Chapter Forty-Nine
Steppinginto Taevas’s tower was a bit like walking into another world. Everything, from the height of the building to the materials it was made of and the scent of the air was so foreign. She’d suspected from the start that it would be, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the reality of being immersed in his world.
Alashiya thought she’d be afraid. She wasn’t.
There was no tangled knot of dread in her belly or anxiety squeezing the breath from her lungs as she stared out the floor-to-ceiling window across from their bed. There was only a steady sort of certainty in her that defied place or setting.
How could she be afraid when her grove was near?
There were much more serious reasons to worry, and after what she’d been through, it seemed silly to have been so very afraid of leaving her home. Yes, everything was different and strange, but what did that matter? She could adapt.
If he lets me stay.
Alashiya swallowed hard and cast a furtive look at her husband as he toweled himself off. He looked perfectly at home in the sprawling, modern bedroom with its strange sunken beddraped in a gauzy canopy that spilled from the ceiling in a waterfall of fabric.
Everything about it was the complete opposite of hers. There were no cozy rugs or moss on the windows. Every bit of furniture, from the side tables to the arm chairs in the corner, matched. Even the light fixtures, something she would’ve thought universal, were foreign to her because she couldn't actuallyfindthem. They were certainly there, but she couldn’t for the life of her pinpoint where the soft glow emanated from. It just seemed to emerge from the tops of the walls and baseboards.
The room would’ve felt disturbingly clinical and devoid of life if it weren’t for the signs ofherlittered throughout it.
Alashiya wandered toward the bed, one of Taevas’s borrowed shirts swishing around her thighs. She had to kneel down to sit by the mound of pillows at the head. Her chest squeezed as her fingers skimmed the embroidery on the pillowcases. And when she turned her head, there was the gift she’d been bold enough to send him — a hoop of nearly transparent gossamer covered in pressed wildflowers she’d painstakingly stitched in place.
Her magic hummed against her fingertips, making every stitch feel alive.
Blood to blood. Hyphae to hyphae.
For years, she’d imagined what it would be like to see all her work in one place. Her throat tightened as she traced familiar designs and fabrics, the soft sounds of her husband preparing for the long day ahead a soothing song in the background.
“When you’re ready, we’ll go shopping for whatever you need to make our roost feel like home.” Her husband’s voice drew her gaze back to him.
He stood in front of a black glass door, one clawed hand on a barely visible door knob. He was as naked as a jaybird, his tail swinging lazily over his tight purple backside, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.
Tucking her hands into her lap, she replied, “I don’t need you to change anything. This is how you like things, right?”
Perhaps she could get used to the bare walls and the clean lines and the lack of greenery. She had her doubts, but she wasn’t about to demand he change his entire house to suit her.
It became clear instantly that she’d made a misstep, however, when his eyes narrowed. “My Shiya, come here.”
Wary, she rose from the bed to pad across the room. Even the stone floor beneath her feet felt somehow modern and cold, a bizarre contrast from all the rock and stone she’d ever felt before.
When she drew close to his side, Taevas flicked his wrist. The glass door slid open on a well-oiled runner, making hardly a sound as it revealed a massive dressing room lined with racks and built-in drawers. If she had to make a comparison, she would’ve put it closer to what she knew of museums rather than a closet. Everything, from sunglasses to silk ties to handkerchiefs had their own special display cases.
What struck her wasn’t the strangeness or the luxury of it. Maybe to some it would be a gratuitous display of wealth, but to her it was a sign of overwhelming respect.
Her husband’s closet was ashrine.Dedicated to her.
She thought that seeing her work on his pillows and blankets was moving. Seeing every carefully displayed jacket, vest, shirt, and handkerchief in their glass cases…
Strong arms circled her waist and drew her in close. The heat of Taevas’s body warmed her spine as a sense of rightness zipped along the hyphae. His tail looped around her leg, holding her possessively. “Look at how you’ve already made your mark on me, my Shiya. You think I care if you change the color of our roost’s walls? If you hate the couch or think my taste is shit? This has been your home for a decade. It’s about time you really made it yours.”
“I never imagined I’d get to see everything together,” she whispered. “It really does feel like I’ve been here.”
“You have been,” he insisted.
Worry was like grit under her skin, making it impossible to really accept his assurance. Instead, she diverted his attention bypadding around the space, her fingertips trailing over the glass cases and velvet-lined boxes with care. Her magic greeted her with a feeling a lot like relief when she touched a familiar crisp white shirt. It was the same one he wore in the photo she’d seen on Debbie’s tablet, with all the painstaking white-on-white embroidery she’d experimented with.
Taevas moved around behind her, plucking underthings and a pair of pants from a drawer, as she fingered the mother of pearl buttons.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
