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Nor and Halsin decided to scout Moonrise Towers from the Waning Moon, that old tavern on the south-western corner of Reithwin. A century ago, it had been a place of warmth and revelry, but now it lay abandoned, its wood rotten and roof sagging.
Halsin, in the shape of a panther, crouched by one of the open windows, his sharp eyes scanning the empty road that led to the enemy stronghold. The scent of rotten wood and dust made his feline nose twitch.
“They still have not sent out any patrols,” he noted.
“Probably ‘cause we killed their last one,” Nor replied. She sat not far away, carving arrows with Halsin’s belt knife. “They’re all holed up in there like badgers. Going in is a bad idea. We ought to find another way to Ketheric.”
Halsin shifted slightly to adjust his vantage point. “It is unlikely the Harpers will be dissuaded from a direct assault. Their way has always been a straightforward one.”
“If you say so.”
He watched the road for a while longer, then slunk away from the window and shifted back into a man. Standing near what remained of the bar, he ran a calloused hand along the wood, breaking off a piece that crumbled between his fingers.
“This place has certainly seen better days,” he murmured. Yet another victim of the shadow curse.
Nor didn’t look up from her carving. Her quiver was already full, but she was not someone who was capable of sitting still. She was always moving. Even when she was sitting down, her leg would start bouncing restlessly, or her fingers would start drumming on her knees, or her mouth would start shooting off a mile a minute—Halsin, what do you think of this, Halsin, you'll never guess what happened, Halsin, stop being such a grouch.
She was moving constantly in Halsin’s dreams as well, running as he chased her through the forest. His fingers would brush across her wrist or the hem of her tattered skirt for a fleeting moment before she was out of reach, smiling over her shoulder as if she hoped he would catch her.
Sometimes he did. In those dreams, he pinned her to the ground, and she stared up at him as if there was no place she’d rather be than beneath him.
But dreams were neither here nor there.
What mattered was tomorrow.
Tomorrow, they were going to infiltrate Moonrise and put an end to Ketheric Thorm once and for all. Only then would Halsin’s conscience finally be cleared. With the shadow curse fading and Thaniel recovered, he was nearly redeemed. He could finally stop thinking about the past and start thinking about the future.
But speaking of the past…
“You know,” said Halsin, “back when I was a soldier, we had a ritual the night before a battle. We would pass around a bottle of Chultan Fireswill and see who could take the largest swig.”
Nor finally looked up from her carving with a puzzled expression. “You drank something with ‘swill’ in the name?” she asked. “On purpose?”
He nodded. “I wonder if there’s any bottles here.”
Halsin began rifling through the cabinets. After a few moments, he wrapped his hand around the long neck of a green bottle and pulled it out.
“Here we are,” he said, holding it up for her to see.
They sat across from each other on the ground. As Halsin opened the bottle, the smell of something sickly sweet and heavily spiced filled the air.
Nor laughed, covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh, that’s foul!”
It truly was. The ale burned all the way down his throat, followed by a warm feeling in his chest. His eyes were locked on hers until he lowered the bottle and tilted the bottle toward her. Their fingers grazed around the cool glass, lingering for one moment, then another. Though he knew it was more touch than she would have allowed anyone else, Halsin still found it was less than he would have liked.
“Go on,” he encouraged her.
Nor took a swig of her own. Immediately, she choked and made a retching noise, body convulsing.
“Ach! Burns,” she gasped, trying to pass the bottle off to Halsin, “like fire. You might have warned me!”
He took it from her while laughing. “It is in the name.”
“Oh, go hump a tree.” She wiped her mouth several times with the back of her hand as if that could remove the memory of the taste.
“Please do not be cross with me. You are warmer for having drank it, are you not?”
Nor huddled her knees to chest, and rubbed her bare arms. “Barely,” she grumbled.
Halsin set down the bottle. "Then come here.”
"I'll manage. Always have. Everyone seems to think a slight chill will do me in, but in the forest I—"
Her sentence cut off into a squeak when he reached over and hauled her into his arms, tucking her body against his own so that her cheek was pressed to his chest.
She squirmed for a moment like an animal caught in a trap. Her legs looked like spindly birch branches knocking against two oak trunks. Then she relaxed, just the slightest bit, and he hugged her closer to him.
He rested his chin atop her head, pleased that she’d grown comfortable enough with him to allow such a gesture—or, at the very least, did not try to bite him.
"You're like a furnace," she groused, her words muffled by his leathers.
"All the better to serve you with," he quipped.
The ensuing silence was both drowsy and peaceful. She burrowed against him, seeking the warmth he promised, and he ran a soothing hand down her side.
Then, as if of their own volition, his lips brushed across her hairline as he tilted his head to sort of—nuzzle at her temple. He didn't understand it, the need behind such an act. It wasn't lust, but somehow it was just as primal.
Nor didn't move for so long that he began to think she'd fallen asleep. However, just as he was about to close his eyes, she spoke.
“Do you think we’re going to die tomorrow?”
“Nor,” he chastised.
