A rival most vial, p.21
A Rival Most Vial, page 21
“Great!” Eli sprinted toward Ambrose. A line of acid needles ripped into the wall above him. “Now set off the moss!”
Ambrose stopped. “What?”
“Set it off!”
“But it’ll explode—”
“Yes, that’s the point!” The moth swooped close to Eli. He swung at it with his dagger. “Now, Ames!”
Ambrose gave a loud curse, then yanked up a large clump of fizzling moss, shook it fiercely, and threw it deep into the chamber.
A blinding light burst across the room, and Eli pulled him behind a pillar.
“Close your eyes!” he shouted and shoved him up against the rock. Ambrose screwed his eyes shut, huddled into Eli, and held his breath.
A wall of searing heat whipped past him. The enchantment on his vest flared to life instantly, and a cool green shield enveloped his head and torso, fighting off the blaze. He wrapped his arms around Eli and pressed harder, desperately hoping the shield would encompass him, too.
In his effort, he almost missed the shrieking mass of fur and wings barreling its way down the tunnel. He opened one eye in time to see the moth veer away, trailing smoke from its singed antennae.
“Quick.” Eli pulled away. “Out of the smoke, this way!”
They followed the moth into the open air of the sinkhole, then scrambled up the nearest footholds. Eli ducked into a shallow cave—little more than a divot in the cliff face—and helped Ambrose inside.
As the smoke faded away into the moonlight, Ambrose gulped in the fresh air and checked his pack. The jar of moss was still there, the blue puff within pulsing steadily.
“We did it,” he breathed and leaned back against the stone. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Eli coughed out the last of the smoke, then leaned out to watch the moth’s lingering trail. His clothes were spotted and charred now, from his jerkin down to his boots. A vision of his bloody injuries in the cistern flashed through Ambrose’s mind, and he reached for Eli.
“The spikes didn’t touch you, right?” he asked, searching for any sign of blood or torn clothing. In turn, Eli’s hands skimmed over his arms.
“I’m fine. Did the explosion get you?” He tugged on Ambrose’s sleeves, inspecting the smoky charcoal marks.
Neither found what they feared—but while their respective searches slowed, they didn’t quite stop. Hands lingered, then settled on arms and waists. As sunlight filtered into the cave, Eli met his gaze, and a flustered heat rose in Ambrose’s cheeks.
Perhaps…perhaps he could concede this meant something.
He looked down at his hand and bit back a nervous smile.
“I’m afraid I’m horribly injured.” He tried to deflect, lifting his wrist and tugging off his glove. “You see, a moss spark got me right there.”
Eli smiled, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Oh, really?”
“Mm-hm.” Ambrose pretended to frown. “I’ll never be able to write a recipe again.”
Eli gently wrapped his fingers around Ambrose’s wrist. “You poor man.”
“Yes, it’s tragic.” Ambrose nodded solemnly. “I think I’ll have to retire and—”
Eli kissed the inside of his palm. Ambrose lost all semblance of thought.
“And…and, um…”
“Better?” Eli murmured, his lips brushing Ambrose’s skin as he spoke. Ambrose’s knees almost gave way, and he managed a nod.
Then, as Eli cupped his cheek, a joyous sort of panic took over. He had never actually done this before. Did Eli know that? Did he need to know? Should he say something now while he was leaning in, his gaze on Ambrose’s lips? Or would that scare him off? He couldn’t scare him off, not now, not when Eli was so close and his hand was so warm and he just wanted that kiss—
“Can I ki—” Eli started.
“Yes,” Ambrose breathed. Eli took his face with both hands and softly pressed his lips to his.
Ambrose thought his panic would spiral. He didn’t know what he was doing, after all—and while it didn’t seem complex, he figured there must be some sort of trick to it. Something that set good kissers apart from bad kissers, something that merited all the jokes and drama and gossip he had ever heard on the subject.
But Eli’s kiss was simple. Soft and warm, like the hands hovering at his cheeks. Ambrose let the panic melt out of him, dropping his shoulders, unwinding the tightness in his chest. He didn’t have to focus on anything except for the faint scent of herbs and soil and sunlight. Didn’t have to do anything but let Eli lean into him. He could simply be at rest.
