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st_ripandslither"A drink for a kiss?"
The Aurellian words sound like a promise and Caden stops, without a doubt that they are intended for him. The street seems empty apart from him, but the language makes it obvious enough anyway.
He turns to the voice and takes in its owner, who is leaning on a windowsill. They're as pretty as most fairies have turned out to be, this one blond, pale, a child of Galarayn, colours washed out of them to be replaced by the sort of unearthly shine all of those pointy-eared beauties share. The eyes are pale, so pale, and for a moment, just a moment, Caden looks into them and sees Cal's looking back at him. A moment, and it is gone, but his heart aches. And yearns.
Now, Caden has never been very good at resisting temptation and isn't about to start now. The deal seems plain enough, but if anything, spending so much time around Cloves has taught him to navigate around hidden conversational reefs.
"What sort of drink, and who is the kiss for?" he replies, tilting his head to the side. His dark hair cascades over his shoulder, a studied move.
The fairy smiles, and there is something both encouraging and dangerous in the curve of their lips. "Me, I think," they answer, and their gaze shines with approval. "How would you like a taste of our autumn wine, pretty mortal? All the colours of those leaves bursting on your tongue?"
Caden had first wondered whether fairies could read minds when the first one of them spoke Aurellian to him. So this isn't much of a question anymore; he trusts that some fairies, at least, can read more in him than he would expect. This is just more proof; he has always been a child of Ceddon.
Someone else walks down the street, but Caden finds himself reluctant to look away from this fairy's pale eyes. "A glass of your autumn wine," he agrees, "in exchange for a kiss with you. That seems fair." The small smile on his lips hints that he truly thinks it's more than fair.
"Step into my bower," the fairy invites him with a graceful gesture of their arm to indicate the side of their lodging. By the beautiful home, a small gate of wrought vegetation unlatches, seemingly by itself.
Caden smiles, charmed as he has been from the start by everything in this realm. Everywhere, beauty and promise, and everywhere, danger if he missteps. Fairies, it turns out, are the perfect embodiment of Clovenne.
They might also be the perfect embodiment of love. How could he ever resist them?
He steps now into an enchanting little bower, trees and bushes he could not name carving a short path to an outdoor boudoir. The plants curl all around the space, protecting it from the outside world, giving it a wonderful sense of intimacy. Three candles burn on the elegant wooden table, alongside a snake-shaped decanter full of dark red wine. There is a daybed beside the table, and as Caden walks closer, red, orange and yellow leaves flutter everywhere into the bower.
Caden can appreciate the set-up for what it is, and he smiles, before a hand brushes his lower back, and lips skim the shell of his ear. "Welcome to my bower, snake."
Snake is a good name for Caden, of course, and everything feels surreal enough that he doesn't feel any of the expected panic at the thought of anyone knowing. Caden's mind flits to Morrigan as he turns to face the fairy, an invitation playing in his eyes. "It is lovely, charmer."
What an apt reversal of roles.
*~*~*
Caden, it turns out, wants another glass. And another. And another. They end up moving together on a bed of autumn leaves, skin slick with sweat, the fairy's skin shining brighter as their passion rises, and as they collapse together, looking paler against the darker tone of Caden's, the fan of his black hair against alabaster.
Caden's mind and heart spin with what has just happened. He isn't sure how much of it is the wine loosening his limbs and his heart, his tongue, his thoughts, with the tannin of falling leaves, the taste of the first rains, the flavour of a crackling fire whose heat you seek against the rising chill, and how much of it is simply this being in their glorious paradox, their beautiful impossibility, and what they have just shared.
So Caden tries to catch his breath, while slightly too long fingers brush through his hair.
"I think you've had enough wine, snake," comes the voice in soft, oddly-accented Aurellian. Caden isn't sure if they mean enough wine, or enough of them, but he closes his eyes and focuses on the slide of their fingers through his hair, and suddenly his heart is fit to burst with memories of Antoine. There is a pause, and then the fingers resume their stroking and the voice goes on, oddly, distantly amused, "I've never met a snake so full of love and longing before."
It is Caden's turn to pause, to compose himself, and then to move, meaning to pull away. His pain is his own, and not for anyone's entertainment. He's earned every ounce of heartache he feels. But before he can sit up, the fingers capture his chin and keep him in place, the pale eyes looking at him coldly now, assessing.
"Would you like me to send you home, snake?"
Caden's heart thuds hard in his chest, hard with the wildness of hope. For an instant, he forgets everything about the rules of this place, and very nearly blurts out, Yes, but catches himself just in time.
Home. The word in Aurellian makes it less of a place and more of a feeling. Home is where you belong. He thinks of the pink beauty of Castyll. Of the hills around Glynn. Of the beauty of his country. His heart longs for it, but more than that, it longs for everybody he has left behind.
