AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Beryl inched a step closer. “I thought…I didn’t think you’d…I want to apologize. Formally. Please. If you—I should—I hereby formally apologize for having offended you, Doctor.” He had shadows under his eyes: perhaps a sleepless night.
“Well, yes,” Fadi said, “you should, and thank you, but I’m not angry. Didn’t I tell you that once? When we first met? I’m not angry with you for surprising me. Or not anymore, at any rate. Would you like to come in? I want to show you something.”
Beryl looked at him, and then at the microscope.
“I promise it doesn’t bite.”
“You…want to show me something?”
“Indeed I do.” He waved at his desk. “Go on, I set up slides for you.”
“What am I—” His fairy stopped. Peeked through microscope lenses again. “Is that…blood?”
“That one’s human, courtesy of young Cedric, because Oliver hates needles. This one’s proper fairy—Istrael, that’d be, Tir got her to agree to contribute—and this one’s Tirian. Who is, you’ll notice, somewhere in between; look at the color. The slightly sparkly bits. Not a technical term.”
“Yes…but…”
“Why? One more.”
Beryl looked. Then looked up at him.
“Yes,” Fadi agreed, “it looks closest to Tir’s, doesn’t it? More human, because I am, but not entirely.”
“This is…”
“This is me admitting it.” He sat down on the edge of his desk, beside the tidy pen-cup. Offered both hands. “You were right, as well. I should get used to saying it aloud. I’ve used it before, to help people, to help Tir. I can use it more. It’ll make a difference if people see that. And…it might be good to have someone like me on our unification planning committee.”
Beryl put both hands into his. Came to stand before him, between his legs, at the edge of the desk. “You know…you do know what Tirian asked me this morning. I’ll be on that committee.”
“Will you?” Fadi said, as innocently as possible, likely not pulling it off, not really caring whether he did. “So we’ll be working together, will we?”
“Tirian invited me to breakfast,” Beryl said, “privately, him and Oliver, and they wanted to get to know me—not because of you, or they said not, but because they like the way I care about people. Because they think that’s important. They think there should be a place for that. Here. And also they kept feeding each other bites of toast. And kissing.” His inkwell eyes had begun sparkling, cautious but hopeful. His hands felt warm.
“Yes, they do that. You’ll see a lot of it. A hazard of spending time near fated True Love. Might be contagious.” He hooked a leg around his fairy, nudged their bodies closer. His fingers wanted to undo that severe braid, to play with loosened silken hair. “We might have to find out.”
“We might…have to test this theory.”
“I think,” Fadi said, “experimentation’s in order, scientific discoveries, finding ways around obstacles, trial and error and persistence, exploration and thoroughly repeated studies, all of that, wouldn’t you agree?” and kissed him, fingers finally twining into that tempting hair, his fairy lord laughing into the kiss, and flowers stretching new vines and blossoms above the door.
Six Months On: Tir’s Story
Tirian Rain-Singer, Prince of Fairy, the Prince who Walked South, the husband of the very human Crown Prince of the equally human Kingdom of Bellemare, curled up in the reading-nook in his and Oliver’s bedroom window, and tipped his head against sunkissed glass, and shut his eyes. The small braids and sapphires and bits of glittered thread in his hair tumbled down his back; he’d dressed up, earlier, for his mother.
The afternoon fell quietly across his shoulders, warm as amber, cushioned as the seat beneath him. The air tasted of sugarplums, antique lace, summer bronze. Down below, a few of the roses in the garden had become startling shades of topaz, emerald, copper-striped wine. They had not begun walking in their beds, though he’d heard a few tales about helpfully enthusiastic beer brewing in a hurry, or pots hopping onto or off their cooking-fires as necessary. Magic, trickling into Bellemare. Seeping into the foundations, the stone and bedrock and day to day life.
The window-glass was serene and old, calmly supportive. A loop of hair, a flash of jewel-pin, snagged on his shirt-collar when he shifted position; he winced.
He’d kicked off his boots and socks, sitting down; his toes liked the sunshine, thick and heavy. His arm hurt a bit. His head hurt a bit more.
He knew his husband would be arriving shortly. Running, more than likely; Oliver did fuss. Tir did not want to hide, and wasn’t. Not precisely.
He wanted, instead…
So much. And so much of it impossible, unfortunately. At least not possible any time soon.
He wanted to stay here in honeyed sunlight and fall asleep, where nothing hurt. He wanted to feel that sunlight the way he once had.
Not the way humans did. Not the way he did now: simple, straightforward.
