Page 130 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“You can do stitches?”
“I don’t usually like doing them on people because, well, it hurts them, but…” She swallowed. “You’re not in pain, are you?”
“No,” he said, his throat equally tight.
She ran her fingers down his cheek, pinching his flesh together. “Can you feel anything at all?”
“Pressure, I suppose,” he explained. “It’s like being wrapped in too many layers of clothing. Everything feels like hard sponge.”
Luna nodded, though she couldn’t know what that was like. No one could.
He supposed, on that note, he and Caer were rather alike.
Luna began stitching him. He half wished he could feel it, just to feel anything—to feel the tips of her fingers against his skin. He wondered how long he could stay in this half-body before the lack of sensations really started to get to him.
“Are you all right?” Luna asked him.
I want to feel you.“I’m fine. You?”
“I’m rather good at staying out of the fight.”
“Smart decision.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not calling me weak or silly for not wanting to fight. For not chastising me for coming down here when I’m no great warrior like the others.”
Dillon shrugged. “Everyone has their strengths. Magna doesn’t seem like a great warrior, either, or Flora—but they’re invaluable members of the group. You are too.”
Her white cheeks flushed. Vines, she was beautiful. He wondered if Beau had drawn a picture of her yet and whether or not he’d be prepared to part with it. He’d like to take something with him if he survived long enough to return to Acanthia.
“I miss home,” he said, half to himself.
Luna nodded, finishing with his cheek and pulling his arm into her lap. “Then tell me about it.”
Afterrefreshmentsandadecent rest, the party packed up and continued on their way. The crystals turned red, the foliage following, giving the caverns the impression of fire. Great blooms littered the tunnels, leaves of crimson and scarlet, and the water was filled with floating blooms that crackled on the surface under the crystal lights, their pollen gooey and golden.
“Fire lilies,” Flora explained. “They’re edible—taste like honey. Good for binding wounds, too.”
A small stop was required to pick a few. Beau took sketches as Aislinn dipped her fingers into the sticky pollen, and tried not to moan. It was as sweet as promised, but with a heat that coursed through her and did absolutelynothingto help the quivering feeling still gnawing at her insides.
“Are you all right?” Caer asked, sensing her distress.
Aislinn jumped in the water to save herself from answering.
Minerva tutted. “I hope you’re not expecting us to wait for you to dry off.”
“Certainly not,” said Aislinn, climbing out and half-wishing she could just go back and drown herself. “I would hate to cause a delay.”
The discomfort as she crawled back onto her saddle was a welcome distraction, as were a few more creatures that marred their way—all easily disposed of or carefully avoided.
Aislinn had long since lost track of time, but she thought it was probably evening or late afternoon. Only Minerva, Bell and Flora seemed to be carrying watches.
A small settlement came into view ahead of them—something between a fortress and a town—walled and towered and cut from the stone. It was abandoned now, the gates hanging from their hinges, crates and carts smashed in pieces through the main street.
Minerva stopped to stare at a sign hovering over the old inn. It had been slashed through, but still swung lightly in whatever passed for a breeze down here—a dull, empty echo.