"What would be the price?" he asks, unsure whether there is anything he wouldn't give.
"Cry for me," the fairy says, and their smile is a cruel thing now. "The tears a snake cried out of love. That is my price."
Caden's throat feels tight. He does so hate to let people see him cry. He has grown used to presenting everyone with the perfect image, the perfect bedmate. With Mira miles away in Castyll, he has grown used to crying in private, as he writes her. Crying now feels like a betrayal of who he is. Crying with someone might have been a step forward, but for all that they are laying naked together, there is no more intimacy here, no more warmth and passion. There is only greedy curiosity in the pale eyes of the fairy.
There is nothing Caden wouldn't do.
"I will cry for you," he agrees, and the tears are already there in his voice, only just held back, "and you will send me home."
"Home," the fairy echoes, and agrees. They sit them both up, their frame somehow taller than Caden's now as they cradle him in their lap, and the brush of their lips on Caden's forehead seals the deal, and calls forth Caden's tears.
He cries for Mira he hasn't seen in months, and his mother who will never truly know him. He cries for Cal who is so set against his own happiness, and for Beau who longs to be loved. He cries for Antoine and the coldness of his eyes when he threw Caden out, and he cries for Morrigan who shared one last night with him. He cries for Emmy's pure heart and bright joy. He cries for Reagan's sheer talent and prickly moods. He cries for Hilaire's free spirit and how stifled he must feel in Clovenne again, and he cries for Elias's complex heart and Caden's hope that he would have found happiness abroad. He cries for everyone he has ever loved, and the fairy spirits his tears away in small vials of clear blue glass.
The last few tears the fairy kisses away, then licks their lips, satisfaction shining in their eyes. "Thank you, snake. By tomorrow, you will be home."
Caden feels empty, but for the faint shimmer of hope. The fairy lays him back down on the fallen leaves, and he falls asleep in their bower.
*~*~*
Home.
The word in Aurellian makes it less of a place and more of a feeling. Home is where you belong.
Caden looks with wide eyes around himself, at the streets he doesn't know, the foreign architecture, the vehicles he recognizes as future automobiles. His heart is in his throat and his hands are tingling faintly. "This isn't…"
The taste of autumn leaves breaks out over his tongue, and he hears a whisper in the back of his mind, fading fast, the voice of the fairy. This is where you'll belong…
The Aurellian words sound like a promise and Caden stops, without a doubt that they are intended for him. The street seems empty apart from him, but the language makes it obvious enough anyway.
He turns to the voice and takes in its owner, who is leaning on a windowsill. They're as pretty as most fairies have turned out to be, this one blond, pale, a child of Galarayn, colours washed out of them to be replaced by the sort of unearthly shine all of those pointy-eared beauties share. The eyes are pale, so pale, and for a moment, just a moment, Caden looks into them and sees Cal's looking back at him. A moment, and it is gone, but his heart aches. And yearns.
Now, Caden has never been very good at resisting temptation and isn't about to start now. The deal seems plain enough, but if anything, spending so much time around Cloves has taught him to navigate around hidden conversational reefs.
"What sort of drink, and who is the kiss for?" he replies, tilting his head to the side. His dark hair cascades over his shoulder, a studied move.
The fairy smiles, and there is something both encouraging and dangerous in the curve of their lips. "Me, I think," they answer, and their gaze shines with approval. "How would you like a taste of our autumn wine, pretty mortal? All the colours of those leaves bursting on your tongue?"
Caden had first wondered whether fairies could read minds when the first one of them spoke Aurellian to him. So this isn't much of a question anymore; he trusts that some fairies, at least, can read more in him than he would expect. This is just more proof; he has always been a child of Ceddon.
Someone else walks down the street, but Caden finds himself reluctant to look away from this fairy's pale eyes. "A glass of your autumn wine," he agrees, "in exchange for a kiss with you. That seems fair." The small smile on his lips hints that he truly thinks it's more than fair.
"Step into my bower," the fairy invites him with a graceful gesture of their arm to indicate the side of their lodging. By the beautiful home, a small gate of wrought vegetation unlatches, seemingly by itself.
Caden smiles, charmed as he has been from the start by everything in this realm. Everywhere, beauty and promise, and everywhere, danger if he missteps. Fairies, it turns out, are the perfect embodiment of Clovenne.
They might also be the perfect embodiment of love. How could he ever resist them?
He steps now into an enchanting little bower, trees and bushes he could not name carving a short path to an outdoor boudoir. The plants curl all around the space, protecting it from the outside world, giving it a wonderful sense of intimacy. Three candles burn on the elegant wooden table, alongside a snake-shaped decanter full of dark red wine. There is a daybed beside the table, and as Caden walks closer, red, orange and yellow leaves flutter everywhere into the bower.
