Page 51 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

“Am I?” He grinned and studied the performance while pirouetting dancers entered the stage, twirling silk streamers. Two jesters soon joined in, raising the singing lady into the air, stealing her away from the man she loved as she continued her mournful song. Next, a man wearing a dark suit, a golden owl mask covering the upper portion of his face, added his voice to the song, his baritone deep and melancholic, complaining of heartbreak before rescuing her.

They sang to one another, lifting the mask from the other, until finally, in a crescendo of passion, they kissed, the piano music fading.

It was just the right amount of emotional strength Dulce needed on this journey. She stood, clapping loudly, and the two young girls turned to look at her with wide smiles. As another performance began, one of the little girls, missing her two front teeth, squeaked, “We’re going to eat candy apples if you want to join us. My mama won’t mind.”

“Who could refuse candy apples?” Reed said, and the two girls giggled.

The two young girls led them toward a middle-aged woman dressed in a brown wool skirt. She placed her hands on her hips as she peered at the two girls. “Are you bothering strangers again?”

“No, Mama,” the one with braids huffed. “They’rehungry. And they loved our performance!”

“I can pay,” Dulce offered, opening her bag.

The woman waved her off. “Certainly not. There’s plenty of food for everyone. It’ll only go bad if we don’t share it, am I right?”

Seeing—and smelling—the hot meal brought out, Dulce didn’t argue, and they each ate a bowl of ham and carrot oat porridge and delightedly accepted candy apples from the little girls, who were named Yunis and Thyme. They watched the performers practice fire juggling until they could scarcely keep their eyes open, and, thanking everyone they passed for their hospitality, Dulce and Reed made their way toward the wagon to retire for the evening.

A thick knitted blanket lay folded in the middle of the wagon—Dulce knew one of the performers must’ve left it for them. These strangers had been nothing but kind, and they didn’t know about the curse, what would become of their beautiful opera if La Bisou Morte got her way? Her heart ached at the notion.

Reed plucked up the blanket and held it out toward her. “You can use it.”

Dulce thought about their kiss, how close they’d been to one another throughout the journey. “I have a much better idea. We share it.”

“As you wish.” He smiled.

Dulce set her satchel on the floor beside Reed’s to use as a pillow, then they removed their boots before settling beneath the blanket. She stared up at the ceiling, where a sliver of the moonlight shone through a small rectangle.

Minute after minute ticked by, and when Reed adjusted himself beside her, she turned to face him.

“I can’t sleep,” he said, pushing up from the floor and resting his back against the wall.

“Me neither.” Dulce sat beside him and swept back a lock from his forehead. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m thinking about my brother.” Reed sighed. “I know he’s blaming himself for my disappearance…”

Dulce didn’t know what it was like to have siblings, but as she thought about it now, she could see that it would’ve been nice to have the company, someone close to share childhood with, someone with whom to grow and support each other. “You two seem to be very close.”

Reed nodded. “We were all each other had growing up.” He shrugged. “Even before my parents died, it was always Philip, looking after me, sharing everything, even when we had hardly enough food for one.”

“I can help you both find work outside the Glen,” Dulce promised.

“Your generosity is already too much, Highness.”

“Not when you’re risking your life to help the world. Not when you saved my life, Reed.”

He studied her a long moment before relenting, “Perhaps for my brother I will accept it, but not me. I’ll owe you though.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“I know you were close to your parents. When did you lose them?” Reed asked.

“Fourteen, my father, and sixteen, my mother. Both succumbed to illnesses. My father was the one who taught me piano, would make me laugh. My mother was outgoing, everyone loved her, and she was giving, creative. When she died, my world fell apart, and Ipretended as though the witch in me didn’t exist because everything with magic reminded me of her, of what I’d lost. I only continued the poison tradition each day since I knew how important that was to her. Thankfully I did, or I’d truly be dead.”

Reed wiped away a tear streaming down her cheek that she didn’t realize had fallen. “I’m glad I found you and not a real corpse.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, and he bit his lip, his eyes drifting toward her mouth. Her pulse thrummed, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. He instantly reacted, his mouth coasting deliciously across hers as his hand cradled her cheek, and the kiss deepened, his tongue slipping between her lips to savor hers. This was a new kind of kiss, one that made her breath catch and her body yearn for more.

Here was the affection, thehungerfor another that she’d read about in poems, that great songs sung of, that men died for.

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