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She followed him through the woods, holding his hand and looking for more dakii.

They walked for a few hours past nightfall before Pyetar found where they’d be sleeping. The days were too short to avoid walking under the moon anymore, but at least the Falling Moon was round and bright in the sky.

She could see glimpses of the structure through the pine needles and dense branches. But before climbing up, they set out traps a short distance away. They’d been lucky enough to shoot a grouse earlier and foraged enough rose hips and mushrooms to have a nice dinner; pretty good for being on the cusp of winter. The traps they set in various game trails would hopefully catch something overnight that they would eat in the morning.

Then there was nothing to do but settle in.

“This is surprisingly lavish,” she whispered as she pulled herself up the ladder and through the small door above her.

The treehouse was perched between three great pines, rough-hewn floors and walls making up the small room. There weren’t even windows, only shutters. But at least there was a proper roof. Compared to the platforms and ledges she’d had to tie herself to in order to avoid falling out at night, this was… luxury.

Technically, it wasn’t as nice as the bunk at the temple—there was no bed here—but there was privacy. Fresh air. Pyetar.

She’d been thinking about this for hours, ever since he had teased her.

Waiting for him to climb up, Iryana tried to make sense of her racing heart. It wasn’t just excitement. Iryana stashed her bags and weapons to the side and played with her braid, trying to break apart her clumping thoughts.

She could count on one hand the number of occasions they’d been able to kiss, let alone more, and for most of those, they weren’t actually together. Still, she didn’t think she was nervous.

The idea of falling into another body had always appealed to her when she was stressed. A way to overwhelm her senses, a way to feel less lonely, if only for a few hours. The last few weeks had been… hard. But Pyetar wasn’t just stress relief; he was more. So much more. That was certainly part of it.

Iryana wanted him, but now that they were here, she realized she was nervous. Afraid she wouldn’t get to keep him. It was hard to be completely rid of a fear that had plagued her for so many years.

She watched Pyetar carefully as he climbed in behind her, securing the trapdoor, checking the shutters were shut tight, and inspecting the boards.

Gods, why was she so nervous?

She wasn’t going to let fear control her. She had promised herself.

Instead of leaving the shutters open for the moonlight, he pulled out a small steel-cast oil lantern from his bag and lit it. A steady fire sprang to life as if it only needed the slightest coaxing.

“It’s fire-imbued,” he told her, hanging it on an exposed nail sticking out of the ceiling. “I normally wouldn’t risk the light giving us away, but this shelter is pretty closed up, and it should provide some much-appreciated warmth.”

She could already feel it, as if they’d walked into a kitchen with the oven burning hot. And the fire had the trademarks of fire-imbued magic: barely any smoke, and flames that didn’t flicker and roil, but waved gently.

“Did you have that the whole trek out here? There were some cold nights I could have used it,” she laughed, teasing.

“We didn’t camp anywhere safe enough for it. I would have brought it to you if we could have lit it.”

“Sure, you would have.” She pretended to scoff, as if she didn’t believe him.

“Frustrating woman,” he growled, scooping her off her feet and dropping to the floor, leaning against the treehouse wall.

Iryana barely contained her shriek, glaring at him. Just because they were out of sight didn’t mean loud noises wouldn’t attract the dakii. But she settled into his lap, her legs on either side of him and arms curling around his neck. There were so many layers between them that it dulled the closeness of their bodies, but a thrill still surged through her. And it felt like she was thawing out as the warmth in the room grew.

Pyetar sighed contentedly, arms wrapping around her. She expected him to kiss her immediately after waiting for so long. But he just looked at her. There was such raw tenderness on his face, such devotion. He looked at her the way she imagined someone would look at the gods.

“I don’t know what to do when you stare at me like this.” She watched the flame dance in the reflection of his eyes.

“I can think of a few options,” he teased, voice low.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a small smile.

Iryana peeled off her gloves and tossed them onto the pile of her stuff. Then laid one hand against the side of his face, feeling the week’s worth of scruff. She was used to him being clean-shaven, but he hadn’t bothered on this trip. She traced where it grew down his neck, along his jaw, over his lips. It was softer than she expected, a bit darker than his sandy brown hair.

“I usually let it grow out some over winter,” Pyetar told her. “But if you don’t like it…”

“No,” she interrupted. “I like it.”