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nineteen

Passion Flowers

S kye carried Heather from the faerie square, dodging raindrops in flight, arriving at a meadow of flowers. He situated her cozily on the velvet inner shell of a plum morning glory. There, inside the bloom, they found shelter from the storm.

Drops of rain fell all around in tiny bursts, splattering on leaves and crashing into puddles. Pastel prisms reflected in the cusps of the clear waters. As splashes struck the surface of the earth, they evaporated into a wispy white mist.

In the distance, faeries flitted from flora to flora, their magick a catalyst, ushering the buds to unfurl with flashes of butter yellow, blushing rose and sky-blue enchantments.

They danced in the air, pirouetting all about and darting to rejoin their cluster of friends.

The party stretched and contracted within, like a flock of birds, tending to the pink hollyhocks, plum morning glories and distinctive passion flowers.

Pixies hopped from blossom to blossom, blooming the vegetation and healing decaying yellowing foliage.

The greenery multiplied with fresh shoots, leaves and buds at the faeries' coaxing.

Heather’s eyes feasted on the show. The pixies’ lives made daily tasks less of a chore and more like a performance.

A celebration of nature. Rain drops gathered on foliage and in flowers.

The flat surfaces of the accumulated water reflected the sky and flora as if it were a living looking glass.

Heather found no trace of the rot plaguing King Willem’s court.

With the twitch of his wings, Skye floated out of their morning glory and snapped a stem of a purple passionflower.

He swiftly returned to her side, bearing the floret over their joined heads to further shield them from the drizzle.

They sat on the outer edge of the blossom, and he looped his free arm about her waist.

She wrapped her hands around her knees, smoothing her skirt over them, her eyes on the collection of fae.

“I wanna dance in the rain. I wish I could fly.” She loosed a breath and rested her head on his broad shoulder. “It’s beautiful here.” Her visage glistened in the reflected wonderment of their surroundings.

“Aye, it is.” He agreed, but she felt the weight of his stare upon her face.

Skye softly hummed the song from the market square.

His voice drifted quietly away and comforting silence was enveloping as they absorbed the lush vines and flowers.

Heather stroked her fingers over the wish ribbon flowing from her hair, down over her shoulder.

It was the first time in forever she was considering it in remembrance of her mother and not in trepidation.

How many times had she smoothed it in hopes of forgetting she was possibly about to ingest poison? A sudden sadness gripped her heart.

“It was my mother’s dream to place a ribbon wish on the faerie tree before she passed. I long to tell her I made it. That actual faeries have a home here.” She paused in reflection before saying, “I wish she could see the lustrous magick of faerie.” She smiled wistfully. Tears gathered in her eyes.

“My mother gifted me the ribbon I wear in my hair. My most cherished possession, a token of her in my daily life. It’s as though, through its presence, her spirit is here with me.”

Skye brushed away an escaping tear with his thumb, the vast part of his palm caressing her face.

“Take heart.” Brushing her tender cheek again, he continued, “I believe she is watching ye from the Summerlunds. I suspect she’s aware. Your joy is her own.” He sounded so sure. His conviction strengthened hers, solidifying her hopes to the very recesses of her.

Heather envisioned her mother awash in everlasting, warm golden sunshine.

With her face lit up with gladness as she beheld Heather in the musical faerie procession.

Heather’s heart felt buoyant as she took comfort that someday she would see both her parents again.

Her father remained a stranger, but she knew she’d meet him one day in the next realm.

Reaching a palm out into the downpour, Skye caught a dew drop. The liquid formed a perfect transparent orb between his fingers. Light reflected from it in a prism of rainbow hues.

“Are ye thirsty?” He raised it to his mouth and siphoned some of the moisture between his lips. Laughing, she then mimicked his actions as he held the water droplet out in offering. Their gazes locked over the clear globe while he leaned in and sipped from it at the same time.

Unaware of its evaporation, she was happily surprised when his warm lips brushed hers.

