Chapter 12 #2
Together, they ferry the small offering to the center of the Shrine, where they wait in the queue far too long before reaching the front.
On impulse, before Beacon can set the bundle down with the other tokens left by new couples seeking prosperity and happiness, Laurel uses a flicker of magic to snip off a lock of his hair.
He takes care wrapping it around the bundle, weaving the dark strands under the twine so it stays in place.
As little reverence as Laurel has for any spiritual affair, including receiving a blessing from some large, old rock, it feels right to leave a part of himself behind before departing.
Emberleigh has been a good place to live for all those years Laurel spent learning how to grow outside a house that didn’t want him.
While nothing in Emberleigh is replaceable, what Laurel will miss most are the experiences and places that raised him; he’s not so much leaving those behind as moving onward to new ones.
There will be other creeks for Beacon to drop things into.
Other forests full of rustling things and the trees Beacon promised to fell, harvesting wood destined for Laurel’s new workshop.
You don’t have to cut down your own trees, Laurel had whispered across the pillow they shared last night.
No, I don’t, Beacon had agreed before closing his eyes, smudges of exhaustion beneath them visible even in the darkness of the tent. But I will.
Beacon has made a lot of promises in a very short amount of time—especially considering they’ve barely known each other for two weeks. Perhaps that’s why he sees it as so important, making sure Laurel has a standard to hold him to after his disastrous first engagement.
Free of the crowd, they hurry North to meet the travel party, the lot of them anxious to leave so they can reach Tunbrae on schedule.
Laurel isn’t especially good at singing, but when he sees the little wagon his parents-in-law bought for them, he’s nearly overcome by the urge.
He saves it until they’re properly on their way, sitting at the front of the enchanted vehicle while Beacon navigates it through the narrow streets of Laurel’s hometown.
Beacon is in the middle of promising to teach Laurel how to steer, Laurel planning to study the magic as well, when his voice cuts off and his expression goes cold.
Swiveling his head in a concerned arc, Laurel seeks out the disturbance. His breath freezes in his lungs when he sees it.
Sees him.
His father, Rodney Lushroot, leaning against the front gate of their house with his arms crossed. Laurel hadn’t even realized they were on the street he’d once called home.
Not anymore.
“Greetings, Papa,” Laurel says in a small voice. Beacon almost doesn’t stop the wagon, but Rodney pushes off the gate and walks toward them.
“You’re finally leaving,” Rodney says instead of a hello.
Laurel falters. “Yes. That was the agreement, was it not?”
Snorting, Rodney says, “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
“Ah.”
Silence falls, tension not so much crackling between them as it is radiating from Rodney toward Laurel, who can’t help but grab the tip of his tail as he curls in upon himself.
Rodney looks different from the last time Laurel saw him.
Not quite haggard, but unfulfilled. Angry, with nowhere to direct the emotion anymore.
Before Laurel can cast about for something else to say, Beacon leans across the bench, putting a protective arm on the seat to box Laurel in. “Lushroot, I have something important you need to hear; I’ll only say it once, so I entreat you to listen closely.”
Rodney raises his eyebrows, unimpressed by the performance.
“You may not know this, but violence is strictly frowned upon in my profession, especially against civilians. Given that, it will be in both of our best interests if you never speak to, look at, or think of my husband ever again.” Beacon’s voice remains level and calm, but in his eyes burns a raging fire more passionate than any Laurel has witnessed in his defense.
If his father is afraid, it doesn’t reflect on his face, but unease shows in his body language. He takes one step back, then another, putting space between himself and the much stronger elf meeting his eyes with an uncompromising stare.
“Are we clear?” Beacon prompts.
Rodney curls his lip into a defeated snarl. He turns without responding and storms toward the house, slamming—and locking—the gate behind him. As if that would keep Beacon out if he were determined enough.
But neither of them intends to follow. Laurel doesn’t wish anything upon Rodney except the loneliness his bitter heart put Laurel through for the decades he spent in his father’s care.
Maybe, for Laurel, that’s the shape freedom has taken. A clean break.
Beacon strokes gentle fingertips along Laurel’s tail, still clutched in his ink-stained hands, then readjusts on the bench. “Let’s leave,” he murmurs.
“I’d say we should never return, but…”
“You won’t be forced to join me.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Laurel says, snapping Beacon’s wrist with his tail.
Beacon chuckles. “We’ll arrive from the west entrance, then. Fuck this town. It didn’t deserve you.”
