Chapter Text
The sky had been sweating for almost two days straight now, as if even it had grown tired of the long summer days. Ari passed the museum, wet mud caking her boots and water splashing up her pant legs. She was covered in dust from the mines, the metallic tang clinging to her skin. Rain mingled with sweat, her hair pasting to the back of her neck as she hurried towards town.
A chorus of frogs croaked loudly as she went, a balm against the weight of her responsibilities. She needed to finish fixing the lighthouse by tomorrow, and Celine had asked for an extra hand with a surprise for Darcy, and March still needed more ore and—
Ari stepped in another puddle, this one soaking through her boot and pulling her from her reverie. A small smile tugged at her as her to-do list faded, eclipsed by something sweeter: Balor would be home tonight.
She had a shiny sapphire in her bag for him. The burn in her muscles had not reached a fever pitch, and for once, she still had energy to welcome Balor home. He’d been gone for a very long week, stuck at summer parties in the Capital and a long route home for a special delivery he’d been quite vague about.
The smells and sounds of the Sleeping Dragon inn rushed out to meet her when she opened the door. Reina grinned from behind the counter, and Landen turned from where he was whittling with Holt at a corner table to nod in greeting.
“Ari!” Reina called, her face brightening. “You’re soaked. And you’re early!”
Ari brushed damp, gritty dust from her hair as she moseyed over. “I think I stepped in every puddle in Mistria on the way here.”
Reina was already making her a sandwich before she reached the bar. She had taken to adding a thick slice of tomato to the grilled cheese sandwiches she served in the summer. It was something she’d picked up from Hayden, who had picked it up from his grandma.
The sandwich sizzled in the pan as Ari perched on a barstool, leaning forward to watch Reina work. Reina gave her a look, then hurried to pour her a bowl of soup as well.
“Let me guess,” Reina said, setting the soup beside the pan and flipping the sandwich. “You’re about to tell me you don’t have time to eat because you’ve got to finish the lighthouse, March needs more ores, and Adeline is still on your tail about catching more fish.”
“...Yes,” Ari muttered. Her eyes caught on the sandwich, tomato juice dripping out the side and sizzling as it touched the bottom. The hunger she had buried beneath her responsibilities bubbled over.
“Well, tough! You’re getting soup and grilled cheese, and if you say thank you, maybe I’ll even give you a deviled egg.” Reina paused, patting her hands against her legs. “When was the last time you had some water?”
Ari gave her a sheepish smile, carefully avoiding the question. “You’re too good to me, Reina.”
Reina rolled her eyes and snorted. “Balor’s slippery charm is rubbing off on you, I see,” she sighed, placing a glass of water in front of the worn-out farmer. There was no heat in her voice, just an exasperated fondness. “But yes, I know.”
Ari slumped forward in her seat, peering through the water glass and studying how her hand looked through the distortion. A moment later, Reina placed the sandwich and soup in front of her with a proud little flourish, then reached into the fridge for a deviled egg, as promised.
“I’m going to miss tomatoes when summer is over,” she said dreamily.
Ari hummed in agreement, a spoonful of tomato soup already warming her mouth. She couldn’t wait for summer to be over, personally. The responsibilities felt never ending, the days too long and the nights too short. She’d been living here for a year and a half. The town looked so different than when she’d arrived, more polished in a way that seemed to bring Adeline’s stress level down a few notches.
After an indeterminate stretch spent chasing her own thoughts around like dust with a broom, hoping they might settle into something manageable, Reina leaned in. Her eyes sparkled in that way they did when she had gossip.
“So . Did you finish The Duke’s Velvet Oath yet?”
Ari coughed, the soup catching in her throat, as if summer itself were biting back at her for her private complaints about it. Elsie’s latest choice for their makeshift book club had been haunting her from the nightstand all week.
“I’ve been… busy,” she said, chasing the words with a large bite of the sandwich.
Reina bit her lip, failing to suppress a giggle. Her voice dropped a notch, as if Elsie hadn’t also made Landen and Holt read The Duke’s Velvet Oath. “Okay, but surely you got to the attic scene in chapter sixteen? Hayden was blushing. I was blushing.”
The sandwich slid down Ari’s throat slower than the summer sun moved in the sky. “The shirt rip was… very dramatic,” she said, tapping her spoon against the rim of the soup bowl.
“Right?” Reina said, slapping the table gently. She cupped her face with both hands, giggling again. It looked as though she was reliving a very pleasant memory. “Hayden was so flustered when he read it, Ari.”
Ari laughed, warmth blooming in her cheeks. “Balor and I read it together, too. I had to stop every five lines because he kept doing the voices.”
