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Jaz laughs, the sound echoing off the stone walls in this empty space. We were able to build some tables and benches from stone, but otherwise, the room is cavernous and lit solely by balls of Light that Morrow, Zeph, and I have spread around it.
"More serious than she is now, if you can imagine." Jaz's bright red hair has been shaved down on the sides, leaving a section running down the middle, and it sharpens the corners of their eyes as they crinkle with mirth.
"I cannot imagine," Tulip says, snorting as she laughs.
"Believe it. All of the kids would be climbing trees, chasing one another, and generally goofing off and then there was Viola, sitting down, pouring over some book about magical plants or beasts or the fae." Jaz sips their drink, and I know they mean well, but the words make me flinch.
It's hard to be reminded of the fact that I had nochildhood. There was a time when I was supposed to live a carefree existence, my only worry the scrapes on my knees. Mace snakes his hand around my waist and pulls me tighter to him as if he could read my discomfort.
"I was similar," Morrow says to Jaz. "I didn't go out much, didn't interact with many others. Spent a lot of time in my books." He grips the mug of ale in front of him as he speaks, his residual limb hidden in a long-sleeved olive green shirt despite the heat.
"Any particular reason why?" I ask curiously.
He shrugs and awkwardly tries to determine the most comfortable way to rest his left arm on the table but gives up quickly and lets it dangle. "My parents were both the same, and I never felt the desire to go out and find much more. It may surprise you, considering just how charming and irresistible I am, but I tend to prefer solitude." His smile is charming but far too short, falling as soon as the attention is off of him.
"Mace was that way," Zeph says, looking at his brother. "Not to the extreme as you or Viola, but he was not chasing me, Plume, and Loris around. He was reading, drawing, and working with mother in her garden."
"Until I accidentally used some Decay on it," Mace mutters.
"Wait," I say, turning to him. "You draw?"
"I designed your clothes when you were in Ytopie. That typically requires the ability to sketch them out," he says incredulously.
"I guess I didn't realize that you went that far. I thought youjust told someone what you wanted." I attempt to brush some of my loose hair behind my ear, but I forget the points and have to physically pick it up and place the strands behind my left ear as I speak. "How come I haven't seen you draw anything?"
Mace shrugs and takes a deep drink of his ale. "Not like we've had time to relax and share hobbies." He places his mug down, but the glass it is crafted from splinters, and a small pinprick of blood appears on his fingertip. "Shit," he says, moving to suck it into his mouth.
I grab his wrist and pull it towards me. "Let me. I need to practice reading blood that isn't from a monster during a murder."
"You read my blood all the time," he says as he laughs. "But go ahead." He holds his hand out to me, and I pull it towards my mouth as our companions watch with rapt attention. My tongue darts out and pulls the bead of blood from Mace's finger.
My vision blurs and my mind is inundated with memories of Mace and Zeph as children, with a couple who looks so similar to the pair of mismatched brothers. I see myself through his eyes, and I can feel the affection he has for me so acutely that it nearly takes me to my knees. There's a unique curiosity from when he first discovered me, the guilt in the way he tracked me and my progress through the Race year after year, and the excitement he felt to meet me at opening ceremonies.
And there is love.
So much love.
It's overwhelming, a haze over every recent memory, like I am an attachment to every part of his life. Mundane, boring memories of us cooking food in the middle of nowhere as we journeyed through the Lowlands are wrapped in so much affection that it leaves me breathless.
I knew Mace loved me. He's made it clear, he's told me over and over, but fuck.
I can feel how much he loves me.
And it is all-encompassing. It is unconditional.
It is everything I desire and yet don't deserve.
And I am never letting this man go.
I come out of the vision and grab both sides of his face, pulling him against me and kissing him deeply, trying to show him how much I care for him. His arms snake around my lower back, and he leans into me, deepening the kiss and teasing his tongue against my own. My body lights up at every touch from him, and I scoot closer to him on the bench, seeking to erase all distance between our hips, to press my chest against his, to feel him in every part of me.
A throat clearing has me pulling away from Mace, lips puffy and face flushed, and I look away from him to see Tulip looking mischievous. "Well damn, now I want you to try mine." She extends her hand.
The excitement of getting to experience Tulip's blood has me jumping up and rounding the table to stand behind her. "Are you serious?"
"Absolutely!" She chews on her lower lip, and then her eyesbrighten with an idea. "You should practice controlling your bloodlust and see if you can get specific information from someone. I want you to find my mother's name."
I pause, Tulip's hand in my own. "You want me to dig through what the blood shows me?"
