Page 43 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

“Of course it is not,” Mara said loftily. “It is just me.”

“It is.” Ethan turned to her then, face intent. “How do you do it?”

“What do you mean? I just do it.”

“Yes, but how?” He glanced down at his hands, then set the soil sample aside. “Can you show me?”

“I…” It is too much, she thought first. I cannot grieve for Tristan while you are smiling at me. But she steeled herself. She wanted him to want her, to need her. And if all he needed her for was his quest for tenure? She wanted to give it to him.

She wanted him to win. Not against her, of course, but against the rest of the world.

So she nodded. “I will try.”

She turned her gaze to the prickly pear before him. It was a lush specimen, paddles ranging from purple to green and back, its base well fertilized by the desiccated corpses of previous generations. The blossoms she’d originally begged it for were a rich pink, not the sunset-tinged yellow they normally produced.

She found a paddle that was ready to bud and reached out to it.

Do you not wish to bloom?

She reached for a memory of Tristan, something full of regret, and she found it.

Lilting music in the air, bright twinkle lights above. It was a place that served beer. She remembered it in flashes. She was on the patio. The space was a mishmash of haphazard lights. Two shipping containers stacked at the back fence, presumably for storage but also serving to anchor the lights, display signs and flyers for local events. The upper container had a basketball hoop attached, but instead of a net, the hoop held dangling mirrored balls that reflected the strung lights around the patio.

She slowly turned, taking in the patio, warm human bodies—a few fae—dancing and laughing.

A flash of strawberry blond hair. Long and thick, framing an indistinct male face. The face turned in her direction and froze.

“Are you thirsty?” Tristan came up beside her, eyes warm as honey.

“For you, always,” she replied, turning her cheek to his kiss. She was happier than she’d ever been.

Tristan’s arms were around her, and she sank into them. Perhaps tonight would be the night. They had spoken of it, and she knew her husband’s desire for a family. She was not certain she was ready, but the magic would know if she was. She was not unready. She just wasn’t…ready.

The man with the strawberry blond hair turned away.

She hadn’t remembered him until now. A pang hit her in the stomach.

But that was not what she was looking for. That was not what she needed now.

There it was.

“I hope she has your eyes,” Tristan was saying.

She laughed. “And I was hoping for yours.”

“One of each?”

“One child with their eyes two different colors? Or two children, one with each color of eye?”

“Both?”

They laughed joyfully, kissed.

The man with the red-blond hair disappeared.

The night went on. Ended. They made love tenderly by the light of the moon.

She knew it was not the night. It was not time yet. They were not ready yet.