Reina’s amusement doubled. Ari usually kept their relationship rather private, and Reina knew she’d have to carry the details of this to her grave. “He did Lord Ellison’s voice?”
“And Sir Benedict’s,” Ari added, her voice a touch higher at the memory. Perhaps she enjoyed it more than she’d realized.
Balor had finished the chapter for her, his voice dropping low and seductive until she was flustered and giggly, trying to pry the book out of his hands. It had led to a tussle that dissolved into more laughter and stolen kisses. But Reina probably didn’t need to know all of that.
They dissolved into giggles again, Reina reaching out to give Ari’s hand a gentle squeeze. For the first time since the daylight had peeked out in the damp sky, Ari felt her muscles relax. Her head was clearer, too– Reina’s food always worked like a charm.
“Have you decided what Maple’s birthday cake is going to look like yet?” Ari asked, scraping the last of the soup from her bowl.
Reina swiped at a spot on the counter and sighed. Her eyebrows furrowed in familiar cake-anxiety. “It’s so hard to choose,” she groaned, reaching for a hewn notebook Celine had gifted her. “I think I need to consult with Eiland. Maple gave me a recipe, but it’s so old I don’t even understand some of the instructions…”
Ari raised an eyebrow. “Where on earth did she even find a recipe that old?”
“In a dusty history book Balor gave Eiland,” Reina said, flipping through the notebook. “It was a scholar’s recording of quintessential Alda desserts,”
Each page bore a birthday cake plan. Names scribbled in the margins, ingredients underlined with wild enthusiasm, some of the cakes colored in with Luc’s crayons. Reina’s notes were nowhere near as tidy as Adeline’s, but they had heart.
“Speaking of Balor,” Ari said, her grin turning soft, “I need to pick up some chili coconut curry. He’s supposed to be home tonight. I want to surprise him.”
Reina paused her frantic page turning and looked up. “He was already in here a couple hours ago to drop the wine shipment off, babe.”
Ari blinked twice, and then again. “...Wait, really?” Balor had told her seven-thirty. She’d been hanging onto seven-thirty for a week. It was barely five in the afternoon.
Reina nodded, then snorted. “He kept sniffling like one of Hayden’s newborn calves. Dramatic as ever.”
Ari stared at the counter. The backs of her eyelids were quickly becoming the most appealing place to look.
“He didn’t even stay to eat,” Reina added, shaking her head. “Sneezed himself right out of the building.”
For a moment, everything Ari had been holding so tightly seemed to melt through her ribs. She slumped forward, elbows on the bar. “I thought I’d beat him back. He told me seven-thirty,” she mumbled, swiping a damp sleeve across her mouth, a move that earned her a look of disdain from Reina. “I wanted to get cleaned up first, and, I don’t know. It’s stupid, I just—”
Reina’s exasperation softened into that warm, older-sister look she wore so well. “You don’t have to be perfect, Ari.”
Ari glanced down at herself as Reina cleared her plate. Her nails were still rimmed with dirt, the sweat on her skin sticking even with all the rainwater that coated the rest of her clothes. “Right. I just wanted to be a nice thing to come home to, I guess.”
Reina snorted gently, replacing the dirty dishes with an order of the curry wrapped securely for the wet walk home. “You’re not a thing, Ari. Balor is lucky to have you,” she said gently. “In any form.”
Ari swallowed the stale, humid air. “Thanks.” It didn’t sound like enough. Reina heard it, too, but she only rolled her eyes.
She flipped another page in her notebook and tapped the page. The cake sketch was both beautiful and intricate and unmistakably Maple, swirls and bows and tiny, elegant details.
“Are the seashells going to be real?” Ari asked, cursing herself for immediately feeling slightly annoyed that Reina may ask for her help gathering them.
“Nope, they’ll be chocolate,” Reina said, grinning. “Darcy’s making them. Celine’s doing the bows.”
“Oh.” Ari blinked, then added, “Do you need any help?”
She didn’t know why she offered, especially after thinking the opposite. But Reina looked up, her expression soft and affectionate.
“It’s going to be beautiful, Reina,” Ari added, tracing the messy lines of the drawing with her eyes. “Maple’s a lucky princess.”
“Queen,” Reina corrected, then laughed. “Sorry. Force of habit. And no, you have plenty on your plate as it is.” She reached for Ari’s hand, giving it another squeeze.
Ari smiled back, weary but grounded, more herself with food in her belly and a little warmth in her bones. She hoped Balor had stopped by the bathhouse. Maybe he was still there. Maybe the sniffles were gone and she could rinse off too, give him the welcome she’d been imagining, and no one would be the wiser.
