Vassal Sterling D'Este (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📖

hair falling forward to mingle with Alphonse’s curls. She pressed I-love-you’s into the healer’s mouth, drew them with her tongue.

When she pulled away, Alphonse could feel herself glowing. “Wait here.” She wobbled to her feet, looking around the clearing for… something. Anything to give the warrior and her love. Any gift she could give besides her bloody self.

Thankfully, there were flowers blooming by the side of the stream, and she picked white and yellow ones. A shiny quartz rock caught her eye as well, and Alphonse clutched it in her palm. It was warm from the summer sun it had been baking in all day.

At the last second, she spotted a large feather, perhaps from a red eagle or hawk. She stuck it in the middle of her strange bouquet and approached Delyth, suddenly shy.

“I wish I had more to present you with… But— Here.” The flowers, the feather, the pretty little rock.

Delyth looked… well, she looked a little confused.

Alphonse blushed and laughed.

“In Ingola, when two people decide to share their lives, the girl gives her dowry…” Alphonse settled on her knees in front of Delyth again, eyes wide and rimmed with tears. “I can’t marry you, and I don’t have anything but my heart and a rock and a feather and some flowers— But I love you Delyth, and I want you to have all that I am. All that I have… Even if they are little pieces.” Was it silly? Was it a foolish tradition? Was she ruining the moment by handing Delyth a feather and a rock and some weeds?

༄

Delyth took the little presents Alphonse had found for her gingerly. They were such small things to hold so much meaning.

Little treasures. Little pieces.

Like Alphonse.

She placed the flowers in the crook of her arm and the stone in one of the pouches at her waist. The feather she wove into one of the braids that fell around her face, then looked up at Alphonse for her approval.

“I don’t have anything to give you, little bird.” Delyth’s face was twisted in concern. She wanted to do this in whatever traditions Alphonse followed. “Nothing but myself. And I’m yours, Alphonse.”

The healer smiled and shook her head, brushing the feather affectionately. “The protector doesn’t have to give gifts. Their shield and their home are enough. You’re enough. Always.” Alphonse sighed and brought Delyth’s hands up, kissing each one. “I love you.”

Chapter XXIII

Eighth Moon, New Moon: Thloegr

It was morning, Tristan’s tent dim and smelling of too many nights’ travel. Beyond its fabric walls, none of the others yet stirred, their roadside camp soundless but for nature waking around them. Enyo would like that, Tristan supposed. But he preferred human settlements to the vast wild.

There was more fun to be had.

The rogue had not seen Enyo since the previous day when she had reached through the chest of a still-living man to tear his heart free of its moorings, rabid and dangerous.

The years of captivity hadn’t changed her.

Now, he was eager for her return.

Tristan stood and dressed, careful with the satchel he carried slung over his shoulder. He wore no gloves, though even the days had become cold. He stepped from his tent and resolved to wait. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long.

Tristan looked up eagerly when Alphonse left her tent but scowled on seeing her expression.

Enyo didn’t smile like that.

She looked too happy, a wide grin pasted across her features and her tawny hair a little… out of control. As if someone had run their fingers through it too many times. She hadn’t been just sleeping the previous night. He rolled his eyes.

They were positively gooey, especially since returning after the battle the previous day. It was a wonder Etienne had failed to notice it.

She was tugging on the front of her bodice, straightening it when she spotted Tristan.

Surprised and a little embarrassed, she turned away from him to start breakfast.

Tristan had all but given up to go back to sleep when Alphonse left her domestic meddling to veer off into the forest. She moved alongside the bank and then jumped over the stream where the water had gotten bottlenecked. Strange behavior for Alphonse.

Not for Enyo.

Tristan smiled, showing teeth, and rose to follow her across the stream. “Enyo,” he called, still behind her as she wended between trees, “I’ve got something for you.”

Slinging one arm about a tree trunk, she twirled around it merrily. Beaming up at the canopy above, her flame-filled eyes flickered to Tristan just once before she wrapped the other arm tightly across the bark, hands clasping in the middle. Embracing the tree. The Goddess actually sighed contentedly. At peace for once. Because of the battle.

Tristan gave a long-suffering sigh.

Of course, she’d go all tree-stroking nature Goddess this morning. Just when he had something interesting to tell her. “Yes, the trees are very nice.” Tristan sounded as though he couldn’t care less about the scene around them. “But, Enyo, wouldn’t you like some tears?”

Finally, those cat eyes slithered to Tristan, her lips peeling back from her teeth. Were her canines sharper today? Was that possible?

“Tears of true despair? Raw emotion? Not just physical pain….You remember?”

Of course, he had remembered. Tristan knew the old ways just as well as she did. Tears from raw emotion would always be more potent than those released from pain. Tears held the memories that had brought them in the first place. It was what fueled the spell.

It wouldn’t do to admit he understood, though. Tristan cocked an eyebrow. “Do you doubt me?”

He opened his satchel and pulled out the glove that’d been soaked by Etienne’s tears the day before. It’d been a pretty clever way to get them if he did say so himself. It wasn’t as though glass vials grew on trees.

And the emotion had been real enough. Tristan didn’t think he’d ever seen a creature so pathetic.

He held out the glove to Enyo. “Yes, piteous despair-induced blubbering. Can’t get much more hopeless than the boy