Page 79 of Frost Like Night
Either way, I bump him with my shoulder. “I thought you were pretty good already.”
He presses his forehead to my temple. “But who wouldn’t want to improve?”
“What a goal to have.”
“I know it’ll keepmeinspired.”
I swing one leg out from under the blanket. “Well, we should get dressed at some point.”
Mather grumbles against my skin as he brushes my hair over my shoulder. “Clothes,” he mocks and lays kisses down the back of my neck. “That sounds like a bad idea.”
Shivers prickle down my spine. And though the rest of me would gladly melt back into bed for the foreseeable future, I stand.
Mather’s hands drop against the blankets. I grab the nearest article of clothing—a white tunic from the stack of clothes the servants gave me—and tug it over my head. By the time I’m dressed, a belt cinching the tunic to my waist, the boots from Paisly tight over my knees, my chakram in place, Mather is up too, the blanket tangled around his hips.
He steps forward, one hand holding the ivory and green wool at his waist. A gust of wind flutters the tent flaps, a gentle whoosh against their ties, and the motion sends a sliver of light across his face, curving down his neck, heaving over his chest.
I lower my gaze. “I’m going to check on everyone else. You can—”
“I’ll be right behind you,” he assures me. The tremble in his voice sounds like he’s fighting to keep his tone level, and that undoes me even more, so much so that I undo the ties on the tent and get halfway out before I find myself looking back at him.
He’s sitting on the bed now, hands in his hair and elbows on his knees.
This is breaking him, just like I knew it would, but I did it anyway.
The tent flaps tremble shut behind me. “I’m so—”
Mather stands, the blanket falling away as his hands dive to cradle my face. He slams his mouth against mine in a kiss that swallows my apology.
“You don’t get to apologize either,” he tells me. “No apologies. No matter what happens, I willnever, not in a thousand tragic outcomes,everregret loving you.”
I loop my arms around his neck.
“I love you,” I tell him for what must be the millionth time since the ridge.
He pushes his face into my hair. “I love you too.”
The words press like brands into my neck, and I close my eyes, memorizing each letter as it lies along my body.
No matter what happens when I step out of this tent, when I go to Jannuari, when we reach the labyrinth, I have this.
I havehim.
The area in front of the main tent still wears most of its decorations from last night. Unlit lanterns hang from the braided fabric, the fire pit sits black and charred. The food tables have been moved into the center of the ring, a few chairs gathered, and around the tables crowd most of the people from the celebration, all looking rather groggy.
Sir and Dendera chat at a table across the square, picking at plates of bread and fruit. At the table closest to me, Nessa slumps against Conall, yawning after every bite of food, and Ceridwen and Jesse shock me by being both here and awake. They’re still wearing their celebration outfits, only drastically more rumpled, and as I slide into a chair across from them, I breathe a sigh of relief that I thought to grab new clothes this morning.
Ceridwen pops a blackberry into her mouth. “You certainly slept in,” she notes.
I take the nearest bowl of fruit. “And why didn’t you, newlyweds?”
“Who says we slept at all?”
Jesse chokes on a grape. “Cerie!”
She bats her eyes. “Oh, everyone knows what we spent the night doing.”
Nessa straightens. “Why? What’d you do?”
