Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
Araya worked the bread on the counter, turning and folding with more force than necessary.
Gods damn Thorne and his advice—her chest ached worse than ever, a yawning hole that cried out for warm hands and soft lips.
She scowled down at the sticky dough, trying desperately not to think about how right and safe it had felt with Loren wrapped around her.
“And what did that bread ever do to you?”
Araya startled, heat rushing to her cheeks. Veria stood in the doorway, her silver brows arched as she looked around. Araya followed her gaze and winced. Without Veria’s quiet magic tidying behind her, she’d managed to cover every surface in flour.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, surreptitiously scrubbing her hands against her flour-covered apron. “I thought I’d try and—” she winced as Veria picked up her first attempt at bread—a dense, flat disc that would have cracked your teeth if you tried to bite into it “—help.”
But Veria only smiled. She flicked her fingers, magic humming to life in the air around them. The scattered bowls rose into the air, dropping neatly into the sink as the brushes scudded through the soap, working themselves into a lather.
“I think you’ve worked that poor loaf enough for now,” she said kindly. “Get it into the pan and cover it up to rest, and you’ve earned yourself a cup of tea.”
By the time the kettle whistled, Araya was seated at the table, watching as Veria bustled around the hearth.
The older fae moved with practiced ease, humming under her breath as she poured the steaming water over a blend of herbs and flowers.
The fragrant steam curled through the air, filling the kitchen with notes of lavender and honey.
“You said you couldn’t sleep,” Vera said, setting the steaming cup in front of her before taking her own seat. “Was it dreams?”
“N—not really.” The lie that she’d been about to tell stuck in her throat, choking her. She wrapped both hands around the mug, her cheeks flaming. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
The corners of Veria’s mouth twitched. But she nodded, schooling her face into seriousness. “Do they still mark Bloomtide in the New Dominion?”
“No really.” Araya bit her lip. She doubted Veria wanted to hear about how humans had replaced the fae holiday with Dominion Day, celebrating the overthrow of the fae monarchy. “It’s like the fae New Year isn’t it?”
“Something like that.” Veria smiled, but a touch of sadness lingered in her eyes, like she’d heard everything Araya hadn’t said anyway.
“It’s a celebration of life itself. In Tirnavel, there were days of music and dancing—all culminating in a procession of boats down the Alderwyl.
Growers spent weeks perfecting floats depicting our oldest stories. ”
Araya’s eyes widened, the image springing to life in her mind—boats strung with flowers drifting past crowds of fae lining both sides of the sparkling river. A knot rose in her throat. “It sounds beautiful.” she said softly.
“It was.” Veria sighed. “Eloria puts together something similar in Lumaria every year. To give the people hope.”
“I’m sorry you’re missing it.” Araya stared down into the dregs of her tea, studying the soggy leaves like they were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
“I’ve seen many Bloomtides, dear.” Veria said kindly.
“At Tirnavel and in Lumaria. But since Thalen passed…” she sighed, her bright blue eyes shining with unshed tears despite the smile on her face.
“Well, I haven’t much cared for grand celebrations.
I’d rather mark the new year quietly, with good bread, a warm fire.
And right now?” She reached across the table, brushing a trace of flour from Araya’s wrist. “I think I’m right where the Goddess wants me to be. ”
They fell into a companionable silence after that, the scent of onion and herbs filling the kitchen as Veria started a stew pot over the fire.
The bread she’d worked so hard on went into the oven.
It came out a little lumpy, but Araya couldn’t hold back her smile at seeing it next to Veria’s perfectly shaped loaves.
She was working on another tray of candied flowers, carefully sugaring them before the glaze hardened completely when something shifted in the corner of her vision.
Araya froze, her gaze snapping toward the shadows under the table.
They almost seemed to ripple—flickering out of time with the firelight.
But were they really shifting or was it a trick of her mind and the bond gnawing at her chest. It swelled like a bruise under her ribs, a little too close to hope for her own comfort.
“Ael’sura.” Loren’s voice wrapped around her like honey, dark and warm. “What are you doing down here?”
She turned, her breath catching to see him leaning in the doorway. He watched her, his green eyes even brighter than usual in the dark hollows of his eyes. Gods, he looked like he hadn’t slept well in months.
