Lava Red Feather Blue

by Molly Ringle

  “No. I definitely need you too. As for desire … ” Merrick glanced up with a shy smile. “As you say, probably evident.”

  Larkin merely smiled back, charmed.

  Merrick sat up straighter. “But not our main priority. So. Glad we cleared the air. We can work on our remaining differences of opinion later.”

  “I do enjoy a lively debate.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Merrick heaved a sigh. “Sleep. I’ll wake you for a shift after a while.”

  CHAPTER 38

  LARKIN WOKE WITH A START. HE HAD HEARD A strange cry.

  Merrick was pacing, holding his glowing phone, his features contorted.

  “What?” Larkin leaped out of his bunk. “What’s happened?”

  “I used a glimpse. There’s only one message from my dad, saying cell communications are down on the whole east coast, including Sevinee. So I can’t contact Cassidy, and Dad can’t either. Cass and Elemi were going to try to come to him, he says, to keep them all together, but they haven’t arrived yet and he’s not sure what happened.”

  “Oh,” Larkin said, a soft exhale.

  “Then … ” Merrick made another strangled scream. “My phone picked up emergency messages, the ones they send to everyone. ‘Warning for Sevinee and vicinity. Unexpected hurricane-force winds and heavy rains are causing major damage. Homes and sections of the Great Eidolonian Highway between Sevinee and Amanecer have been destroyed in landslides. Do not try to travel until further notice’—gods, they could be dead. On the highway, trying to get to my dad … no. Not Elemi, anyone but Elemi.” Merrick lifted his face and was suddenly shouting. “Do you hear me? Anyone but her. Take me! Take any of us, but do not hurt her!”

  Larkin wrapped a hand over Merrick’s mouth and pulled him to Merrick’s bunk, where they sat with a thump. “Hush. Don’t say such things. You’ve no notion what deal you might inadvertently make. I’d be distraught in your place as well—I am distraught—but we mustn’t make things worse.” He removed his hand, freeing Merrick’s mouth.

  “I don’t care.” Tears shone on Merrick’s cheeks; Larkin felt their wetness on his fingers. “I don’t want to live if anything happens to her.”

  “We don’t yet know. They may all be perfectly well. Cassidy is a resourceful witch who will do all in their power to keep Elemi safe.”

  “I have to find out. I can’t just sit here.” Merrick rose. Larkin pulled him back down. Merrick gave up, dropping the phone on the bunk and spreading his hands over his face.

  “We cannot find out,” Larkin said, “not without a long and dangerous journey, or a fae messenger who may take equally long to return. In the meantime, isn’t stopping Ula Kana the best thing we could do to help everybody?”

  “I know, but … Elemi’s practically my daughter. Her father left before she was even born; he never cared. I was there from the beginning. I’ve helped raise her.” Tears distorted his words. “I can’t just not know if she’s alive.”

  Larkin held him, kissed his shoulder through his shirt. He let Merrick weep a minute, his head upon Larkin’s collar.

  “I’m sorry I suggested a half-fae could not love,” Larkin said. “I was wrong.”

  “I’m destroying everything. I was trying to help my family. Look what I’ve done.”

  “The blame is not yours. We can’t do anything except keep on.”

  Merrick wiped his nose. “How do you do it? Cope with losing everybody?”

  “As you saw, some nights I don’t cope gracefully at all. But I suppose I … simply accept the present situation as well as I can, and take the best action available.”

  “The present situation. Being stuck in the fae realm, inside a tree.”

  “Precisely.” Larkin smoothed Merrick’s hair back from his eyes. “There’s no use going out at night, especially tired as we are. Rest a bit. We’ll push on in the morning.”

  Merrick nodded, still looking disconsolate.

  Larkin lay back against Merrick’s wood-fiber pillow, pulling Merrick with him, fitting them together on the bunk.

  “I can calm you,” Larkin offered after a moment’s hesitation. “Not oblivion; nothing like. Only enough to ease your pain. If you consent.”

  “With magic?”

  “Aye.”

  Merrick sniffled. “All right. A little.”

  Larkin closed his eyes, imagined the feeling of sitting on a tranquil beach at sunrise with all set to right in one’s life, then gathered up that internal glow and sent it, in a rush, into Merrick. Larkin shivered as the surge passed out of him, leaving him colder.

