LODGING FOR THE NIGHT
“How much for two rooms?” Yvan asks the innkeeper.
I survey our surroundings nervously. Yvan is right about this inn not being the most luxurious place in the world. It’s downright seedy. A crowd of Keltic men linger in the small tavern, more than a few quite drunk, some of them leering shamelessly at me as we enter, as if they’re trying to make out my figure under my winter wrappings.
I’m immediately and self-consciously aware that I’m the only young woman in this place. There’s one other woman here, but she’s a mean-looking, scowling crone who glares at me briefly before going back to angrily serving drinks and picking up the mess left by her unruly patrons.
I instinctively move closer to Yvan, threading my arm through his, and he pulls my arm protectively toward himself. The rancid smell of stale pipe smoke coupled with spirits hangs heavy in the air and makes my lungs sting.
The innkeeper, a surly-looking old man, eyes Yvan speculatively. “Forty guilders for the night.”
“Forty guilders,” Yvan repeats, incredulous.
He’s taking advantage of us. But it’s late, and cold, and there isn’t another inn for miles.
“That’s right,” the man replies, looking away from us to flip through some disheveled papers. Yvan glares at the man for a protracted moment before turning to me.
“We don’t have enough.” I squeeze Yvan’s arm gently. My gaze flickers toward the innkeeper, who’s now peering at me with narrowed eyes. I turn back to Yvan, trying to ignore the man’s stare. “We could share a room.” I feel the blush spreading on my face, even as I struggle to remain impassive.
“Well, now,” the innkeeper says suggestively, “I think you should take the young lady’s advice, lad. Since she’s so willing.”
Yvan’s intense green eyes snap back to the innkeeper, obviously furious at the implied insult to me. The man gives a little start and looks back down at his papers.
“Fine.” Yvan pushes twenty guilders toward the man.
“You’ll have to start your own fire,” the innkeeper informs us as he snatches up the coins. “It’s ten more guilders for dry wood.” A greedy look fills his eyes.
“Ten guilders for wood,” Yvan says flatly, his neck muscles growing more tense by the minute.
“Awfully cold night tonight,” the innkeeper says smugly, clearly relishing having the upper hand.
Yvan glances at me, and I shrug helplessly. We don’t have any more money to spare between the two of us. “We’ll have to get by without it,” Yvan tells him icily.
“No matter.” The innkeeper leers at me before his beady eyes dart back to Yvan with some envy. “This pretty thing will keep you warm enough, no doubt.” Amused by himself, the innkeeper begins to chortle and cough at the same time, his uneven teeth heavily tobacco-stained.
Quick as a flash, Yvan reaches across the bar, grabs the innkeeper by the front of his shirt and pulls him halfway across the counter. I flinch back, startled, and the room behind us goes silent.
“Apologize now,” Yvan says calmly.
“Sorry, miss,” the innkeeper chokes out.
Yvan lets go of him with a rough shove, and the man staggers back. Eyeing Yvan warily, he holds up a key. “Room’s at the end of the hall,” he says, the words sounding strangled, “to the left.”
Yvan grabs the key out of the man’s grip, takes hold of my hand and we start for the room.
* * *
The room is small and cold, with one dingy bed covered in a threadbare woolen blanket. There’s a dim lantern on a small table by the drafty window, and old ashes spill out of the dark, unlit fireplace.
I wrap my arms around myself, the chill creeping in. Yvan closes the door behind us and pauses, looking around uncomfortably, as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“It’s cold in here,” I say, stating the obvious just to break the silence.
Yvan nods in unspoken agreement and considers the fireplace. “I’ll go out and find some wood,” he offers. He turns and starts for the door.
“It’ll all be soaked,” I point out. A wet snow has begun to fall outside, teetering just on the edge of freezing rain.
Yvan stops to look back at me, his hand on the wrought-iron door handle, his lip curling sarcastically. “I’m pretty good at starting fires.”
I throw him a knowing look. “I’m well aware.”
His expression grows uneasy. “I’ll be right back,” he tells me, stepping out into the shadowy hall, but pausing as he moves to shut the door. “Elloren,” he says, a cautionary note to his tone, “lock the door while I’m gone.”
