Thea takes Clover’s hand and goes with her, wide eyed. Arien and I follow, laughing. The night passes in a rush of sugar and firelight, beneath a sky filled with handfuls of stars. Bonfire smoke laces the air, turns the world to a haze.
I’m tired and breathless, and everything feels like a dream. I find myself alone in the crowd. Clover and Thea sit together near one of the cottages, a platter of marzipan cakes between them. Arien is curled up beside Florence, his head on her shoulder and his eyes half-closed. I go back to the altar, where Rowan stands against the trees. He steps into the light when he sees me approach. Wordlessly, he takes my hand and leads me away from the crowd.
We walk past the fire and out of the square, into the orchard that encircles the village. We follow the rows for a long while, then finally stop in a space between two tall apple trees. We let go of each other’s hands and move apart. Rowan is still wrapped in his cloak, with the hood drawn down over his hair.
He picks a strand of leaves and starts to twist it through his fingers. “Thank you for singing instead of me.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“I always wonder if it would be better for me to stay away.” He gives the leaves a final twist then lets the strand drop. “I don’t care that they whisper about me, or think I’m a monster. Really, it’s better for them to fear me.”
“Yes. It would be a shame to let anyone get too close. A terrible danger.”
“Is this advice on being kind to strangers from the prickliest creature I know?” He arches a brow at me. “Perhaps you can skip the jokes about blood sacrifices next time.”
“You have to admit it was a little funny.”
He smiles faintly, then looks down as his expression turns serious again. “The least I can do is try to be a half-decent lord in my father’s name. Even if they hate me or fear me. If I give up, then it feels like he died for nothing. A waste.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know if that makes sense.”
“No, it does.” I run my hand over a nearby branch. The bark is rough beneath my fingers. “It’s harder to stay, sometimes, even if that’s the right thing.”
“Yes.”
“So how did you lead the chant before I was here?”
“Before?” His mouth lifts into a distant smile. “Elan led the chant. He liked to sing.”
Oh. I move closer until our shoulders brush. “I hope he had a nicer voice than I do.”
Rowan laughs softly. Moonlight filters between the trees and catches the lines of his face. Absently, he touches the scars that cross his jaw. “Sometimes I feel like he hasn’t truly gone. I keep expecting to turn around and see him there.”
“Or you hear a sound. And it’s not a voice, but it almost could be.” Memories of my family dance under my skin. They have their own kind of magic. I think of a garden, a cottage, stories told in the firelight. “I guess they’re always with us, somehow. But it’s not the same, is it?”
“Not the same, no. When I see you and Arien together—the way you play and tease and annoy each other—it makes me miss Elan even more.”
“Hm.” I squint at the branches above, then smile at him. “If you like, I could climb into one of these trees and throw apples at you. Would that help?”
“I’m not sure how I feel about your ideas of help.” He says it lightly, but his eyes are sad, and soon the laughter is gone from his voice. “Everyone I care about has been hurt because of me. I don’t want you to risk yourself because of my selfish mistakes.”
“No one else will be hurt,” I tell him. “I promise.”
I step toward him, struck by how alone we are with the village far behind us. There’s only the night sky and the quiet orchard and the scent of woodsmoke. When Rowan strokes his hand gently over my flower-threaded curls, the distance between us feels all at once too much and not enough.
His fingers trail over my cheek, down the line of my jaw. He’s still wearing his gloves. He pauses, takes them off, then touches beneath my chin, tilting my face upward.
He kisses me, softly at first, then his hands find the curve of my waist, and he pulls me closer. A scatter of flowers spills down around us from my hair. “Rowan,” I breathe, and he kisses his name from my mouth.
There’s a wistfulness in his touch, as though he’s trying to memorize each piece of this moment. Everything turns melted, slow, as his hands trace over me. Even the magic that lights my palms glimmers with an indolent warmth. I’m filled with an ache that is both painful and wonderful. It feels so good to be close to him like this. I wish we could stay here in the moonlight, among the trees, forever.