“Rominy has consumed enough ginger beers to float away, and he seems fine.” Arisanna shrugs and lifts her glass toward Cerian. “Cheers.”
“Cheers?”
“We’re supposed to clink our glasses together.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She holds her glass aloft, waiting for him to reciprocate, and he carefully lifts his own bubbling beverage to meet hers in a softtink.
“Now what?”
“Now we drink.” As she presses the glass to her lips and takes a sip, her eyes slide shut. “Mmm. That’s good.”
Hesitantly, he does the same. The air bubbles tickle his nose, but he ignores the strange sensation and takes a tiny drink.
It’s sweet and tangy. And it bites.
“What do you think?” Arisanna takes another sip before lowering her cup back to the table.
“It’s...different.”
“Different good or different bad?”
He studies the bubbles again before setting down the glass. “I haven’t decided.”
They quietly eat their lunch, and Cerian occasionally tests the fizzy drink as he works on his steak.
“I think you like it,” Arisanna says with the same hint of teasing his siblings often use around him.
That draws out his smile before he can help himself. “Perhaps.”
Soon, their food is consumed, and their fizzy lemonades are downed, and Father appears at their table. “You seem to have managed well on your own. Are you ready to depart?”
Cerian glances at Arisanna, and she nods.
Together with the rest of his kin, they leave the restaurant and walk north toward the stables. Just as they did two days ago, the humans of Feressa stop and stare at the elves, but no one is hostile or aggressive. Mostly, they seem curious.
How quickly they forget the battles fought mere decades ago between their peoples. But this is why he’s here—why he’s heartbound with a human. To maintain thepeace between Lostariel and Nunia. Hopefully, for longer than any of these people will exist.
Grooms lead their saddled horses into the street, including Arisanna’s beautiful chestnut mare. The red tones of the horse’s glossy coat draw out the reddish tint in Arisanna’s hair as she mounts. The brown riding gown she wears doesn’t do her justice. A vision of her in a deep crimson elven split skirt and hooded cloak dances unbidden before his eyes until Tharios elbows him in the ribs.
“Are you planning to gawk at her all afternoon?”
Cerian shoves his brother away and swings onto Lightshorn’s back as Tharios grins and mounts his own horse.
It’s not like Tharios has room to talk. They all watched him act like a newly bound fool when he fell in love with Viala three years ago. Cerian found it vomit-inducing at the time.
Not that he’s falling in love with Arisanna. She’s nice to look at. That’s all. And kind. And she doesn’t seem to mind his moods.
Truly, he’s lucky. This entire situation could be so much worse, but Arisanna makes it bearable. Which is far better than he feared when he crossed into Nunia two days ago.
He nudges Lightshorn toward Arisanna as Father leads their caravan out of town.
“Your horse is beautiful,” Cerian says. “I can see why you wanted to bring her.”
“Yes. She’s a lot sweeter than she looks, too, despite what they say about chestnut mares, aren’t you, girl?”
Cerian frowns. “What do they say?”
