Page 81 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
He looked around, eyes glancing over the sleeping bodies of the rest of the party. “Your magic doesn’t work when you’re drained, right?”
“Right.”
“The same should be true for me, shouldn’t it?”
Aislinn’s heart skipped a beat. Her mouth went dry. If his magic was tapped out, they could touch. If they could touch, they could…
Granted, he was too weak to manage much, but at this rate she thought she might explode at the touch of his hand.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I don’t suppose there’s something around here that I could test my theory on, is there? A rodent, maybe—”
“How about a large snail?”
“Perfect.”
Running far more quickly than was probably necessary, Aislinn rushed further down the tunnel, where the spiky snail-like creatures from earlier were slurping through the dark. She prised one off the wall and scurried back to Caerwyn’s side.
His eyes widened as she approached. “What on Earth isthat?”
“Doesn’t matter right now. Can you kill it?”
“I’m not entirely sure I want to touch it at all…”
Aislinn batted her eyes.
Caerwyn sighed, and reached over to touch it, cringing as his fingers touched the slimy underbelly. His face crinkled, like he was trying to push his power into it.
But nothing happened. The snail remained alive, slowly wriggling its long, slimy body.
Caer pulled back his hand. Aislinn returned the snail to the wall. She came back to his side, heart pounding, unsure of where to put herself now thateverywherewas an option.
“I have spent a lot of time imagining which part of you I would touch first,” Caer whispered.
“A lot of time?” Aislinn arched her brow. “We have not known each other long.”
Caer raised a hand, fingers uncurling over the tip of her pointed ear. “You have occupied far too many of my thoughts.”
Aislinn pressed her hand to Caer’s cheek. He let out another sigh as her palm flattened against his skin, edged with something like a whimper.
“If it helps,” she told him, voice breathy, “you have occupied far too many of mine, too.”
She lay her free hand against his chest, half of her fingertips brushing the warm, solid panes of his skin. His own hand came up to cup hers, and Aislinn felt as if the world had vanished around them, like she was the final thread in a tapestry and he the fabric. The moment was a needle, pinning them together.
Their faces inched closer.
After this, it would not be so easy to move away from him. After this, it would be difficult to untangle. After this, it would hurt.
Let it, then,Aislinn whispered to her thoughts.For he is worth it all.
Something cracked along the tunnel—from the darkness they’d come from. Three of the wargis woke with a start, growling, teeth bared.
Aislinn pulled out her dagger, jumping to her feet. “Halt!” she said. “Who goes there?”
“What’s happening?” said Beau thickly, stirring in his bed. “Are we being attacked again? Ah!”
A large, lumpy shape stepped out of the dark. Aislinn’s eyes widened. It was the undead soldier from earlier, the one with the broad shoulders and the head of thick, dark hair. The one who had approached her, but not attacked her. His skin was pale grey and marbled, his eyes leeched of colour, but his muscles were still firm, his face still chiselled, with little but his ghostly pallor and his bloodstained clothing to show he was dead at all.
