In the past, Vyrl would have wrestled her for the grass. Today he murmured, "You must first pay a fine for spying on me."
She gave a mock gasp of dismay, her heart-shaped face as expressive as ever. "And what terrible fine would you wrest, you heartless beast, from a poor girl such as myself?"
"Not so terrible," he said softly. Then he bent his head and kissed her.
As often as Vyrl had imagined this moment, his daydreams were nothing compared to the real thing. A jolt went through him as their lips touched. She tasted so sweet and felt so soft, her breasts against his chest, her body round beneath his. His heart thudded hard, as if he were still running.
Lifting his head, he whispered, "Lily." Then he kissed her again, moving his hands up her sides, caressing, feeling where her hips curved in to her waist.
Her emotions had become a confusing tumult. Ah, no, she wasn't responding. Mortification swept over him. Had he made a fool of himself? If she pushed him away or laughed at him, he was going to die, utterly die.
Instead she slid her arms around his waist, her embrace tentative, as if she wasn't sure where to put her hands. Her mouth parted under his and she nibbled shyly at his lower lip.
Vyrl sighed, almost giddy with relief. He wanted to untie her laces and pull up her skirts, touch her everywhere, but he held back, afraid he would scare her.
Her emotions flooded past the natural barriers in her mind, the protections all people raised without realizing it. Then he knew; this was her first kiss, as it was his. Despite his good intentions, his hands roamed. Still kissing her, he stroked her sides, down and up, his touch urgent. He folded his palms around her breasts, filling his grip with them — if only this cloth would disappear! He fumbled with the laces on her bodice, baffled by their complexity. Frustrated, he pulled harder, straining to undo them. Pushing up her skirt with his other hand, he reached for her thigh—
"Vyrl, no. Slow down." Lily pushed his hand away from her leg. She was breathing hard now, but she had tensed, no longer pliant under him.
He groaned softly, one hand on her breast, the other intertwined with hers at his side. With her mental barriers fading, he could feel her shy desire, but also her fear.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You're just so soft and pretty." He brushed his lips across her nose. "I could kiss you all day."
Her blush deepened, as pink as a sunrise. He had always thought Lily was lovely, even in their early childhood when cruder children had called her a "fat little sprout." Now the plump little girl had vanished, replaced by this curvaceous beauty. Warmth washed out from her mind and he closed his eyes, letting it flow over him. She felt so very, very right, as if he had always known he would someday hold her like this.
"You've been working on your father's farm a lot," she said. "I've seen you doing your chores."
Vyrl opened his eyes. "They don't seem like chores." He longed to kiss her more, but he held back, not wanting to ruin this moment by pushing too hard. He shifted onto his side next to her, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. The grass waved above and bubbles shimmered in the air. One popped, scattering glitter over them. Vyrl laughed, then flicked the powder off Lily's nose.
"I like to work in the fields," he said. He would far rather plow a field than study the physics his tutors persisted in trying to teach him.
Her mouth curved upward, half shy, half teasing. "You look very fine out in those fields with your shirt off."
He flushed. "You watched me like that?"
"You know, Vyrl, you used to be skinny, like a stalk of too-tall-weed."
Hai! He never had liked it when people called him that, even if it had been true these past years, when he shot up like the too-tall-weeds that grew over houses, seeking light from the suns.
"So what weed do I look like now?" He tried to make light of it, though he would really rather not be called a plant.
Her face gentled. "You don't." Touching his cheek, she spoke in her lilting voice. "You look like a man now, so strong and tall."
An emotion swelled in him, one he wasn't sure how to define. He knew only that he was where he belonged. With a tenderness he hadn't known he possessed, he brushed back a curl that had blown in her face. Then he kissed her again, barely able to believe he had her in his arms. He wanted to feel her skin against his, to make love to her out here under the golden suns, just as he had so often loved her in his dreams. But he held back and did no more than kiss her, taking it as slowly as she needed.
When the larger sun touched the horizon and shadows stretched across the plains, Vyrl and Lily headed back to the village of Dalvador, walking hand in hand, smiling and shy with each other. Vyrl was in no hurry. Now that he and Lily had made clear what had always been unspoken between them, they had plenty of time — their entire lives — to explore what they had begun today.
The Hearth Room was empty. The fireplace at the far end of the long hall slumbered, its coals dark, no flames licking its blue stones. No one sat in the armchairs there, and the standing lamps with their rose-glass shades remained unlit.
Lost in daydreams, Vyrl walked across the other end of the long hall, far from the hearth, in the shadows. As he passed the great stone staircase that curved up to the second floor, he glanced around to make sure he was alone. Then he turned in a circle, pretending to dance with Lily. With a flourish, he snapped his foot to his knee and spun fast, three times. He came out of the turn in a leap, jumping high off the ground. Then he landed on bent knees and stopped, checking to make sure no one had seen him. Laughing softly at himself, he resumed his staid walk.
"You're late," a voice said.
Vyrl froze. In response to the speaker, the lamps at the far end of the hall came on, shedding warm light over the hearth. This far from the lamps, shadows filled the hall, but enough light filtered back to show a man standing a few paces away, in the doorway Vyrl had been approaching. He hadn't heard anyone enter, probably because he had been dancing.
Vyrl managed to find his voice. "Father."
Eldrinson Althor Valdoria, who carried the title of Dalvador Bard, looked to Vyrl like the hero of an epic poem. At five feet ten, his father stood half a hand-span taller than the average man of Dalvador. He had a well-built physique, his muscles firm from years of farming. Wine-red hair brushed his shoulders, its healthy sheen visible despite the dim light. Even Vyrl, who understood almost nothing about how women saw such matters, could tell his father had a handsome face, with its straight nose, high cheekbones, large eyes, and classical features. Although Vyrl never knew how to respond when people exclaimed over how he resembled his father, he considered it a compliment, more because he admired his father than because he cared about appearance.
"Where have you been?" Eldrinson asked, frowning.
"Out in the plains." Vyrl tried not to look guilty about his missed schoolwork. His father would never understand. No one could. Vyrl was all brimming confusion and desire. Although his older brothers sometimes saw girls in the village, he was certain none of them had ever felt the way he did about Lily, as if his heart could soar one moment and shatter the next.
Eldrinson came over to him, and Vyrl again had the unsettling experience of looking down at him instead of up. He had yet to become used to being taller than his father, and he was still growing.
"And while you were running in the plains," his father inquired, "who was doing your lessons?"
Vyrl imagined a black velvet cloth over his mind, hiding his thoughts about Lily from his father, who was a strong empath. "I'll finish them tonight."
"You shouldn't leave them until so late."