Lyra Fernbrook's Arc

Chapter 15 of 18

Lyra woke before the sun and found Dorian already at her door. He had walked down from the ridge with his tools and a folded cloth under his arm. The book had named three steps and only one was done. The second was the garden song, offered where sprites gathered thickest. She pulled on her cloak and swung her herb satchel over her shoulder. He touched her cheek before they set out. They walked into the grove together while the mist still hung low. The sprite garden sat in a bowl of moss ringed by white stones. Small folk drifted between the blossoms and settled on Dorian's shoulder as if they had been waiting. He unrolled the cloth and set the iron heart on a flat rock. Lyra knelt and laid out yarrow and moonflower in a ring around it. She took out her lyre and began the mending tune. Dorian hummed under it, low and steady, and a tiny sprite hovered near her ear and matched the melody in a bright, thin voice. The blossoms turned toward the sound. The grove did not push them away. When she played the last note, the yarrow bundles softened flat against the stone, and every sprite in the bowl bowed its head at once. They stayed until the moon rose. Dorian spread his coat on the moss and pulled her down beside him. She fit against his chest and listened to his heart under her ear. He pointed out stars he knew and made up names for the ones he didn't. She laughed into his shirt. He said he had been afraid, at the forge, that he would not live to see her like this. She told him she had loved him longer than she'd said. A sprite settled in her hair and did not leave. They stayed until the grass grew cold. He walked her home along the path he had learned by heart. At her door he checked the iron wards one by one, the nail, the plate, the bar, the bolt. He looked in every window before he let her step inside. She poured two small cups of pear wine and they drank standing in her kitchen. He set his cup down and pulled her against him and held her a long time without speaking. She led him to her bed and they kissed there until her breath went uneven and his hands stilled at her waist. He drew back and pressed his forehead to hers. He said goodnight. He said he loved her. He tucked the quilt to her shoulders the way he had before and turned out the lamp. She heard the door latch behind him and his boots on the path to the ridge. Two steps of the mending were done. The grove had not fought them tonight. She slept.