Caden can appreciate the set-up for what it is, and he smiles, before a hand brushes his lower back, and lips skim the shell of his ear. "Welcome to my bower, snake."
Snake is a good name for Caden, of course, and everything feels surreal enough that he doesn't feel any of the expected panic at the thought of anyone knowing. Caden's mind flits to Morrigan as he turns to face the fairy, an invitation playing in his eyes. "It is lovely, charmer."
What an apt reversal of roles.
*~*~*
Caden, it turns out, wants another glass. And another. And another. They end up moving together on a bed of autumn leaves, skin slick with sweat, the fairy's skin shining brighter as their passion rises, and as they collapse together, looking paler against the darker tone of Caden's, the fan of his black hair against alabaster.
Caden's mind and heart spin with what has just happened. He isn't sure how much of it is the wine loosening his limbs and his heart, his tongue, his thoughts, with the tannin of falling leaves, the taste of the first rains, the flavour of a crackling fire whose heat you seek against the rising chill, and how much of it is simply this being in their glorious paradox, their beautiful impossibility, and what they have just shared.
So Caden tries to catch his breath, while slightly too long fingers brush through his hair.
"I think you've had enough wine, snake," comes the voice in soft, oddly-accented Aurellian. Caden isn't sure if they mean enough wine, or enough of them, but he closes his eyes and focuses on the slide of their fingers through his hair, and suddenly his heart is fit to burst with memories of Antoine. There is a pause, and then the fingers resume their stroking and the voice goes on, oddly, distantly amused, "I've never met a snake so full of love and longing before."
It is Caden's turn to pause, to compose himself, and then to move, meaning to pull away. His pain is his own, and not for anyone's entertainment. He's earned every ounce of heartache he feels. But before he can sit up, the fingers capture his chin and keep him in place, the pale eyes looking at him coldly now, assessing.
"Would you like me to send you home, snake?"
Caden's heart thuds hard in his chest, hard with the wildness of hope. For an instant, he forgets everything about the rules of this place, and very nearly blurts out, Yes, but catches himself just in time.
Home. The word in Aurellian makes it less of a place and more of a feeling. Home is where you belong. He thinks of the pink beauty of Castyll. Of the hills around Glynn. Of the beauty of his country. His heart longs for it, but more than that, it longs for everybody he has left behind.
"What would be the price?" he asks, unsure whether there is anything he wouldn't give.
"Cry for me," the fairy says, and their smile is a cruel thing now. "The tears a snake cried out of love. That is my price."
Caden's throat feels tight. He does so hate to let people see him cry. He has grown used to presenting everyone with the perfect image, the perfect bedmate. With Mira miles away in Castyll, he has grown used to crying in private, as he writes her. Crying now feels like a betrayal of who he is. Crying with someone might have been a step forward, but for all that they are laying naked together, there is no more intimacy here, no more warmth and passion. There is only greedy curiosity in the pale eyes of the fairy.
There is nothing Caden wouldn't do.
"I will cry for you," he agrees, and the tears are already there in his voice, only just held back, "and you will send me home."
"Home," the fairy echoes, and agrees. They sit them both up, their frame somehow taller than Caden's now as they cradle him in their lap, and the brush of their lips on Caden's forehead seals the deal, and calls forth Caden's tears.
He cries for Mira he hasn't seen in months, and his mother who will never truly know him. He cries for Cal who is so set against his own happiness, and for Beau who longs to be loved. He cries for Antoine and the coldness of his eyes when he threw Caden out, and he cries for Morrigan who shared one last night with him. He cries for Emmy's pure heart and bright joy. He cries for Reagan's sheer talent and prickly moods. He cries for Hilaire's free spirit and how stifled he must feel in Clovenne again, and he cries for Elias's complex heart and Caden's hope that he would have found happiness abroad. He cries for everyone he has ever loved, and the fairy spirits his tears away in small vials of clear blue glass.
The last few tears the fairy kisses away, then licks their lips, satisfaction shining in their eyes. "Thank you, snake. By tomorrow, you will be home."
Caden feels empty, but for the faint shimmer of hope. The fairy lays him back down on the fallen leaves, and he falls asleep in their bower.
*~*~*
Home.
The word in Aurellian makes it less of a place and more of a feeling. Home is where you belong.
Caden looks with wide eyes around himself, at the streets he doesn't know, the foreign architecture, the vehicles he recognizes as future automobiles. His heart is in his throat and his hands are tingling faintly. "This isn't…"
The taste of autumn leaves breaks out over his tongue, and he hears a whisper in the back of his mind, fading fast, the voice of the fairy. This is where you'll belong…
