At some point, the sound of rain outside had stopped.
Abler woke to a shaft of sunlight spilling through the cave mouth. The dawn, like molten gold, passed through the wet leaves and fell warm upon the back of his hand. He flexed his fingers and realized his arm was held tight by Linata. Her head still rested on his shoulder, breath even; the long lashes cast a faint shadow beneath her lids, like a quiet butterfly at rest.
He had held her all night, his black robe wrapped around her almost completely. Now her cheeks wore a faint flush; a trace of a smile still lingered at her mouth—she must have slept well. Abler’s heart began its uncooperative quickening again. He lowered his head with care to look at her face at arm’s length and suddenly felt that the night’s storm had been a gift from above—without it, he might never have had the chance to look at her from so near, to breathe the herb-scent in her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest.
He shifted the arm she clung to, intending to wake her. They still needed to go beneath the cliff for the moon-caps; if they waited, the sun would grow strong and the mushrooms would lose potency. But at the slightest motion, Linata frowned, burrowed closer, clutched him more tightly, and mumbled, half asleep, “Don’t go…”
The sound was soft, blurred by drowsiness, like a kitten coaxing. Abler froze, something bright and ticklish teasing at his heart. He looked at her closed eyes and lost the will to rouse her—there was no urgency in a moment; let her sleep a little longer.
The sun crept farther into the cave, lighting the fire pit’s remaining embers to a vivid red. Abler’s gaze settled unbidden on Linata’s brows. Fine in shape, as if drawn by a light ink stroke, the tails tipped slightly upward; when she was angry they would crease like two puffed little bugs. Loosened now, they held an unsayable gentleness. He had often wondered: her hair was snow-white—why were her brows a pale black? The contrast should have been sharp, yet on her face it was perfectly harmonious, like a carefully painted picture with every stroke just so.
He couldn’t help leaning closer for a clearer look. His nose nearly brushed her forehead. He could smell the faint fragrance of her skin blended with the herb-scent, sweet and clean. He could even see the tiny down along her brows, glinting in the light. His heartbeat hammered as if it would leap from his chest; he felt like a child stealing sugar—nervous and eager, afraid to disturb the moment’s grace.
Just as his fingertip was about to touch her brow, Linata’s eyes opened.
Gray pupils, as if rinsed by dew, hazy with sleep, looked straight into Abler’s red ones. They were close enough to feel each other’s breath. He could see his own reflection in her gaze—embarrassed, his ears so red they might bleed.
“You…” Linata had just woken; her voice was rough, puzzled.
Abler jerked back as if burned, his shoulders thudding against the cold rock wall. Pain twisted his face, yet he forced a steady tone: “You’re awake?”
Only heaven knew his panic. She had certainly seen him sneak a look at her brows just now! Would she think him strange? A lecher? His thoughts tangled; the demon-marks at his neck warmed, as if mocking his fluster.
Linata blinked, then slowly caught up. She glanced down at her hand still looped around his arm, then at the pink at his ears, and suddenly laughed. “What were you doing?” she teased, the sleep clearing from her eyes, mischief brightening them.
“N—nothing!” Abler looked away at once, unable to meet her gaze. “Just seeing if you were awake. We should pick the mushrooms.” He tried to draw his arm back, but she still held fast.
“Liar.” Linata leaned closer, her gray eyes smiling. “Were you peeking at me?”
His blush deepened. He opened his mouth to defend himself and found no words. He had lived for centuries, survived battles without count, faced the fiercest rebels and the slyest nobles—yet only before Linata did he become a green youth who couldn’t string a sentence together.
Watching his mortification, Linata’s heart filled sweet as honey. She let him go, straightened slowly, and stretched. Sunlight spilled over her white hair, throwing a soft silver sheen like scattered gems. “All right, I’ll stop,” she said, lifting the bamboo basket. “Come on—moon-caps.”