“Well, if our queen needs anything else for her royal birthday, let me know. I always have room on my plate for you,” Ari said, the words earnest as they filled the space between them.
Reina gave her a look of silent thanks, before tapping the warm curry container steaming on the counter between them. “You should get home to him. If he drops the dramatics, maybe you can have a little chapter sixteen moment of your own,” she added, winking for good measure.
Ari groaned, but a fond smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she picked up the parcel. The weight of it settled differently in her hands than the heft of her pickaxe. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m romantic,” Reina corrected breezily, already turning back to her cutting board.
“There’s nothing romantic about an attic!” Ari protested, fingers curling tighter around the warm dish. Holt and Landen looked up from their corner, then at each other with matching raised brows.
“You know I don’t mean the attic,” Reina called over her shoulder, grinning. “But for the sake of Holt and Landen, I’ll keep the rest of my thoughts to myself.” She summoned a mess of summer vegetables onto the counter with casual magic, like she was conjuring them from the air. “Now shoo.”
Ari hesitated, her legs suddenly heavy with the urge to stay tucked in the warmth of the inn just a little longer. But Reina gave her that sidelong look that she’d inherited from Josephine, the one that said go on, now. With a breath, Ari turned toward the door, the parcel in hand, and let herself move toward home, toward Balor, in whatever state he may be in.
Her pace was a little quicker on the walk home, the sky still shedding a warm, gentle drizzle. The curry radiated heat through its wrapping, meeting the growing anticipation building in her chest. Several fish scattered beneath the bridge as she crossed it, darting away like thoughts too quick to catch.
Soft rain followed her up the porch steps, carried by a humid breeze. It might have chased her right into the house, had she not nudged the door shut with her hip, still balancing the curry carefully in her arms.
A loud sniff, so dramatically timed it could’ve been rehearsed, echoed from the kitchen table.
She rounded the corner to set the curry down and found Balor slumped dramatically across the far end of the table, a portrait of pitiful despair. His head rested against the cool wood, his hair soaked and tangled. He looked like a soggy pile of laundry forgotten in the rain to mildew. A small puddle had formed beneath him. His blue shirt clung crookedly to his chest, and his usual jewelry lay discarded on the table like shed armor.
“Arietta,” came a voice so full of wretched longing she nearly laughed. “I’m dying.”
She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Reina said you got home hours ago. Have you just been sitting here in your wet clothes?”
Balor peeked up at her, eyes following the freckles across her face with dramatic reverence before he sniffled again, twice as pitiful. “I thought about changing.”
“You smell like the road.”
He ignored the accusation, sneezing with theatrical flair, though she could tell it wasn’t entirely for show. “But I was afraid if I changed, I may have perished before I saw you one last time,” he said, his voice filled with the longing of having been away from her for a week.
Ari groaned, though her chest was already betraying her with flutters. “Balor. Get out of those wet clothes.”
His eyes brightened, a soft warmth nestled in the sharpness of his features. “My star,” he croaked, dragging his chair back with a dramatic scrape as he stood. “If you wanted me out of my clothes, you only had to ask.”
She fought the grin threatening her lips. “You’re taking a bath, you pest,” she said, unable to mask the fondness in her voice.
She couldn’t bring herself to hold him yet– not in this state. Beneath the dramatics, his nose was genuinely running. And yet, the thought of his body close to hers, of waking up tomorrow with his breath warm against her neck even though it was far too hot to be cuddling, was hard to ignore.
“Fine,” he sighed, fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. “But only because I want to look beautiful for my funeral. Bury me in the Deep Woods. Pick a pretty tree for my headstone. Something with fruit you can enjoy.”
His words barely landed; Ari was already moving, focused on getting him clean and comfortable before his sniffles worsened.
The bathroom was even more humid than the rest of Mistria, and Ari again found herself wishing summer would finally loosen its grip. She turned on the water, letting the tub fill while adding a few drops of the jasmine oil she’d gotten him for his birthday. Normally, he would have gone to the bathhouse first, made himself presentable before coming home. Though as he leaned against the counter and bemoaned his imminent demise, she understood why he hadn’t. His words were travel-worn and loose around the edges and delightful.
Steam bloomed into the air, clinging to the walls. Ari opened the window, but it did little to quell the humidity. At least the patter of rain outside added to the ambience of the sick, soggy, sniffly merchant slumped dramatically beside her.
Balor undressed in stages, with theatrics– this was not unusual.