  Merrick melted in his arms, drawing a breath and then exhaling. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “I shall stay with you.”

  Merrick closed his hand around a fold of Larkin’s jumper and pressed his cheek against Larkin’s heart.

  Larkin sprayed lucidity on his collar—one dose the two of them could share, close as they were. Then he closed his eyes and silently sent every prayer he knew toward the Lord, Lady, and Spirit, to protect the people of Eidolonia, to comfort them in their struggle and fear, and to bring them courage and wisdom. But especially, he beseeched the gods to keep the children from harm, in particular dear Elemi.

  After some time, the sky began to lighten. Even as Merrick lay with eyes shut, upon Larkin’s shoulder, he looked pale and haunted, a man facing the gallows. He did not sleep; Larkin could tell by the unevenness of his breaths and the fitful shifting of his body.

  Larkin turned to kiss his forehead, bestowing another rush of magical comfort.

  Merrick murmured his barely discernible thanks and nestled closer. Their legs tangled. His curls tickled Larkin’s chin. Within minutes, Merrick’s breathing had fallen into the steady rhythm of sleep.

  Larkin held him as the birds and fae greeted the dawn outside with their wild calls. His heart swelled with a painful sweetness. There was a sizable chance that people were being killed this very moment, while cities and roads were swallowed by sea, forest, and fire. Even if much of the civilization survived, the Highvalleys might have died by the time Larkin and Merrick returned. That would devastate Merrick, leave him but a ruin of his vibrant self.

  Most probable was that Larkin and Merrick would never return. They would die upon this quest, and perhaps only learn of their loved ones’ fates in the mystery-shrouded afterlife at the end of the mossy path.

  In short, there was a vanishingly small chance they would ever again sleep and wake thus, together in an embrace, clinging yet to hope. But, oh, how Larkin wished it could be so, every day thereafter, no matter where he chanced to be.

  Merrick dreamed he was wandering in a hotel made of tree roots, looking for a room with enough beds for his whole party: Larkin, Cassidy, Nye, Sal, and Elemi, who all walked with him. He felt whole again, being among them. Elemi was telling him about her adventures—“We were fine the whole time; we hid with Grandpa and I kept the iron shovel near me, but no one came to get us and we had plenty of food from the pantry and the garden, and we talked about you and made up stories about what you were doing.” Behind them, Larkin described Sia Fia’s realm to the others, who laughed at the antics with which they had entertained the fae. They continued wandering, seeking their rooms with no urgency.

  When he surfaced from the dream, he found he already had a room, and wasn’t alone in its bed.

  He tucked his nose into the hollow formed by Larkin’s neck and a sweep of russet hair. The dream had left him feeling embraced and hopeful, as if he really had touched base with his loved ones. But Larkin had been the one embracing him in reality, which had to have imparted a good deal of the composure he now felt. Larkin with his soothing magic, his kindness, and his presence had been a nest for Merrick to shelter within, the kind of place magic teachers in his years of training had told him to imagine, where he could shut out the rest of the world and find his center, his power, the inner light that would keep him steady.

  Merrick breathed in and out, grateful to do so without angui
sh, grateful that Larkin was alive and here. Larkin’s scent that morning, too, he noted, was a gift to be grateful for, worthy of bottling and selling. A little Mirage Isle sandalwood, a little pond water and redwood and nighttime air; mostly just Larkin, a collage of seductive scent notes Merrick could contentedly spend all year parsing.

  Larkin turned his head. His chin touched Merrick’s temple. “Hello.”

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “Not long. Rest more if you wish.”

  “I don’t need to.” He didn’t move, though. Their bodies had gotten into such a pleasant entanglement, and Larkin was being so gentle. Merrick nuzzled his neck again.

  Larkin sighed—almost moaned, really—and caressed Merrick’s back.

  Desire flashed through Merrick—which was a strange thing to feel. And yet not. He had just been cherishing Larkin, glad to have him when everyone else he cared about had plummeted into limbo, to fates unknown.

  Not to mention it was almost reflexive to desire someone who smelled so luscious and who made a sound like that while lying in bed with you.

