Page 83 of The Trick of It

“Adults too,” he answered immediately, turning his head to face hers. “I’ve heard of men putting wives aside and using it as an excuse. ‘It’s not really divorce,’ they’ll say, ‘because that isn’t my Janice.’ Nonsense.”

She nodded, frowning. “It keeps making me think of …” She paused, licking her lips, uncertain if she was going to offend him. “Of your sister Hattie,” she finished quietly.

He nodded, his face impassive. “I have thought that too,” he confessed. “She doesn’t think or speak or act the way other people do. If Willa hadn’t discovered her, I shudder to think of how the world might have punished that, instead of celebrating it.”

“She might have remained a scullery maid,” Seph said. “Plenty of odd folks are happy in service, especially the ones who like routine and order. But, Rhys, it doesn’t bear considering just now. She is safe and happy. She has attended crowned heads and married a man who worships her. The worst didn’t happen.”

“The worst didn’t happen,” he agreed. “Not to Hattie, anyhow.”

She frowned, reaching out to take his fingers against her own, weaving her grip into his. “What has happened to make you think this way tonight?” she asked. “What brought it on?”

“Merlin,” he answered, managing to shrug even flat against the mattress. “Mortality, I suppose, brings all these things to the front. We had an odd conversation tonight, when I helped him to his room. Very odd. I will tell you about it later.”

“All right,” she said. “The slippers were a good idea,” she added. “I remember more than I thought I did.”

It made him smile, like tender shoots poking up through frost, just hints of happiness curling at the corners of his lips. “I suspected you would.”

“We should rehearse the kerchief and flower swaps tomorrow,” she said, rolling onto her side, their hands still entwined. “And you mentioned the patter. Do you remember it all?”

“I do,” he told her. “But I think I will change some of it, just a little. We have grown and our audience has too. But don’t think you’ll distract me with kerchiefs and flowers from the ropes. I know you brought the ropes.”

She felt her cheeks heat, torn between smiling at him and hiding her face. “I did bring the ropes,” she confessed. “But that is a different trick entirely. Are we going to do both?”

“We are going to merge them,” he told her. “Though now that I’ve seen you lead the turnip carving, I’m not certain we will ever do better than that.”

“Oh, hush,” she tutted, shaking her head. She paused, lifting up a little to look around the room. Only her turnip, grim and glowing, was there by the door, watching them across the room. “Where is yours?”

“With Merlin,” Rhys said, his tone sounding as though he’d only just realized it himself. “I forgot to grab it. Blast.”

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “I think I’ll put mine outside the door, anyhow. I don’t fancy it watching us if you get bawdy again.”

“‘If,’” he repeated, clicking his tongue. “What a silly word.”

She stifled a giggle as he shook his head and pushed himself back up to standing, striding across the room to eject the jack-o’-lantern in immediate order, facing out and away from their room, as if to keep any nosy spirits from knocking.

“When are we performing, by the by?” she asked after he’d come back in and kicked the door shut behind him. “I saw you chatting with Mrs. Winterstone about it.”

“Well, Madame Ivanova took Samhain itself,” he grumbled. “Which I suppose is fair, given her talent. So we are second to last. Penultimate.”

“‘Penultimate,’” she repeated. “Like Pendragon.”

He paused and chuckled. “Perhaps. Am I more of an Uther or an Arthur?”

“You are more of a Merlin,” she said. “And I think you know that.”

He scoffed with faux offense, prowling back across the room and leaping onto the bed, where he landed atop her with his arms and knees pinning her into place. “And you? Morgana?”

“Obviously,” she tittered. “Who else?”

“Do you think Merlin and Morgana ever …?” he wondered, leaning down to kiss her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat.

“Hmm,” she considered, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his curls. “I certainly hope so.”

“I suppose we ought to do it for them, in fact,” he murmured, drawing his knees tighter around her hips. “To honor their memory.”

“Oh, for certain, for certain,” she answered, giggling through her attempted somberness. “It is only right.”

He grinned, his mouth curving against her throat, and darted his tongue out to lick the hollow at its base. “See?” he said, kissing his way back up to claim her mouth. “I knew you could be sensible, if you ever really wanted to be.”