Page 75 of Sweetling
Allarion chuckled softly. “Breathe,” he reminded her.
She pulled in a breath, her discomfort slowly giving way to interest. The plants were ever so gentle with her, and they seemed just as careful with Allarion. Even the woody roots of the trees held him loosely, never putting their weight on his middle.
Before her eyes, more roots began creating intricate webs over him, rebuilding what she’d broken. Soon, he was almost cocooned in foliage, her hand with him.
Molly laid down in the grass beside him, marveling as moss sprung from the earth to pillow her head. Allarion watched her with a gentle gaze, his face one of the only places free of plant life.
“How long have you been doing this?” she asked in wonder.
“Today, about two hours. Before, every few days since I’ve been at the estate.”
“This is how you gave the house life?”
“For the house, it was more a matter of working on it. Everything I touched to repair it was imbued with my magic.”
She couldn’t help a smile at that. “You brought it to life, piece by piece.”
“I suppose I did, yes. But the estate itself, the forest, is different. It is already alive—sentient. It will never listen to me the way the house does.”
“I’d think not. It’s aforest.” If it did obey him, she doubted its woodland creatures would be harassing Bellarand so. Or…perhaps it would, if Bellarand annoyed the fae enough.
“How long do you lay here for?”
“Usually a few hours. I think they’ll be done with me soon.”
“Bored of your taste?”
“Indeed,” he laughed. Beneath the mat of foliage, his hand squeezed hers on his chest. “I will admit, it was a…harrowing experience the first time I came here. I wasn’t sure if the forest would accept me and my foreign magic. The earth could have swallowed me up as easily as it took the magic.”
Molly tried not to think about that. “You didn’t do this back in the faelands?”
“No, there wasn’t a need. My kind’s bond to the faelands was already forged in ancient times. Between that and my people, the circuit was strong. At least until…”
“Amaranthe,” she finished. Molly had found he didn’t even like speaking her name.
“Indeed. Although, the first centuries of her reign weren’t so polluted. It was only when the end was in sight that she usurped the order of succession.”
First centuries.Molly chewed her cheek; she’d willfully not thought much about how truly old Allarion was—and it went far beyond the gap between their own ages. Everyone knew fae were nigh immortal. Did that mean, even for all his talk of fate and mates, he would live well beyond her mortal years?
A jealous heat burned in her belly to think of him moving another human woman into the house after the appropriate mourning period for her.
“Allarion…how old are you?”
Whatever she thought his response would be, it wasn’t the hearty chuckle he gave. He smiled at her, showing off those fangs, and Molly couldn’t help sidling a little closer, drawn inextricably by his pull.
“Now that is a complicated question for most fae.”
“What, do you stop keeping track?” she joked half-heartedly.
Her stomach swooped when he nodded in assent.
“In your human years, it is many, I think. I remember a time when your kingdom was not a kingdom at all, but many small lands, with their own chiefs.”
Molly swallowed hard. “That was over a thousand years ago.”
“Truly? Well, over a thousand, then.” He rolled his head to the side to regard her with those unnatural eyes, the roots folding and twisting with him. “It doesn’t feel like a thousand years, if that makes sense. Time passes differently for fae, particularly in the faelands, surrounded by our magic. Life is simply…life.”
Molly struggled with the idea, turning it over in her mind. “I suppose…life doesn’t feel fast to the mouse who only lives a few years. It’s just their time allotted.”
