Page 21 of Quills and Starlight
I try my absolute best to ignore how his hand lingers at my waist, his palm radiating a heat that penetrates straight through my fine robes.
Raylen stretches up, his heavy silver mask gleaming under the lanterns as his lips brush the sensitive shell of my ear. “And you look like something I’d like to unwrap before the moon sets.”
A fierce shiver runs down my spine.
“Dance with me,” Raylen whispers against my skin, his grip tightening just enough to pull me a fraction closer.
“We need to find Talia before she makes some monumental mistake and gives my mother a heart attack,” I reply automatically, though the rigid words taste sour in my mouth. I look around the glittering, masked crowd. When will I ever get a chance like this again? Don’t I deserve to dance with this handsome elf in front of me? Just once?
Yielding to the magnetic pull between us, I let him lead me out onto the polished wooden floorboards of the outdoor pavilion.
The music swells around us. It’s a sweeping, ethereal arrangement of harps and violins that feels magical. Raylen shifts his weight, pulling me flush against his chest, and suddenly the rest of the market completely fades into the background. He moves with a fluid, athletic grace, guiding us through the steps of the traditional Dun Steorra waltz. Every turn of the dance brings our bodies closer together; my sheer robe brushes against his bare arms, and the heavy silver necklace he placed around my neck clinks softly against his vest.
For the first time in days, the heavy knot of anxiety in my chest fully untangles. It is a perfect, uninterrupted pocket of time, and I let myself melt into it, matching his strides until we are moving as one.
“Hey,” Raylen murmurs as the song slows, his eyes burning bright behind the cutouts of his mask. “Thanks for coming with me tonight. It’s been a terribly long time since I’ve danced with anyone. It’s been mostly lonely traveling and grueling archery competitions for so long… I forgot how much fun this could be.”
As he speaks, my mind wanders, mentally flipping through all the scandalous broadsheet articles I have read about him over the last decade.The Playful Archer of Moonscliffe. The Relentless Heartbreaker.Are any of them even true? Because looking at him now, it doesn’t feel like it. He has had eyes for absolutely no one but me the entire time we’ve been together. I remember the raw hurt on his face from the other day when I hesitated, and I figure I might as well disregard most of the trash printed in those gossip rags. Maybe he will tell me the truth when he is ready.
Before I lose my nerve, I glance up at him through my mask. “I’m thinking we’ll just need to trust my sister. She either knowsexactly what she’s doing, or Isolde will stop her from making some horrible mistake.”
Raylen nods, though a sheepish, guilty look suddenly crosses his features. “I think that their ignoring all our frantic messages might actually be my fault,” he confesses softly.
I blink, stopping in the middle of the courtyard. “Your fault? How?”
Raylen bites his lower lip. I have never seen him look this thoroughly nervous before. Not even when we had to present our thesis in front of the academy board all those years ago. “What if I said I’m not quite ready to confess all my secrets just yet? But I promise I’ll tell you everything someday soon. Would you trust me?”
I study him for a long, quiet moment. He is practically vibrating with tension, his eyes searching mine for any sign of rejection. But I look at the facts. This beautiful elf has done nothing but take care of me for the past several days. He hasn’t left my side once, other than the brief two hours I asked us to split our search. He has been kind, patient, and so fucking loyal.
I nod, the last of my doubts crumbling away. “I trust you, Raylen.”
Leaning forward, I eliminate the space between us and capture his lips with mine. The kiss is sweet, deep, and heavy with so many unsaid things.
Before the moment can deepen further, a low cough interrupts us. A messenger dressed in the official gold livery of the market approaches, bowing low before handing us a small parchment sealed with a familiar, magical wax stamp. I break the seal, skimming the elegant scroll.
The sisters are perfectly safe. They explicitly state they want to explore the rest of the market on their own, free from our ‘smothering supervision,’ and will see us when the fortnight is up.
I let out a sharp, deeply annoyed huff, crumpling the paper in my fist. “I knew they were doing this on purpose.”
Raylen chuckles, the tension completely leaving his shoulders as he makes an offer. “Why don’t we mix things up a bit, Sy? Let’s enjoy the market while we continue casually looking for them. Maybe check out a few of the games. I heard Beacon Sure-of-Foot is participating in the caber toss. No one says we have to ruin our entire experience here just because they’re being stubborn. We deserve to have a little fun. We can spend our mornings practicing for my archery competition, while you prepare for your interview with the Celestial Society.”
I freeze, my jaw dropping slightly beneath my mask.Goddess.I have been so consumed by panic over Talia that I almost forgot about the Celestial Society. It has been my academic dream for years.
A sudden, brilliant rush of pure excitement zips through my veins, and I look at Raylen, my smile breaking wide across my face. “I’d love that.”
Chapter nine
Raylen
Venturingintothedenseforest on the edge of Everend Market offers a refreshing escape from the oppressive heat of the valley. Up here, beneath the ancient, interlocking canopy of the white pines, the air is cool and smells heavily of damp earth and wild lavender. Cinder is somewhere nearby, chasing a large magical dragonfly, leaving the small clearing entirely to us.
Thwack.
My arrow buries itself dead center into the makeshift burlap target I tied to a sturdy elm tree. I reach into my quiver and pull out another arrow. All the while, my ears track the steady, rhythmic pacing of the elf behind me.
Sylar is wearing his heavy scholar robes despite the summer humidity, a thick stack of parchment sheets clutched tightly in his hands. He’s been pacing the same ten-foot stretch of grass for the last hour, his brow furrowed so deeply it looks permanent. If he weren’t so stressed, I’d be tempted to chuckle at how damn adorable he looks.
“The structural alignment of the southern constellations dictates a clear trajectory for the next three months, provided the alchemical variance of the atmosphere remains under two percent,” Sylar recites, his voice tight, devoid of any warmth. He stops, staring at the page, and lets out a long, deeply frustrated sigh.
