He set the drink down on the bar. He should have known better than to linger over the thought of her. It would be better to do away with all his thoughts of her, now that she’d gone back to be part of the Morning Mist Court again.
But he’d liked her. He had really liked her. She was magnetic, drawing his eye back to her every time she laughed or darted through the air. Yet so effortlessly elegant, it was in her long eyelashes and the curve of her neck when she glanced at him over her shoulder.
It wasn’t just that she had saved him almost effortlessly a number of times, or that they’d shared a firelit evening together.
She’d gotten under his skin. A taste of companionship, easy as it was exciting.
He’d likely have driven her away eventually, with all his chatter.
The bar creaked across from him as Erryc leaned against it. “Hey, have you heard something about a betting pool—”
“Absolutely not,” Silver said, standing up immediately, taking his pretty drink outside for some fresh air.
Outside was cold and quiet, the sky a deep blue fading into purples, only interrupted by the black outline of the mountains, the Whispering Woods, the whole of the Chasm. As he rounded the building to the back where fewer patrons would stumble upon him, he noticed the moon was barely a sliver in the sky. It seemed fitting that it wasn’t able to light the snow.
Silver stood there for several moments, his breath clouding the night, hoping for a star that twinkled more than any of the others. When he found none, he stared deep into the glittering wine, specs of golden pollen settling to the bottom. When hestared into the murky depths of whatever grog was on tap, he never saw much but his own lonely reflection.
He hadn’t expected their night together to be particularly special to her, but when he’d realized their time together was at an end, it was far more disheartening than he’d been prepared for.
“Excuse me,” the sweetest voice he’d ever heard rung out, clear as a bell, “Is this seat taken?”
Silver barely blinked once before he saw the shower of sparks that came with her ashe descended out of the air. Nettle sat down on the rim of his drink, kicking a foot across the surface of it, sending a few sparkling drops scattering. Gods, he didn’t even care. There was enough gold in his pocket from the fey spring that he could buy a whole cask of it, pour it out and buy another.
“I– Nettle,” he stammered, unsure how to respond. He hadn’t thought there was even a small chance of her following after him.
She settled primly on the glass rim, her soft thighs creasing against it. “What happened to ‘Firebug’?”
“Sure,” he said slowly. “Bug.”
Her mouth opened for a retort, but she paused, her gaze narrowing at him. It made a brief smile tug at the corner of his mouth, though it came with a twist of pain, like trying to flex a broken toe.
Nettle lifted one gossamer wing, giving it a slight shake. More delicate than a butterfly's wing, spun of dewdrops and spider silk and sunrise. Bits of her fairy dust drifted off it, specs of pink and gold.
“Silvertongue,” she returned to him after a beat. Her eyes seemed unusually bright, as she said softly, “You left. You barely even said goodbye.”
He closed his hand into a fist at his side to keep from reaching out for her.
“I had to make it quick. I hate long, drawn out goodbyes. It makes leaving all the worse than it already was,” he admitted, throat tight around the words. “It’s better I didn’t stay. I would have accidentally stepped on someone, it would have been a whole thing.”
He wanted to leave it at that, but her lower lip trembled and he blurted out, voice hoarse, “I thought if I stayed a second longer, I’d have fallen in love with you and been broken hearted when you decided you were done with me. I mean, you were already done with me. The job was done, we move on, that’s how it goes.”
He had thought it would be like tearing his heart out to admit it to her, but the way her expressive wings twitched and her face softened,
He knew he was a fool, a bounty hunter confessing feelings to a noble lady, a towering orc and a delicate fey, completely unsuited to each other, but he didn’t care. He had known the ways they could fit together perfectly, and it was the only thing he wanted now.
“You were home. That was what you wanted,” he insisted, a little less fervently. He hated that a note of hope slipped into his voice. He couldn’t afford that.
She shook her head, and his treacherous heart skipped a beat.
“You left, and I realized I didn’t want to be there. Living in a court I'd long outgrown, that was why the passion in my life had faded. Going back there wasn’t going to fix anything. And when I thought about going after you…” she trailed off, but she didn’t need to speak the thought out loud as a coppery flare ran up her cheeks. “I really enjoyed getting to know you. I’d like to keep getting to know you.”
Silver blinked back at her, stunned. He was at a loss for words.
Instead, he held her stare, lifting the drink to his mouth. Her wings fluttered to steady herself she lowered herself into his drink.
Silver suppressed a smile, badly.
“You know… there’s a crypt not too far from here. It’s got a lock I haven’t been able to pick,” he offered, voice low and soft. He gave the wine glass a little shake, swirling the contents of it around her.
