Loren’s eyes shine. “You do not have to do this for me.”
Jaylie plants a kiss on his cheek. “After everything we’ve been through, Loren—there’s nothing we can’t face. We’re coming with you.”
As cackling fills Jaylie’s ears, flames rise from the crater in a column of orange-and-red fire. Suddenly, a tongue lashes out, circling Jaylie and her friends in a fiery portal.
In the next moment, the gardens are gone, and all Jaylie sees is darkness.
Heat licks up the side of her neck, and Maglorbizel’s voice rasps in her ear.
“Welcome to Hell.”
Chapter
Thirty-Four
Three Months Later
It’s been only a few weeks since he moved in, but already Noah’s new studio has more character than his old room at Dan’s ever did.
A funky thrifted green-striped couch slouches comfortably in the corner across from where his bed nestles against the wall. Above his desk stretches a large corkboard, already crowded with dozens of pictures, postcards, and ticket stubs. Bottles of fermenting mead cluster together on the shelves above his fridge next to four-packs from the brewery, and a candle burns merrily on his tiny dining room table. As I wait for Noah to finish getting ready in the bathroom, I glance to where the portrait of Loren I’d painted for him hangs in a leafy golden frame above the couch.
I smile to myself. It had been his first decoration.
I’d gifted everyone portraits of their characters at the end of the campaign, but Loren’s especially had been a labor of love. He sits with his lute cradled in his arms, posed in front of a campfire. I’d also added a few tiny details of my own: the reflection of fire in his eyes, one of Marlana’s coins hanging on a cord from his neck, and a small collection of individually unique feathers woven into his traveling cloak.
When Noah emerges from the bathroom, my brain stutters.
“Well? What do we think?” he asks.
I take a sip of water, unsure of when my mouth suddenly became dry.
Noah’s booted heels click against the hardwood floor as he spins in a slow circle, his dark green cloak fluttering in his wake. Tucked into his boots, light linen pants hug his calves and billow out around his thighs. His olive-green shirt is downright swashbuckling, with its loose sleeves and wonderfully deep, open V. Noah’s left most of the laces undone so that the costume-jewelry amulets he’d found are on the best display.
“I’ll never get over this,” I say, cupping his face in my hands. To my light horror, he’d shaved his face completely yesterday to better do his costume justice. But already he’s stubbly again, which I admit looks particularly dashing.
The latex elf ears stuck over his own are the cherry on top.
I press my palm to my chest. “Consider methoroughlycharmed, bard.”
He catches my fingers, bowing slightly as he lifts my knuckles to his lips. I wonder if he knows that the way he’s looking at me through his long lashes is making my knees go weak.
“I’m almost ready,” I say. Jules helped me order a petal-pink corset online, and I pick it up from where I’d tossed it to the couch. “Can you help me put this on?”
“Only if I can help you take it off later.”
Oh, I have every intention of it.
While Noah navigates the maze of ribbon laces at my back, I scroll through our D&D crew’s group text.
Jules:
Y’all ready for your very first RENAISSANCE FAIRE?
Morgan:
Hell yes
Morgan:
