Page 109 of May: Bloom & Bane

Us. Her, me, and him. The word lands in three places at once.

Once she’s fed and ready, I ease her off of me.

She whimpers at the loss. I nearly undo the entire decision on the spot. The sight that follows stops both of us cold: the slow spill of everything we gave her, pearl and gold swirling together shamelessly, beginning to slip down the inside of her thigh.

Absolutely not, Ashán snarls.

For once, we are in complete agreement.

I lift her onto the counter, lay her back against the cool stone, and hook her knees over my shoulders.

“Sage,” she gasps. “What are you doing?”

“You ate breakfast,” I murmur, lowering my mouth to her. “Let me have mine.”

My tongue passes over her swollen skin, gathering every drop that dared to leave her and pressing it back inside her where it belongs, sealed with a final kiss to her clit that makes her whole body jolt against the counter. I straighten, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and help her sit up while she stares at me with her chest heaving.

“Sage?”

“Nothing of ours goes to waste, Saevúra.” I hand her another slice of peach. “House rule.”

New house rule, Ashán amends. Effective immediately. Forever.

“You’re just going to leave me like this?” she murmurs.

“No, ílyen. Of course not. I’m going to go grab you a dress.”

“... Not what I meant.”

I chuckle as I walk up the stairs. I choose a pretty pink dress with tiny white flowers from the closet. I stop in the bathroom to grab her a towel, and scoop her soaked dress from this morning off the floor. The moment my fingers touch the fabric, it feels like I’ve been struck in the chest. I lift it to my nose and inhale. That apple scent from earlier assaults my nose, strongest near her pocket. I shove my hand inside and my fingers close around a coarse, silver thread.

Sage? Ashán murmurs.

I don’t answer. The thread burns against my palm.

It rode home in her pocket, against her hip, into our house, while we⁠—

Sage. He pushes harder. Go down and ask her before you build the story yourself.

He is right. I hate how often he is right now that he has a voice.

The stairs take a year. The dress hangs forgotten in my other hand, and by the last step the vines along the banister have gone dark at their edges, following me down like smoke.

Eden is perched on the counter’s edge, where I left her, working through the last peach slice. She’s smiling when she looks up, until she sees my face. The smile dies.

“Sage?”

I hold up the thread.

It glints between my fingers, faintly glowing.

“Oh,” she murmurs. “That’s—I found it in the marsh. It was glowing, and I thought it was pretty, so I picked it up. I forgot I even had it.”

“… You forgot.”

“Yes! I heard you scream from all the way out there and I rushed back to bring you the herbs—” She stops mid-sentence, reading my face. “What’s wrong?”

I close my fist around the thread.