one good honest kiss, to feel alright
I’m okay, Bexley answers, and for once it is true. The sun is light at their backs and O stirs in her stomach, and despite the aches in her bones and the sweat on her brow, all is right in the world. It is quiet and still and golden, and the strange feeling that overtakes her must be peace. She holds it tight-fisted.
At least until Apolonia is born, everything will be alright. Who knows what will come afterwards - one of them very well might die, or Night and Day fall into war again, or the gods come to chastise them with twice the fury of before - but for now Bexley is guaranteed, at least, a few weeks of peace and a child who needs her. It would be selfish to ask for anything more.
Strangely enough, “selfish” does not seem to fit her, now.
She has to grin a little at the way he trails off, their strong, darling emissary, incapacitated by candied walnuts: I haven’t, she admits, with a false sheepishness, but they sound delicious. (They don’t appeal to her, particularly, but the adoration on his face and in his voice makes her think they would be worth a try anyway, if only to see that look stick around a little longer.)
Shall we? And in the softly-setting sun Eik might as well be as gold as she is, as gold as Apolonia might be, and there is something magic about it that she is loathe to put a name to.
At least until Apolonia is born, everything will be alright. Who knows what will come afterwards - one of them very well might die, or Night and Day fall into war again, or the gods come to chastise them with twice the fury of before - but for now Bexley is guaranteed, at least, a few weeks of peace and a child who needs her. It would be selfish to ask for anything more.
Strangely enough, “selfish” does not seem to fit her, now.
She has to grin a little at the way he trails off, their strong, darling emissary, incapacitated by candied walnuts: I haven’t, she admits, with a false sheepishness, but they sound delicious. (They don’t appeal to her, particularly, but the adoration on his face and in his voice makes her think they would be worth a try anyway, if only to see that look stick around a little longer.)
Shall we? And in the softly-setting sun Eik might as well be as gold as she is, as gold as Apolonia might be, and there is something magic about it that she is loathe to put a name to.
