Page 102 of The Heart and the Hawthorn

‘Forest,’ she breathed. ‘Ioel . . .’ She struggled with the syllables, brushing tentative kisses across their cold cheeks. Their jaw. Their eyelids, so fragile and bruised. ‘Ioelwsthyithuaawn.’

Did she imagine it, or did they stir?

She tasted her own tears, and a little bit of rain too.

‘Forest.’ She was laughing as well. ‘Forest. It’s me, it’s Frida. It’s ok to wake up now.’

A soft moan emerged from the fairy.

Frida held her breath. The warm shadows of the ivy rustled above her as the sound of raindrops seemed to blaze, like a million bells, echoing Dian’s name. Their soul.

Ioelwsthyithuaawn. Ioelwsthyithuaawn. Ioelwsthyithuaawn.

She looked upwards and stared, astounded, at the hawthorn. Not the Hawthorn of Higgleton Common, but something different, something more, something new, something quick and bright and all its own, not belonging to the zoo at all. Out of the bones, out of the corpse, new young branches sprung. Green buds started to form, leaves unfurled, and quick thorns stretched. Coils of magic wrapped up and up and up. Everything smelt of moss and petrichor and almonds, yet the pinkish embers, which seemed to catch in Frida’s throat, tasted of sulphur and smoke and fire-blasted deserts under the stars.

The tingling that had begun in Frida’s skin spread to her bones.

With the verses of a thousand different trees and plants and thorns speaking into each thundering corner of her heart, the magic climbed until she thought she might reach the very spaces between the stars themselves. But when a light touch brushed her hand, she looked back down. The tinkling song that filled her ears poured straight from the molten centre of the Hawthorn, the tree at the heart of the world.

‘Hello,’ she murmured with a smile. Ioelwsthyithuaawn, forest, Dian. Together, the words seemed to encompass all of them, every wondrous part of this magical, fairy.

They smiled back at her broadly. There was a flush to their cheekbones and she ached to smooth away the crease between their brows. Yet only moments before, they’d looked leached of life. Now vitality bloomed in the rosy curve of their cheeks, in the tantalising dark of their eyes, the plump line of their lips. Heat pooled in Frida’s belly, settling in the base of her spine as she registered their steady heartbeat. Somewhere, Mush was laughing, dry and witty. Frida felt like laughing too. She felt high as Dian slid their fingers through hers and propped their head up. At the feel of their calluses against her own, she almost moaned. Was this real?

Dian gazed at her for a few more moments, then lifted their face towards the canopy. ‘Look,’ they whispered. Their voice seemed to brim with tears.

Frida craned her neck and together, they watched as those strange pink embers fizzed like bees. The broken, thorny branches of the hawthorn continued to knit, faster and faster. And around them, all the little creatures were waking up. Eyes winked open in the undergrowth, and sleepy voices restarted their burbling conversations. Mush was at her weaving again, working to fix the gaps in Dian’s armour. The webs were luminous.

Dian hadn’t let go of Frida hand.

Frida didn’t let go of Dian’s.

And the hawthorn erupted into bloom.

Chapter Fifty-Five

As the tree showered them in petals, the scent of almonds wrapped around Frida and she couldn’t stop grinning. All around them, there was the sound of life waking up. Small rustles at first, a high-pitched bark, the coo of a bird. Then a far-distant ear-splitting shriek. A muffled rumble. A kraken-esque howl on the breeze. Wordless, Frida and Dian sat amongst the flowers with their shoulders touching. They’d developed a method of communicating that hadn’t required words. But an electric feeling zinged between them, little sparks that Frida imagined she could see dancing in the atmosphere. She craned her neck, dazzled to see the hawthorn continue to bloom, spreading white blushed with pink up into the cavern of the black forest sky.

‘Why couldn’t Mush wake you up?’ she murmured, leaning into Dian’s warmth. She still couldn’t quite believe they were warm, and they were here. ‘She was the one who really knew your name.’

Dian tilted towards her as Mush gave an amused snort. A few stray blossoms decorated Dian’s hair. The silver was still there, giving them an air of majesty, a mark of the years that had passed. ‘Well,’ Dian said as their eyes glittered. A sheepish smile played over their lips and the tips of their ears turned pink. ‘I obviously cannot tell you that. I’d have to banish you to a fairy pool for the rest of eternity if I did.’

Frida recalled the steamy warmth of that pool, the silken carpet of moss between her bare toes. Her voice was husky when she said, not quite knowing when she’d become so brave, ‘Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Not if you’d be there too.’

Dian’s smile grew into something delicious. They looked down at where their hands were almost touching, lying adjacent across their laps. ‘I might be,’ they said hoarsely, their eyes blurring. ‘Would that make you happy?’

‘Oh, my skies,’ Mush interrupted dourly. ‘This flirtation between you is interminable. My ancestor Behemoth Night Weaver was right.’

Frida jumped, not having realised Mush was in the shell of her ear, tickling her eardrums. Then she burst out laughing, but the next moment, with a heated growl at the back of their throat that set Frida’s soul on fire, Dian purred,

‘Go away now, Mush.’

Without waiting for whatever droll reply Mush might have, Dian gently slipped their hand around the back of Frida’s neck, entwining in her loose hair. Mush gave a dramatic squeal, vaulting away. Frida barely heard it though as Dian trailed their callused thumb along her jawline, and up her lower lip. The moan that came out of Frida was pure feral. Dian’s lips curled, and then they kissed her.

Oh, sea and skies.

Their breath tasted of rain and mint and almond spice. Their piercing dug into her chin, just as sharp as she’d imagined. As her whole body tingled, they sucked her lower lip into their mouth, and grazed their soft, warm tongue over her own. When Frida whimpered, raindrops seemed to explode, and burning heat blazed through her belly, sending glitter and cascading starlight in waves up her spine. She was undone.

Dian finally pulled away with a breathless laugh, and Frida opened her eyes. Dian was watching her, the deep dark pools glittering with desire. Frida was dizzy as she rested her forehead against Dian’s and wrapped her hands around the back of their neck and into their wild curls.