Page 54 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
I bit my lip, and as if that woke him, a slow smile lifted his mouth, revealing the dimple in his cheek.
Sparks of energy rushed through me, as quick as a spider scuttling along its web. Although the sight of him made me jittery, it was nothing like the suffocating fear all those other stares brought. This was… exciting, energising, intoxicating.
Somehow, despite my burning face and inability to look away, my feet were still moving, crossing the floor, until I stood before him.
I inclined my head. “Calan Mai blessings.”
“We are blessed indeed,” he murmured, still holding me with his gaze, like I was something precious.
On the edge of my vision, Hil giggled behind her hand. “Moon and Stars above, don’t you look like a gift from the gods themselves?” She nudged Ly. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”
He brushed off his arm, shooting Hil a frown. “Ari, you—”
“Tell her, then.” She nudged him again.
A muscle in his jaw feathering, he huffed through his nose. “That’s what I wastryingto do.”
“Oh, Sylvie,” Hil went on, “doesn’t Ari look lovely?” Eyes bright, nose pink, she patted my cheek. A broad smile emphasised her pointed chin.
Ly edged closer. “Ari, you—”
“Sylvie!” Two identical fae appeared at the edge of our group, making me flinch. They had skin the same colour as mine, a rich fawn brown, and hair that matched. Maybe it was that little piece of familiarity that eased my shoulders.
Without a word, Ly slid into the spot next to me and offered his arm and a lopsided smile that might’ve been an apology. Face warming, I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow, and he made the introductions.
Thankfully, they seemed more interested in catching up with Sylvie and Hil and only asked me a couple of polite questions.
Young fae from local villages served drinks and trays filled with Hil’s glorious cooking. Tarts of sweet chutney and sharp cheese. Bite-sized flaky pies, some filled with venison and gravy, others with pork and quail’s eggs. Plenty of cakes flavoured with everything from honey to lemon, to cinnamon and mace, as well as pastries and tiny biscuits that melted in my mouth.
Several of the fae serving us had rosy cheeks and ears, as though they’d helped themselves to a glass or two of sparkling elderflower wine.
Ly scooped one of the weaker drinks from a tray for me and pointed out which were safer. Still, I sipped slowly. A little wine helped my courage, but too much and I’d end up on the floor—probably face-first.
Another fae approached and Ly introduced us. Not Goren. Relief loosened my muscles. Maybe he wasn’t coming.
After a few mini pies, several cakes, and just the one drink, Boyd appeared at the edge of the group and jerked his chin at Ly.
With a low sigh, Ly pulled from my grip. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Will you be all right? I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I lifted one shoulder. “You have guests to look after.” And tonight I was being someone bold. “I’ll be fine.” I’d already managed to speak to three strangers, and Sylvie had faith in me. I nodded in reassurance, and he slipped away with a glance over his shoulder.
When the next server came past, I took another glass, but squinting at it, I wasn’t sure if it was of the drinks Ly had called safe. I clutched it to give my hands something to do, though it was a poor replacement for his arm. It was almost easy to chat with Sylvie and a soft-spoken fae who reminded me of a sparrow with her flecked hair and skin and flighty demeanour.
Four strangers. Icoulddo this.
But as the conversation wore on, more fae congregated on us, just a couple at a time, all keen for an introduction. Although they weren’t Goren, they brought noise and questions and inquisitive eyes that looked to me even when I wasn’t speaking. I backed into a corner.
Person-by-person, my pulse sped. They blocked out my view of the rest of the room, pressing in, making the air too hot. Air I couldn’t take in. My lungs filled with the old, familiar wadding, and my face tingled.
It had been a while, but I’d dealt with this for years. Fanning myself, I counted in a long breath and muttered, “Excuse me.”
One benefit of being so short, especially compared to most fae, was that I could slip through the crowd, and within moments I opened one of the glazed terrace doors and crept outside.
The cool night air quenched the panic, and I sucked in its freshness. Out here, dim fae light flickered and drifted along, illuminating the honeysuckle that climbed up the house. Its sweet fragrance tickled my nose and tugged me home. The honeysuckle that grew over Rose’s doorway wouldn’t bloom for another month yet.
I rubbed my aching chest and fled the reminder.
Out here my only company were the fountain and floating lights, the latter becoming scarcer the further I went from the house. No eyes on me. No crowd. No—