  On the other hand, thinking along that road might be fruitless, given Larkin had turned him down a time or two already.

  Then Larkin slipped his hand under the hem of Merrick’s shirt and settled it on his bare side, and if that wasn’t an invitation to try once more, Merrick didn’t know what was. Merrick kissed him slowly on the neck, covering all the skin he could reach without moving more than his head.

  Larkin shifted onto his side, disrupting Merrick’s latest kiss, and caught it on his mouth. His tongue swept along Merrick’s lips, then deeper, past his teeth. Merrick opened his mouth and pulled Larkin in deep. His heart thudded in his throat. Within seconds they were kissing the way people kissed in the middle of sex, and this time Larkin didn’t seem about to stop. He pressed his body to Merrick’s, warm and strong and hard.

  Merrick’s breath quickened; heat spread through him. He pushed away a lock of red hair that had fallen into their latest kiss. “Arlanuk’s territory isn’t supposed to make us feel this way.”

  Larkin sat up, pulling off his green jumper. His hair tumbled unkempt around his bare shoulders, and Merrick’s mouth went dry.

  Larkin unhooked the chain that held the lucidity perfume, pausing to spray his chest before setting it aside. “There.” He lay back down. “Now we shall know we’re choosing this and are not under any spell.”

  Merrick felt lightheaded. “You would choose this, with me?”

  Larkin drifted his fingers along the curves of Merrick’s ear. “I find I don’t want to die, again, without having done this with you.”

  Dying was ever likelier too, now that their one swift-heal dose was used up. “Morbid reason,” Merrick remarked.

  “Then what do you think of this one?” Larkin hooked a leg across Merrick’s. “I have not done this for two hundred and twenty years and I’m aching to.”

  Merrick had to smile. “Much more enticing.” He lifted his eyebrows in invitation.

  Larkin pounced.

  The focus of Merrick’s world pulled inward to exclude everything but the welcome heaviness of Larkin on top of him, his hair a curtain around their faces as they kissed, their bodies pressing together in rhythmic fashion.

  Larkin stripped Merrick’s shirt off, kissed the small patch of blue feathers and black hair on his chest, and began kissing downward as he seized the top of Merrick’s jeans. “What else might I discover about the half-fae anatomy? Shall I be shocked? I confess I stole glances when you were changing or bathing, but you were bashful. I couldn’t see much.”

  Merrick bit his lower lip. “I was bashful because I don’t look as amazing with my clothes off as you do. But I could make some enhancements.”

  “Tsk, no magic, now.” Larkin hauled down the jeans and undershorts in one tug and assessed the sight. “Nor any need for enhancements. I quite like the way you look.” The flat of his tongue landed straight on Merrick and licked a long stripe up him.

  Merrick’s hips arched up. Forgetting modesty and essentially everything else, he sank both hands into Larkin’s hair.

  “Ah. Shall I do that again?” Larkin said.

  “Yes.” Merrick tightened his hands. “Please.”

  Larkin obliged, and Merrick whimpered, lifting up to meet him.

  “I assume this practice is still known? Not too ‘antiquated’?” Though teasing, Larkin did sound a bit anxious.

  “Still known. We’d never have dropped such a fun practice.” He twisted against Larkin’s hands, which pinned down his hips. “Please don’t stop.”

  “So impatient. Not the least surprising from you.” Larkin again took up what he’d been doing, but with extreme leisure, as if to torment Merrick.

  Exquisite. Unbearable. Merrick writhed and tried not to pull Larkin’s hair; tried to last longer than it appeared he was going to. He moved his hands to Larkin’s shoulders and stilled him. “Wait, wait. Come here. I want … I want to see you.”

  Licking his lips, Larkin rose onto his knees and unfastened the button of his trousers. “You have, surely.”

  “Yes, because you keep proudly taking your clothes off in front of me. But I haven’t gotten to touch you.”

  Larkin removed his trousers, then settled naked beside him and stroked Merrick along his hip. “Perhaps I was disrobing because I wanted to catch your eye. Did that not occur to you?”

  “What, even that first night?”

