Page 232 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Unsure, I glanced down at my summoning garb—a strapless skater’s dress with a frayed sweetheart neckline. Made of layers upon layers of the finest silk, so gossamer you could almost see the tint of my skin beneath, it floated around my thighs, deliberately tattered. My friends said it had been crafted of threads from enchanted silkworms, and two diligent sempstresses had magically woven the fabrics before they’d sewn them into the masterpiece. I wished they hadn’t wasted so much effort on a dress I’d wear once.
How I looked in it—well, I’d have to take my girls’ word for it; I had no mirror to see for myself. The dress certainly felt nice on me. Although, I would’ve preferred a longer skirt. I feared I’d spend the entirety of the evening tugging down my hem.
Of course, from how Liatris and Imogen had dressed, I figured nobody would yell boo if they spied my privates. Both beyns before me were pretty much advertising theirs in their fig leaf monokinis. Not for amorous attention, I guessed, as they were both still hopelessly in love with feyrs somewhere beyond Eden. No, they’d dressed to feel pretty, to feel free, to feel empowered for the celebration after my summoning. Because femininity was power, regardless of society’s insistence that it should be meek.
Screw that shit.
“I daresaysomeonewill struggle to keep his hands to himself when he sees you,” Liatris giggled, her eyes crinkling as she led me to the tree stump table and sat me down.
“I-I doubt that,” I stuttered. “Pete and I—we’re just friends.” We’d made a pact, and neither of us had mentioned breaking it. Though I’d totally been thinking about it. A lot. “We aren’t likethat. Lovers, I mean.”
Imogen and Liatris shared a pointed look over my head. Their nostrils flared to take in my scent—somehow now entwined with Pete’s. I couldn’t even scrub it away.
“Yeah, I know how I smell, and how it looks—the way we interact—but really, there’s been no hanky panky.” Coerced, near hanky panky didn’t count. And that felt like ages ago.
Imogen lifted a delicate paintbrush off the table and dipped it into a small canister of kohl. “Well, lovey, that doesn’t mean fate has none in store.”
Finally, my eyes winged with curly Qs and shadowed with seafoam-green and pale-gold—also the colors of my dress—I proceeded to the stone circle, where half of Eden—the strongest half—already awaited me.
The weaker half prepped the village square for the after-feast. Watching them work, I flashed back to the night of Beltane, pre-festival, a freak chill creeping up my neck.
Torches lit the path to the stone circle, a carpet of flower petals cushioning my bare feet as I climbed the fairy hill. A salty sea breeze floated a floral aroma to my nose, and I needed a moment before I placed it. Sweet William—the scent from my night terrors.
More chills.
I waved at the clerics gathered by the main gate, who bowed their heads to me in solemn greeting. They looked focused, ready for the task ahead. At least their gravity said they knew what they were getting into. In contrast, the volunteers I trod past jabbered like theatergoers before the prologue. I feared they’d all bitten off more than they could chew in agreeing to assist that night, and I hoped they all made it out of the circle alive.
Myrrdin found me before I found him, dressed in his usual robes, a headdress crafted of driftwood and bird bones crowning his golden-brown head. He set a hand on my back. “Right this way, Amy. We’ll start the summoning as soon as all are in place. I know you want to get past this.”
Goddess, did I ever.
As he led me to the circle center, we passed the steer, an intense shade of mustard, who munched away at the sandy grass surrounding the post he was tethered to, assuming that night would be just like any other night in his boring, but probably happy, life.
Sad for the steer, though I’d been plotting his demise days ago, I almost didn’t notice who awaited us at circle center. When I did, my universe shrunk—just as it had when I’d first seen him at the Thorny Rose Tavern. Now, he was all that existed on that fairy hill.
Purple twilight framed Pete as we approached. Like all the other males in attendance, he wore a simple pair of black homespun pants, tied at his waist with twine. But unlike all the others, from that narrow waist arose a mouthwatering hulk of furred, rippled muscle, scars etching his broadness in the torchlight. Scars only recently healed. Scars I’d helped poultice while he was feverish and weak.
He showed no signs of malaise, now. Virile and towering, his massive bare feet firmly planted on the ground, Pete grinned down at Morus like the rake I knew. He’d trimmed his beard and had his hair shorn, though it remained devilishly unkempt. His cheeks, round and full again, were a healthy tan, his dark gaze a warm and glittering thing.
Maybe Myrrdin was right. Maybe I didn’t need to fret over Pete’s involvement that night. Maybe.
“Make ready, Pete,” Myrrdin advised when close enough. “Won’t be long now.”
Pete glanced over at hearing Myrrdin’s voice. Then he saw me. And froze. Like his heart had leapt up and choked him.
He hadn’t expected to react that way. He’d have scented me or known I’d be with Myrrdin without thinking much of it. I’d become an everyday pest in his life, after all. Nothing special.
Except tonightwasspecial. And my girls had dressed me for the occasion. Their handiwork had elated them. Now, watching Pete’s jaw plummet, I supposed they had every right to elation.
I met Pete’s gaze, barely cognizant of Myrrdin ushering me forth. Because Pete—his hunger, unbridled as a mustang, ravaged me.
Morus snickered at him. “Is there a punchline forthcoming, or—?”
Pete waved Morus to silence as we stopped before them.
If Myrrdin felt the heat rising between me and my harbinger friend, he didn’t let on, diving into the details of my summoning. “You mustn’t do much at all, Amy. Just don’t fight the Goddess’s offerings, no matter what they are. I suggest focusing on breath. That should calm you—to some degree.”
I wrung my hands. “How long will it take?”
