Nell studied her for a long moment, then rose from the rolling chair with a sigh. “All right. But if the threads start burning, I’ll make Sig drag your sparkly ass out of whatever mess you’ve found.”
“Deal.”
Nell’s expression softened. She stepped forward and pulled Goldie into a tight, brief hug. “You always find the drama, babe. But this time, please don’t let it find you first.”
Goldie pressed her cheek to Nell’s shoulder, closing her eyes for a heartbeat. “No promises,” she murmured.
When Nell pulled back, her smile was bright but uneasy. “Okay, but when you finally spill the tea, we’re doing it up right. I want the full goddess spread: wine, mini quiches, chocolate, and a charcuterie board. We’ll make a night of it.”
“Done,” Goldie said. “I’ll bring the drama. You bring the pajamas.”
“Perfect,” Nell called, already rolling the cart toward the archives. “Just the way I like it.”
The afternoon lightwhen Goldie slipped inside the atrium of Greymarket Towers. The glass ceiling was cloaked in thick clouds that dulled the sun to a diffuse gray glow. Mist clung to the base of the hedge rows, softening the edges of the space,and the air smelled of loam and rainwater and something faintly metallic.
Mycor sat slumped in a throne of roots and vines that curled and bowed beneath his weight. Bruised streaks of rot threaded up his arms and across his chest. The god turned his head slowly at her approach, the bark cracking at the seam of his jaw.
“Golden flower,” he said, voice sounding like wind through dry branches.
Goldie crossed the room quickly and reached for his hand without hesitation. His skin was rough, splintering and peeling in places. But still warm.
“You look awful,” she whispered.
A low creak passed through Mycor’s chest. Not quite a laugh, but the memory of one. “Yet you blossom so beautifully.”
Goldie pressed her lips together, fighting the sting behind her eyes. “Where’s Splice?”
“He readies himself for the night’s work.”
Goldie reached up, brushing a piece of moss from the god’s shoulder. “We’re going to fix this tonight,” she said determinedly, her fingers lingering in the grooves of his bark. “You’ll be right as rain in no time flat.”
Mycor’s massive head tilted in a slow, regal motion. His free hand rose to her hip and gently, firmly, drew her against him.
Goldie settled against the god’s vast chest. Beneath his heat, she could feel the threads that bound them together: the pulse of Splice flickering down the bond, and, deeper still, the Grove Core thumping like a great hidden heart.
“You are strange and shining,” Mycor rumbled, voice soft with reverence. “And my Splice bends toward you, growing new and wondrous shoots.”
Goldie looked up. His eyes were ancient, dark as hollows in old trees, but also soft with affection. He bent his great head down and touched his forehead to hers.
“I have known many seasons with him, but none like this,” he murmured. “And though I ache at the ending, I am glad this season brought you to us.”
Something broke open in her heart, and her lips trembled. “Hey,” she said lightly, or tried to. “Don’t you dare talk like you’re saying goodbye. We haven’t had nearly enough orgies for that.”
A deep, amused sound rumbled through him.
She touched her hand to his cheek. His scent wrapped around her: cedar and compost, peat and petrichor, the memory of a forest long burned and buried.
“Hold on,” she whispered. “Please. For me. For him.”
The vines of Mycor’s throne stirred, coiling gently up her arms, brushing her shoulders in slow, deliberate sweeps as tender as kisses.
“For you both,” the Thornfather vowed.
Evening had fallen,painting the sky outside her window in bruised shades of violet and orange. A knock echoed against the apartment door. Goldie opened it to find Splice on her welcome mat, his silhouette sharp against the deepening twilight.
The day’s separation hadn’t dimmed the pull between them. If anything, it had clarified it, like light striking glass, refracting into something clearer and more focused.
“So,” she said brightly, “I hope you’ve been hydrating. I hear magical-healing-sex-rituals can be murder on the electrolytes.”
