“You don’t have to say it back. There’s no pressure. It was supposed to be an ‘in my dying breath, I confess’ type thing, so there’s no need to make a big deal of it or anything, and—ah fuck, are you crying?”
“No.” The sorcerer sniffed, turning his back on me.
“My mistake. Must be an allergic reaction to the sand. Terrible time for that to strike.” I sidled closer, giving Merulo a playful shoulder-check that made him stumble. “You love me. Admit it.”
“Hydna will be here soon.” He sounded desperate.
“Then she’ll get to hear how much you love me, which is a lot.”
“Quiet,” he hissed, as another voice bellowed across the beach.
“What was that?” Hydna’s figure in the distance looked distinctly menacing, a giant marching down the shore toward us.
“Your brother is in love with me!” I shouted back, cupping my hands around my mouth. Merulo garbled something and grabbed my arm, squeezing with all his feeble might.
“I know!” came the yell. “It’d be cute if it wasn’t so disgusting!”
The sorcerer sagged, his grip on my arm loosening. “This is nonsensical.”
“Oh yes, everything’s been nonsensical for a while now. Let’s lean into it,” I said, and pulled him in for a kiss while Hydna hollered and hooted in the background. With the cool night air, and the taste of wine in my mouth, everything felt good.
As far as final moments of peace went, it was a decent one.
CHAPTER 43
In Which the Dog Is Glowing Bright Enough to Pain Glenda’s Eyes, but Still They Have Stopped, and Still They Delay. In Which Glenda Is Wondering Why She Follows the Instructions of a Half-Breed Witch So Readily, but In Which She Has to Admit, Albeit Reluctantly, that It Is Nice to Stretch Her Legs.
The town they’d entered for the night was preoccupied with a harvest festival.
The witch, of course, insisted on attending, and so now they strolled, sipping from flasks of cider. It burned Glenda’s throat, but warmed her belly, and the intoxicants made the pressing human crowd easier to stomach.
A bonfire filled the square, flames shooting up to lick at air greyed with smoke. Stalls ringed the square, with vendors shouting advertisements for everything seasonal at the throngs of families, couples, and roaming gangs of children. They passed apples in every form: fried, baked, dried, and candied. Tarts flavoured with elderberries, red currants, blackberries, mulberries. Spears of roasted vegetables, sugar-crusted breads, and thick cuts of meat dripping in fat.
Spying this last item, Glenda pulled a face. “Do they have no empathy whatsoever?” she said to Domitia, not caring who overhead. “As if the animals are less alive than they are! As if they don’t want to live, just like we do!”
“Sir Cameron wants to live, too.”
It took some gasping and exhaling before Glenda could bring herself to respond. “Animals are innocent! He is anything but. And besides, I don’t want to eat him. Although . . .” A smile crept across her face at the image of him strung up like a hog. “It would certainly serve him right.”
Domitia winced. Perhaps she would have found a retort, but a man stumbled up to them, whisky on his breath.
“Phew!” He attempted a wet and rather flat whistle. “The size of you, ma’am! Are all elves that big?”
“Yes,” said the witch firmly, while Glenda squawked. “All of them. This one didn’t eat enough growing up.” Domitia’s hand settled on her shoulder, and Glenda readied herself to shrug it off . . . but instead found herself grappling with an odd heat that started in her cheeks, and moved downward. It didsomethingto see Domitia’s hand, warm and broad, envelop the entirety of her shoulder. Glenda wondered, flushing, if those hands were large enough to fully encompass her waist.
Too much cider! It must be interacting with the Passionweed in unexpected ways. Glenda coughed into her fist, burningly aware that the witch had not withdrawn her touch.
“Aye, we had a cow like that,” the man said, tipping his straw hat. In his haziness, he overdid it, revealing a head as bald as a thumb. He stooped to retrieve the hat, shoving it firmly back into place. “Its mam got ate by shucks before itfinished growing, and the stupid thing wouldn’t suckle from any of the others. Barely got big enough to slaughter.”
“Yes,” said the witch. “That does seem like an identical situation.” She twinkled down at Glenda, who started, shocked to be enjoying the same joke.
“Huh,” is all she could manage. “Uh.”
When Glenda failed to materialize a smile, the witch changed course, her face hardening. “But perhaps my friend here does not like being compared to a cow.”
“Didn’t mean any offense,” said the man, his panic sobering him. The crowd had carefully parted around the elves, but they didn’t show the man the same care, so that he was continually buffeted on either side by passing elbows. “Meant none at all, ma’am. I am sorry for botherin’ you.”
Domitia offered a smile. “It’s quite alright. You enjoy your evening now.”