Abler finally exhaled, sprang up, and brushed ash from his robe. But when he looked at Linata again, something between them had shifted—not the cautious testing of before, but an intimacy that had no need of naming. The warmth of her against him, her sleepy “don’t go,” and the sly smile when she opened her eyes—all were pebbles dropped in his heart’s lake, rippling out and out.
They stepped from the cave into a morning rinsed clean. Black Raven Forest gleamed, leaves a bright green; beads of water clung to the grass, rolling free at a touch to splash cool across their shoes. Sunlight poured through the seams of foliage, weaving mottled light on the ground like a spread of gold leaf.
Linata walked ahead, her step far lighter than the day before. Her white hair lifted in the breeze. Every few paces she glanced back at Abler with a shade of reliance, as if afraid he would fall behind. He followed, his eyes drawn again and again to her back—the coarse skirt swaying gently, the cloth belt circling a slim waist, even the arc of her hair tips as she walked struck him as beautiful.
“What are you looking at?” Linata turned and caught his frank stare.
He flushed and dropped his gaze, crouching to examine a wayside herb. “N—nothing. Just thinking this one’s healthy—might serve as a guide herb.”
She shook her head, smiling, and didn’t press him—only slowed to let him come abreast. As they walked shoulder to shoulder, they brushed now and then—each touch a thin shock that made them both stiffen for an instant, then readjust without a word so the distance stayed close enough to share each other’s warmth without seeming contrived.
“Does your ankle still hurt?” Abler asked suddenly. He remembered her frown when the root had tripped her and couldn’t help the worry, his eyes dropping to her joint.
“Not at all.” Linata tapped a pebble into the grass, startling a few grasshoppers. “You were pretty practiced when you worked it yesterday. Do you often rub people’s feet?”
“No!” he denied at once, ears heating again. “I… back in the demon realm, when soldiers were injured, I watched the army physicians—picked up a few techniques.” He nearly slipped and shifted fast. “Is that the cliff ahead? I think I see the rock face.”
Linata followed his point. In the distance, a blue-black wall of stone stood sheer, as if cut by a blade. “Close. Just a few more minutes.” She quickened, eyes bright with expectation. “Moon-caps are best on rainy mornings, when the dew still clings. Let’s hope for a good haul.”
Abler moved with her, mind snagged on their talk. More and more, he feared revealing himself—not that she would fear him, but that truth would drive her away. He had grown used to her hounding him for what he owed, to splitting wood and gathering herbs beside her, to her laughter and her scolding, even to her little tempers. He didn’t dare imagine: if she learned he was the Demon King feared by humans and hunted by rebels, would she still lean into his arms without guard and banter as she did now?
“Hey—what are you thinking? Your face is all puckered like a bun.” Linata’s voice tugged him back. She stood before a dense thicket with sickle in hand, looking over, a trace of concern in her eyes.
He eased his brow at once. “Nothing. I was wondering if we can fill a basket and not waste your trip.”
“We will!” Linata’s confidence rang as she raised the sickle and cut the brush aside; the blade’s path through vine was a crisp music. “Look, the hollow beneath the cliff is just there. Moon-caps like damp with shade. Last time I came, there were only a few scattered.”
Abler followed her into the hollow and stopped short.
The ground lay thick with rot-leaves, soft underfoot like a carpet. And among them—fields of moon-caps scattered like stars. Snow-white caps shimmered with a faint silver; their stems were fine as hairpins and trembled at a touch as if greeting them. Stranger still, small flowers unknown to him bloomed around the clusters—pale purple, blush pink, tender yellow—like a ring of colored skirts about the mushrooms. Sunlight fell through cracks in the rock face and spread over mushrooms and blossoms alike, a dreamy halo—beautiful as a wonderland.
“Found them!” Linata cried, delighted. She hurried forward and crouched with care, wary of crushing the flowers beneath. Her white hair fell, brushing the caps; silver strands and the mushrooms’ gentle glow braided, a picture so tender it made the heart tremble. “Look—so many! Several times more than last time!”
Abler came slow, knelt beside her, and let the sight fill him. He had lived centuries and seen countless rarities in the demon realm—never anything that held the eye like this: white mushrooms, bright little flowers, warm sun—and Linata beside him, smiling like a child. It was unreal and wholly real.
