Ara is a festival for spring, for the return of clear skies, for beginnings. People dance, drink, and decorate themselves in blue capes or ribbons, or, for the more bold, with aras blooms, which leave behind a blue stain when crushed. A splash of this blue across the lips indicates someone is open to kisses, while a chain of the delicate blooms in their hair means they are open to more than kissing, whatever that may be. It is a tradition older and perhaps stronger than the disapproving Church, yet it is still a surprise for Owin, one of the Duke’s guardsman, to find the Duke’s little priest-mage at the festivities. Owin has long been captivated by the stern, awkward postulant with a habit of broadcasting his moods with sparks of magical energy. Seeing Maschi’s lips stained blue finally puts a name to the ache Owin carries in his chest whenever he thinks of the tiny mage. But Maschi is young, learned, and pretty as well as nearly a priest. Not meant for an older, battered guard with no faith or learning. But Ara is a day—and a night—for love, and magic, and perhaps even grace, if that is to be found in the heart of one scarred giant. When Maschi puts aras blooms in his hair and speaks of Heaven, Owin must make a choice; reach for his, or leave Maschi to dream alone. 13,750