“I know. I will.”
He nods, satisfied, and closes the door.
I throw the bolt.
* * *
It isn’t long before Yvan returns. I’m lying on the bed, the brown woolen blanket wrapped around myself, chilled to the bone and half-asleep. Hearing his knock, I rouse myself, let him in, then sink back down onto the bed, exhausted.
Yvan kneels down by the fireplace and arranges the sticks and logs he’s gathered. In mere moments, there’s a roaring fire blazing in the hearth, but its warmth isn’t able to fully chase away the chill in the drafty room. Yvan stands up, brushes his hands off on his trousers and looks around awkwardly. “You can sleep on the bed tonight,” he offers. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Yvan, it’s a muddied stone floor.”
“It’s all right,” he assures me, looking down uncertainly.
“If you want to...” I begin hesitantly, “share the bed with me tonight...”
“No!” he says with surprising vehemence.
A sting of warmth heats my face. “I... I didn’t mean...”
“I know,” he says quickly, looking around the room. At anything but me.
“I only meant—”
“It’s all right,” he insists, his eyes shifting to his feet. Perhaps realizing how stern he sounds, Yvan sighs, and seems to make a conscious effort to soften his expression and his tone. “Thank you,” he says. “I know what you meant, Elloren. But I really will be fine on the floor.”
“I know that sleeping in the same bed is...inappropriate,” I rattle on, shivering from the cold and nerves. “But no one would need to know. And...you’re always so warm.”
Yvan looks me over, seeming chastened as he takes in how I’m shivering. “Of course. I should have noticed how cold you are. I don’t feel the cold, so...” He catches himself and eyes me sidelong.
I hold his gaze, surprised by his open admission. Yvan suddenly looks as tense and worn-out as I feel. He eyes the bed covetously. “It would be nice to lie down, even for a moment,” he admits.
I lie down on the bed and make room for him, my heartbeat deepening. Yvan sits down on the edge of the bed and gives me a small, awkward smile over his shoulder, leaning forward to remove his boots. Then he lies down beside me and stretches his long body out on the mattress with a sigh.
His arm brushes against mine, and it’s deliciously warm. Almost hot. I breathe in deeply, my shivering quickly lessening as he releases some of his fire, his heat radiating through my lines in a rippling caress. It’s strange and brazen, lying there in a bed next to him, but so wonderful.
“You don’t have to hold your fire back,” I tell him, fatigue making me bold. “I can feel you holding it back almost all the time now, and...I sense it’s a strain.”
His lips turn up in a jaded smile, and then his gaze darkens. “Trust me, Elloren, I have to hold it back.” His smile disappears, his fire giving a turbulent flare.
I wonder what he means by that, but he doesn’t seem willing to elaborate further, so I don’t ask.
The draftiness of the room has stirred up a slight breeze, and the cobwebs hanging from the rafters above sway lazily from side to side.
“Yvan?” I ask, tentative.
He turns his head to look at me. “Hmm?”
It’s hard to get the words out. “When did your father die?”
“When I was three,” he tells me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry that happened.”
He gives a slight shake of his head and glances over at me, the normally sharp planes of his face softened by the lamplight. “It’s not your fault.” He considers me for a moment. “When did your parents die?”
“I was also three.” The year my grandmother died, as well. “Do you remember your father?”
Yvan exhales sharply, his eyes tensing with sadness. “Yes.” He turns to face me, a rush of his heat suffusing me. I suddenly long to move into that warmth and let it fully overtake me. To be encircled by his arms and his fire.
“I remember my parents, too,” I say, basking in his heat. “Especially my mother. She used to wrap me up in the quilt she made me...”
“The one Ariel burned,” he says quietly, regret in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Elloren...” he says, then hesitates. “I was very harsh with you when we first met.”
I remember him scoffing at my grief over losing my quilt. I’d hated him in that moment, but it seems like such a long time ago now. Especially considering how drastically my feelings for him have changed since then.
“It’s all right,” I say. “I can understand why you acted that way.”
“No,” he counters with a tight shake of his head, “it’s not all right. I’m sorry.”
I nod in acknowledgment, feeling overcome with emotion, my mutinous eyes tearing up.
