“I suppose he knows where he’s going?” Rom asks, holding out his arm for me to take.
“He seems to. I’m sure we will see him getting into trouble while we’re there.”
Rom’s arm is bare, and his warm skin feels amazing through the soft fabric of my sleeve. Muscles and tendons show in corded lines along his forearm, and I force myself to stopdoing my own staring. My curiosity rises, and I can’t help but ask a question that has been tickling me lately.
“Why is your skin sometimes very cool compared to mine and then just as warm or warmer? What makes it change? And why aren’t you cold?”
“Remember, gargoyles don’t feel the cold.”
“Right. I do think you told me that at some point between ale number three and four yesterday.”
He laughs low and full, and the sound is music to my ears. “So my body is generally cool in temperature. But when I feel strong emotions or am physically working hard, my flesh warms up.”
“Your arm is warm right now. I love it because it’s chillier than I thought it would be tonight.”
His head turns toward me, and his glowing gargoyle eyes seem to simmer. My heart pounds, and I clench my thighs. “You always heat me up, Laini. With just a look, I’m molten rock for you.”
I swallow around a sudden lump in my throat and bite my lip. I wish I knew something great to say, but I can’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t sound asinine.
Rom looks away, but his free hand lifts, then rests on my hand—the one looped over his forearm. He strokes my knuckles as we walk. If I’m thisaroused by just walking beside him, how am I going to handle dancing with him in front of everyone? I’ll be a swoony mess.
“What’s funny?” he asks, a grin in his voice.
“Oh, nothing. I just… I’m really glad we’re doing this, but I’m amazed, honestly. I never thought I’d go to the Harvest Party, let alone be happy about it.”
“That makes two of us. It’s a new page for us, Laini. And I hope we can write an entire book of pleasant surprises.”
I lean into him and let happiness wash over me. This is happening. I’m with a male who is stunning and who has the soul of an angel. I’m going to show that I care about him in front of a crowd, and I don’t even care what they think. Am I risking embarrassment? Yes. But I trust Rom. Even if he ends up not wanting to continue our budding relationship, he won’t cause a scene to embarrass me on purpose. He would never do that, and I know it like I know Spark loves cherries.
“Well, we’re here,” Rom says quietly as we join the line to enter Rustion’s garden.
The round rock walls of his estate stretch to each side and oaks the size of ship masts tower over the property. Lanterns with soft pink, tangerine, and gold lights flicker in the trees’ branches.Laughter and the clinking of cups rise on the crisp night breeze.
“Smells divine,” Rom says. His stomach growls on cue, and we both laugh.
He’s right. The scents of freshly baked bread, savory meat dishes, and decadent chocolate float through the air. I inhale deeply as we step forward to take our turn walking through the faerie circle of mushrooms.
The mushrooms are knee-high and spotted with red and pink dots. They glow faintly yellow as we step into the ring. A sensation like feathers dusts over my scalp, down my arms, and then over my legs. I gasp and look at Rom, whose wide, bright eyes tell me he feels something odd too.
“Did we pass?” I ask him in a whisper.
The line behind us begins to whisper, too. Rustion’s butler—a goat shifter named Zemy—waves us forward, a stern look on his bearded face.
The mushrooms suddenly flash brightly, and heat sears its way from my toes to my nose. I cough, and Rom catches me as we stumble out of the ring. The scent of honey and spring flowers surrounds us, strange in this cold evening.
Zemy raises his hands and gestures for us to enter the party area. “A wonderful blessing from theold faeries for you two! I haven’t seen it light up and perfume the air in several years. Enjoy yourselves. And Mistress Weaver,” he says to me as I gape and try to process what he is telling us, “your entry to the tapestry contest is stunning. I’m betting on you.”
“There’s gambling based around the tapestries?” I ask, gripping Rom’s arm because how is any of this real?
Zemy nods. “Aye. Always a bet somewhere during the Harvest Party.”
Nisa, Rustion’s wife, flits down from a tree and lands beside Zemy. “I hope you two have a lovely time.”
The strain in her voice and the worry pulling at her eyes tell me she is concerned about her son ruining our evening.
“Thanks so much,” I say.
We leave them and the mushrooms behind, and then we enter the gentle chaos of the festivities. Below pink, orange, and gold banners, chairs are lined up near a table absolutely stuffed with towering chocolate cakes, steaming plates of roast and vegetables, and countless dishes of colorful treats. Bonfires snap and crackle on the outskirts of the party. Under the lantern-lit oaks, three large circles of folk are dancing theOak Tree Reel, a common one in this area. Leo’s friend, Tam, is dancing with a human I don’t know, his blue hand in her fair one. I look away from that arsehead to the next group, only to see Tully dancing with Grumlin.