“Didn’t expect it to be this beautiful,” he said softly, a warmth in his tone he didn’t hear himself. He watched her pick with delicacy, pinching the stems with light fingers, handling them like fragile treasure, even slowing her breath for fear of disturbing the tiny lives.
Linata plucked the largest moon-cap and held it to him. “See? The cap is perfect. No frayed edge. Dried, it brews long for tea—calms and helps sleep. If you can’t sleep again, use this.”
He took it. His fingertip brushed hers; both paused as if scalded and drew back lightly—but this time neither looked away. Their eyes held, and something sweet as bubbles rose in the air. The tips of their ears flamed red.
“By the way,” Abler asked suddenly, his voice a touch tight. He gripped the mushroom till his knuckles whitened, as if bracing himself. “How long is the moon-cap’s growing cycle? How long until this scene returns?”
“About once every three months.” Linata answered while she worked, her fingers moving lightly through the rot-leaves. “Best in the morning after rain. By noon the sun wilts the caps and the efficacy drops a lot.”
Watching her intent profile, the sun laying a pale gold along her lashes, he drew a deep breath and dared: “Then when the next season comes—let’s come back together.” His heart hammered hard enough to burst. He watched her, afraid of refusal, hardly breathing.
Her hands stilled. She looked up, gray eyes wide with surprise; then a flush crept over her face, even the ears reddening like ripe cherries. She dropped her gaze to the mushroom she’d just picked, stroking the cap without thinking. Her voice thinned to a whisper: “Then it’s a promise.”
Honey flooded his chest; he almost laughed aloud. He looked at the color in her cheeks, at the moon-cap in her hand, at the scene that was more fair than a dream, and thought that even if he let power go, spent his life in this border town gathering herbs and mushrooms with her, it might not be so bad.
“Word kept,” Abler said with a smile. He reached to tuck away the loose strands at her temple. This time he didn’t hesitate. His fingertip brushed her skin; he felt the faint shiver there—and inside he felt only certainty: he wanted to see every season of moon-caps with her.
Linata lifted her head and met his gaze. Warm laughter pooled in his red eyes like two small flames, and the heat soaked her heart. She nodded hard, voice louder than before though still shy. “Word kept! Next time I’ll have the baskets ready. If we come early, we can catch the dew on the caps.”
The sun grew warmer, spilling over them and over the sea of moon-caps, drawing a gentle silver from the white. Linata kept picking, the smile at her lips never fading; now and then she looked up to meet his eyes and ducked back down again like a bashful girl. Abler sat beside her, set each picked mushroom in the basket, and sometimes passed a clean cloth for her hands. They spoke little, yet an unspoken accord held, sweetening even the air.
No Demon King’s burden, no press of vengeance, no pursuit—only sunlight, mushrooms, flowers, and the person beside him. Looking at Linata’s smile, Abler suddenly felt that perhaps a life “only dating and never working overtime” was the life he wanted most.
The basket soon filled with moon-caps, white piled like soft clouds, breathing a faint fragrance. Linata stood, brushed the dirt from her clothes, and laughed. “Come on. We’ll dry them and next time I’ll make you moon-cap porridge—with two spoons of honey. Sweet.”
“All right.” Abler rose too, naturally taking the basket from her hand as they set off side by side. He kept to the cliff side, warning now and then, “Root here—watch your step,” while Linata pointed out the flowers along the path—“This one treats coughs; pick some next time.”
Their shoulders touched lightly now and then—each brush a small current that skipped a heartbeat. Neither drew away. Sunlight fell, stretching their shadows long and close together, pressed as if never to part.
Wind moved through Black Raven Forest, carrying the scents of herb and earth—and something sweet between the two of them. Abler looked down at the basket in his hand, then at Linata’s flower-bright smile, and swore to himself that whatever came, he would guard this goodness, guard the person beside him—after all, they had promised: when the next season came, they would return here to see the moon-caps at their fairest.