“And I’m sorry my mother treated you like that,” he adds. “It was a mistake to bring you there. I thought...” He lets out a frustrated breath. “I thought she’d give you a chance.”
I sigh heavily, blinking back the tears. “I imagine seeing me brought back horrific memories. I look so much like my grandmother...”
“But you’re not her,” he insists, staring at me intently. “I was hoping she’d be able to see that.”
My breath catches in my throat. “It means a lot to hear you say that.”
He gives me a small, rueful smile, and I feel my lips curving upward in return.
“You know, it’s funny,” I muse out loud, so tired it’s easy to just speak my train of thought.
“What is?”
“This situation, right now. It’s so inappropriate, it’s actually funny.”
Yvan’s eyebrows edge higher in question.
“Here we are, two unmarried, unsealed people, you a Kelt, me a Gardnerian, alone in a room in this seedy tavern, lying in bed together...” I pause for a moment. “It’s just...amusing, don’t you think?”
Yvan smiles slightly. “It is.”
“My people teach us that men can’t control themselves around women, and that’s why we need to dress so conservatively, and be chaperoned everywhere we go. Fasted younger and younger. Yet here we are, you and me, all alone—”
“The idea that men can’t control themselves is ridiculous,” he says adamantly. “It’s just an excuse.”
“That’s what I’ve always thought. I mean, I don’t have any experience with, you know...” I think of Diana’s impatience with me when I trail off ambiguously on this particular subject. Yvan seems to understand, though—his culture is extremely straitlaced, as well. “But I grew up with two brothers,” I continue, “and I know they’d never force anyone to do anything like that.”
I blush, feeling self-conscious. “I’ve never spoken to anyone about things like this. I suppose I shouldn’t really be talking to you about it.”
“I don’t mind talking with you about it,” Yvan says, his expression open and unguarded.
I suddenly feel very close to him, our eyes locked in understanding. The side of his hand touches mine, and without thinking, I slide my hand over his.
He turns his head from me to stare up at the ceiling, his breathing suddenly deepening. Then he turns his hand over and threads his long fingers through mine.
My breath catches, warmth flaring inside me. I focus on the rafters above us as well, too overwhelmed by the feel of his fingers clasped around mine to look directly at him.
We lie there together for a long moment, holding hands.
It’s like heaven—a thousand times better than kissing Lukas. And, strangely, more intimate. Because it feels like, in this moment, he’s truly letting me in for the first time.
Both his fire power and my fire lines flare at the same moment, reaching for each other. Twining at the edges, like his hand around mine.
I finally dare to glance over at him. He continues to stare at the ceiling, stone-still except for the rise and fall of his chest.
“Yvan,” I breathe out, his flame lightly caressing my lines, “the fire...”
“Do you like it, Elloren?” he asks, his voice throaty as he turns to me, his eyes sparking gold.
I nod, lit up by him. “Yes.”
His full lips twitch into a smile, the gold in his eyes intensifying.
I look back at the ceiling, savoring the sultry feel of his fire shivering through mine.
“Are they going to make you fast?” he asks, his voice gaining an edge.
“If I stay in the Western Realm,” I meet his eyes, an ache gathering in my chest. “But I don’t want to.”
Yvan’s fingers tighten around mine, his gaze suddenly impassioned. “I don’t want you to.”
The thoughts stream through me, unbidden. I don’t want to fast to Lukas. I don’t want to fast to Gareth, either. Or to anyone on the Council Registry. I don’t want any of them.
“Do you see yourself married someday?” I wonder, pain infusing the question.
A shadow falls across his face, and his eyes cool to green. “No, I don’t.”
I want to press, to know why he says this with such terrible certainty, but there’s suddenly so much conflict in his expression I hesitate. That familiar look is back again—like he wants to tell me something but can’t.
“I wish you could tell me everything,” I say, running my thumb over his.
“So do I,” he breathes.
I think of how he healed Bleddyn and Olilly. How he spends every spare moment helping the refugees fleeing east. How readily he jumped in to help Marina.
How kind and incredibly brave he is.
I wish I could fast to you, I think as we lie there, his eyes locked on to mine.
