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Whatever the big joke was, only the gargoyles seemed to know. Odan stayed firm, even as I asked him a second and a third time.
Odan hopped down from the rock he’d been occupying. “Tradition says the Watcher is supposed to give you some advice, so here goes. Pace yourself and hydrate. Especially hydrate.” He bit into his apple and walked away.
“Hydrate? What does that mean? Odan!” But he didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge me with anything more than a small wave.
Iwalkedoutontothe road and started in the direction Odan had vaguely gestured. An older couple crossed my path, out for an evening walk. One looked me up and down with shining eyes and a knowing smile, while the other bowed and offered a sly, “Good luck.”
Silk hems whispered across the tall grass as I left the village behind, working my way down the small rise it stood on. Odan had said I wouldn’t miss the shelter, and he was right. It was a yurt like all the rest in the village, though this one was considerably smaller, the walls white with no markings. Out front, a rug of crimson and gold became the floor for a simple wooden table that sat low to the ground. In place of chairs, there were red pillows with golden trim. The table was piled high with bowls of berries, melons, and apples, like the one Odan had been snacking on.
The yurt’s door was open. The beads and strings of shells had been pulled back, revealing a padded interior to the yurt, and a floor lined with more pillows. Cian sat in front of the door on one pillow, his attire black brocade over green silk. The top was only loosely closed, open enough that I could see bare chest beneath it.
My breath hitched at the sight of him, at how easily he wore it, how the shape and colors worked to effortlessly enhance every muscle, every solid line. I had caught him so absorbed in whatever book he was reading that he didn’t look up.
Hellion lounged against his chest as if Cian were a couch. They wore a long coat of white and gold brocade that left their chest bare except for all the gold piercings. The usual chains were absent. They seemed to be scanning the book alongside Cian. A half-empty cup of tea dangled loosely from their fingers.
There was something about looking at them when they weren’t aware that left me breathless. It was like seeing them for the first time, every time, and I’d never get tired of it.
Hellion noticed me first and gave Cian’s leg a gentle tap before sitting up.
“Okay, time to come clean,” I said, crossing my arms. “Why am I dressed like this?”
“Because your normal clothes are much too difficult to get off of you.” Hellion smirked and drained their teacup.
Heat rushed to my face. “We didn’t have to do this. We could’ve just fucked in the yurt, you know. I appreciate the gesture, but you didn’t have to make a big deal about it.”
“This is more than that. Please, sit.” Cian gestured to the pillow on my side of the table.
I glanced at Hellion and sat.
There was a white teapot on the table and two more teacups. Cian filled all three cups with steaming, light brown tea and pushed one to me. He didn’t speak until Hellion and I picked up our respective cups. “I’ve never considered myself a gargoyle. Being half might as well have been nothing at all. But like Nisang, I kept the most important rituals.”
Saying the name pulled at his heart still.
Hellion tipped their head back and gulped down the tea. “You should drink. It tastes worse the colder it gets.”
I lifted the tea to my lips and drank. It was bitter and earthy, with a twinge of some spice.
“Brocade is expensive and difficult to weave,” Cian continued. “There is… a cultural significance to the silk that requires a long and difficult explanation to fully understand.”
“It’s also a very boring story,” Hellion interrupted. “Unless you’re in the mood for a lesson concerning the history of textiles.”
I shook my head and sipped more of the tea. Hellion was right. The more it cooled, the more bitter it became.
Cian blew out a long, slow breath. “Okay. So, because it’s so expensive, and important, we only wear it for important events. Funerals, weddings… and the beginning of a formal courtship.”
I swallowed my tea all at once and cringed as it burned its way down my throat. “Formal courtship?”
“Do you not have such things in Adros?” He asked, tilting his head to one side.
“We have engagements. That’s usually the time between when a wedding proposal is made and when the actual ceremony takes place.”
“But before that, nothing?”
I shook my head.
“Hmm,” was all he said before he finished his tea with a glance at Hellion.
“We don’t have such things either,” Hellion said. “Lifelong romantic commitments are a foreign concept to my people. I was surprised to learn of the tradition for the first time as well.”