The tempo of her heartbeat against her chest. Hesitantly, she drew closer, their lips meeting fully.

He released his hold on their flower shade, and it slumped to the petal surface behind as both his arms embraced her in his strength.

He gently pressed on the junction of her spine and hips, the other tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck.

Their mouths met repeatedly in slow, luscious, indulgent sweeps.

Their kiss bloomed, a night flower rejoicing in the gentle beams of the moon.

He captured her skirt in his grasp, and, in a breath, his hand snaked up the side of her ankle.

She broke their lip lock with a startled gasp, his fingers following her silk stocking all the way up to her ribbon garter.

He traced his thumb against the soft material encompassing her thigh.

She curled her fingers into the hem of his tunic and rejoined her lips with his.

The hold he had on her nape, tightened, deepening the kiss with a low growl.

His heady bergamot scent flooded her senses.

She could not get close enough to him. Heather swore her insides were melting.

She was a quivering tangle of pheromones and emotions.

His lips wandered from her mouth to her jaw, over the curve of her throat as she sat there silently panting.

She was literally weak in the knees. Blessedly, they were already seated.

She wondered if he could sense the heat between her thighs.

She couldn’t gain sufficient air, but felt as if she no longer required it to live.

The smolder from earlier in the faerie square went up in a blaze.

Cold water splashed over their heads, drenching them both.

Heather inhaled a breath loudly from the shock.

They pulled apart, gazes searching for the source, suspecting someone directed the sphere of liquid at them.

But a trickle continued to drip from the above rim of their shelter.

Smiles broke across their faces like sunshine after a storm.

They were soaked, their efforts for naught.

Another dew drop formed overhead. Heather stretched and gathered it between her palms. She leaned out of the bloom and released the droplet.

They watched in unison as it spattered to the ground, crashing on the surface and ascending as mist. She laughed to herself, her soul light.

As if the joy she was feeling inside might burst outward at any moment.

She collected one more drip from the flower ridge, and peeped up at him through her lashes.

“We probably needed a cool down,” she said with a small, crooked smile before dropping the water sphere over Skye’s head. He sputtered and shook his head, full of white hair, like a hound rising from a pond.

She laughed as the discarded beads spattered her face. Tempting rivulets flowed from his defined jaw to the strong column of his throat, tracing the path she longed to run her lips down. She was feeling anything but cool. She had to look away before they became entangled in another kiss.

Spotting a flower below, Heather calculated if she could hop down onto it.

She lacked the ability to fly, but perhaps she could make her way around, regardless.

Cautiously sloping off their current bloom, she landed on the lower one, crouching low.

After settling, she seized an additional droplet and hurled it at Skye with triumph.

It splattered upon contact with his shoulder.

He looked at her, full of surprise. Laughter burst from his radiant face.

“Oh, ye think that’s comical?” He grinned, extending his palm out to the falling drops to gather his own arsenal.

But Heather had already climbed her way down a vine to another bloom.

Skye propelled a watery orb in her direction.

It connected, splattering on her hip. The pixie was a gentleman, not aiming for her face, even in playing at war.

Heather wasn’t about to be outdone. She landed a hit on him as he rushed to claim more droplets.

She took cover behind the flower’s edge, causing Skye’s next throw to miss his target. The sphere sailed wide, over her head.

Laughing, Heather sat back in the folds of the fuchsia-colored petal.

Rain collected in the inner base of the flower, and she was quickly sitting in water up to her knees.

Her own personal faerie pool. What would it feel like to wade without the heavy weight of her kirtle?

That kind of freedom was unfathomable. She ran her hand through the translucent water, splashing it over the rim of the flower.

It was lovely here, and the vegetation remained vibrant thanks to the faeries’ healing abilities.

But she couldn’t help but wonder how the mortal kingdom was fairing.

Skye traveled over on rapid wings, lowering himself down beside her in the pit.

“What was it that brought you to the human garden, in the middle of the day?” asked Heather. It had been unusual to glimpse a Luna moth, but one in daylight? A true rarity.