But I can’t say it out loud. So, I let the thought gather in my head, straining for release as we lie there, our hands and fire magic entwined.
Overcome with fatigue, I try to stifle a yawn and fail. “I didn’t realize how tired I was until I lay down,” I tell him softly.
“Go ahead, get some sleep,” he encourages.
I can barely keep my eyes open, they feel so heavy.
“Good night, Yvan,” I whisper, savoring his presence, wanting him to stay here all night long, but too shy to ask him to.
“Good night, Elloren,” he whispers back, his gaze touched with longing.
I drift off to sleep but am roused soon after by a slight movement beside me. I watch through the lashes of my barely opened eyes as Yvan quietly gets up to sit by the fireplace. I’m immediately aware of the chill his departure creates, of missing him and wanting him back. I pull the woolen blanket up, hugging it tightly around my body, before drifting off once more.
* * *
I’m fast asleep when I feel the bed shift again. I slowly open my eyes, my brain fuzzy from sleep.
Yvan is sitting on the bed, staring at me. The room is softly illuminated by the fire he’s coaxed higher, the flames throwing out light that dances on the walls. It’s much warmer now, with only a slight chill from the draft coming in around the window. I can just make out Yvan’s long, lanky figure, his head tilted down toward me. His beautiful eyes glowing with vivid golden flame.
“Yvan,” I say, surprised by his searing expression, the fire blazing in his eyes. I hoist myself up on one elbow and consider him questioningly.
“Can I lie down with you again?” he asks, his voice ragged with emotion.
My heart thuds against my chest, and I lift up the edge of the blanket in invitation. The bed dips as Yvan slides the length of his lean body under the blanket in one smooth motion. He languidly curls up against me, his hand finding my waist as he pulls me close. I press my hand to his chest, tracing its hard planes through his woolen shirt. His heartbeat is strong and steady under my fingers, his fire running in a hot stream.
He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. He smells like well-stoked bonfires and something distinctly masculine that makes me want to burrow my head under his jaw and inhale his scent all night long. The glow of his eyes heightens, locked on mine, blazing with a heat I can feel straight through my fire lines. I slide my fingertips along the collar of his shirt, tracing the skin just above it and along his graceful neck. His breathing deepens as I touch him like I’ve yearned to for so long.
“Elloren,” he says, his voice breaking with intensity. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
His words light me up, like flame to dry brush, his heat sweeping through me.
Yvan leans forward and brings his lips to mine—his mouth all softness and sensuous curves, at complete odds with the sharp angles of his face.
We kiss each other slowly at first, his kiss fervent and lingering. And then his kiss deepens, my mouth parting under his as his kiss roughens with desire, his fire sizzling down my lines. We kiss each other desperately, like two people starved for air who are finally able to draw a breath. I press myself against his hard body, wanting to be as close to him as I possibly can, and he responds eagerly.
“I’m falling in love with you, too,” I say breathlessly, pulling back a fraction, staring deeply into his eyes.
He brings his lips back to mine and kisses me passionately, his tongue finding mine as his fire rushes through me. My affinity lines give a hard, white-hot flare as my breath hitches, my body arching toward his.
Yvan’s fire pulses through me as he guides me gently onto my back, his long fingers stroking my hair as he rolls on top of me, the feel of him thrilling my entire body. I wrap my legs around his, his body welded to mine and moving against me with a provocative rhythm. He pushes my tunic slowly up, his fingers sliding under its edge to explore my skin underneath.
Somewhere in the background, a man’s gruff voice sings loudly and off-key, slurring the words to some tavern song. My lovely world abruptly shatters around the sound, like glass fracturing into a million pieces and quickly dissolving into the air.
Holy Ancient One, I’m dreaming!
I begin to slide out of my dream state, desperately trying to pull the image back together by sheer force of will—an impossibly intricate puzzle whose pieces are falling away, soon to be lost forever.
In its place is Yvan, sitting on a wooden chair next to the bed, staring at me intently. His face is serious and deeply unsettled, his arm resting on the frame of the window that looks out onto the street. In the background, the jarring voice continues to belch out fragments of a tune.
