Chapter 56
Emmerick
How could Elsedora see what grew between us and still walk away?
The easiest choice tempted me: retreat to Helos.
There, I could pretend I didn’t know Elsedora had been out all night with Sources-know-who, and doing things that made me grind my teeth. Before leaving Helos, I’d stood in the shower until the coal-heated water ran cold, thinking about what to say to her.
I’d planned to arrive, whisk her off to that bed upstairs, and hold her there until she’d sobered up. I’d thought surely she’d have made it home.
Instead, she so willingly and easily spent the night with another. My own damned fault for trusting a wildflower to want to root herself to me and not wander.
Krait’s words hung heavy at the front of my mind. “She is worthy of someone fighting for her.”
And when she returned, we’d fight.
Despite my aversion to squabbling, I’d make her understand how her actions hurt me. It would end one of two ways: She could admit her error, or she could push me away once more.
If she wouldn’t stay my advisor, I could understand. But I grew exhausted with denying that I wanted so much more. We’d reach a conclusion. It might break my heart, but I had to know where this led.
I paced the parlor until my legs tired. When I’d worn myself out, I fell asleep on the sofa.
Clattering carried down the hall, waking me. I winced against the sun that soaked through the burgundy curtains.
The position I’d slept in made my neck ache. Wiping a hand down my face, I groaned.
“Gah!” An alarmed exclamation and a loud metallic crash roused me fully. I sprang to my feet and ran for the kitchen.
“Else?” I shouted before reaching the entry.
She stood beside the oven with a pained expression and one hand wrapped around her other wrist. A baking tray had fallen to the ground, and pale cream-colored dough littered the stones surrounding the oven’s opening.
“You alright?” I fought the underlying bitterness in my tone.
Elsedora wore a knee-length dark-green linen skirt and a matching tunic—both dusted with flour. A smudge of powdered sugar graced her freckled cheek. Her hair hung loose and damp, as though she’d just bathed, and a stripe of flour coated a few strands.
“Yes, fine. I knocked my wrist on the iron grate,” she said through a wince.
“Let me see.” I dodged the downed dough and closed the distance between us. She allowed me to pry her hand away from her wrist.
“Ouch,” I breathed out. Angry red lines inflamed her skin.
Years ago, Amara had taught me a Phynnic healing charm after the battle at Luz. It healed superficial wounds. I whispered it, and my palm glowed with golden light. Elsedora watched silently as I placed my hand on her burnt flesh, and the mark receded.
“Thank you,” she whispered, refusing to meet my gaze. The buttons on my tunic weren’t all that interesting—eventually she’d need to look at me.
“You didn’t come home,” I grated out.
This is where the fray would begin; no more quiet avoidance. No more tiptoeing around the edge of our emotions. Our warring hearts would have this out.
She sighed and tried to back away, but I held her wrist.
Maybe I should let her flee. Maybe it made me an ass to ask for more than she offered.
“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t get to leave now. We are fighting this time, Elsedora.”
“What is there to fight about?” Her eyes glistened when they met mine. How could she not see what bloomed here? It could be so beautiful.
“You gave me your father’s watch. And then you got drunk and wandered off with another. Why? Over something that Sybilla’s wagging tongue said? She’s wrong. About you, about me...”
El straightened, clearly not expecting me to have spoken with Sybilla. “It’s just a watch, Emmerick.”
Lie.
I stepped closer. “It isn’t to me. It’s a family heirloom, a part of you. I’ll treasure it forever.”
“You will soon have your own heirlooms to pass down,” she argued. “I don’t want to get in your way.”
Fighting an exasperated growl, I let her retreat until her back hit the kitchen’s brick wall. I placed a palm on either side of her head. Our gazes collided; our breaths quickened together.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Emmerick,” she whispered.
I itched to demand an explanation. The longing in her stare stanched the burn of my anger. It melted down to passion so quickly. My mother joked that Faulker men never stayed angry long. I’d thought Caym may have ruined that quality for me. Clearly, he hadn’t.
“Well, for starters, what are you failing to bake in here?” I asked, giving her some reprieve from the heavier discussion.
“Shortbread cookies with jam.” Her voice wavered on the word. “Angeline gave me her recipe, since they’re your favorite. Happy birthday.”
My brows rose. “She doesn’t give out recipes often.”
She shrugged, glancing under my arm at something on the butcher block. My mother’s aged blue recipe book lay open there.
“When did she give you that?”
“When I visited her last night,” she answered.
I drew in a deep breath. “What about the pretty courtesan? Did you bring her to meet my sick mother, too?”
Elsedora let her head fall back against the brick. When she peered up at me, she looked so tired and exhausted of any will to quarrel.
“My dry spell continues,” she said, trying to make light of it. The embers of rage I’d carried all night were stomped out.
“You didn’t spend the night with the courtesan?” I needed her to confirm it. I had no right to demand her fidelity. But I wanted to win that right.
She shook her head. “Leonna is an old friend. She helped me realize I’d been seeking the wrong things in the wrong places.
After I sobered enough to make it to Luz, I went and visited your mother.
I should have gone there sooner, but I was too afraid to see her so frail.
She made me sleep off my lousy night in the armchair. ”
I couldn’t help my growing smirk as I leaned further into her space. Our lips nearly touched, and I reveled in her light gasp. I liked the side of her that revealed her insecurities—I’d do whatever it took to dispel them. Those fears didn’t belong between us.
“What are the right things in the right places?” I asked.
She swallowed hard before she said, “You. Here.”
I soaked in her admission. Those words were all I’d needed.
Her pupils dilated, her breath hitched, and my anger slipped away.
“I don’t want to muck this up, Emmerick. But selfishly, I’d keep you from any other. It isn’t fair how much I want you to myself.”
If she kept me to herself, I’d shout about it from the damned mountain tops.
Running my hands down her goose-bump-covered arms, I heaved a sigh of relief. “You’ve mucked up nothing. And I am here. It doesn’t feel an ounce unfair to me. So what are we to do about that?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, but her attention fixated hungrily on my lips.
Knowing her interest ran deeper than lust spurred my confidence.
I let my stubble brush her cheek and whispered in her ear, “Unless you have objections, I’m going to kiss you now, Else. And you’d best make it a good one because it won’t be happening again until we remake this batch of shortbread together. No matter how much you tempt or beg me for more.”