I have a question,” Pippa announced on the ninth day.
“That’s never good,” Darian said mildly.
“Hush you. I have a question for Rion.”
Rion, who had been walking beside Lark with his hand loosely clasped in hers, looked up with an expression of mild concern. “Should I be worried?”
“Probably.” Pippa tilted her head, studying him with an assessing gaze that Lark recognized as trouble incoming. “You’re a scholar, right? You spent years researching in archives and libraries and dusty rooms full of books.”
“That’s accurate, yes.”
“So you must have read a lot of romantic poetry. Epic tales of love and devotion. That sort of thing.”
“I’ve read some, certainly. It wasn’t my primary focus, but …”
“So, why are you so bad at this?”
Rion blinked. “Bad at what?”
“At romance.” Pippa gestured expansively at him, at Lark, at the hand-holding situation currently in progress.
“You’ve had weeks to sweep Lark off her feet.
Turns, really, if we count from when you met.
And the best you’ve managed is hand-holding and meaningful looks.
Where are the grand gestures? The passionate declarations? The …”
“We're holding hands right now,” Rion protested. “And besides, I told her I loved her two days ago.”
Pippa stopped walking. “You did?”
“I did.”
“And?” Pippa looked at Lark expectantly. “What did you say?”
Lark felt her own face heat. “I said … I know.”
Silence. Even Darian had stopped to stare.
“You said ‘I know,’” Pippa repeated slowly. “He declared his love for you, and you said ‘I know.’”
“It was more complicated than that.”
“It really wasn’t,” Rion said, but he was smiling. “But she’s not good with words. I’ve made my peace with it.”
“Not good with …” Pippa threw her hands in the air.
“You two are impossible. Absolutely impossible. Do you have any idea how long Darian and I have been watching this disaster unfold? The pining. The longing glances. The almost-moments that never quite became actual moments. And now you’re telling me that the big declaration got an ‘I know’ in response? ”
“To be fair,” Darian offered, “she didn’t stab him. For Lark, that’s practically a love sonnet.”
“Thank you,” Lark said dryly. “Your support is overwhelming.”
“I’m just saying. You did once threaten to gut me for suggesting you might have feelings. That Rion still has all his internal organs is a significant relationship milestone.”
“That absolutely did not happen,” Lark corrected.
Pippa looked between all of them, her expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. Finally, she shook her head.
“Hopeless,” she declared. “You’re all completely hopeless. When we get to Summerbright, I’m writing a book about this. A cautionary tale. ‘How Not to Fall in Love: A Study in Romantic Incompetence.’”
“I’d read it,” Rion said.
“I’d burn it,” Lark countered.
“See? Hopeless.”
"I'm not sure I should take romantic criticism from someone who waited over twenty years to finally go after what she wanted," Rion said with a smile.
For once, Pippa had no response.
They continued down the road, Pippa muttering about emotionally stunted traveling companions and the sacrifices she made for friendship.
Darian fell into step beside her, his hand finding hers in a gesture that was probably meant to be comforting but mostly just proved that he, at least, had figured out how to be openly affectionate without theatrics.
“She’s not wrong, though,” Rion said quietly, for Lark’s ears only. “I could be more romantic. Grand gestures. Poetry. The things lovers are supposed to do.”
“I don’t need grand gestures.”
“What do you need?”
She considered the question. What did she need? She had spent so long needing nothing, wanting nothing, keeping herself carefully empty so that nothing could be taken from her.
“Just you,” she said finally. “Just this. Walking beside me. Holding my hand. Being here.”
“That I can do.” He squeezed her fingers.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the road open before them, the sun warm on their backs.
Ahead, Pippa had apparently forgiven the romantic failures of her companions and was now attempting to teach Darian some sort of clapping game that required more coordination than either of them possessed.
“For what it’s worth,” Lark said, so quietly she wasn’t sure Rion would hear, “I love you too. I just … the words are difficult to say. But the feeling is there.”
Rion’s stride faltered. He turned to look at her, his eye wide.
“You …”
“Please don’t make a thing of this.” She could feel the heat in her cheeks, the uncomfortable vulnerability of having said something so raw and true. “I just wanted you to know. Properly. Not just ‘I know’ but the real thing.”
He just stared at her. Then his face broke into a smile so bright it almost hurt to look at.
“A thing has been made of this,” he said. “I’m making a thing of this right now. This is me making a thing.”
“Rion …”
He kissed her. Right there in the middle of the road, in full view of their companions, with absolutely no regard for privacy or dignity or the fact that Pippa would be unbearable about it for days.
His hands came up to cup her face, and her hands found his waist, and for a perfect moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
“FINALLY!” Pippa’s voice shattered the moment. “Oh, thank the moons. I thought I was going to have to knock your heads together.”
Rion pulled back, laughing, his forehead resting against Lark’s. “Terrible timing,” he murmured. “Truly, spectacularly terrible.”
“But not surprising,” Lark agreed, smiling.