I prop myself up on my elbow, dazed, forcing myself to adjust to a diminished reality, the intimacy I’ve just shared with Yvan a complete illusion. A torrent of emotions floods through me, like black dye meeting white cloth—utter humiliation, loneliness, and a burning longing for him.
“I heard a man singing.” My voice comes out shy and groggy from sleep. “He woke me up.” I pray Yvan can’t decipher anything about my dream from my voice or posture.
His face tenses, and he glances toward the window. “He’s drunk. Seems to be quieting down, though.” Yvan looks back at me, his brow tightly furrowed.
“Did he wake you, too?” My voice is almost a whisper.
“No.” Yvan glances down and shakes his head. Then he looks back up and locks his eyes on to mine. “You did.”
I gulp. “I did?” The words come out faint and strained. “Was I snoring?”
“You talk in your sleep.”
We’re both uncomfortably quiet for a long moment.
“What did I say?” I whisper, mortified.
He averts his gaze. “You said my name a few times.”
My stomach drops, the blood draining from my face. “Oh.” I can hardly take a breath. “Did I say anything else?”
He’s looking anywhere but at me. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”
“Too late.”
He turns back to face me. “You said, ‘I’m falling in love with you.’”
I roll onto my back and cover my face with my hands, wanting to disappear. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His voice is tight, but kind.
“I can’t control what I dream about.” I drop my hands from my face and let them rest on my abdomen. I stare up at the swaying cobwebs as a single tear falls from my eye and I reach up to wipe it away.
“I get lonely sometimes,” I say simply. Another tear falls, cold on my face.
“I understand,” he says, his voice low and thick with emotion.
“When I saw you that night with Iris...” He winces slightly at the hurt in my tone, and I regret the words immediately, feeling petty and vulnerable. “You have a long history with her, don’t you?”
Yvan sighs deeply, his jaw tensing. “Iris has been a good friend to me, Elloren. But it’s not like that between us.”
But I bet she knows all your secrets. Since she’s Fae, too.
And she doesn’t look exactly like Carnissa Gardner.
I sit up and hug my knees to my chest, wishing I could look like anything but what I am. “She’s very beautiful,” I say as more tears roll down my cheeks.
“So are you.”
I stop breathing for a moment, confused by his admission. “But...you told me once that you found me to be repulsive.”
He winces again. “That was before I knew you. It was wrong of me to be so unkind. I’m sorry. It doesn’t excuse my behavior, but at the time, I was thinking more of what your looks represented.”
“My grandmother?”
“Her... All of them.”
I wipe at my tears. “And now? What do you see?”
He lets out a long sigh and studies me, his green eyes blazing gold at the edges. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He inhales sharply and looks away, his mouth set in a tight line, as if he’s said too much and wants to prevent himself from making the same mistake again.
When he finally looks back at me, I can see my own loneliness, my own longing for him, reflected back in his eyes. I hug my knees tight, heart racing, not quite believing I’ve heard him correctly.
“It’s late,” he says, his voice sounding strained and sad. “We should get some sleep.”
No, I want to say. Come here and stay with me. I want you. Only you.
Instead I say, “All right,” my voice equally strained, equally sad, reeling from his sudden reserve.
I watch him as he stiffly moves back to his spot near the fireplace and stretches out on the floor with his back toward me. His body looks tense and uncomfortable, his head resting on his arm. An aching loneliness hangs in the air and chills the room.
“Elloren,” he says as he lies very still.
“Yes?”
“Do you know what happened to the family of the Kelt that Sage Gaffney ran off with?” When I don’t answer, he says, “I ran into some people I know at that tavern we stopped at earlier today. They told me.”
“What happened?” I ask hesitantly, almost not wanting to know.
“They found them a few days ago. They were all killed. By Gardnerian soldiers.”
“No,” I whisper, shocked.
“His parents, his brother, even their animals.” Yvan hesitates for a moment before continuing. “The Mage Council sanctioned it, Elloren. At the request of the Gaffneys. It was a Mage purity strike.”
Nausea roils through me, and I suddenly understand the reason for Yvan’s distance. Why he’s on the floor right now instead of in my arms. It says right in our holy book that the loss of a Gardnerian woman’s purity by a man of another race must be avenged. And horrific acts like this are becoming more common in the Western Realm, the Alfsigr Elves also enforcing purity in this way.
