Page 113 of Mortal Skin (Folk 1)

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“I’ve had it since I was a boy,” Lonan said with a small, nervous smile as he reached forward and gently slipped it onto my middle finger.

I stared down at it sitting against my tanned skin, my throat aching.

“I love it.” I leaned forwards to kiss him in a rush. “I love you.”

I didn’t say it all that often, because it still hurt when he didn’t say it back. Even though I thought he loved me too. It felt like it.

But that didn’t chase away the gnawing feeling that maybe he couldn’t say it back, because it would have been a lie.

And if this was how he treated me when he didn’t even love me, I wasn’t sure how I would react to the way he would have treated me if he did. I didn’t know how he could possibly be any more wonderful and loving than he already was. I suspected I’d lay myself at his feet if he treated me any better. I’d already do anything for him.

“Open your last one,” he said, nodding at the final present wrapped in thick white cloth.

I shook my head. “I’ll save it. Open yours first.”

My gifts to him felt woefully inadequate now, but he shot me a big smile as he unwrapped the jar of candied citron I’d made, the stiff leather sheath with silver filigree for his dagger, the thick socks—because he always stole mine—though they weren’t anywhere near as nice as the ones he’d gotten me.

When he unwrapped the necklace, my stomach jumped with nerves.

“This one isn’t a great gift, because I’ve kind of given you something similar already,” I said hesitantly.

I’d seen the necklace with a tiny wrought acorn pendant in the village. The nut part unscrewed from the cupule, and I was pretty sure it was meant for holding poison—that was what the shopkeeper had sneered at me, asking sarcastically if I thought it would offer me any protection from the Folk.

But I’d spent hours creating and recreating a miniscule version of the warming potion until I’d managed to make a batch with a small enough ball of fire to fit inside. The glow didn’t permeate the pendant, but its warmth did.

“You can’t unscrew it,” I said quickly when Lonan held it up on its thin chain. “It’s—I made a tiny version of the warming potion to fit inside. Just so…” I shrugged, my face warm, feeling like an overly sentimental fool. “I don’t know. So you can feel me when you’re not here.”

I was shocked when Lonan finally looked up at me and his eyes glistened in the glow from the fire.

“It’s perfect,” he said hoarsely, fumbling with the chain to put it on. “I love it.”

When he leaned forwards to cup my face and kiss me, my breath hitched with anticipation. I was sure that he was finally going to tell me he loved me. Finally say it back.

“My oak king,” he murmured against my mouth, and I smiled, my heart thudding hard as I waited to hear the words.

But when he sat back down, he just said, “Open your last gift.”

I tried to hide the devastation making my eyes burn, nodding quickly and looking down at the gift as I slowly pulled off the cloth.

“I…” I stared down at theAdvanced Drachmsmith Recipesbook, with its deep burgundy cover and copper trim. The one I’d eyed every time I went near the bookshop in the village. “How did you know I wanted this?”

When I looked up at Lonan, he gave me a tiny smile, his fingers twisting the acorn pendant at his throat. “You think I didn’t notice you gazing at it longingly every time you went into the village?”

I choked out a little laugh, the hurt fleeing and replaced by warmth, especially when I looked back down at the book and my gaze caught on his ring sitting snug on my middle finger.

Hedidlove me. He had to. Just because he didn’t say it, that didn’t mean he wasn’t showing me in other ways.

“Thank you,” I said hoarsely, running my fingers over the tiny stones set into the leather cover. “Thank you for all of the gifts. They’re perfect.”

“And mine.” He smiled at me again, but then his expression grew hesitant as his eyes darted down to the book in my hands. “I… I know you don’t like thinking about it, but… maybe there’ll be something in there that will help you shed your mortal skin.”

His eyes were unnervingly bleak when he looked back at me. “You must, Ash. Please.”

Low-level panic rose, making my breaths quicken as I stared back at him. “B-because it’s what your mother wants? Or for another reason?”

I could see him trying to think of a way to answer me, fine brows pinching as he stared at me.

“Not for—” His lips thinned, frustration tightening his features. “Both,” he grated eventually.


Tags: Lily Mayne Folk Fantasy