Page 6
Aisling wrung it with her other hand, tail lashing behind her. “I suppose I don’t have much time to think of it, really,” she admitted. She’d had a few flings since adulthood, of course, but nothing that really stuck.
Brook nodded. “I can see you’re a very busy, ambitious elf. Hence my admiration.”
Aisling couldn’t help but smile. Brook was laying it on thick—and it was working, judging from Aisling’s physical response. Let alone how her brain suddenly felt full of butterflies. “And you… are here to shop and avoid matrimony. Must be simple, with magic like yours.”
Magic was often used in different ways among Gearwickians, but even on her other visits to the midsummer market, Aisling never seen magic quite like Brook’s. The way the shadows had unfolded around her in broad daylight like that…
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Brook’s perfectly straight smile went just a touch crooked. “I’m from a very old and traditional family.”
“Emberleigh or Dun Steorra?”
“Emberleigh.” Her smile straightened again, and this time her eyes crinkled at the corners.
That small alteration in expression struck Aisling as not only beautiful, but as Brook’s most candid expression yet. Yes, Brook was a practiced flirt, but perhaps there was something more under the surface? And Aisling wasn’t sure she’d ever met a self-professed wastrel before, which was interesting in itself.
However, it was now fully dark, and Aisling had to be up before the sun. “Well, Brook of Emberleigh, I should be getting back to my wagon.” She brushed off her skirt and tucked the soiled apron under her arm.
“May I walk with you?” Brook asked.
Aisling barely suppressed a nervous laugh. “If you like.”
They closed up the stall and started toward the path, dragging their feet. Brook wore tall, fine boots and leather trousers that fitted like a glove. Her build was thin, her face angular, though she had a few lovely curves for contrast.
“Tell me about Copperford,” Brook prompted.
“It’s… noisy,” Aisling admitted. “Noisier even than the market. All the clanging and crashing of Inventor’s Row multiplied by a hundred.”
“I’ve been to Gearwick, but none of your other cities.”
“Gearwick’s too big for me,” Aisling admitted. “Too many people. Nice to visit, but maybe not as a home.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Thankfully Emberleigh has lots of good, dark places to hide.”
“Not that you need them.”
“I really didn’t mean to scare you. Twice.” But Brook chuckled.
“Have you always had magic?” Aisling wondered.
Brook nodded. “It runs on both sides of the family, though sometimes it skips a few. I was never a very good study but I picked enough up ducking nannies and nurses to master that little disappearing trick.”
Nannies, nurses, fine leather clothes, golden earrings; Brook really was from an old traditional family. Probably a very noble one. And yet, she wasn’t stuffy. In fact, she made Aisling feel a little stuffy. Or at least stiff.
Brook said, “And you?”
“As much magic as that signpost.” Aisling pointed to one.
“I don’t know. You invented cloud cake. It tastes like magic.”
Aisling flushed and diverted her gaze to the path before them. The smells around them had changed from the savory-and-sweet of the prepared food stalls to the hay-and-sunshine scent near the paddocks. She always liked that smell as a child, when they traveled through farming villages or went out into the countryside to test some contraption. Aisling let it ground her, trying not to say anything too foolish.
Not that an accomplished flirt like Brook wouldn’t know Aisling had far less experience. But Aisling still wanted to keep some dignity intact, thank you very much. She said, “If you’re looking for a free sample, you’ll have to get up early.” She even tried to throw in a side-eye for good measure.
“Oh, I never wake before midday,” Brook assured her.
“Then your flattery is in vain,” Aisling said.
“Is it?” Brook smiled as if she knew it was not.