“You think being involved with me could be dangerous in that way,” I say, my voice numbed.
“I know it would be.”
“Because of my family.”
“Yes. And because some very powerful people want you wandfasted to Lukas Grey. Anyone who gets in the way of that will be in danger, especially if they’re not Gardnerian.”
“Anyone...meaning you and your mother.”
“Yes. I can’t think of a way to get around it. And believe me, I’ve tried.”
Tears prick my eyes. “What I said in my dream was true,” I tell him. No longer hiding anything. Holding my heart straight out.
“There are lots of ways to care about people,” he says, his voice tightened. “As friends. Allies.”
“And what if that’s not enough?”
“I think, in our case, that has to be enough, for more reasons than you know.”
“We could keep it a secret.”
His tone takes on a jaded cast. “These things never stay secret.”
“What am I to you, Yvan?” I ask, clutching at the blanket.
He pushes himself up and turns to me. “I think we’ve become good friends.”
“But that’s it.”
“That has to be it, Elloren. For my mother’s safety. And for yours. And your family’s safety.”
My fire line gives a defiant flare, and I fight the urge to throw a rebellious streak of flame out toward him. I can sense him holding his fire back as well, gold sparking in his eyes.
I’m lost. Trapped in a cage with no way out, steel bars separating me from Yvan. But I can’t ask him to make such a dangerous sacrifice. Not for me. I won’t risk his life or the lives of our families.
I turn away from Yvan and lie down, pulling the threadbare blanket over myself and balling my body up tight. I close my eyes, dam up my tears and wish that I could disappear into another beautiful dream and never wake from it.
* * *
Yvan is quiet during the trip back, and so am I, the two of us wrestling with our own private thoughts. I sit behind him on the black mare, my arms wrapped around his waist, pressed tight against his warm back, yet feeling like I’m a million miles away from him—both of us forced by birth into separate worlds.
But there’s nothing to be done about it. He’s right. If we went off together, we’d place everyone we love in grave danger.
Hours later, after we’ve left the horse with Andras and trudged through the snowy wilds for what seems like an eternity, we find ourselves once again at the base of the daunting Southern Spine.
Yvan pauses to glance up at its snowcapped pinnacle as the two of us stand there awkwardly. He doesn’t need to explain his discomfort—I understand completely. It’s hard to be physically close and deny our feelings for each other, knowing nothing can ever come of it.
“Yvan,” I say, breaking the silence, “I just want you to know that I’ve thought a lot about everything you said and...I understand. About the danger to your mother, I mean. And why we can’t...be together. It was reckless to even consider it.”
Yvan nods, his jaw growing rigid as he glances at me and then at the ground, as if he’s trying to compose himself. Trying to rein in both his fire and some powerful emotion.
“Elloren,” he says, his voice heavy with feeling, “if things were different...”
The words hang in the cold air between us.
“I know,” I say softly.
“I wish things were different.”
“Me, too.” I swallow, my throat suddenly raw and tight. “It’s strange,” I tell him. “I don’t really know you that well at all, and I know you have so many secrets...but I feel like you’ve become my closest friend.”
His gaze turns ardent. “I feel the same way about you.”
“Friends then?” I offer. “And allies?”
He nods stiffly, clearly as miserable over the unavoidable boundaries as I am. I swallow back the ache, fight back the tears. But I have to say it. I have to know. Because if we can’t ever be together...
“Iris?” I look down at the ground, not able to meet his eyes, bracing myself.
“I’m not interested in Iris,” he says flatly.
Relief washes over me. I know it’s unfair to want him to be exclusively mine when we can never be together, but I don’t feel like being fair.
“And Lukas?” he suddenly asks, obviously not of a mind to be fair, either.
I look up at him and am thrown by the severe look he’s giving me. “He’s not what I want.” You are.
He nods, and some of the tension drains from his face, only a troubled resignation remaining. He glances up at the ridge, then holds out a hand to me. “Shall we?”
I walk over to him and take his hand as I wrap one arm, then two, then my entire body around him. I close my eyes as we begin our ascent and lose myself to the feel of his warmth and his strong heartbeat against mine.