“It was just a question,” she mumbled.
A question that had thoroughly ruined the moment.
Nor pulled back far enough to look him in the eye. “These memories we keep finding,” she began.
“Shadow Vestiges.”
“Right. Those people—have you noticed how they all thought? When it came to their troubles, all of them seemed to think tomorrow I’ll do something about it. Tomorrow I’ll be happy. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. They said that until they died.”
“They had to tell themselves that,” Halsin told her. “If people think of their own demise, they succumb to misery.” He knew that well enough, having been a soldier.
“But—”
“I may die tomorrow, Nor, and so may you. But right now we are both here, and I want to enjoy this evening with you.”
Her nose scrunched. “Well, I want,” she started to say, then stopped abruptly.
“What do you want?”
Nor shut her eyes tight then opened them again. When she did, there was no hint of that fearful, feral glint he used to see in them. Her pale lashes shone in the light, then lowered.
She cupped the side of his face, the calluses on the tips of her fingers catching on the raised skin of his scar. Suddenly he was aware of her breath, warm against his cheeks.
“Nor—”
Halsin went still as her dry lips pressed against his own. It lasted less than a few seconds. It was over when she angled her head back a little, just enough that he could look into her eyes again, but not enough that when he spoke his mouth wasn’t still brushing hers.
“What are you doing?”
He might as well have pushed her away. She flinched back, putting inches of space between their bodies. The air around him immediately felt cold.
Nor swallowed visibly before answering. "Kissing you?"
"I know you were—" He took a deep breath. "Perhaps I should be asking why?"
"Because I wanted to. I thought maybe you wanted it, too.”
Halsin had lived for three hundred and fifty years. He had seen horrors, endured loss, stood against forces greater than himself. Not much surprised him.
But he had not expected this.
When they first met—properly, that is—Nor had behaved like a cornered animal. She was sharp and wary, curled in on herself. Even something as simple as a hand on her shoulder or a brush of fingers against her own would send her running.
He had been so careful with her. Patient, just as he would have been with any wounded animal. He never forced anything. Instead, he offered. He let her come to him on her terms.
And slowly, painfully, she allowed herself to be touched. First in small ways, and then with more meaning. He cherished it, though he never expected more. Halsin had long since made peace with the fact that his desire for Nor would never be reciprocated. It was enough just to know her, to see her grow.
She pulled in a shaky breath. “I know that until the shadow curse is lifted, your heart’s too heavy for anything else. But my heart’s not.” Her eyes were suspiciously shiny. “I don’t want to become one of those—those shadow—”
“Vestiges,” he supplied weakly.
“Yes, one of those. I don’t want to die thinking, tomorrow our enemies will be dead and the curse will be lifted and he’ll finally kiss me.”
The silence dragged for several seconds, the two of them looking at each other, and silently fumbling for words to say. Halsin was at loss.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I think maybe I imagined—I know I’m not the most—I thought maybe…”
He really wished she was more clear. That she would finish a sentence.
"I’m just afraid, and I was absolutely certain that if I didn't kiss you at least once I would, I don't know, burn inside forever—at least, that's what it feels like—"
It was very easy for him to cup her cheek in his gloved hand, easy for him to turn her face up toward his. The harsh bend of her neck gave him such control over her movements that if it were any easier, it simply wouldn’t be sporting.
“I am not upset you kissed me,” Halsin said in a calm voice. “I feel… well, I suppose it’s the feeling of having carried a torch for miles in the dark, and then suddenly the sun comes up.”
“Oh.”
His thumb stroked her round cheek, the sensitive spots below her ear. She shivered, a flutter of silver lashes, and he could wait no longer. He bent down and claimed her mouth, pouring the rest of his unsaid words into her.
As he expected, she was inexperienced, content to follow his lead as he explored the warm sweetness of her mouth, his hand running down her spine to span the small of her back. He drew her toward him, pulling her onto his lap. She went sweet and soft against him, hands sliding up his chest.
She was so—he found that he was more turned on by the graceless naivete of her seduction than he should have been. It was a horrible, base thing inside him.
Every instinct was screaming at him to get her beneath him and take what he could, but he knew he could not. Not now. Not here. Not like this.
Too soon he broke their kiss. “We are neglecting our mission, I fear,” he said to her in a slightly pained tone of voice.
“You were the one who pulled out that swill,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pushing at his nose with hers. He could feel the wash of her breath over his face, sour with Chultan Fireswill, sweet with youth and desire.
Halsin smiled. “That I did.” He slipped his fingers along her clavicles and shoulders and the dip of her throat. Tomorrow, when needed strength, he was going to try very, very hard to recall the memory of her skin against his hand. “But it led to this, did it not? And now if I die tomorrow, I can go a happy man for having felt your lips on my own.”
Nor laughed at that, a genuine laugh, and rolled off his lap. “You say such nonsense.”
“It is not nonsense,” he insisted. “It is the truth.”
But she was already back to carving her arrows. Only now, there was a smile on her face that lit up the darkness.