Neon Blue by E Frost (best big ereader .TXT) 📕

and my skin. The kiss of the cold metal makes me shudder, which I try fiercely to still. I’d really rather the Squire didn’t open my wrists by accident. He slides his glove under my wrist to steady me and holds me still while he makes the first cut.

I expect a flash of light, an inner-quake, something to mark the breaking of the binding. But there’s nothing, and as the Squire works, I realize he’s not breaking the binding. He’s loosening it. By cutting each knot, he’s slowly undoing what the demon’s done. If he’d slashed open the knotwork in one stroke, he might have broken the binding. But by cutting each knot, he’s not pitting his power directly against Jou’s. He’s working around it.

He reaches the last knot and withdraws the knife. The binding’s still there. The knotwork remains coiled around my wrist. The severed threads don’t fray or fall away. But their hold on me has lessened. The binding is held only by one knot, which the Squire’s carefully left, sitting right on top of the big blue vein of my wrist. He taps the knot with a gloved finger and then touches his finger to my mouth.

Charades again. “Sorry, I don’t get it.”

He pushes the tip of his finger between my lips and taps my teeth. The metal of his gauntlet jars against the enamel. A bright shock up into my skull. “Ow. What, I bite it off?”

The Squire nods and gestures for my other wrist.

When he’s cut all but the last knot on the other binding, he rises and offers me a hand to help me up. I take a deep breath as I straighten. Smells flood up my nose. Moss, the vanilla-sweetness of Joe Pye Weed, wet leaves, the tannic edge of the bogs. Good smells. Earthy smells. Frog-song rises from my left and I know they’re calling me to a stand of trillium. My connection with Earth, the real Earth, my Earth, opens wide again.

I take a step towards the frogs, another. Feel the rightness of my direction. And of the path I’ve chosen. Maybe the demon won’t be happy when he discovers what I’ve done. Maybe he won’t ever have to discover it. But I like having the ability to rid myself of his bindings whenever I want to. Having the freedom of choice.

It’s long after midnight by the time I get home. I’m yawning, and the Horse uncharacteristically blows out a long breath as I slide to the pavement in front of my house.  Do fae horses get fatigued?

The Squire doesn’t seem fatigued, and waits with his usual patience while I dismount and regain my footing after tangling up in my stupid skirt. When I turn to say good-night, he holds out his gauntleted hand.

I peer up into his palm. There’s a tiny glass tube sitting in the middle of the chain mail. I take it and turn it over between my fingers. No clue what it is. Demon-repellant? A girl can hope.

“Sorry,” I say. “What is this?”

The Squire drops the reigns he’s holding with his left hand and cups both gauntlets together. The bowl. I get it.

“Fae super-glue,” I say. Despite the fact that old magics don’t really like being thanked by young magics, I say it anyway. He’s more than earned it tonight. “Thank you. For everything. I’m in your debt. Again.”

The Squire shakes his helmet. Then he reaches out and touches my cheek. A quick brush of cold metal against my skin. Then he and the Horse are gone and there’s just the soft night breeze against my cheek.

Hmm.

I walk slowly into the house, kicking at some fallen leaves. Let myself in quietly to avoid waking the demon, and jump when he calls to me from the kitchen, “Hot chocolate, sweetness.”

I kick off my muddy boots and drop my overflowing backpack by the door. Walk warily into the kitchen. I expected him to be asleep. Will he notice what the Squire’s done to the bindings? I didn’t think I’d have to face this until the morning, although some small rational part of my mind recognizes that the time won’t make any difference to his reaction.

The demon’s standing at the stove. Two steaming mugs sit on the table. The mouth-watering smell of melted chocolate fills the kitchen. Three salamanders sit on the floor at the demon’s feet, in a neat little line: crimson, blue and cream. As I walk into the kitchen, the demon bends down and offers Wizard a piece of something brown and crunchy. The other two lizards crowd closer, eager for their share.

“Hi,” I say softly, not wanting to disturb this very domestic, if infernal, tableaux.

“Hey. Thought you might like a midnight snack. You zest that lemon while I’m watchin’ these? Don’t want ‘em to burn.” He nods at the counter where there’s a lemon and a little stainless-steel zester that I definitely don’t own sitting on a cutting board.

I move to the counter, stepping over the lizard-line, and pick up the lemon and zester. Beside me, Jou opens a waffle-iron that I also don’t own. He takes a golden-brown waffle out of the press, pops it onto a pile of waffles sitting under a dishcloth, and pours more batter into the iron. My kitchen fills with a warm bread smell, a million times better than toast. Saliva floods my mouth and I have to swallow hard to keep from drooling.

“Your idea of a midnight snack is a lot more epicurean than mine,” I tell him.

Jou chuckles. Such a nice sound in my kitchen late at night. Some of the tension that knotted my neck and shoulders on finding him awake ebbs.

I create a small pile of lemon shavings on the cutting board while Jou cooks three more waffles. Two go under the dishcloth. One gets fed to the lizards. Jou shoo-es me to the table, and the lizards out of the kitchen, while he assembles the waffles and fixings.

Watching him, seeing the care with which he