Page 159 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“Are we nearly there yet?” Beau asked after they traversed another endless flight of stairs.
Minerva glanced over her shoulder. “We should get there before nightfall.”
“Oh, yay! No more nights of pretending to be asleep so that the lovebirds can talk?”
Aislinn stilled. “I’m sorry?”
“We like to sleep, girl, but not that much.”
“Beau!” Aislinn said. “Were you in on this?”
“I might have been.”
“You lied to me! You said that dwarves needed twelve hours sleep—”
“I didn’t lie. I merely misinformed you.”
She glared at him.
“Don’t tell me you’re not a little impressed.”
Aislinn did not let up her glare, but as soon as Beau moved away, her gaze turned instead to Caerwyn. She imagined running her hands along those broad shoulders of his, slipping her hands under his clothes…
It had been days since she’d been out of heat—her bleeding had trailed off yesterday—and yet being around him conjured much the same effect.
Was he feeling it too? Is that why he couldn’t meet her gaze?
Despite Minerva’s predictions, it took longer than expected to traverse a cavern which had seen a recent rock fall. They’d been pushing themselves for days and, despite the promise of proper beds, Minerva called it a day when Luna fell asleep on the back of her wargi and almost slid from the saddle. They set up camp, all falling asleep as soon as their beds were unrolled.
Even Aislinn was exhausted enough to sleep, although she woke long before the dwarves. Dillon was posted at the mouth of the cave, Caer seated not far away by the remains of the fire. He’d taken a branch they hadn’t got around to burning and was whittling away at it.
“What are you making?” Dillon asked.
“Another bead,” Caer admitted, holding up his necklace. “One for each of the people I truly care about.”
“Who’s this one for?”
“Maybe it’s for you, Dillon.”
Dillon laughed. “I think it will be a while before the rest of them wake. Want to practise controlling the dead?”
“If you’re sure?”
Dillon nodded. Aislinn decided not to announce her return to consciousness, instead curling into her bedroll and letting the boys practise. It turned into a sparring match in the end, which she watched through half-closed lids, marvelling at the way Caer sprung across the rocks, surprisingly agile for someone of his size. There was raw power in his swings, and his skill was clear—thoughtful, precise, the moves of someone who had practised hard and carefully.
She wanted to meet those swings, meet the rest of him, too—
Her mouth turned dry at the thought.
Finally, the rest of the party rose. A quick breakfast was had, they refreshed themselves in a nearby stream, packed up, and headed off.
A few hours later, they reached the doors to the lift. It seemed a strange end to the journey, the doors so small compared to the colossal ceilings of the Deep below. The doors back into the city were a more fitting welcome.
They all paused there, unconsciously, silently—not moving, not speaking, not questioning.
There is still time to turn back,the stone seemed to whisper.Pretend you never found it.
But Aislinn remembered Caer’s words, his palpable fear of his powers breaking out of him, and found she could not turn back.
