“Excellent. And we will have breaks from spouse-hunting.”
“Much needed, though my great-grandmother will start planning our wedding if we talk multiple times.”
“Maybe she won’t,” Durae said. “Perhaps she will be happy that you are broadening your social circle. Have you spoken to her about your reasons for not wanting to marry?”
“I’ve said I have no intention of it several times, yet my family pushes.”
Durae squeezed Vespan’s arm. “We’re new friends, so I don’t know enough about your family to make predictions of what they will or won’t accept. But you can’t be the only one who feels this way. You might find someone who just wants to share a home and their favorite books with you.”
“Everyone seems far more concerned with fluttering hearts and swelling nether regions,” Vespan grumbled.
“When you say it like that, I worry that a sickness is spreading amongst us.”
“Who says love and lust aren’t?”
Durae rolled his eyes. “Should we have a serious discussion about it, or can we banter?”
“Banter?”
“I had a tutor who made us practice arguments, most of which were dreadfully boring, so my sister and I would take ridiculous positions on nonsensical things in order to have fun. We called it a banter. A sort of verbal playing.”
“That sounds entertaining, but we can’t do it about love and lust.”
“All right. How about … what color should the sky be?”
“Oh! That’s interesting. Hm. There are so many options.”
They continued their walk around the garden, discussing those options without ever settling on a new color. And they couldn’t hide out in the organized display of nature for very long. The reprieve was what mattered, and Durae found himself relaxing in a way that he hadn’t done since Blaze had run away. By the time they returned to Lady Narice and Durae’s parents, he was looking forward to the evening.
Lady Narice brightened as they neared. “The gardens seemed to have refreshed you two.”
“We had a wonderful stroll,” Durae said. “I’ll see you again, Vespan?”
“Of course,” Vespan said. Then he unwound his arm from Durae and offered it to Lady Narice.
Lady Narice was practically glowing when she took Vespan’s arm. She and Durae’s parents said quick, polite goodbyes before she and Vespan headed off into the dance.
Mama and Papa turned to Durae with happy, though surprised, expressions. Father’s gaze was on the crowd again, searching for someone. Mama said, “Vespan Silvermeadow as a match?”
“A friend,” Durae said quietly. “He has no interest in marriage.”
“Are you certain?” Mama asked. “We would need to do his charts, but a union with someone of Greenjaw descent?—”
Durae clasped his mother’s hands and tried to put all the warmth he felt for his family into his voice while leaving out the annoyance that had been building. “Vespan and I had a very honest conversation. He thinks I’m handsome enough, but he isn’t looking for the same things I am in a partner. We didn’t come to market just to fill my and Uleyri’s marital beds. We came to make connections like friends, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” Mama said with a sigh. She held his hands in return. “You know I worry about you.”
“I know.”There’s no reason to! I’m fine!Screaming that would solve nothing and create a scene that would cause gossip. Durae squeezed his mother’s hands before letting her go. “Where did Uleyri go?”
Papa smiled happily and gestured toward the dancing. Spotting her between the elves was difficult, but Durae caught glimpses of his sister enjoying herself as she danced with a young couple. The three of them made a beautiful picture, but Durae’s heart hurt. He was older, but not by enough to remember a time when he didn’t have a sister. They had celebrated their Name Days together, choosing names for themselves from among their ancestors. Every tutor had been shared. Every lesson dissected with their combined minds. Every spell examined and cast and celebrated. So much had been done together.
But not marriage. It would divide them.
Mama’s soft squawk of alarm was the only warning Durae had before an unstoppable force rammed into his shoulder. Durae staggered back a step from the impact. The elf who had run into him was shorter than him, but far more muscular. He wore a vest over a white shirt and a kilt with a sporran. His scowlwas a sheer cliff clouded with a thunderstorm, intimidating and captivating.
He only muttered, “Pardon.” Then he continued stomping away.
“Who wasthat?” Mama wondered.
