“Before they even know you’ve left the forest.” Rian had to say the rest, in case his unicorn somehow had not realized it: “They’ll all see you. In the village. Being real. Purifying the well.”
“They’ll seeyou,” Amaranth said, “with me, protecting me, defying your king.” He turned his hand, laced his fingers with Rian’s: as if finding a shield, a hero, a destined home. “Choosing to heal.”
Rian nodded back, under sunlight like tears or joy or recognition, fingers learning the feel of wild silk and star-sparkles against his hand. A touch from a unicorn, he thought. Healing. Yes. Oh, yes.
Amaranth’s sudden and brilliant smile illuminated the clearing, the world, Rian’s heart. “Well, then, my knight. Rian. Let’s save your village, together.”
On the Same Page by Kellen Sinclair
In memory of Rob Reiner
Jeffrey stood in his living room, hand hovering in front of the bookshelf.
One of the many,manybookshelves that lined almost every wall of almost every room in the apartment he shared with his boyfriend.
There was never enough shelf space for his massive collection of books. He was considering whether he could put another shelf in the bathroom, the only room with no shelves—yet. He was still debating delicate pages versus damaging steam, whether his boyfriend would permit rows of paperbacks watching him while he showered and shaved.
His hand continued to hover, uncharacteristically indecisive.
He had a rare night to himself. And he didn’t want it.
Tamlin, his boyfriend, was with his weekly Gateways & Gryphons gaming session, leaving him home alone for a few hours.
Before they dated, when this apartment had been his bachelor pad, Jeffrey used to spend countless hours reading in solitude. Now, instead of losing himself in a book, he was staring at the shelves, feeling lost and listless, counting down the minutes until Tamlin got back.
He examined this uncharacteristic yearning for company. Was he turning into apeople person?!
Probably not. Tamlin didn’t count aspeople, never had. Not even when they had first met, and Tamlin, out of the hundred or so students also there for college orientation, had misguidedly pickedJeffreyto talk to. Jeffrey still didn’t understandwhy; he’d been standing against the wall, trying to look as aloof and uninviting as possible, wondering why hehadn’t brought a book so he could read until it was time to leave—why he’dturned up at allhe had no clue; if any other English literature students had been there, they hadn’t been brandishing books with which to identify themselves, and they hadn’t been any less loud and abrasive than the rest of the collegiate rabble.
Instead, it had been a business student, perhaps making some ill-informed attempt at networking, who had walked up to Jeffrey, impervious to the foreboding glower levelled at him, and introduced himself as Tamlin.
Fortunately for Tamlin, he’d happened to have the same name as the main character in Jeffrey’s favourite book.
Their own romance story had started there, complete with mutual pining, idiotic misunderstandings, a well-meaning friend defending Tamlin’s honour—Jeffrey swore the shirt he’d been wearing was still sticky from Kiara tipping a drink over him—and an eventual happy ending.
Jeffrey was forever thankful for the handsome ray of sunshine who had penetrated his own grumpy storm cloud façade.
Now, as live-in boyfriend, Tamlin penetrated more than hisfaçade—and let Jeffrey penetratehimsometimes; turned out they both liked to switch, and were extremely imaginative when it came to devising new ways they could test the structural integrity of their mattress—and their couch, and their kitchen table, and the rug on the bedroom floor, if they didn’t mind rug burn.
Dragging his mind away fromthatshared pastime—it would only lead to frustration, unless he read one of thespicierbooks in his collection; even those were less fun to read without Tamlin here to re-enact them—he extended his hand, trailed fingertips over book spines, and pulled one out at random.
Glancing down, he realised he’d been standing in front of the art section. Amazing that his pick was from there; thatsection wasn’t plentiful. He and Tamlin both appreciated art but weren’t really artistic. Not like Adrian, who made the resin jewellery sold among the gift wares at Storyville, the bookstore where Jeffrey worked; or Jon, a local tailor who had made it big in Wrenfield as a successful fashion designer.
Or even Carson, another sales clerk at Storyville, who could talk at length—amazingly, given his shy retiring nature—about the medium and techniques used to create illustrations in the picture books he sold, explain the difference in appearance between watercolours and chalk pastels, how the soft shapes and bright colours were engaging for kindergarteners; until he realised just how much he was talking, and how many people were listening, and abruptly clammed up—which was a shame, it helped sell books. Jeffrey suspected Carson had been to art school, but had never asked; mostly because whenever he was in Jeffrey’s presence, Carson timidity kept him from uttering anything more than a startledeep.
This art book in particular, though, was an essential on Jeffrey’s shelf—well,moreessential than all the other books on all the other shelves.
The cover proudly proclaimed,Dressing the Dark Corsair: Costumes and Props from The Prince’s Pride, a Film Based on the Bestselling Novel by Chester Goldsmith, with Foreword by Actor Carly Lewis.
There had been an exhibition of the same name at the Wrenfield Arts Centre.
Jeffrey had already known about it, thanks to his subscription to Chester Goldsmith’s newsletter. Additionally, at least ten people had told him about it—his boss Rafe, co-worker Krystal, his barista Trevor, his fencing teammate Nate, several customers at the bookstore—knowing it was his favourite film based on his favourite book. Rafe had given him time off to go see it without him even having to ask.
It had indeed been inconceivable that Jeffrey would miss seeing that exhibition. He had been sure that Tamlin, also a fan of the book and film—the main character was his namesake—would agree to go see it with him.
But he hadn’t wanted it to be just himself dragging Tamlin along while they did what Jeffrey wanted; he’d wanted to make it special for Tamlin too.
So he had secretly called Randall, the owner of Schooner bar where Tamlin worked. Having secured time off for Tamlin too, he’d set about surprising his boyfriend with a full weekend getaway.