When Eli pulled away, he forgot to open his eyes for a few seconds. And when he did, when he caught sight of Eli’s delighted smile, he regretted not opening them sooner.
They walked back to the Scar close together, sparks jolting through Ambrose’s fingers every time their hands brushed. Exhaustion and excitement coursed through him in equal measure. He had expected to come away with the moss that night.
He had not expected to come away with his first kiss.
“What are you going to do now?” Eli asked once they entered The Griffin’s Claw. Ambrose flushed deeply, excitement twisting into panic.
He had no idea what to do next.
“Well, you see, I…” He fumbled with the supply closet handle. “I’ve never really, um, done that with anyone, and I don’t actually know what comes next. Or even if I did well enough to warrant any, you know, next steps—?”
Eli touched his arm. “I meant with the moss.”
“Oh, that.” Ambrose let out a deep breath. “I’ll take it to Dawn tomorrow morning.” He slipped into the closet and carefully placed the jar on the middle shelf, by the scorch-flower. “Give her the moss, pitch her the day out. Hope she agrees to it.”
“She’ll agree to it.” Eli hovered in the doorway with a tilted smile. “And as for the other next steps…”
Ambrose swallowed and turned. He didn’t know what came next, but there was no use denying what he wanted, not anymore.
He looked at Eli, then at his lips in a silent plea.
And Eli generously closed the gap, cradling Ambrose’s face and gifting him another soft kiss. Ambrose couldn’t help it—he smiled through the gesture, a tingling spreading from his face through his chest. When Eli pulled away, he had to lean against the shelf for support.
“May I take you out on a date?” Eli whispered. Ambrose lost his breath.
“Yes. Yes, I’d like that very much.”
STEP 28:
LET SETTLE
Eli
The next morning, Eli accompanied Ambrose to Dawn’s shop, working their way upstream as shutters and doors opened for the day. Part of him wanted to run to every bleary-eyed shopkeeper and inform them of what had happened last night—he had kissed Ambrose Beake, yes, that man right there—but he forced himself to remain calm and keep walking.
“I checked in with Sherry,” he said, swerving around a grumpy messenger dragon. “She insisted she pack the picnic basket for tomorrow.”
“Of course, she did,” Ambrose said. He was nearly jogging, and Eli had to speed-walk to keep up. “And Banneker and Grim?”
“Agreed to cover her shop. She’s got no excuse to back out of the fun.” He took Ambrose’s hand and squeezed it. “And you’re sure you don’t want to tell her about us yet?”
Ambrose slowed down here, a shy smile dancing across his face. “I want to, I do. But…” He squeezed Eli’s hand back. “I also want this to be about her. Can we tell her after the picnic?”
The thought of not being able to tell Dawn physically pained Eli—but he forced out a smile instead. “I mean, I guess I can hold off on hanging a banner in my window.”
“A banner?”
“Yeah. It’ll say, ‘I kissed Ambrose Beake,’ with arrows pointing to your shop.”
Ambrose passed a hand over his face. “Please don’t.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s gonna be bright yellow and everything.” Eli brushed up against Ambrose’s arm, if only to hear the giggles the man was trying to stifle. “Big, bold letters, maybe some glitter…”
But when they reached the door of the Whirling Wand Emporium, Ambrose’s laughter evaporated. He released Eli’s hand and took a breath at the stoop. “Would you mind waiting here?”
“Sure.”
Ambrose walked in, and Eli hung back in front of the bay window. Given the thickness of the glass and the morning traffic, he could barely hear what was going on inside. But when Dawn emerged from the storeroom, saw Ambrose, and burst into tears, he didn’t need to strain to hear her.
“I’m so sorry!” she cried and swept Ambrose into a hug. “I was going to visit you this morning, I got cookies and everything—”
Indeed, Eli spied a box of cinnamon cookies on the counter, wrapped in a bow much like Dawn’s wand boxes. But it went disregarded as Ambrose returned her hug, his shoulders rounding down in relief. When he pulled away and held up a finger, his ears had perked up, a smile already on his face.
Then he pulled out the moss jar, and Dawn’s beaming shriek rattled the windows.
