Ranger of Path

21. Desire

Inside my feelings are pure and clear

But then when my heart reaches my mouth

It c-comes o-out l-like t-this

—Cevee Bunnifarm

Ishkur pulls Hildr down beside him, pinning her arms as he rolls on top. "I hate the demigods for what they've caused. They should be punished."

"Punish me, Ishy." She arches a little, voice getting husky. "Dump this hate into me."

"What about your Goldstone mission?"

"Until Lady Darla answers a summons, I'm doing what I want." She pouts. "And right now, you're exactly what I need."

There's a voice somewhere in my head ... He kisses the scar on her chin, and she shivers. Telling me this is a bad idea ... He slips out of his silk. But this will be a sweet regret.

They dance with each other, naked and parallel. Sheets soak up fragrant sweat, and thick walls dampen notes of passion.

My woman? Ishkur shudders in time with her. Finally, love me? He hunches forward and squeezes her wrists, and her pant becomes a moan. Does she?

The hardwood frame endures their athletic routine with barely a creak, and the mattress survives their curled toes and fingernails without a rip.

Fine craftsmanship.

Hearts slow, and they peel apart.

Hildr's pale arm stretches to tap the back of her neck. "Armor."

Gold wire spreads from there, all across her body. The miracle from an ancient age lulls Ishkur into reaching for the spot with a wistful smile.

Were such wonders commonplace during the titans' reign?

She pulls back, so he only brushes the mesh encompassing her.

Pretty bird returned to her gilded cage.

He slumps. "Why do you always get up, so soon after?"

Hildr turns away and picks up a crumpled piece of parchment from the pile next to his cushy chair. "More prose for your father?"

"Well, I—"

She drops it. "You care too much about that tree-elf. He was no more of a father than mine was."

"That's not fair. I was an accident, a result of my mother's bad judgment."

Hildr cackles. "And I wasn't?" She leans over his desktop and nods at his newest draft. "Pretty Elvish script, but don't you dare translate."

Ishkur frowns. Several times a year, he arranges, through Lute, for his letters to be taken and read to his father. Hildr, Haden, and his other peers mock this sentimentality despite it being the only persistent favor he asks of his band.

"It's not prose," he says. "I've told you before. It's an accounting of my life. Plain language, so it's easier for him to understand."

"Through all that bark?"

"Yeah."

"Ishy, why would he care?" She pets his quill's feather. "Why do you care?"

"He has no grove of elder elf trees to keep him company, and I don't want him to forget all he was." Ishkur's voice catches. "I don't want him to forget me."

Hildr stiffens. "Enough with the therapy." She bites her thumb. "Feed me."

Ishkur puts on his silk pajamas. She steps close and brushes his smooth fabric much like she did with his quill, a calming motion more than a romantic one.