Neon Blue E Frost (speld decodable readers .TXT) š
- Author: E Frost
Book online Ā«Neon Blue E Frost (speld decodable readers .TXT) šĀ». Author E Frost
I expect a flash of light, an inner-quake, something to mark the breaking of the binding. But thereās nothing, and as the Squire works, I realize heās not breaking the binding. Heās loosening it. By cutting each knot, heās slowly undoing what the demonās done. If heād slashed open the knotwork in one stroke, he might have broken the binding. But by cutting each knot, heās not pitting his power directly against Jouās. Heās working around it.
He reaches the last knot and withdraws the knife. The bindingās still there. The knotwork remains coiled around my wrist. The severed threads donāt fray or fall away. But their hold on me has lessened. The binding is held only by one knot, which the Squireās carefully left, sitting right on top of the big blue vein of my wrist. He taps the knot with a gloved finger and then touches his finger to my mouth.
Charades again. āSorry, I donāt get it.ā
He pushes the tip of his finger between my lips and taps my teeth. The metal of his gauntlet jars against the enamel. A bright shock up into my skull. āOw. What, I bite it off?ā
The Squire nods and gestures for my other wrist.
When heās cut all but the last knot on the other binding, he rises and offers me a hand to help me up. I take a deep breath as I straighten. Smells flood up my nose. Moss, the vanilla-sweetness of Joe Pye Weed, wet leaves, the tannic edge of the bogs. Good smells. Earthy smells. Frog-song rises from my left and I know theyāre calling me to a stand of trillium. My connection with Earth, the real Earth, my Earth, opens wide again.
I take a step towards the frogs, another. Feel the rightness of my direction. And of the path Iāve chosen. Maybe the demon wonāt be happy when he discovers what Iāve done. Maybe he wonāt ever have to discover it. But I like having the ability to rid myself of his bindings whenever I want to. Having the freedom of choice.
Itās long after midnight by the time I get home. Iām yawning, and the Horse uncharacteristically blows out a long breath as I slide to the pavement in front of my house. Do fae horses get fatigued?
The Squire doesnāt seem fatigued, and waits with his usual patience while I dismount and regain my footing after tangling up in my stupid skirt. When I turn to say good-night, he holds out his gauntleted hand.
I peer up into his palm. Thereās a tiny glass tube sitting in the middle of the chain mail. I take it and turn it over between my fingers. No clue what it is. Demon-repellant? A girl can hope.
āSorry,ā I say. āWhat is this?ā
The Squire drops the reigns heās holding with his left hand and cups both gauntlets together. The bowl. I get it.
āFae super-glue,ā I say. Despite the fact that old magics donāt really like being thanked by young magics, I say it anyway. Heās more than earned it tonight. āThank you. For everything. Iām in your debt. Again.ā
The Squire shakes his helmet. Then he reaches out and touches my cheek. A quick brush of cold metal against my skin. Then he and the Horse are gone and thereās just the soft night breeze against my cheek.
Hmm.
I walk slowly into the house, kicking at some fallen leaves. Let myself in quietly to avoid waking the demon, and jump when he calls to me from the kitchen, āHot chocolate, sweetness.ā
I kick off my muddy boots and drop my overflowing backpack by the door. Walk warily into the kitchen. I expected him to be asleep. Will he notice what the Squireās done to the bindings? I didnāt think Iād have to face this until the morning, although some small rational part of my mind recognizes that the time wonāt make any difference to his reaction.
The demonās standing at the stove. Two steaming mugs sit on the table. The mouth-watering smell of melted chocolate fills the kitchen. Three salamanders sit on the floor at the demonās feet, in a neat little line: crimson, blue and cream. As I walk into the kitchen, the demon bends down and offers Wizard a piece of something brown and crunchy. The other two lizards crowd closer, eager for their share.
āHi,ā I say softly, not wanting to disturb this very domestic, if infernal, tableaux.
āHey. Thought you might like a midnight snack. You zest that lemon while Iām watchinā these? Donāt want āem to burn.ā He nods at the counter where thereās a lemon and a little stainless-steel zester that I definitely donāt own sitting on a cutting board.
I move to the counter, stepping over the lizard-line, and pick up the lemon and zester. Beside me, Jou opens a waffle-iron that I also donāt own. He takes a golden-brown waffle out of the press, pops it onto a pile of waffles sitting under a dishcloth, and pours more batter into the iron. My kitchen fills with a warm bread smell, a million times better than toast. Saliva floods my mouth and I have to swallow hard to keep from drooling.
āYour idea of a midnight snack is a lot more epicurean than mine,ā I tell him.
Jou chuckles. Such a nice sound in my kitchen late at night. Some of the tension that knotted my neck and shoulders on finding him awake ebbs.
I create a small pile of lemon shavings on the cutting board while Jou cooks three more waffles. Two go under the dishcloth. One gets fed to the lizards. Jou shoo-es me to the table, and the lizards out of the kitchen, while he assembles the waffles and fixings.
Watching him, seeing the care with which he
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