“You found it!” She wrapped her arms around Ambrose and picked him straight up off the floor. As she tried to dance with both Ambrose and the jar, Ambrose eagerly waved Eli inside.
“We only ask”—Ambrose tried to get a word in through Dawn’s delighted wiggles—“we only ask that you do one thing with us tomorrow.”
“Yes!” Dawn continued to dance. “What is it?”
Ambrose finally managed to free himself. “Come to a Fireball game and have a picnic with us.”
Her face fell, and she slowly lowered the jar. “Ames, I can’t. I’ve been gone for days, and I’ve got the shop—”
Eli wandered over to them. “The street’s got you covered there. Grim will cover your shop in the morning, Banneker in the afternoon. Sherry’s literally packing the picnic basket as we speak, and…” He pulled three slips of paper out of his pocket. “We already got the tickets. Stone Dragons versus the Bandits, central division showdown.”
Dawn gasped. Ambrose stepped forward. “I know you’re busy, and I know you don’t think you have time to relax, but—we’d like to do this for you. Please?”
She bit her lip, then broke into a smile. “Okay, let’s do it. Thank you.” She hugged Ambrose one more time—then grabbed Eli’s waist and pulled him in. “Come on, Eli, you too.”
As she buried her face into Ambrose’s shoulder, Eli snuck a kiss on his cheek. Ambrose shook his head and hid his blush behind the top of Dawn’s mohawk.
To Eli’s utter delight, he found he’d severely underestimated how much Dawn loved Fireball.
“I know the Stone Dragons totally botched the second half of last week’s game,” she babbled as she dipped a brush into a jar of glitter. “But if they put Marlow in front like they should, they’ve got a chance against the Bandits’ defense.”
Eli scoffed from his seat on Dawn’s front counter. “The Bandits have the best defense in central right now. Marlow alone isn’t going to cut it, not unless he can get over his tiff with Hennie and learn how to work together like professionals—”
“Shush. Their catfights on the field give me joy.” Dawn held up the brush. “Now sit still, I need to get you ready for the game.”
Eli sighed at the green and gold glitter paint—the Stone Dragons’ colors. He’d never live it down if his family found out he was cheering for them. “How much of that are you going to use on me?”
Dawn grinned wide, making the green spirals on her own cheeks sparkle. “As much as it takes to make you a real Dragons fan.” When Eli groaned, she rolled her eyes. “All right, all right—just a swipe under your eyes, you big baby.”
As the cool brush glided over his cheek, he had a thought. “Are you gonna put any of this stuff on Ambrose?”
“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” Dawn’s brush slowed. “How is all of that going, by the way? I’m sorry, with all this work”—she gestured toward the store with her brush—“I feel like I’ve missed out on the whole commission.”
Oh, she had certainly missed more than that. The news bubbled on Eli’s tongue, but he swallowed it back.
“Fine,” he said. “Commission’s going well.”
“Great.” She pulled back to evaluate her work. “You still going on dates? Sherry said you met a baker or something.”
“Eh, it didn’t work out.”
Her eyes lingered, evaluating more than the glitter. A smirk slowly spread across her face. “You know…”
Eli would’ve bet a hundred talons that he did already know. He tilted his head in innocence anyway. “What?”
Dawn dipped her brush back in the glitter and began touching up her work. “What about Ambrose?”
Ah, yes. What about Ambrose.
“What, you mean like dating Ambrose?” Laughter bounced around his teeth, but he couldn’t let it out.
“Yeah.” Dawn’s eyes glinted. “He’s cute, he’s smart. I could, you know, wingman for you.” She wiggled her shoulders, allowing Eli to let loose some of the laughter. Gods, he wanted to tell her so badly.
“I don’t think you need to.”
“Why not—?”
Then the subject himself stumbled into the shop, lugging a picnic basket twice the width of his torso.
“So, Sherry packed snacks for the game,” Ambrose panted, “and the picnic, which means this thing is—really heavy—”
“I got it!” Eli hopped off the counter and took the basket from his hand. Ambrose wasn’t wrong—Sherry must have packed enough for a weeklong trip. As Eli set the basket on the counter, Ambrose straightened and ran a hand through his hair.
“Thanks.” He pointed to Eli’s cheeks. “Ah. She got to you, I see.”
