Page 66 of Straw and Gold
I woke each morning before dawn, tangled with Killian. We would shift to the cliffside and I’d rattle off every possible fucking thing I could think of to be his name. He’d pace behind me, smile, and pull me to him as the sun hit his cheeks and hair, only to shift me back to our bed where he’d make love to me soft and gentle, whispering my praises and loving me as I was meant to be loved.
But I was fucking livid.
I didn’t even spin anymore, keeping a tally in my journal of all the golden thread I owed him. I read books until my eyes blurred. I practiced my pronunciation until my voice was nothing more than a hoarse rasp. Alista brought me books she found around the castle that might help. Any time she discovered one written in Céaduah, it would show up in our room along with a hot cup of lemon honey tea.
Killian didn’t say anything about the state of our room. Books open to random pages, ink spilled near the fireplace, and mydresses tossed about onto every surface—it looked like a storm had ravaged its way through.
I didn’t have time to feel guilty about it, though.
I didn’t have time to breathe, or eat, or think about anything other than his name.
His name, his name, his name. For weeks, I became obsessed with his name.
The cruel disappointment at my discovery of Morelli, only to find that I was wrong, consumed me, nagging at the back of my head that I would surely fail. That if I hadn’t found it by now, I never would.
He found me deep in the stacks of the Citrine Library on the night before my last morning of attempts at his name. Early winter’s chill bit through my loose shawl, only fueling my desperation to look harder, search wiser, and do the one thing I’d been tasked to do.
“Tig a laig, Goldling.”
Come to bed, Goldling.
“Lig lem du bhalhadh.”
Let me warm you.
“Lig lem gaol a torth.”
Let me love you.
I pulled at the budding tears in my eyes, wiping them with a dirty sleeve and returning to the top shelf. “I can’t,” I explained, shoving my journal into his hands. “This is all I have. Ten potential names. And they’re the least likely yet.”
He took the book, his eyes flickering quickly over my messy scrawl. Closing it gently, he took my hand. “They’re perfect, Goldling. You’re done for the night.” He tugged on me again, sweeping my body to his. “Tonight I get all of you to myself. No dusty books to read, no messes to wipe clean that you’ve left behind.”
“Sorry,” I burst.
He kissed my forehead. “You’ve done beautifully, Morella, My Goldling, and I would not trade the last three months for anything.”
I fell into him, sighing deep into his chest. “Not even your power re?—”
“Not for anything.” He pulled on my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes cut like gems, glistening with unshed tears. “Do you hear me, Moh Dhóches?”
I nodded, my chin trembling.
“Good,” he answered. “Now let’s leave this place. I have much worshipping to do before the night is through.”
He led us up the winding stair and shifted us through the door, landing in our room where Fedir waited. The captain rose quickly from my fireplace chair but Killian did not seem surprised to see him.
“It’s done?” Killian asked.
Fedir’s jaw clamped shut and his eyes darted to me briefly. “As you’ve asked of me, my king.”
“Good,” Killian mumbled. “You may leave, Captain.”
Fedir stayed put, a silent conversation happening right before my eyes between the two of them. Too exhausted to be nosey, I headed to the bathing room to prepare myself for a short sleep before I planned to wake again and head to the library. I’d stay there all night, and when the sun peeked in the sky, I’d be at the cliffside, reading from the Goddessdamn books themselves if I had to.
When I left the bathing chamber, they were arguing in hardly contained whispers.
“I don’t care about your morals, Captain,” Killian said.
