When he was locked in the bathing chamber upstairs alone, he rested the back of his head against the door.
“You see? Trying to bed you.”
Reeve’s eyes popped open. “A bathtub is not a bed,” he insisted, stripping the baldric from across his chest. “She was just being nice.”
“I’m sure she wants to be very nice to you,” said the sword with a smirk in its voice that wasn’t nearly as accusatory as it felt.
Reeve rubbed his face. He would have like that, his body, his brain, even the twinge in his chest told him that he wanted Celeste to keep being nice to him, and he wanted to be nice right back, and yet he ran from her.
Coward, he thought, and began to undress alone.
CHAPTER 16
FIBS AND LONGING IN THE DEW DROP INN
Gaspard Longfury was on his third ale and his fifth story, and each was progressivelyfrothier. His latest tale was being told directly to their table, and Celeste watched Reeve attempt to hide behind the mug of milk he’d requested over ale, though it was impossible with shoulders so broad.
Rosiness bloomed across the holy knight’s cheeks and all the way down his neck when the bard’s account of a tense meeting between an elven smuggler and a high priest came to its inevitable conclusion: Gaspard made peace between all three and then made love to them both at once. Celeste, Ima’riel, and Kori broke into laughter, Reeve turned an adorable shade of scarlet, and Halfrida, who caught the tail end and had little Willow trailing behind her, threatened cutting the bard’s tongue out with her cleaver. It seemed her objection to coarseness did not extend to violence.
The innkeeper had worked wonders with the tough meat, and it seemed the whole village had piled into the Dew Drop Inn for a dinner of shredded boar in a blueberry sauce over roasted yams and carrots. When Celeste and Reeve arrived later in the evening, the tavern was buzzing, and Fitz, already tipsy along with the other hunters, immediately pointed them out and requested the assembled cheer for their assistance in taking down the main course. Celeste was quick to pat Reeve’s arm and whisper that it was all him, hoping the attention would be off of them quickly. Relief came when Ima’riel had waved the two over to join her and Kori at a somewhat secluded table pushed up against the stairwell.
When Gaspard recovered from Halfrida’s threat, he moved on to another table, strumming his lute and murmuring out questionably salacious lyrics about a group of ex-corsairs who had traveled to the Kvesari Wood in search of a phoenix. While finishing up their dinner, Celeste asked after the greenhouse, and Ima’riel detailed her plans, excited that she had already managed to sprout some chives and potdemiel fruits which apparently grew underground.
“She’s exhausting herself between that and worrying about the sweetbriars,” mumbled Kori over the edge of her stein.
Ima’riel’s light eyes would have rolled, Celeste thought, if the elf ever allowed herself to do such a thing. Instead, they just looked deeply into a speckled stone she brought out of an unseen pocket. “If my calculations are correct, only eight more sunrises until they bloom.”
“They bloom with the dawn?” asked Reeve. It had taken him some time to recover from the bawdy tales, but he was still pink along his collar. Celeste wondered how far down the blush went.
“Yes, it’s the elven cleansing magic of shaking off winter and welcoming spring, and it occurs on the day when the sun and moons share equal time in the sky, so the whole village will stay up the entire night to welcome the sunrise.”
Kori placed down her mug, hands falling beneath the table to her lap. “And no one’s going to be disappointed if they stay up all night just to see, like, one bush bloom?”
“Oh, they don’t really mind what happens so long as they can eat and drink.” Ima’riel chuckled then brought up a slender hand to cover her mouth as she politely yawned behind it. “Only Geezer and I are really concerned with the sweetbriars, but the rest of them love the festival that comes along with it. I’m not sure they even remember it’s supposed to be about the flowers.”
Celeste looked about. “Is Geezer here tonight?”
“Baylen says he’s missing.” Kori took a casual drink despite the heft of those words.
Ima’riel shook her head. “He always turns up once he remembers where home is. His memory’s been addled by magic, even I can’t fix whatever’s happened to him, but there’s something inside all of us that draws us back to the place we belong once we’ve found it.”
Celeste pressed a hand to her chest as if the elf’s words would suddenly spark that in her. She listened intently for some pull to another place, but there was nothing.
“So, you two haven’t killed one another yet.” Kori leaned forward, spearing a last carrot with her fork. “What’s the hold up?”
They traded glances, and of course Reeve immediately opened his mouth. “We’ve made an oath to one another.”
Ima’riel’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in a broad grin. Kori, on the other hand, totally screwed up all of her features in utter confusion or perhaps disgust, they looked much the same on her.
Celeste kicked the knight beneath the table. “Not like that,” she said.
“Yes, it is.” He reached down and rubbed his leg, giving her such a pained expression that she wanted to throw her arms around him and apologize. “We vowed not to battle until—” Finally, a torch seemed to light behind his eyes. “Until the temple is restored.”
It wasn’t a lie, not really, but she could tell he felt it was close enough that he’d probably be doing twice the prayers the following morning.
Ima’riel made a subtly disproving face. “Humans,” she said and then smiled weakly as if they were all children, and another yawn caught her totally by surprise.
“You’re worn out.” Worry creased Kori’s features.
