Page 33 of A Taste for the Peculiar

Avirin’s eyelids grow heavy. She settles back against Pye’s chest. They’re quiet now, but their delicate fingers still linger on her throat. Her pulse hammers into their skin. Perhaps it will make an infinite impression. Perhaps she will leave her mark on them as certainly as they have done to her.

If that is all they can have, it will have to be enough.

SEVENTEEN

Avirin

Avirin is floating. Only the warmth of Cascade and Pye on either side of her keeps her grounded.

Pye.

The name flutters in her stomach like a thousand pairs of moth wings. There’s a satisfied soreness between her legs that she’s never felt before, a reminder of Cascade stretching and filling her. Of Pye rocking her forward. Of the three of them moving in tandem, three separate instruments converging into a symphony.

If she closes her eyes, she can still hear their music: Cascade’s low groans, Pye’s dire demands, her own breathy pleas. Her head is heavy on the pillows, feet rubbing together like a cricket beneath the soft sheets.

Pye drapes one of their wings over both of them.

“Are you satisfied?” Cascade asks. Her voice rumbles against Avirin’s temple, but the question doesn’t feel like it’s meant for her. Cascade plucks one of the fallen pins from Avirin’s hair and curls the tendril gently around her finger. “Was it worth it?”

There is no response. A different hand traces Avirin’s jaw, the touch so light she can’t be sure it’s there. The moment is so long that Avirin nearly drifts off to sleep before Pye’s voice vibrates against her back. “I should escort our lady home.”

When the others move, Avirin makes a sound of protest, but Cascade maneuvers her to her feet. She dresses Avirin like a doll, coiling her hair back into place and steadying her wobbling legs. Once she’s finished, she holds Avirin’s face in her hands. “I hope to meet you again, dear wife.”

Cascade looks pointedly over her shoulder, but Pye says nothing as he borrows a pelisse from her wardrobe. There are four distinct tears through the bodice of his dress, and Avirin isn’t sure where they came from.

When Pye opens the chamber door, the spell breaks, and the intimate air of the room is sucked out. What happened in Cascade’s bed felt like a different world, one without any of the same rules. In that world, Avirin’s inhibitions slipped off of her along with her clothing. She could think things, say things, do things she wouldn’t dare otherwise.

Now, the real world comes rushing back. Couples giggle and stumble down the corridor while a cheer rises from the party below. A veil of uncertainty settles over Avirin again. Pye — Lord Riften — looks as dazed as she feels when he glances toward her mouth and retrieves a handkerchief. “My lip pomade — or yours.”

In the dim light, she sees the pink smear across his cheek as well. They didn’t kiss. She knows that explicitly, but their mouths had been so close, all that sweat and heat must have smeared their makeup. She licks her lips. Lord Riften’s gaze flicks to it, but they return their eyes to the corner of her mouth. They dab at her skin and tuck the handkerchief away to offer her their hand. When she takes it, Lord Riften escorts her down the stairs, leaving Cascade leaning in her doorway.

Avirin tries not to let her thoughts run away with her. She hardly realizes they’ve reached the carriage until Selbie opens the door. “Eventful evening?” she asks cheekily.

Avirin doesn’t know how to answer that. She fumbles to respond, bowing her thanks before she climbs inside with Lord Riften. The coach jostles to a start and topples her thoughts together like ninepins.

It takes her far too long to notice Lord Riften is exceptionally quiet. He sits across from her, staring at her with an anguish she isn’t sure how to parse.

She knew this moment would come. No matter what their lessons entailed, Lord Riften’s opinion of her is molded by her respectability. That is the way of things. Rakes may seek these vices of the flesh, but only for themselves. Any woman who joins them is ruined and tainted. Avirin should have been less willing, less wanton, less depraved. Now that Lord Riften has seen her in that state, does he sense the stain on her? Does he realize all her other impurities?

She lowers her eyes to her wringing hands. “Do you think differently of me now?”

Lord Riften’s wings tense for a moment. “— Yes, Lady Avirin, I do.” But before Avirin’s heart can sink, he reaches across the carriage to take her hand. “I do not think less of you, in any way.” Their thumb brushes her knuckles, and she remembers the hint of their skin pressed against her bare back. They look at her so intently, she swears they’re remembering it, too. “I have grown…impossibly fonder of you.”

It’s like a match has been lit inside her. She wants to surge across the carriage into Lord Riften’s arms, but their ride comes to a halt. Lord Riften gives her hand a final squeeze and exits to help her down.

She’s not sure how she manages to stand when her body is so light and heavy at once. Everything about tonight has been extraordinary, yet there is melancholy soaking the edges, a finality to this moment.

For once, Lord Riften does not guide her away. They linger, keeping their hands against her waist to steady her, so close she can make out the freckles on their nose, the strands of their eyelashes, the earnestness in their hatched brown eyes. “Did you enjoy your evening?” they ask.

She swallows around an incomprehensible sadness. “It was…wondrous.” And now, it’s over, like their lessons. Like the feeling that’s grown between them since this began.

She wants to ask for more. She wants to go with them. She wants to lift onto her toes and kiss them, but Lord Riften is already stepping back. “You should hurry. The sun will be up before long.”

Avirin hesitates, but as always, she does as she’s told.

* * * * *

Back in her chambers, Avirin strips out of her gown and presses her nose to the fabric. It smells like smoke and drink and sex, heady and captivating. She wishes she could bottle it and dab it onto her skin when she needs to be brave.