“I’m helping,” she said, the words coming out with a strange waver. “Thorne thought it would help if I worked with Veria—” she looked around, but the older fae female was conspicuously absent. “What—what are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Loren still hovered in the doorway, like he wasn’t sure he could cross the threshold.
After last night, Araya’s mind supplied, heat flooding her cheeks.
The dream she’d destroyed still lingered at the edges of her mind, her memory of his hands and lips on her skin all too vivid.
Loren only looked at her, his gaze devouring her with the desperation of a starving man.
What had Thorne said? That being apart was probably hurting him even more than it hurt her.
“Neither could I,” Araya admitted. She pushed her tray aside, dropping the lid back on the sugar. “Would you like some tea? I can make some.”
Loren’s eyes widened, something like panic flickering across his face. “You don’t have to wait on me—”
“It was an invitation, Loren.” Araya turned to the tea service, busying herself with the simple motions of filling the pot. She traced thyn against the porcelain, heating the water with a trickle of aether. “Come in here and sit down.”
Loren looked totally out of place in the kitchen, Araya decided.
He perched on the chair like he was ready to leap up at any moment, the shadows spreading out around his feet.
She ducked her head, fussing unnecessarily with the tea service as one of them brushed her ankle, heat flushing her cheeks low in her stomach at the reminder of the way they’d touched her last night.
Loren had the grace not to comment as she set the tea service on the table, his gaze fixed firmly on his own hands. But when she set the small dish of candied blossoms between them his gaze snapped up to hers, his eyes wide.
“Veria said they were your favorite,” Araya murmured, suddenly self-conscious.
For a heartbeat, he just stared at her, the hard lines of his face softening. Then he smiled and plucked one from the dish, popping it into his mouth. His eyes closed briefly as he chewed, shadows curling closer as if they shared his pleasure.
“I snuck into the kitchen and ate a whole tray once,” he admitted, his eyes still closed.
“Made myself sick and missed nearly all of Bloomtide. My mother—” he laughed softly, though his breath hitched with grief.
“She convinced my father that missing the procession was punishment enough. I loved it when I was a child. She would tell us the stories as the floats passed—it was like everything came to life.”
“You must miss them terribly.”
Loren’s throat worked. “Every day.” His eyes stayed on the candied blossoms, like he didn’t dare meet her eyes. “I owe you an apology. Last night—”
“You don’t.” Araya cut him off. “It’s as much my fault as yours.
Thorne suggested that finding a way to feel close to you might…
ease the ache. But I doubt he meant I should go and fall asleep in your bed.
” She forced herself to look at him, even though her face burned with mortification.
“We were both asleep. And...it wasn’t all terrible. ”
“It wasn’t,” Loren echoed. He looked like she’d hit him over the head. “You…you missed me?”
“Against my will.” Araya let out a short, bitter laugh, dragging her fingernail along the grain of the table so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes for what she said next.
“I still think you should have told me about the bond the moment you knew. You’ve kept far too many secrets for me to trust you.
But leaving me here the way you did? That hurt, Loren. ”
“Ael’sura...” he trailed off, his voice cracking on the endearment.
Araya shook her head, blinking hard. “How long before you leave again?”
“Tomorrow,” Loren rasped, and when Araya glanced up at him through her lashes he was just staring at her, his expression gutted. “In the morning. I have to go—Bloomtide is about hope. Eloria…she wants people to see me.”
Her heart sank, heavy and leaden. But Araya nodded once, pressing her lips together to keep anything else from spilling out.
“But you could come,” Loren added softly.
He leaned forward, the shadows stretching across the table toward her.
“Come with me. Eloria would be happy to have you there. You can see a real Bloomtide. And after that—” his hand flexed against the table, his knuckles white.
“After that we can decide what to do about the bond. Together. No more secrets.”
Araya folded her arms, the ache under her ribs pressing harder. “No more secrets?”
Loren nodded.
“We’d have to leave in the morning,” he said, his green eyes locked on hers like her answer meant everything. “You don’t have to decide right now. Just…meet me in the entrance hall after breakfast if you want to come. And wear something you can walk in.”
Araya dropped her gaze to the table, pretending to study the candied blossoms. Her heart leapt in her chest, the bond screaming at her to say yes—but she wasn’t going to let some bond she didn’t ask for dictate her decisions. “I’ll think about it.”