His shirt peeled away like a wet bandage, clinging to his arms before it fell to the floor with a damp plop. Ari turned to the window, watching her tomato plants sway in the breeze. Her thoughts wandered to the sapphire still tucked in her bag, the curry cooling on the kitchen table.
This wasn’t the warm welcome home she’d planned.
When she turned her head just slightly, she caught the goosebumps trailing along his shoulder blades, the way the rain had curled his hair behind his ears, the slim dip of his waist as he stepped out of his trousers. It was impossible to look away.
It had been a week.
The earlier resolve not to hold him in his sorry state melted like mist. As he shuffled toward the tub, she reached out without thinking.
There was something deeply compelling about seeing him like this, raw and real and already soft around the edges. Her work-worn hand came to rest against the pale skin of his back. Her fingers drifted lower, slow across clammy skin. Nothing too bold, but appreciative just the same.
He froze.
“Arietta,” he said, his voice rough with either the cold or something else, a smug grin tugging at his mouth. “I can’t believe you would feel up a dying man.”
“You’re not dying,” she said, pressing her hand more firmly against him, as if she were only steadying him into the bath.
“I could be. You’re not a doctor.”
She laughed, warm and wicked, and let her hand roam just a little further, squeezing slightly. “You’re not.”
Balor caught her gaze with mock admonishment, then turned and slid into the water. He let out a groan that bordered on obscene, and it made her fingertips tingle. “I only wish,” he said mournfully, “I could have you, one more time. Such a shame that I’ll perish from this cruel affliction.”
Ari rolled her eyes. Her clothes were still sticking to her uncomfortably, and the evening wasn’t over yet. “I need to check on the animals. Don’t die in the tub.”
“If I did,” he mused, glancing up at her with his signature smirk, “would you at least clothe me before going to get Valen?” He looked paler than usual, like maybe all his talk about dying was actually allowing the sickness to settle into his bones.
She kicked the side of the tub lightly. “I’m not dignifying that with an answer, darling.”
When Ari returned from the barn, now adding hay and barn to the list of less-than-ideal things she smelled like, Balor had finished his bath and disappeared into their bedroom. The door was closed, and it seemed like the perfect moment to wash the day from her own skin.
It felt, in a way, like resetting things. She always felt that way when she spent time in water.
She rushed through her shower, already thinking of what came next. The curry could be reheated. There might still be some cold medicine left from the last time Balor brought a bug home from the Capital. She could let herself rest with him. She could.
Steam clung to the mirror as she wiped it clean, brushing her fingers through damp hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it. The humidity would undo any effort soon enough; her auburn curls already threatening to frizz and twist in protest. A patch of skin on her shoulder burned red again, irritated and raw. She cursed herself for forgetting the salve. Balor was always getting after her about it, but it seemed to slip her mind when he wasn’t around.
She found both the cold medicine and the ointment in the cabinet, then padded toward the bedroom, one hand massaging the thick, herbal-smelling salve into her shoulder. It always flared up when she was stressed. She sighed, mentally adding stress relief to the long list of unfinished tasks she was carrying around.
Balor had tucked himself beneath their blue silk sheets, his eyes closed.Ari studied him as she quietly dressed. In rest, she could see the exhaustion in his face, the faint crease between his brows, the way his mouth was drawn slightly down. Skunky, their black and white cat, was curled in his lap. Whether Balor had picked him up or Skunky had claimed the spot himself was impossible to say. Both seemed equally likely.
The cat gave her a soft, slow blink, flicking his tail slightly.
“Hey Skunk,” she murmured, keeping her voice soft. She could never quite tell if Balor was truly asleep or just pretending, but she kept her tone low anyway, reaching a hand out for the cat to sniff. “Were you with him in his final moments?”
Skunky wrinkled his nose at the smell of the salve, and one of Balor’s hands appeared from under the sheets to scratch behind the cat’s ears.
“He was,” Balor said, his voice far more nasal and congested than it had been earlier. “Skunky would never leave me to rot in my misery.”
As if to prove the point, the little cat stood, stretched luxuriously, and turned in a circle before settling again with great purpose on Balor’s stomach.
Ari couldn’t help but smile as she set the cold medicine on the nightstand. The two boys she loved most looked up at her with the same sleepy fondness. Rain tapped softly against the window, its steady rhythm beginning to slow in the golden wash of evening. The sun broke through the clouds in long, slanted beams, casting soft light into the room. It caught on a crystal Balor kept on the windowsill, scattering faint rainbows across the walls and the dark wooden floor.
She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, something her mom had done when she was little. He winced dramatically at the contact, likely because her hand was much cooler than his overheated skin.