Laurel rests his cheek on Beacon’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “Thank you, love.”
Humming, Beacon presses a kiss to the crown of Laurel’s head and doesn’t speak again until they’ve cleared the town’s limits.
By the time they make it around Lake Braeleigh and reach Tunbrae, Beacon’s hometown, Laurel is exhausted. Even riding the wagon hasn’t been enough to take off the edge from traveling.
He caught Beacon and his parents whispering about allowing him to rest in Tunbrae, then join Beacon and the rest of the team in Stehr’s Peak at a later time, and he had thrown a rather shrill fit. That put the topic to bed. Privately, Laurel wouldn’t have minded putting himself to bed, too.
Now that they’re approaching the Sure-of-Foot clan compound, Laurel will be allowed a night or two on a proper mattress, on a still frame rather than one that moves and groans and creaks with magic.
He’ll be far too wiped for sex, but he’s looking forward to cuddling his husband for more than six restless hours when the caravan pauses for the night.
First, Beacon warns, they’ll have to face his family.
“How bad can it be?” Laurel asks, mostly to see Beacon’s face go red.
“Don’t take me as ungrateful,” he hedges, “but if I could avoid being inside this compound for more than three hours at a time for the remainder of my years, I would.”
Laurel chuckles. “That sounds like an exaggeration.”
“It’s not.”
“You love your family!”
“I love my parents.”
“What about Melody?” Laurel presses, thinking of Beacon’s sweet cousin and her shy enthusiasm as she introduced her new wife. “You’re so kind to her.”
An anguished expression overtakes Beacon, and Laurel can’t help breaking into a full laugh. “You love your family,” Laurel insists. “They just annoy you sometimes.”
“Most of the time,” Beacon grumbles, but he stops arguing. “You’ll see when you get in there.”
The high walls of the Sure-of-Foot compound are visible in the distance. It’s late evening, and the stars are starting to blink in the vast, sun-bruised sky. By the time they pull up to the gate, it’s pure blue-black, celestial glittering out in full force.
Beacon hops down from the wagon and swings Laurel down beside him, setting him gently on his feet, which have become sore and blistered.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, guiding Laurel away from the opening gates, chattering from the clan members inside already audible.
Laurel summons a small globe of light in his palm, using it to avoid tripping as Beacon guides him through a maze of gingko trees. He can’t stop peering through the branches, not wanting to look away from the stars.
Nights in Emberleigh were lovely; Laurel had never had any reason to complain. But here, where the immense weight of the Dun Steorran heavens bears down, Laurel wants to fall to his knees in awe.
Beacon pulls him into a clearing, gingko trees forming a circle around a small, solitary fountain.
“It’s even more vast the higher you travel up the mountain,” Beacon informs Laurel with a soft smile.
“I won’t be able to survive it,” responds Laurel. “It’s too much.”
“The lack of oxygen will help.”
“I heard the altitude makes water boil differently.” Beacon shrugs while Laurel taps his chin. “I’ll have to do more research before I attempt any spells once we’re finally home.”
At the word ‘home,’ Beacon swells like a rooster about to crow, a sharp, masculine inhale. Laurel doesn’t tease; let the man preen over having a husband to provide for. He rather enjoys Beacon’s doting.
Beacon indicates for Laurel to sit on the edge of the fountain, then joins him, his larger body folding awkwardly on the short wall.
Laurel trails his fingers over the gently rippling surface of the water. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Truly? I wasn’t ready to face my family yet.” Beacon smiles at Laurel’s giggle, but then his face sobers. “I also wanted a still moment with you before my ridiculous life explodes all over yours.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing. Are you worried I’ll hate it?
” Grimacing, Beacon see-saws his hand. Laurel catches it with his tail, enjoying how Beacon squeezes it rather than not knowing what to do with the appendage.
“I won’t hate anything,” Laurel assures him.
“As long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy. ”
“Those are strong words.”
“So was the promise to knock a wall out of your cottage so you can fit a larger wash area.”
Beacon kisses his cheek, lips not fully leaving Laurel’s skin as he says, “I suppose.”
“I’m right.”
“Of course you are.”
Laurel kisses him then, so deeply that his little orb of light extinguishes, so deeply that the stars fold over them like a thick, heavenly blanket. Beacon takes him even further down until they’re clutching each other, and Laurel has swung himself up over Beacon’s lap.