Eli didn’t respond. He was too busy staring at Ambrose’s outfit.
He supposed he had Dawn to blame for this. She had, after all, directed Ambrose to wear something casual, as this was a game, not a business event.
But did the bastard man have to wear those slim pants and that loose, billowy shirt with the slit at the neck unlaced? On the one day where he couldn’t openly grab him by the waist and drag him into a supply closet and—
“What?” Ambrose’s hand flew up to his exposed collarbone. “Is this not casual enough?”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Eli immediately distracted himself with the picnic basket. “Oh look, Sherry made us cookies.”
As Eli focused very hard on the tin, Dawn grabbed Ambrose’s hand. “Don’t think you’re getting away without any paint before the game.”
Ambrose groaned. “Please, not a lot.”
“Okay, okay.” Dawn sifted through her little pots of makeup while Ambrose slouched on the counter. “Here, how about this shimmery stuff?”
She turned Ambrose toward her, leaving Eli to munch on a cookie in frustration. Devious, evil half-elf. Who gave him the right to look so good…
“See, that wasn’t so bad.” Dawn winked at Ambrose and gathered her makeup with a grin. “Now just let me find my Dragons banner, and we can go!”
As she rushed up the stairs to the loft, Ambrose faced Eli, giving him a full view of her handiwork. She had indeed applied a lighter hand to Ambrose, barely dusting his cheekbones and eyelids with a light gold that reflected the morning sunlight. When combined with his icy hair and sharp jawline, the man looked like an ethereal painting.
Eli dropped his half-eaten cookie. Dawn had done this on purpose, hadn’t she?
“Be honest.” Ambrose scrunched his nose. “How silly do I look?”
Now, Eli knew Dawn couldn’t see them…together just yet.
But Dawn wasn’t in the room at the moment.
“You want me to be honest?” Eli sidled over and placed both hands on the counter, flanking Ambrose’s legs. He let his voice drop low, under the pretense that Dawn couldn’t overhear. “Between the shirt and the makeup, I think you look gorgeous.”
A blush brightened the gold shimmer on Ambrose’s cheeks. Eli immediately made a resolution to compliment him more often.
“Thank you,” Ambrose mumbled, then hesitantly wrapped his fingers around Eli’s wrists. “I must try to keep up with you if I’m to be worthy of another kiss.”
Eli desperately wanted to carry him into the supply closet and show him how worthy he was.
Dawn’s voice echoed from the loft. “My banner isn’t down there, is it?”
“No,” they both answered, eyes still locked on each other. Eli leaned forward. He couldn’t steal Ambrose away, but he could sneak one more kiss, couldn’t he—?
“Found it!” Dawn’s voice was louder this time, and Ambrose let go of Eli’s wrists. Eli scrambled back to the picnic basket and stuffed another cookie into his mouth right before Dawn descended, an obnoxious green banner fluttering behind her. She took one look at the crumbs falling from his mouth and sighed. “Eli, come on, we’re not even at the stadium yet.”
Eli shook the tin. “I had to taste test. Make sure they weren’t poisoned.”
“All right, gimme the snacks.” Dawn grabbed the basket like it weighed nothing. “Ames, will you please keep an eye on this man?”
Ambrose slid off the counter and opened the door for them. Eli passed him with a wink, and he bit down a smile. “If I must.”
The Scar’s western stadium was a massive stone amphitheater carved directly into a sinkhole. Its striped stone seats, already half full, buzzed with anticipation as Eli led the way to their spot.
“So…” Ambrose followed close behind, his eyes on the sand pit that stretched at the base of the amphitheater. “I should admit, I’ve only been to a few of these games with Dawn, and I don’t…” He paused to squeeze past a group of gnomes drenched in green and gold. “I don’t entirely have a grasp on the rules.”
Eli sat and cracked his knuckles. His time had come. “First things first,” he said. “The ball is on fire.”
Ambrose shot him a look. “Yes, I’m aware.”
Dawn joined in on the crash course, and they tossed about rules, counter-rules, and regional rules as they unpacked the picnic basket. One by one, they pulled out cookies, fernberries, and so many bottles of fizzy juice that Eli had to check and make sure there wasn’t an expanded storage spell on the basket.
