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He pulled his boots off the hassock and stood, wondering how long it would take Mae to reach him. She’d take an aethercoach, of course, since he was on the other side of Caelemar. But it wasn’t a long trip, past the Merchant Quarter, down to the wharf, and across the last inlet to his town house. Although not as secluded as Drake’s Nest, he doubted her arrival would be noticeable enough to cause gossip.

But with Caelemar, of course, who knew?

“Gerald,” he shouted.

A rumbling heralded the arrival of his tickerkin, who frowned. “You bawled?”

Cyrus rolled his eyes. “Put a tea tray together. Lady Maelin is on her way and will be here very shortly.”

“The kettle is already boiling, Sir. I believe we shall be able to provide sustenance for the lady.” He sighed. “I assume you’ll want gear cakes as well?”

“Oh.” Cyrus grinned. “You have some?”

“Of course.” His beak rose dismissively. “Drake’s Rest is always prepared.” He spun around and trundled away.

Cyrus shook his head at the formality of Gerald’s words. “Drake’s Rest, Drake’s Nest...” he murmured to himself. “I still have to wonder if my letters go astray, one to one place, one to the other.” He sighed. “Even if they did, I doubt anyone would tell me.”

He walked through the house to the front window, hoping to see Mae arrive.

The sun shone through clouds, a good omen, and he would have his woman in his arms very shortly. An even better omen. There were no adequate words for how he felt about Mae. None that encompassed his surprise, his pleasure, his delight, none that described the way she lifted his heart and his spirits just with her smile. And when they touched? Hellforge, his ears damn near blew off.

He nearly jumped when his whisperseal tingled once more. He touched it again, only to hear a different voice. It was Bram.

“Conclave tonight. Hour before midnight. The House of Nine Veils.”

And he was gone.

Cyrus wondered if there was something new, or whether this would be an exercise in finger-pointing. He hoped not, since every house had suffered a loss. And every house was still mourning that loss. He would definitely be there, and he knew he didn’t have a hope in the Hellforge of keeping Mae away.

But she deserved to be there, and it might help if they both revealed what they’d learned. The Velvet Houses embodied so much of Gloamtide. They needed accurate information, not just murmured rumours or hearsay. Perhaps they could pool it all together, stir it, and come up with a decent soup.

It was a very weak hope, but still...

The doorbell broke his train of thought, and he rushed to the door, nearly tripping over Gerald on the way.

“My Lord,” remonstrated the tickerkin.

“Out of the way, lad. This guest needs a certain kind of greeting.”

He flung the door open, saw Mae standing there smiling at him, and simply grabbed her around the waist, lifting her inside and kicking the door shut with one foot.

Then he proceeded to kiss her, relishing her taste, the warmth of her body plastered against his, and the soft murmurs of pleasure as she slid her arms around his neck and gave as good as she got.

Gerald sniffed. “Yes, that certainly is a different kind of greeting. I shan’t be doing that anytime soon.”

*~~*~~*

Mae moaned as he eased his grip on her, breathless, burning inside for more, but aware they were standing in his front doorway.

She straightened and managed a weak smile. “Hello.”

He cleared his throat. “Hello.”

They stared at each other.

Then a rather loud cough came from behind Cyrus, reminding her that they hadn’t moved.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked, still staring at her lips, a hungry fire simmering in his gaze.