This Will Be Fun

by E.B. Asher

When life left one little to care about, one could care very deeply about very little.

The problem was, while galloping on horseback together, Elowen had to hold on to Vandra. And when she held on to Vandra, she felt Vandra. And Vandra Ravenfall radiated bliss.

Despite himself, he supposed she remained his favorite destination to rush to.

“Careful, Beatrice,” he warned finally. His gaze held hers. “We could pretend we’re nothing to each other all the way to you beneath me in your sheets.”

What Clare was offering her was something far more dangerous. Hope. Hope that she might finally heal. Finally move on.

Lettice was right. Elowen was brave. And apparently she was also hot.

“I don’t use any special facial oils. I wear heavy cloaks so the sun cannot infect me with joy.”

“Sincerest congratulations on your mutual pleasure last night, truly. But . . .” He stalled, summoning the right words from his exhausted vocabulary. “Don’t rub it in.” “I’m afraid that’s rather exactly what we did, darling,” Vandra cooed.

Good Ghosts, Clare was going to nurse her so furiously. He was going to unleash the full strength of his fury on helping ease her pain. In the healing caress of his experienced fingers, she would know his wrath. Yes, he was going to nurse the living shit out of her.

The realm was witnessing how easily rich men who loved themselves could change into cheerful cultists who hated everyone else.

It was true. By being themselves, they were somehow not themselves at all. And Hugh was in a ballcap, so apparently they were all effectively disguised.

Healing, she understood now, was its own quest, over uncharted ground, with demons of the heart menacing her intrepid steps. She could not know what her destination would resemble or what perils she would encounter on her way. She knew she had started, however. Which was magical in itself.

The point in telling you this is not to convince you to feel it in return. It’s to show you that I no longer plan to live my life the way I once did. I plan to be honest with myself and with others, even when it might bring me pain. I plan to let this love keep me brave until the Ghosts take me home.”

He did not know whether he could ever be worthy of his fame. He just knew he needed to be worthy of his friends.

She was his warrior, his champion. His general, his crown, his realm.

“You can’t be late to a party,” she called out in weak protest. “Fair point, but you can be late to the resurrection of dark evil,” Vandra replied.

It comforted her. If Clare Grandhart could still wink, everything was not lost.

While Clare had not known Galwell long in life, great friends did not need long to leave profound impressions on grand hearts.