When his brain began working, he noted they’d moved to lie on their sides, facing each other. And though Glyssa appeared happy and relaxed, he thought he could still see faint traces of tears.
“What made you cry, sweet Glyssa?”
She snorted, chuckled. “I’m not that sweet.”
But she obviously had a tender heart for some things. “Maybe not, but I don’t think you’re the type to cry easily or often.”
After a sniff and a long sigh, her gaze slid away from his. “The FirstLevel Librarians of Druida are not pleased that I can’t write a good story.”
Jace blinked. “It’s a skill, like anything else. I can’t tell you how many bad or pointless or long-drawn-out stories I’ve listened to at campfires.”
“You’re a natural.”
He smiled. “You think?”
“Maybe it’s your Flair.”
His shoulder hunched automatically. “I don’t have great Flair.”
“You had Passages, though.”
“Yeah, but nothing obviously manifested.”
“Storytelling?”
“That doesn’t feel right.”
She chuckled, rolled toward him, and he got a good hold on her so she couldn’t wiggle away from the next questions he was planning to ask.
“If storytelling doesn’t feel right as your main Flair, that skill probably isn’t it,” she said.
“Told you.” He stroked her cheek. “What happened to make you cry? Can’t be that stick-up-ass librarians don’t understand you.”
As he’d expected, she stiffened. But unexpectedly, she didn’t try to draw away, though her lashes lowered so he couldn’t see her eyes. She took a couple of long breaths, and not looking at him, said, “The FirstLevel Librarians of Celta are my mother, father, and sister.”
He winced. “Ouch.”
“Yes.”
“The Family expects technical expertise in a variety of areas, such as creative writing.”
“Huh. How are their stories?”
Her eyelashes fluttered and she leaned back to meet his gaze. Such a lovely woman, a vivid woman with red hair and deep brown eyes and freckles that got more color when she flushed.
“I don’t know.”
“Something to keep in mind. But I sense that wasn’t all that bothered you.” And he did. Their bond seethed with rough emotions regarding her Family.
Glyssa pushed him a little, moved to lie with her head on his shoulder, her hand stroking his chest—he’d wait a little before sliding it lower. It occurred to him that they’d never talked about serious matters in dreams or during their quick affair. They had more of a bond than sex, now.
“They—the FirstLevel Librarians, in their official capacity—have ordered me to return for an interim hearing on my fieldwork.”
A jolt to his heart. His breath stopped. His arms pulled her over his body as if trying to bind her closer still so they could not be separated. And his fear of intimacy was back screaming and questioning what he was doing. But his body, and, right now, his emotions, wanted her and would not listen to stupid fears.
He wished for a drink to whet his suddenly dry mouth. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means they are doubting that my field study work is acceptable.”
“Because you can’t write a story!”
“That was one of the provisions, and it was for Camellia, but she is fine with you helping me with it. My Family isn’t.”
“Family,” he said bitterly. His had never supported him much, just the opposite, especially his mother.
“They love me, they do. In their own way.”
Jace had always thought the same of his father, but in the end, didn’t know.
“It’s just that my mother suspects much of anything outside of cities and towns and is so very proud of the Family being FirstLevel Librarians. Nothing is better than that, anywhere, ever.”
He sifted his fingers through Glyssa’s soft and bouncy hair, and as a lock tickled his palm his whole body shuddered. Why had he waited so long to do this? Pure stupidity.
“Will you go?”
“Of course.”
“Of course?” he pressed.
“It’s what I’ve been working for all my life. I’ll go, and I’ll have my daily reports on the excavation, whatever documents the Elecampanes will give me, my notes as their expedition recorder, the transcription of Hoku’s journals, and as much of the story as we can get done.”
“Bury them in papyrus?” That sounded good.
“Show them I haven’t been frittering away my time.”
He snorted. “No one could say that of you.”
“Yes, they could, but they won’t.”
He didn’t like this idea. “When will you go?”
“It’s the weekend and the airship won’t come until Mor. That transport will be a big one and some of the crew will be abandoning the camp. The shuttle might be full so I can’t return.”
“I hope the shuttle isn’t full of people who want to leave,” Jace said.
“If they don’t want to be here, will be a burden, they should go,” Glyssa said.
And she was back, the woman with definite opinions. She moved atop him, shifting upward to look down on him and lower her lips to his. Just before they touched, she smiled that smile he’d never seen on her face except during moments of sex. “I suppose you wouldn’t consider coming with me.” He flinched at the idea, but any objection vanished as she nibbled on his lower lip, feathered her tongue over it.
“Just a little jaunt, a break, to keep me company.” Her breath teased his mouth with an anticipatory kiss.
He managed to grasp one single thought as he put his hands on her hips, began to slide her down where she belonged. “You’ll be coming back to the camp?”
“Yes.”
“Even if they”—someone, who? Glyssa felt so good, moved so
“Absolutely. This is
Four times. They’d made love four times and now Jace slept in her bed. Finally! Glyssa smiled in the night. She’d heard Lepid patter through the door and into the sitting room, give a little grunt, a mental,
Even better, she’d heard the soft whir of feathers as Zem flew through her spellshield and into the outer room and onto his perch. Sounded like a fully Healed and well predator to her.
She thought she’d taken the right approach in asking Jace to come with her to Druida. Not that she had planned it that way, she’d acted from instinct.
But this sex had certainly cleared her mind with regard to what was important in her life and should remain a priority. Her needs and fulfillment.
They weren’t so hidebound or of such social status that they would demand that of her, ultimately. She didn’t have to marry to keep the Family in funds, or for any other practical reason. She wasn’t even the heir to the Licorices. That was her sister, Enata.
