Lyrissa paces her stillroom waiting for Daystorm's arrival. It takes every ounce of self-control not to rush off and kidnap the hybrid to shake out all the details of yesterday's adventure. Rumour has it, Day practically begged the King to cut off her head and the man simply winks and invites her to dine with him!
"Argh! Why hasn't the woman arrived yet?"
She keeps a watchful eye on the mixture steeping in a large glass beaker on the table, its contents in the process of separating into three distinct hues of green. Each layer serves a different use. The first is an ingredient in the hangover preparation which aids sore heads after a night of overindulgence. The second is infused into a poultice for the cuts and scrapes not considered deep enough to warrant actual healing. The final layer, useless for healing, goes to the kitchens. The chef boils it with berries and uses the resulting liquid as a sweetener for drinks.
Bare feet pad onto the hard surface of her balcony, announcing a visitor.
Day enters the room, amethyst hair slick with water. The strands sticking to her forehead resemble dark craggles forming on her skin. Lyrissa throws the woman a towel, prepared for this exact situation. A couple of days ago, Day left puddles on both the chair and the floor, which Lyrissa inadvertently slipped on while cleaning.
Day dries herself, hangs the damp towel over the frame of the open window, and heads for the breakfast table. Clawed toes click softly against the polished surface of the floor. She sits heavily and presses both palms up against her face. Her jaw flexes in frustration.
Lyrissa's curiosity can wait. "Something wrong?"
Day's hands slide from her face to rest palms up on the table. "I don't know. Fox was pretty quiet this morning."
"As opposed to any other morning? The man isn't exactly chatty on regular occasions now."
"This is different. He'd deliberately find something to watch if he thought I was looking at him. No smile or anything. It's the hard, tight expression which worries me. I mean, Fox has become one of my closest friends in the short time I've been here. I don't know what I did to piss him off!" Day studies her palms. "I can't fix what I can't figure out."
Oh honey, he's quite taken with you and here you go running off with the King. Of course, Lyrissa would never vocalize this, not unless asked directly. Or unless the pair of them continue to ignore their mutual attraction for much longer.
"I'm sure it's work related. I've heard rumours of goblins in the West. If I know Fox, this weighs heavily on his mind."
Day plucks an apple from the tray and speaks to the fruit in her hand. "I hope you're right. He's... he's been my rock since I got here. The one person I didn't have to prove my intentions to. No luring children and stealing souls or any such nonsense. I can't lose that."
Sounds like you've got it just as bad, miss Daystorm.
"Give him time Day, he'll come back around. I've known him since he was a wingless scamp. Trust me on this." Lyrissa squeezes Day's arm, surprised, as always, at the muscle resting beneath the skin's surface. The woman brightens, wings perking up.
"Alright Lyrissa, thanks. So, I assume you want to catch up on the latest events."
About time! Lyrissa grins and grabs a pastry. "You know it." She leans back and listens, dutifully shoving the pastry into her mouth.
"Well Lyrissa. We sparred, the King and I, though I didn't know he was the King until afterwards. I beat him, but my arm took a shit kicking. Still sore this morning actually. Afterwards he kissed the back of my hand, which was almost charming, except I was pretty put off by his 'kneel before me' attitude. Then Galan asked me to dinner. I'm pretty sure Skye would have slapped me if I refused."
YOU ARE READING
The Paths of GreythornFantasy
The dream paths, accessed by a chosen few, reveal the most likely future following any given choice. Unfortunately for the human dreamwalker Daystorm, the decisions made by the fairies of Greythorn make her long for the simpler days of sweat-induced...