Chapter Thirty-Five
We had our little Yule celebration together a few days after the Winter Solstice.
Lonan had been a little tense and quiet in the days since, and I was hoping this would cheer him up. I’d made some semblance of a Christmas pudding, although I didn’t know how good it was going to taste. I’d hung orange and clove pomanders around the cottage.
Lonan had brought me a small fir tree and it sat in the corner of the living room with my handmade decorations on it. I’d spent an entire afternoon making several tiny jars of the warming potion to tuck into the branches so it glowed with warm orange light.
Presents wrapped in brown paper and twine sat under it, mixed with the pile of gifts in soft white cloth that Lonan had been bringing over every night. I’d protested at how big that pile was growing, but he’d just kissed me and told me it was unwise to refuse gifts from the Folk.
I’d made a rich venison stew with meat I’d bought from the butcher in the village—there was no way I would have been able to dress a deer if I’d mentioned wanting one to the wolf. Lonan had brought over a few bottles of fae wine that he said wasn’t as sweet as others, and I’d made mulled wine that I was keeping warm in a smaller pot beside the kitchen fire.
The living room fire was lit, the bed sheets fresh, and my hair was still damp from my bath when Lonan knocked on the door that night.
His cheeks were flushed from the cold when I opened it with a grin. He stepped inside and, after closing the door behind him, cupped my face and gave me a long kiss.
“Happy Yule, my oak king.”
I flushed, rolling my eyes. He’d teasingly called me that a few times since the Solstice.
“Merry Christmas.” I kissed him again, then took his hand to lead him into the living room. “Are you hungry?”
“Always.”
After hanging his black coat up and pulling off his boots, he followed me into the kitchen and ladled us mugs of mulled wine while I dished up two bowls of stew. We sat on the rug in front of the living room fire to eat, and the moment Lonan had finished his second bowl he crawled over to the tree and started pulling the presents out from underneath.
I chuckled, eating my last mouthful of stew. “Eager for the gifts?”
“Eager for you to have yours.”
The pile he set in front of me was much bigger than the one in front of him, and I flushed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you more—”
“I don’t need any—though I’m grateful. I just need you.”
He said it matter-of-factly, not even looking at me as he carefully arranged the gifts in my pile. I swallowed, my throat tightening.
“Start with this one.”
He passed me a cylindrical object wrapped in cloth, and when I unwrapped it I saw that it was a thick, heavy candle made of wax that was such a deep burgundy it looked almost black.
“It amplifies a drachmsmith’s natural abilities while doing potioncraft,” he told me.
He’d got me a small mirror with a silver frame in a creeping vine pattern, because I’d complained about not having one but had never bothered to buy one in the village. He’d got me a big glass bottle of luxurious bath oil scented with sweet rosemary. A huge blanket of thick, impossibly soft white fur. Socks made from fine wool that wasn’t itchy. Shirts made from expensive fabric.
A heavy pewter cauldron that was smaller than the one over the fire and made specifically for potioncraft, he told me. Another soft leather notebook, because I was quickly filling up the one I had. A weighty fountain pen that gleamed green-gold, like the blade on the dagger I’d given him for his birthday.
A tin of spiced nuts. A jar of finely grated dark chocolate and cinnamon to make hot chocolate with. A black velvet bag filled with rare seeds. A heavy grey bathrobe, because I’d mentioned that it was getting too cold to dry off after a bath in front of the fire now.
“Lonan, I…” I tried to suppress the emotion choking my voice. “You’ve got me too much.”
And there were still two gifts left in front of me.
He shook his head, picking up the smaller one and handing it to me.
Wrapped in the cloth was a tiny wooden box, and as I opened it and saw the ring nestled inside, Lonan said, “You might not want to keep this one, because it isn’t new. It’s mine.”
I stared at the ring. It was a dull silver that looked ancient, and as I peered closer, I realised that the band had been carved into impossibly tiny animals all woven together. A snake, a dragonfly, a bird, a wolf, a deer and a horse—they all twisted together, attached to one another by claws and fangs and talons and tails.