  “Well, no. That night you were merely my wardrobe attendant.” Larkin fondled Merrick’s more tender places, drawing a sharp breath from him. “Our situation has changed quite a bit since then, hasn’t it? Come. Touch me.”

  Merrick no longer felt this was some sacrilege or violation of the historic record. Yes, this was Prince Larkin, but as Merrick stroked and kissed him he was also inescapably aware he had a genuine person in his arms, sweat and calluses and all. “Prince Larkin” was the noble sleeper in a tomblike bower. Larkin, naked in a faery tree-bunk with him, was his companion and friend and, at the moment, his entire worldly concern.

  They did not in fact have all day. They had a quest to complete, and one of their fae hosts could wander in at any moment. So Merrick didn’t stop him when Larkin sped up his strokes, and all Merrick’s sensation pulled together into a tight knot and shattered, Larkin kissing his ear and neck while he gasped. Larkin rolled him onto his back, held his own hand around Merrick’s to tighten it in its motions, smothered his mouth in a kiss, and soon jolted like a whip being snapped. Merrick twined his legs around him, riding him through the shudders the way he rode streams of wind when he flew. Gradually Larkin relaxed, breathing against Merrick’s shoulder. They lay still, wrapped together.

  Please, please don’t let this be the first and last time for us, Merrick prayed. But he didn’t dare say it aloud. It was true what Larkin had said: in a realm like this, you didn’t know what kind of deal or curse you could bring down upon yourself simply by speaking into the ever-listening air.

  CHAPTER 39

  BEFORE THEY LEFT, LARKIN REQUESTED SOME time in private with Arlanuk to speak of Lucrecia. Arlanuk consented, and, after perhaps an hour, Larkin rejoined Merrick, aching for the years he had missed of his sister’s life, but satisfied that she had been happy for the most part and had certainly gained the adventures she had longed for. A hunter, after all, could not lie.

  Arlanuk bade them farewell, wishing them victory in their quest and promising to have sentries watch for the skyrocket signal, at which point his hunters would seal the border between his territory and the Kumiahi desert.

  They bowed to him and followed two hunters out of the fortress, heading uphill. Larkin looked back at the giant tree that housed the fortress. Its top towered above the rest of the forest, visible for miles.

  His gaze met Merrick’s as he turned forward again. Merrick had been watching him, with an intensity that sent a pleasant flutter through Larkin’s belly. Larkin let his steps carry him closer. “You see?” h
e told Merrick. “I knew we would only distract one another.”

  “It’s a constant problem.” Merrick caught Larkin’s smallest finger with his own as their arms swung, and held it a moment before letting go.

  They crested a ridge. Here the view opened outward, and the sight swept goosebumps across Larkin.

  Among dark drifting clouds stood Pitchstone Mountain, gigantic and black. Its jagged cone matched the drawings Larkin had seen, though he had never glimpsed it in person. One rarely could, from the human realm. Other hills blocked it from sight unless one climbed high in an air surrey—or had a friend who could fly, Larkin supposed—and sooty clouds often obscured the peak.

  Even as he watched, the mountain disappeared again behind a gray cloudbank. That hidden flank of the mountain, shrouded by mist, was Vowri’s territory, their next stop. He could not see its landscape under the murk, nor did their maps have much detail about it. It was a dreadful enigma.

  Directly below the ridge they stood upon, stretching out black and barren all the way to the mountain, lay the Kumiahi desert.

  “Our border,” one of the hunters said. “It is here we would drive the blade into the ground.”

  Larkin and Merrick stepped forward, remaining beneath the cover of pines atop the ridge. If they came out from under it, they would become visible from the air. Larkin felt especially disinclined to draw closer when he saw the drop from the ridge to the desert: a hundred feet of steep slope that one would have to slide and scramble down, made of cooled lava with edges sharp enough to cut boot leather. He hoped entering the desert from Vowri’s side, as they planned, would be a kinder approach.

  Merrick ventured to the edge and leaned over as if ready to leap out and fly.

  “Step back!” Larkin snapped.

  “I’m not going to fall.”

  “You might be seen. Stay beneath cover.”

  “That is wise,” one of their guides agreed. “We brought you here only to give you your bearings. Look: Ula Kana’s spies seek you.” She pointed to the north, then to the southwest.