But, no—Ican’t think that.Iwon’tthink that.BecauseifIlet myself believe that whatI’mfeeling from him is love…then what happens whenIlose it?WhenIlosehim?
My chest tightens andIlook down at our joined hands instead, focusing on the solid warmth of his fingers laced through mine.Thegold ring glints softly in the lantern-light, the sapphire and emerald catching flickers of blue and green as we pass beneath the glowing orbs strung above the market stalls.
“For the past and the present,”he said when he gave it to me.
But he didn’t mention the future because we don’t have one.Heknows it and so doI.
The thought makes something inside me ache, butIpush it away and try to focus on where we are instead.I’mfinally seeing the famousNightMarketandIwant to drink it all in, even thoughIknowI’llforget every bit of it onceIwork theTimeWeavingspell.
The market has grown even livelier as night settles fully over the city.Musicdrifts through the air and laughter and voices are weaving together into a constant hum.Thesmells are richer too—sweet and savory and spiced, all tangled together in a way that makes my head spin and my mouth water.
Theron tugs me gently toward a row of food stalls.
“We haven’t eaten since…earlier,” he says, his voice gentler than it’s been all day.“Comeon—let’s get something.”
“I’m not that hungry,”Iprotest, though even asIsay it, my stomach gives a small, traitorous rumble.
He arches a brow at me.
“Liar.”
Despite everything,Ialmost smile.
“All right,”Iadmit.“MaybeI’malittlehungry.”
“That’s whatIthought.Comeon.”
He leads me to the first stall, where a plump woman is pulling golden pastries from a wide iron pan filled with bubbling oil.Thescent is sweet and warm and buttery, with a hint of cinnamon that makes my mouth water.
“What are those?”Iask her.
“Fritter puffs,” the woman says cheerfully.“Stuffedwith honey-cream and dusted with spiced sugar.Thebest in the market,” she adds proudly.
Theron doesn’t even hesitate.
“We’ll take two.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he’s already handing over coins.Amoment later,I’mholding a warm pastry wrapped in thin paper.Itake a cautious bite and nearly moan.
It’s soft and airy inside, the honey-cream filling warm and silky, melting over my tongue.Thesugar on the outside crunches faintly between my teeth, releasing bursts of cinnamon and something floralIcan’t quite name.Butwhatever it is, it’s really good.
“Oh,”Ibreathe.“That’s…Goddess, that’s amazing.”
“Mmm,Ihave to agree with you, little one,”Theronsays, taking a bite of his own.“Fuckingdelicious.”
We move on beforeIcan finish the fritter-puff, weaving through the crowd to another stall where a tall man with braided hair is tending a low grill.Skewersof glazed fruit sizzle over blue flames, the syrup they’re coated with dripping and hissing as it caramelizes.
“Try this,”Theronsays, handing me one beforeIcan protest.
The fruit is warm and sticky and the glaze is sweet with a sharp tang that makes my lips tingle.Itbursts in my mouth, juice running down my fingers asIlaugh and try to catch it.
“Careful,”Theronrumbles, reaching out to wipe a drop from my chin with his thumb.Hesucks it into his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine as he does.
That sends a jolt through me andIfeel it again—a burst of tenderness coming from him.Iwonder whyI’mfeeling his emotions now—does it have something to do with what happened at theFireDemon’smansion?
I don’t know, butIlike whatI’mfeeling.
We stop at one more stall—this one draped in deep purple cloth.Glassjars line the shelves, filled with glowing liquids in shades of amber and rose and gold.
