Page 72 of The Moorwitch
Conrad’s hand is clammy in mine; other than that, he gives no outward sign of his nervousness, of his lie. He matches her gaze and nods. “It happened suddenly, but so strongly. The moment I saw her, I ...” He glances at me, swallows, his eyes aflame as if holding back a wall of fury. He grips my hand so tightly it hurts a little. “It was as if I’d been enchanted.”
Morgaine looks at me, clearly waiting for me to add my side of the story.
“Yes,” I confirm, and I squeeze his hand back, letting my nails dig into his palm until he winces just slightly. “Truly, I was astonished to find myself so very much in love. I can hardly believe it true.”
“I’d intended to bring her to you, for your blessing,” he says. “Just not so soon, but I suppose hercuriositygot the better of her.” He raises our joined hands, his eyes hammered gold. “My beloved, I must confess, is something of a snoop.”
“Indeed, I find I must be,” I reply through my teeth. “For mydearest, most darling Conrad keeps so many secrets.”
He gives me a sweet smile that clashes with the glower in his eyes.
“My Connie,” Morgaine purrs, her other hand sliding to comb through his hair with her long fingers. “After all these years insisting you would never wed.”
“Yes, well,” he grumbles. “I suppose the Fates have made a joke of me.”
The faerie queen’s predatory grip on my shoulder releases at last. She steps back, pulls us with her, calling out, “So this is no ordinary revel, my mortal lovers. This is a revel of celebration! We shall hold a handfasting.”
Conrad inhales. “I don’t think that’s—”
“Dance!” she cries. “Drink!Love!My fae will dote upon thee, and sing for thee, and fetch thee pearls from the deepest depths of the sea.”
The dance changes, the fae responding, breaking apart, rearranging. More of them appear; those from the enclave come bounding and howling to the revel. More musicians add their instruments to the band, until a full orchestra of immortals drape us in their mad waltz. Others twirl in with platters of fruit and sweets, none of which I dare touch, but Conrad drinks from a goblet some faerie gives him. It smells unmistakably of whiskey.
We are thrust onto the queen’s dais; two more chairs have been added beside hers, seats made of twisted willow branches, strung through with ivy and flowers. I perch on mine in a daze. The fae spin and leap and perform daring acrobatics for our amusement. Conrad has not let go of my hand, gripping it tightly on the arm of my chair. Morgaine stands in front of us and calls out commands, sending fae scurrying this way and that to fetch more food, more drink, more gifts. They pile things at our feet: pearls still in oyster shells, heavy jewelry, gemstones, lace, small mirrors in jeweled frames, a magnificent rose-colored conch.
Conrad leans to me, smiling as if besotted, but his whisper in my ear is heated: “At leasttryto look as if you can tolerate me, will you?”
“By Atropos’s needle—whatare you playing at, Mr. North?”
“Playing at? I’mplayingat saving both our necks.”
“You might have consulted me first as to the method of your salvation.”
“Consulted!” His smile is strained, nearly a grimace. “Tell me, Miss Pryor, where doesungratefulfall on your list of faults?”
“Number six, if you must know.”
“You trespassed into Elfhame, and she would have stolen every memory from your head and kept you like a silly, empty pet. AndIwould have paid the price for failing to keep you out. I am her Gatekeeper. Intruders from the human world aremyresponsibility. Of course this is all a charade, but if you don’t convince her you’re in love with me, she will destroy us both.”
The fae are watching us; even as they dance and spin, their eyes return to us hungrily, and I cannot quite tell if it is displays of our affection they want, or if they hope we will falter so they can swarm on us and drag us down.
Morgaine returns to us with ribbons of blue and red and gold. Her eyes are smug as she orders us to hold out our hands. I swallow hard as Conrad raises them, his fingers knitted through mine. Morgaine gazes into his eyes then mine as she winds the ribbons around our wrists, binding us together. I cannot tell if she is convinced by our playacting, or if she is mocking us with ceremony, building up to a bloody conclusion in which she takes off both our heads.
“May the road rise to meet you, young lovers,” she murmurs. “May the wind always be at your backs. May the sun shine warm upon your faces, and may your threads never break.”
The ribbons are tied so tightly my wrist begins to throb. Conrad’s knuckles are white, and he stares at our bound hands as if the ribbons were snakes and not silk. The blood has drained from his face. I feel I must be as pale as he, my head spinning and my breath stilted.
“Well?” says Morgaine, stepping back. Her viper’s eyes flit between us. “Go on, then. It’s not every happy couple that begins their troth with a faerie queen’s blessing. Seal it with a kiss.”
Conrad inhales sharply, his eyes flooding with sudden panic, and all the color which had leached from his face now comes rushing back to shade his cheeks a violent pink. He looks as though he’s about to stammer a protest and ruin everything.
So, forcing softness into my smile, I lean over and kiss him quickly, softly, on the corner of his mouth. It is as chaste a kiss as was ever shared between two people, but it seems to startle him. He stiffens, blinking at me as his lips part. Then his fingers catch my cheek before I can pull away, and his eyes fall to my mouth.
“Conrad—” I start, but he swallows the rest of my words as his lips crush against mine.
Startled, I stiffen ... then slowly melt, my bones trembling as I take in a thousand sensations at once: the warmth of his skin, the softness of his lips, the scent of whiskey and juniper, his hand clutching my hand, his strong, nimble fingers knitted with mine—
And his mouth,Fates, his mouth, pulling at my lip with his teeth.