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Emrys tipped her head a fraction toward Caris’s wagon. Aric had noticed that too: the tall gold-and-silver shape who’d emerged, folded in a shawl that was probably worth half their pay, to stand alone and watch the rushing torrent of river below the bridge.
“Is she concerned about the weather? The rains? We’re on time to make her delivery.”
“Possibly.” Em turned from the river, footsteps soundless over earth and grass. “Come warm me up.”
Aric wholeheartedly agreed, as ever, with this proposal. He watched Emrys, in the scattered pale light: familiar understated grace, the strength of a shoulder, the column of her throat, the artwork of smooth lines and the spot where her shirt had slid slightly to one side, tie loose at the neck.
In the lamplit shield of their small tent, he kissed that spot, a vow without words. His mouth, the scratch of gold where he hadn’t shaved, against Em’s skin. His hands, broad against Em’s waist.
He felt the hint of change, of shapeshifting fluidity, under his touch; he had a hand at the opening of Em’s trousers in any case, and further explorations discovered the sweet stiff shaft of Em’s cock, fitting so nicely into Aric’s grip. Em sometimes wanted to feel definitively masculine, sometimes more feminine, sometimes both or someplace in between, playing with fairy magic and embodiment and flexibility; Aric had become fairly good at the various indicators over the last couple years, but occasionally he wasn’t sure, and this felt like one of those times. Emrys didn’t mind him asking, so he did, hand stroking Em’s luscious length.
“Something else,” Em said, “at the moment—not just one or the other, please, please just come here,” and pulled Aric down on top, over their blankets and bed-rolls, boots kicked off but mostly dressed, short and eager and pleading all at once, wanting to be held and anchored under big heavy weight.
Aric kissed the line of fairy-collarbone, nibbled Em’s shoulder, touched his lips to the old kelpie-scar. Eased those trousers down and teased Em’s cock, slowly stroking, until Em was moaning and moving underneath him, hips lifting. Aric whispered, “Like this?” and rubbed a thumb across the tip, gathering wetness. His own prick ached with want, pushing against Em’s hip; he’d lost some clothing too, wanting to touch, skin against skin.
“Yes,” Em whispered back. Those silver-cloud eyes were very big, full of profound need, a depth that went right to Aric’s heart. “With you, please, your hand on us…”
Aric could absolutely do that. Hand around them both—thank the gods he had large hands, firm and sword-callused—and their need moving together, pressed together, sliding hot and hard and slick. Em quivered and arched and gasped his name, almost a sob, breaking sharply; Aric felt the closeness, the poised dripping edge, and stroked harder, pushed harder, until he felt Em’s shudder and spill of ecstasy against him, and the wild glorious brightness cracked open and poured out of his body as well.
Emrys was quieter than usual, shivery and tactile and clinging to him in the aftermath. “I’m here,” Aric murmured, a bit helplessly, and held on, offered kisses, tried to be an anchor, found a cloth and some water for clean-up. “I’ve got you, Em, I love you. Want a lavender honey cake? Sugar?”
That got a tiny laugh, more out of relief, Aric thought. Normality. With honey cakes. And Em’s arm around his waist, as they lay face to face, Aric’s leg draped over fairy slimness. Em said, “No, it’s not exertion. Well, it is, after that. But I’m doing better.”
“Are you?”
“That helped. This helps. I did want to talk to you.” Em’s eyes were serious about the practical concerns of their job, but under that the reprieve, the exhale, the freedom lay like joy amid pleated silk. Aric had done that. He played with a spike of Em’s hair, and felt the matching joy in his own chest.
Em said. “I’m even less sure I trust our employer. She wanted to have a chat with me, today. About magic. Questions about what I could do, how I’d learned it, whether I’d know if someone was using magic. Not exactly personal, but she had some sort of answer in mind. I’m not certain I was satisfactory; I tried not to be.”
“Good thing everyone knows you’re not the talkative one.”
“I can be!”
“Only when you like people.” Or when playing a role, befriending fellow caravan guards. As requested. He traced the swoop of Em’s ear. “You said you did like her, kind of.”
“I do, even if I don’t trust her.” Em shrugged a shoulder while lying down, economical. “Someone who’s so good at what she does, who knows what she wants and who she is, moving through the world like that…you have to admire the certainty. And she’s ruthless but fair; everyone I’ve spoken to says so. She’s good to her people. And…as much as she doesn’t trust magic, and of course so many people don’t…she’s not afraid of me.”
That might mean confidence, or arrogance, or an interest in power, or any number of motives. It was nice, though, not to be eyed with suspicion; and Aric did not look at the long-faded scars along Em’s arm, though he knew they were there, and he touched Em’s cheek, hand gentle. “Did she ask you to do something for her?”
“No. At least, not yet. She did ask whether I was happy with you.”
“I hope you said yes.”
That quicksilver smile leapt again. “I said very. Emphatically. She looked surprised. I think she thinks you’re mostly the muscles.”
Aric flexed a bicep, as best he could while holding his other half in the post-sex euphoric glow.
Emrys laughed. “Not that I don’t appreciate that. I also told her I was trying not to use it—magic, not your muscles—as much as possible, right now. I didn’t say why; she asked whether it was habit-forming, like sweet poppy, if you practice too much. Not exactly, I said, and we left it at that, and that was when she wanted to know about you.”
Most kinds of power, enchanted and not, could be addictive, but that wasn’t the problem; Em’s entire existence was half magic, after all. Aric traced the arch of one dark eyebrow; his partner liked being petted. “Have you felt anything else?”
“Not since we crossed the Aldfleet. That doesn’t mean he’s not looking. I don’t like not knowing.”
“Is it helping, not doing much?”
“I think so…I’m not drawing more attention, at least…” Em made a face. “Since the Spine, those ghosts…”
Since Emrys had—to save a town, open a mountain pass, and free an entanglement of lonely angry spirits—opened a door in the air, and sent those spirits onward. With blood, and a stone circle, and a casual use of world-changing power.
