Page 24 of A Taste for the Peculiar

But even as she thinks it, she prays it isn’t true.

Avirin peeks through her keyhole until her mother’s candle finally goes out. Avirin dresses and slips out of her bedroom, lingering on the landing until the long-case clock begins eleven tolls. Sneaking out of the house now comes with relative ease. Avirin has learned which hinges whine, which stairs creak, which horses whinny when she passes behind the stables. Another mark against her sanctity.

It’s quickly forgotten when she sees Lord Riften’s coach. It waits exactly where he said it would, far enough to be discreet but close enough to keep Avirin from harm. She is surprised to see a woman perched on the driver’s seat, her tan skin warmed by the lamplight. Two stubby horns peek out from her red hair, and Avirin can make out druidic runes beneath the sleeves of her dress.

Beside the carriage, Lord Riften waits, and Avirin’s worries blur away. For the first time, she can see the ink in their skin contrasting proudly with their corbeau green gown. Mushrooms and skulls and fruit are emblazoned across their bare neck and arms, their fingers and ears adorned with rings.

Lord Riften looks completely unfettered. Avirin has never seen anyone so beautiful, and she fears she never will again.

She removes the wrap from her shoulders, and Lord Riften’s spine straightens as he takes her in. She’s tempted to shrink away from the attention, but she keeps herself still; this dress is for him, after all, crafted during many secret meetings with the modiste. The fabric is light and airy, a stark contrast to its rich black color. It clings to her chest and hips. Thin muslin wraps around her upper arms, barely concealing her skin where the sleeves sit at the edge of her shoulders.

Lord Riften is quiet for a long moment, but when they do speak, their voice is hoarse. “You never fail to surprise me, Lady Avirin.”

The driver mutters something, and Lord Riften curses her playfully, making her toss back her head and laugh before she inclines her smile toward Avirin. “I’m Selbie, my lady. Pleased to transport you this evening.”

Avirin curtsies in reply, and that makes Selbie smile wider.

Lord Riften opens the coach door and extends his hand. Avirin takes it, fighting not to catch fire when his skin meets hers. The carriage sets off. Inside, the curtains are mostly drawn, leaving Avirin and Lord Riften in shadow across from one another. The jostling lantern outside does not shine on Lord Riften’s face, lighting only their hands resting in their lap.

Avirin tries not to remember where those fingers have been. “You needn’t have escorted me tonight, Lord Riften. I could have met you wherever it is we’re going.”

“I don’t want your carriage connected with our destination. Mine, on the other hand, is already tied to it.”

“Where are we going?”

“Do you play cards, Lady Avirin?”

Avirin narrows her eyes curiously. “A bit.”

“Then I hope you will enjoy our evening. There will be games and drinks and…” She can practically feel the smirk in their voice. “Other festivities at the molly-house.”

Never has she heard the term uttered so comfortably, and certainly not by someone speaking to her. To most people, “molly-house” seems to be a curse, a word not spoken in polite company, but Lord Riften is unbothered. It never seems he intends to shock her, but simply to provide information, to make use of the disparaging terms that have long been used against him.

“In the hedge maze…” She can hardly get the words out without remembering that night, his lips glistening with her desire while he stared up into her eyes. “You mentioned certain potions. Ones meant for those who do not wish to have children.”

Lord Riften is silent for a moment. “I did. Do you have thoughts about them?”

Her heart races. She should be ashamed. She knows the look of horror anyone else would give her if they heard her speak such blasphemy, but a steady urgency thrums inside her. Here, in front of Lord Riften, she can she finally speak it aloud. “I would like to have some of those potions.”

In the dark, she can just make out Lord Riften’s reassuring nod. “Then I will procure them for you — even after our lessons have ended. All you need to do is write.”

Relief floods her. She’s almost giddy with it, a tightness in her chest loosening that she hadn’t realized was there. It’s quickly replaced by a different understanding. “Will tonight be our final lesson?”

When Lord Riften smiles, there is a trace of melancholy in it — or perhaps Avirin only wishes there were. “After tonight, you will have no more need of me.”

It’s a crushing blow. No matter how Avirin told herself the same thing, it’s completely different to be faced with the truth from Lord Riften themself. This makes it real, and Avirin isn’t sure she can bear it. “And if I prove to be a disappointment? If I fail as your pupil, will our lessons continue?”

Lord Riften’s eyes narrow. “You are an exceptional student, Lady Avirin. There is no world in which you are deficient.”

“Perhaps I require remedial lessons.” Her tongue dips over her lips. “A refresher course.”

His jaw twitches. Is he warring with a smile or something else? “You require no such thing.”

She should leave well enough alone, but something about Lord Riften makes her want to be stubborn and hoydenish. It makes her feel like she can be. “Then a final examination. With you. To appraise all I’ve learned.”

Lord Riften’s gaze scorches her. She doesn’t blink. She keeps her eyes on theirs and refuses to feel ashamed.

The carriage halts and dashes Avirin’s hopes with it. Lord Riften gives her a lingering look before he exits and calls up to Selbie, “Will we see you inside?”