The No Kiss Blog Fest

Saw Myra McEntire's post for The No Kiss Blog Fest and thought I'd enter. This is an almost-kiss excerpt from my YA epic fantasy manuscript. It's short, but effective.

...I hope...

Bon appetit!


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Low, warm melodies seeped from Shia’s flute, and the drums sent their rhythm rolling out across the hollow. Arden found Edmund standing at the edge of the riverbank, his back to her, gazing out at the Southern Hills. The warm, red halo of sunset faded behind their peaks.

"It will be autumn soon," he said as she stepped up beside him.

Arden drew a deep breath and caught a hint of crisp leaves and ripening pine cones in the evening air.

"It will be autumn," he said again, "and I will be eighteen."

So much sadness in his voice... Her spirits fell with his, and she remained quiet, not knowing what to say. They strolled along the river, Edmund staring at his feet and Arden watching the fireflies bobbing in and out of the heather.

The deep, moving tones coming from the cottage floated along behind them, setting their pace. The old, traditional hymn, one Arden’s father used to play, had haunting, melancholy notes, representing the despair the Kendekins felt as they wandered the wilderness, always hunted, always unsettled. There was a subtle hint of hope on the fringe of the melody, but Arden could not hear it that night.

She and Edmund came to the far end of the meadow where a gentle hill led into the forest. They sat down side by side, facing the cottage. Arden gazed at Little Leah, finding it beautiful how the honey glow of firelight spilled out of the windows and onto the meadow. Shadow cloaked the entire hollow now. Nestled in the tall heather, it felt as though she and Edmund were tucked away from the rest of the world. She could barely see him in the faint moonlight, but she could feel his presence and warmth beside her.

"Do you know," he said, "I’ve learned more about my father in the past few days than I have in the last eighteen years. And yet now I feel like I know him even less." He broke off a sprig of heather and twirled it between his fingers.

Arden wrapped her arms around her knees, still not knowing what to say. She knew he was deeply burdened, and she felt responsible. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that she was proud he showed concern for her people. She wanted him to know how thankful she was, how happy she was to have met him, but no words seemed good enough.

"There is so much I do not understand," he said, breaking off another sprig. "For one, if the Kendekins did not curse my father, why is Celestia so bent on believing it?"

"Sometimes it’s easier to cope when you have someone to blame."

"I suppose...but there must be more to it than that."

They were silent for quite some time, Arden searching for something more meaningful to say. At long last she realized he had been turned away from her, his hands busy with something.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Making you something."

She tried to peer over his shoulder. "What is it?"

He turned further away. "You’ll see."

She waited, somewhat impatiently, until he finished. When he held his creation out to her, her breath caught in her chest, and she was once again unable to speak. It was a circlet of intertwined heather sprigs, with tiny purple flowers amongst the leaves. She had never seen anything so lovely, so sweet and genuine, in all her life.

"What’s wrong? You don’t like it?"

"No, of course I like it, it’s just..." Why was it so hard to find the words? "No one’s ever made me anything before."

"Never?"

"Not like this."

He smiled, then lifted the flower crown and gently placed it upon her head. She reached up and touched it, tears welling.

"It suits you," he said.

"Thank you, Edmund." She could barely raise her voice above a whisper.

He grinned in reply, then gazed out across the meadow, giving her a chance to turn away and wipe her eyes. She noticed Shia and Padrik had begun a new tune, one with meandering, sinuous melodies. Arden knew the song well. It was a love song, tragic, full of bittersweet yearning. It made it harder to swallow back her tears.

"Arden, look at the fireflies." He leaned closer to her. "They look like they’re dancing."

"They are." She watched the soft golden lights sway and pulse to the music. "They love to dance. I had almost forgotten. It’s been a long time since there was any music in the hollow."

"So curious," he mused. "Can you speak to them too?"

"Mm-hm."

"Say something."

She called out to the fireflies and a dozen glided over to her, alighting on her flower crown, twinkling amid the tiny purple petals like yellow topaz jewels.

"Remarkable." He shook his head, amazed. Then his eyes met hers with a steady, earnest gaze. "I meant what I said before. I’m going to find a way to help you."

"I know," she said, captivated by the light of the fireflies reflected on his face.

Then slowly, he reached up and touched her cheek. She froze at first, timid, her breath quickening, but as he traced her face with his fingertips, the same warmth from before flooded through her. She closed her eyes and nestled her cheek into his palm, melting into his touch. Then his fingers were in her hair, his nose brushing against hers, his breath on her face. He lifted her chin to kiss her, but just before their lips met, he paused.

"Does it seem quiet to you?"

She opened her eyes, and the thick, intoxicating haze vanished, replaced by a sense of doom. The music had stopped. She turned to see Shia storming toward them, his scowl illuminated by the lantern he carried.

Edmund scrambled to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Arden stood as well, preparing herself for the confrontation.

The fireflies swiftly dissipated.

"I think it’s about time you said goodnight, prince."



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*sigh* Don't ya just hate it when brothers ruin the moment? ;-)