She shook her head. “I’m tired, Taevas. I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”
“Good gods, woman, I won’t kick you out of your nest,” he protested, appalled.
Alashiya let out an exasperated sigh. “Thenyougo back to the guest room.”
“Stay and speak to me,metsalill.”
“I don’twantto.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m embarrassed.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know why I told you any of that, but I wish I hadn’t. I just want to go to bed and forget it.”
Sliding his fingers over the silken skin of her wrist, Taevas gently turned her hand until her palm was facing him. Easing his fingertips over the lines, tracing their unique pattern so he could picture them in his mind later, he asked, “What do you have to be embarrassed of,minu metsalill?You think your husband doesn’t think of you, too? Do you imagine Adon thinks nothing of the artisan who presses her magic into the weave of his most precious possessions?”
Gently but firmly, he used his grip to reel her backtoward the nest. Alashiya watched him with a guarded expression as she allowed him to guide her reluctantly down, until she knelt on the mattress beside him. This close, he could see every minute shift in color of her dark eyes — the same shade as waxed cedar wood, full of reds and browns and golds.
Whispering now, he asked, “Do you think your Adon doesn’t breathe in the smell of you whenever he opens a new package? Do you think that he doesn’t save every pressed flower, or sleep beneath the hoop you sent him whenever he’s home? Do you think he doesn’t getpainfullyhard whenever your fresh scent hits his nose? Do you think he isn’t dying to know you? To have even something as simple as a name to cling to?”
Alashiya’s lips parted. “Taevas, what— How do you know I sent?—”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating smile. “Because I’m a pathetic man with a silly little fantasy,metsalill.”Allowing himself the indulgence of brushing his knuckles over her cheek, he whispered, “That sash and robe is mine. If you must leave me for the night, I’d like to keep them with me. Your husband is a greedy man, I’m afraid. Terribly hard to please.”
“What are you talking about?”
He skimmed his thumb over the soft pillow of her lower lip. “You aren’t the only one with a claim, Shiya. I’m afraid your Adon might be a bit more demanding in real life, but you’ll get used to it.” Taevas pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth — not quite a kiss, but close. Painfully close. “You’ll have to, seeing as he’s in your nest.”
Chapter Twenty
The sash slidfrom her hand and pooled on the floor. The bristles of the velvet tickled the pads of her fingers as it fell, but she hardly noticed. Alashiya sat there, unable to move or speak or even breathe.
The whispers of her grove filled her ears, but she couldn’t hope to understand what they were trying to tell her when they all spoke at once. It wasn’t like she could focus on anything besides him, anyway.
Nymphs were physical creatures. They were lovers of the senses, of touch and sound and taste. They were present in their bodies more than most could hope to be — aware, at all times of their flesh, their impermanence, and the unlikely privilege of existence.
And yet Alashiya had never in all her years been as aware of her body as she was then, when Taevas ran his claws over the curve of her jaw. She swore she could feel the spark of life itself in the infinitesimal gap between their flesh.
“You can’t be Adon,” she whispered. “That’s impossible.”
Taevas nodded. “I know. It’s the most impossible thing to ever happen to me, I think. But my name isn’t Adon. It’s Taevas Aždaja, Isand of the Draakonriik, Lord of the DragonClans, head of Clan Aždaja…” He paused to give her the gift of a slow, hungry smile. “And lover of beautiful things.”
When she said nothing —couldsay nothing — he trailed the very tip of one claw through the spiral of a wispy curl by her ear. “Do you need me to prove it to you,metsalill?”
It was like her brain had stalled out. He said the words, and she didn’t know how he’d know about the flowers if he wasn’t telling the truth, so it all seemed like something she should be able to understand. It didn’t work that way, though.
She tried to think through it logically, looking for any way he might’ve known, and came up with nothing. She hadn’t packed any orders since he’d crashed through the roof of her barn. She definitely hadn’t shared her habit of sending tiny gifts to her favorite customer with him. There wouldn’t have been any reason to, since she hadn’t gotten to the point of packing anything yet, and it was such a private thing…
That was perhaps proof enough, but she couldn’t make herself believe it. She could hardly get her mind to work enough todisbelieveit. Instead, she simply sat there, blank, stuck between the two states of being, as Taevas’s tail slowly curled around her waist.
He spoke in a low, hypnotizing murmur when he continued, “The first time I saw your work, it was in Stalton’s Atelier. That was ten years ago. Since then, I’ve commissioned just about everything I could think of from you — pillowcases, jackets, handkerchiefs, robes, shirts. And everytime an order arrived, you sent me a card with a pressed flower.”
He sat up a little. Slowly, like he was trying not to spook her, he curled his right hand around the nape of her neck and drew her closer, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “I keep them in a crystal dish on my desk, so when I’m working I can always see something beautiful nearby.”
“They’re just flowers,” she croaked, like it even mattered.
Taevas’s smile turned wry. “I’ve told myself that many times. They’re just flowers. It’s just embroidery. She’s just a facelessartisan. But I couldn’t bear to throw them out. I had to commission more. I couldn’t stop imagining the woman behind the needle, with her wild magic and perfect scent.”
What could she possibly say to that? Alashiya trembled all over, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. It was a lucky thing that Taevas didn’t need her to reply. Once he’d begun to talk, he couldn’t seem to stop.
