Free Emyr's Smile by Amy Rae Durreson Page A

to dodge around
stalls and carts and the fountain. Dashing under
the derwen tree, he knocked the last flower off the
lowest branch and caught it as it floated by. Suddenly, he had a
plan, one so ridiculous and impulsive and perfect that it couldn’t
fail. With the flower cupped between his palms, trying to float
away, he suddenly felt blessed.
    Skidding to a halt, he
yelled, “Emyr! You wanted to know exactly when I’m going to
leave!”
    “Right now, clearly,”
Emyr said, his voice tired and crumpled.
    “I’m not going to leave
this island,” Heilyn promised, glad there were witnesses, “until
I’ve painted a perfect picture of your smile.”
    Emyr frowned faintly,
but the color was coming back to his cheeks. “I don’t smile
much.”
    “In that case,” Heilyn
said, walking forward at a gentle pace, “it will take me
years.”
    Emyr swallowed.
“Y-years?”
    “Years.”
    “And then? On the day
you paint that picture—will that be the day you leave?”
    “No. Because by then,
we will have grown old and happy together. Your face will have
changed. Your smile will be different, and so I’ll have to start
all over again.”
    “Why then,” Emyr said,
letting go of the doorframe and stepping forward hesitantly, “you
could be here forever.”
    “Forever and ever,”
Heilyn agreed, letting the dream of other islands float away on the
wind. He had more important things to do with his life.
    Emyr didn’t look
convinced. “You’ll change your mind.”
    “Never.” And here was
the moment, and it wasn’t terrifying at all. There was no need to
fly any further. Aware that everyone was watching, Heilyn knelt and
proffered his cupped hands to Emyr. This was the oldest and
simplest way to propose, with the gift of a starflower, and he saw
the moment when Emyr realized what was happening, the shock and
wonder in his eyes as Heilyn opened his hand and the starflower
floated up.
    It was a late flower,
small and fragile, but it rose with steady determination, its
petals spreading as the wind pushed under it. Heilyn watched it go
with his heart tight in his chest. If Emyr took it, it meant yes,
but if he let it go…
    “Trust me,” he begged,
as the flower twirled in the air, rising up towards Emyr’s
face.
    And then, his hand
visibly shaking, Emyr caught it. For a moment, he looked as stunned
as Heilyn felt, but then, very slowly, Emyr smiled.
    Heilyn stood up, his
heart pounding, and wasn’t ready when Emyr suddenly reached out and
pulled him close. He fell right into Emyr’s arms, dimly aware that
people were cheering. Shaking, he blurted out, “I love you.”
    “I should hope so,”
Emyr murmured into his ear, his voice full of laughter again,
“after that display.”
    “I’m never ever going
to leave you.”
    “I know,” Emyr said,
and his voice shook a little. “Heilyn.”
    “Because you love me
just as much, don’t you?”
    “Yes,” Emyr said and
turned his head to kiss Heilyn, still smiling, as he’d never smiled
before.
    After a while he pulled
back, and said, sounding a little dazed, “I think the Aderyn just
sailed away with all your belongings.”
    “I don’t care,” Heilyn
said honestly, and Emyr kissed him again, his mouth clumsy where it
was curving up into a bright and perfect smile.
     
    ###
     
     

About the Author
    Amy Rae Durreson
teaches in an eccentric boarding school deep in the English
countryside. When not teaching, marking or trying to fathom the
mysterious logic of the typical teenage brain, she likes to go
wandering across the local hills with a camera, hunting for
settings for her stories. She has a degree in early English
literature, which she blames for her somewhat medieval approach to
spelling, and at various times has been fluent in Latin, Old
English, Ancient Greek, and Old Icelandic, though these days she
mostly uses this knowledge to bore her students when they foolishly
ask why English spelling is so confusing. Amy started her first
novel nineteen years