Ari frowned. “What kind of fruit tree do you want me to bury you under?” she murmured.
His eyes stayed shut, content in the softness of the moment. “Maybe figs, since you like them so much. But they attract so many ants. I hate to think of being plagued by ants even after death.”
Her heart softened further, despite his usual flair for dramatics. She threaded her fingers gently through his damp hair, taking in every detail of him she could. “Well, I suppose I could always bury you with some of Juniper’s ant poison,” she teased, trying to ease the slight tension that she saw in his chest. “Just to be safe.”
Balor’s eyes fluttered open, a glimmer of his usual mischief sparkling through the haze of fever. “My, my. How cold and calculating of you, my star,” he rasped. His cough bubbled up, thick and rough, earning an annoyed flick of the tail from Skunky. “You’re always so practical.”
Ari reached for the medicine but paused to lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “We can’t both be the dramatic one,” she said, her laugh quiet and bright.
Balor took the medicine with the same theatrical flair he’d given the rest of the evening, then leaned back, the golden light spilling across the dark halo of his hair.
“I brought home curry,” Ari whispered, brushing a finger over his cheekbone. “Do you want some?”
He always had a way of looking at her like she was the moon. “You brought me curry,” he said, his voice thick with affection. “You’re always so sweet to me.”
Ari resisted the urge to kiss him properly. The only thing worse than summer would be catching whatever he’d brought home from the Capital.
He laid his hand over hers where it rested against his cheek, long fingers curling around hers. He gave a small shake of his head, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed, slow and a little pained.
“Too tired now,” he whispered. His expression shifted into something she recognized, like he was memorizing her kindness, as if it were something he feared might not last. He nestled deeper into the sheets, and Skunky gave a displeased huff before abandoning Balor’s chest to claim Ari’s pillow instead.
“Tell me a story, star,” Balor said softly. “Something from before all this.”
Ari settled beside him, the worry tightening subtly in her chest. She laid a hand gently over his heart, feeling it beat steadily beneath her fingertips. She reached for the nightstand again, this time for The Duke’s Velvet Oath, but Balor caught her hand in his before she could reach it.
“I meant one from your childhood,” he said, pressing a kiss into her palm, warm and lingering. “You always tell the best ones.”
He’d told her once that he liked hearing about her family, and she carried that with her. It was an easy thing to give to him. His own childhood was buried deep beneath layers of silk and charm and practiced smiles. Sometimes she wondered if he kept it locked inside his ribcage, too delicate to touch.
She shifted closer, listening to the quiet tap of rain against the window. Outside, a frog croaked. Then another. These memories had become something of an easy thing to give to herself, too. Soft memories of her parents, long passed, and her brother, long gone.
“On a summer day when I was seven, Jack and I snuck out early to see the tidepools off the reach,” Ari began. “He was so much taller than me, and he walked really fast. Our dad had made us jam sandwiches the night before, and we stashed them away to eat the next morning.”
Jam had been rare. Jack had been tall and angular and could have done with more sandwiches, more sweetness, but there was never enough.
“We found a really cool crab,” she continued. “One I’ve never seen since. It was… blue. Your blue.”
Balor let out a breathy laugh, his thumb brushing over her arm, the motion already slowing.
“The tide came in faster than we expected,” Ari said, her voice quieter now. “Jack had run ahead and was calling for me to follow, but I couldn’t run fast enough.”
“You hadn’t had your growth spurt yet,” Balor murmured, as if he could hear the self-blame in her voice even two decades later.
“Right,” she said, breathing it out like salt. “I remember swimming through waves that felt too big. The water at Castellae Reach was saltier than it is here. Or maybe it was just the first time I got seawater in my lungs.”
His thumb pressed into her arm just slightly. Reassuring. Grounding. As if, somehow, he were still worried she might not have made it out of the waves. “And Jack?”
Ari smiled, the memory a fond, sharp-edged thing in her mind. Not unlike a crab. “He was waiting for me on the shore. He picked me up and made me stand until I wasn’t wobbling anymore. He told me not to tell Mom and Dad what happened.”
Balor scoffed, the sound a sleepy exhale. “Of course.”
“But when we got home,” she added, “he gave me part of his jam sandwich. I think it was strawberry.”
“You deserve so much jam,” Balor mumbled, shifting to his side so the sunlight fell across his back. “I’ll get you jam.”
Ari laughed softly, moving to make room for him, gently rubbing the space between his shoulder blades when another cough slipped out. “You don’t need to get me jam, honey,” she said, her voice hushed now.
The words floated there between them, warm and unhurried. Balor had already drifted to sleep before he could hear them.